Split (1)

train · 64k rows

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1060805	Right	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman, Hange Zoë, Erwin Smith, Armin Arlert", "Fandom": "Shingeki no Kyojin \| Attack on Titan", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by jaywr", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-27T00:00:00", "words": "8,192", "Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexuality, Christmas, Fluff, Explicit Language", "Relationship": "Levi/Eren Yeager", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	With a loud bang Levi manages to slam the door shut.He hears a distant “Fuck” and when he turns at the sound all he can see is a couch. Falling. From the stairs. At him. Fuck indeed.Before he can think of anything else he drops the bags he’s holding to the ground and puts up his hands maybe in order to slow the thing down, maybe in order to shelter himself. Maybe both.Seconds later all he can hear is a crack. In his left wrist. And it hurts. Shit. It hurts. He groans. The wrist hangs a bit unnaturally and he definitely has a bad feeling about it.“Are you fucking crazy?” an angry voice echoes through the hall as someone runs down the stairs.Levi grumbles. Just fantastic.“Oh my god! Shit! Are you alright?” there’s a shift in the tone of the incomer’s voice.Still pressed against the door, somehow he pushes the piece of furniture just enough to move away. He’ll probably get bruises later.“I really didn’t mean to!”He tries to move his fingers, wrist, anything. It doesn’t really work. Finally he looks up to glare at the young man. Brown hair, bright eyes. Taller than him. Definitely in need of a comb.The expression on the kid’s face is a mixture of horror and relief and if it were any other situation Levi might even find it funny.“Are you alright?” he repeats, his voice insecure.“What the bloody hell were you thinking?”“I-““Oh, you weren’t.” Levi shakes his head and looks at the bags on the ground. “’Bet you flushed your brain instead of your morning crap.”The brat frowns. “Well, it wasn’t me who just slammed the door out of nowhere.” Levi notices the irritation in his voice is back. Just brilliant.“Oh, yeah, so it’s my fault. You just threw a bloody couch at me but it’s my fault.”The taller one sighs and takes a deep breath. Apparently he’s trying to calm down. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”He nods towards his wrist. “What do you think.”The kid runs his hand through his hair. He nods. “Can I just call someone?”Levi rolls his eyes. “You need a permission?”“Right, I don’t,” the young man reaches to his pocket. Levi settles down on the couch crossing his legs and sighs. He watches the brunet going through his contacts before dialling a number. He hopes it won’t take long. As the bloke starts speaking to the phone Levi zones out. Maybe he should have just called taxi.His wrist hurts like hell and he could swear he can see the swelling forming around it.After he’s done with his call, the kid tells him they need to wait for his sister to help him move the couch upstairs. They can’t just leave it in the hall after all. Meanwhile he helps Levi bring his bags to his flat.“Nice place,” he compliments. Levi shrugs and tells him to knock on the door when he’s ready to leave. The kid gets the hint and leaves him alone.He tries to cool the wound in the sink a little, not that it really helps.An hour later, he is sitting in the passenger seat in the kid’s lorry. Which the brat explained isn’t exactly his, he loaned it so that he could move. “I’m Eren, by the way,” he introduces himself.“Good for you.”They don’t talk much on the way.The waiting room in the hospital is full of people. Levi wants to punch something, but at the sight of the security guard he decides against it.He is surprised when Eren confronts the doctor. The kid seems angry. His brows furrowed into a glower and the volume of his voice a little too high.“Calm down, sir.”“How am I supposed to calm down?” Eren shouts. “Our granny’s funeral is in half an hour and we can’t make it!”Levi gives him an incredulous look. What the hell is the kid on about? This can’t work out.“Just look how miserable my... cousin here looks!”Wait, what?The look the doctor is giving Eren seems rather doubtful, but then he turns to Levi and gives out a sigh. “Come in.”What was that supposed to mean?The people he just apparently overtook look pretty much pissed. Eren winks at him and Levi thinks that maybe he isn’t that bad.-In the evening Levi is sitting in his living room watching the plaster cast wrapped around his arm. Only his fingers are peeking out, they were still a little white when he got back so the first thing he had to do was wash them, obviously. The fact he won’t be able to wash it for about another six weeks is dawning on him and he grumbles in disgust.The diagnose was broken wrist. Just wonderful. The doctor told him to put a plastic bag over the cast when he takes a shower. Practical as fuck.There’s a light tap on his door and he’s not sure if it isn’t just his imagination, few seconds later it’s followed by actual knocking, so he gets up.It’s Eren. Not that he’s too surprised. The kid is holding two bowls covered with pots.“Thought you might be hungry...?” he says making it sound more like a question and giving him an insecure smile. Levi considers it but in the end he lets him in. Even though it’s this bloke who is responsible for his pretty much screwed wrist, who is he to reject food? Also, he actually looks apologetic. Hopefully, he won’t try to poison him or something.Eren is forced to wash the plates before using them and when he asks what’s the point, they were clean in the first place the answer Levi grumbles is “Don’t ask stupid questions” and the young man just shrugs and doesn’t question it anymore.The contents of the bowls smell just splendid. Like food. An actual food. Not just ramen noodles, pizza or whatever microwave shit Levi’s been eating for the last, he doesn’t even know. Sometimes he would go to a restaurant, but those were only special occasions. Last time he was in a restaurant it was with Erwin and Hanji and the waiter asked him for his ID to prove his age when ordering a wine. The shitty four-eyes almost choked as she laughed, and Erwin didn’t even bother to cover his amusement. Arseholes.“Did you make it?” Levi asks during the meal. Eren nods. “I know it’s just pasta, but-”“Shut up. It’s brilliant,” Levi cuts him off. The kid can actually cook. Suddenly the sentence of “If you need anything just tell me” sounds so much more promising.“Really?” Eren sounds excited and then he coughs awkwardly, making Levi almost smirk. “So, I didn’t quite catch your name.”Levi looks up from his plate. The look Eren is giving him is suspicious somehow. “It’s Levi.”At that Eren grins and Levi knows what he’s on about. “Like the writer? Levi... Something...?”Something. Levi grumbles. “What, want an autograph?”“Actually, I already have one. From last year’s tour.”Levi has been on tour with two books of his trilogy ‘Wings of Freedom’, which follows story of a Captain in a certain military fraction which fights giant monsters. After the first one was met with such a great success Erwin, as his publisher, to his displeasure suggested it would be very good for the promotion.“I love the series,” Eren proclaims, the tone of his voice enthusiastic. “We always did RP’s with my sister and friend. I was usually the Shifter. You know, I actually cried when the Captain died in the last book.” He stops and the way he turns red along with the look on his face is hilarious. “Don’t laugh,” he buries his face in his hands.Levi looks amused. “Why would I laugh at my fans.” No, really, they might be annoying sometimes, but they bloody feed him.He couldn’t really deny the fact he felt quite unsettled about killing his main character himself. Although he was aware how much it will probably piss the readers off, he couldn’t help it. Even though it left the series an open ending he knew it was finished for good. There just wasn’t anything else he had to say. No matter how hard he tried the inspiration was gone. He doesn’t know what happens next, if the humanity wins or is lost.Eren looks up at him again, he looks calmer now and is smiling.Levi is the one to break the eye-contact. “You should take care of this,” he nods towards the plates.“Yeah. Sure,” Eren says as he looks away quickly, probably realising he was staring.“You’ll need to wash my floor too,” Levi announces, and the kid turns to him with an incredulous look. “Not now, idiot.”-It’s two weeks later when Levi meets Eren’s sister. He’s standing in his doorway watching the kid scrubbing the floor in front of his flat.“You missed a spot,” he tells him at the same moment a young woman climbs the stairs. “Eren? What the hell are you doing?” she asks shooting a sharp glare in Levi’s direction and then turns back to Eren who is now standing up.“I’m helping Levi here. You remember? I told you about him,” he answers. “This is Mikasa, my sister,” he introduces her and she shoots him another glare.“What-“ she starts angry.“Mikasa, it’s okay. It’s my fault he can’t do it himself,” Eren interrupts her.“You can’t be serious,” she says unbelievably.“Here’s the key, I’ll just finish this.” Mikasa still looks fairly upset but takes the key.“Fine,” she mumbles and shoots Levi another death glare before she departs.“Sorry,” Eren says. “I told her I’d probably be here if not at my place.”Levi shrugs. It’s not like he really cares if other people like him. There’s only so much people he can stand after all. Not that he dislikes people, it’s just that well... he dislikes people. They are so obnoxious, loud, whiny and he could just go on. Sometimes he’s not really sure how he actually managed living with Hanji for a whole year and half. Or how is it possible that sometimes he even misses her company.In the end though, they have a history. If she had refused the promotion back then they might even still be together. Or maybe not, not that it matters anyway.Besides that she helped him with the technical part of his novels. In one of the former versions the characters were able to fly, which he found sort of ridiculous, so he tried to figure out some mechanism, that would allow them to jump high enough to take down the monsters.It was also her who kept persuading him to send it to other publishers even after getting so many rejection letters, they could repaper the whole flat with them.Eren hands him the cleaning supplies and with “Later” he follows his sister.He’s back in the evening with hot meal. It has become a habit since the first day and Levi can’t really say he’s complaining. Sometimes he actually lets Eren stay and watch a film or two. He could even say he appreciates the company, but of course, he won’t.During those evenings Levi found out Eren isn’t exactly as quiet and understanding of when to keep silent as he might have appeared at first.He’s actually quite loud and he complains a lot. Usually about his co-worker in the comic shop or things he has watched or red.The other day said co-worker apparently left in the middle of the shift leaving all the work for Eren. The kid was furious. Day later he came with a funny story of how he put a drawing pin on the co-worker’s chair as a revenge. That little bugger looked so self satisfied when he spoke about it. “Serves him well,” he finished.Sometimes he complains about what his friends did or said. For example Mikasa said something about him going a little overboard, when he told her the drawing pin story and Eren didn’t quite agree.He gets angry about those things quite often, but surprisingly he doesn’t get upset with Levi.When they sit on Levi’s couch, the kid tends to speak during the films, not too much to disregard it though. Usually it’s just comments on the characters or plot twists in the story.But as surprising as it sounds he doesn’t even mind it that much. The kid has a nice voice. Not too deep, kind of soft. And Levi thinks he could be a fine voice actor.That one night, or maybe it’s morning already, they are watching Kiki’s delivery service and as the credits roll down the screen Levi occasionally hears silent snoring. He looks at his companion to see him dozing off. His head leaning on the top of the sofa’s backrest and it will probably feel as comfortable as weeks of constipation in the morning.He notices how calm the usually very expressive face looks, it’s almost unnatural, but sort of beautiful. Levi really doesn’t feel like creeping on the young man while he’s sleeping, so he gets up and takes a blanket from the cupboard in his bedroom. When he comes back he adjusts the pillows on the couch and carefully shifts Eren to lie more comfortably. The kid mutters something unintelligible in his sleep but doesn’t wake up. Levi throws the blanket over him and before heading off to his bed he turns off the TV.In the morning he’s woken up by a slightly distant sound of slamming and banging sounds from his kitchen. At first he thinks someone broke into his flat, but then he remembers yesterday’s night-slash-today’s early morning.“Good morning,” Eren greets him as he enters the kitchen.“’Morning,” Levi replies as he takes a seat at the table. Eren starts apologizing about falling asleep, but Levi interrupts him with the usual “Shut up” because really, he doesn’t mind.As Eren puts a plate in front of him, he hears himself mumble "I could get used to this."-Another week later he makes Eren drive him to the hospital for a check up. There’s still the option of public transport, but that’s out of question, and yes, he could call a taxi, but why to make phone calls and talk to people when he already has someone to drive him.Although, he could still call his friends, he knows Hanji would most likely laugh at him because of the whole thing and he doesn’t want to bother Erwin, who would probably tell Hanji. So the last possibility is Eren. And honestly, Eren actually looks happy about it.Not that he really manages to avoid his usually too enthusiastic friend anyway. She appears on his doorstep few days later.“Wow, so you’re still alive,” she greets him as he opens the door.“Nice to see you too.”She looks him over and as expected her look stops on the cast. “What happened to you?” she asks, because her idea of what he does all day is most likely him sitting home alone and sipping tea. Seriously. No.“I wiped my arse too hard,” he replies.“Aww, you have to be more delicate while handling your butt,” she answers.He steps aside to let her in.Later on they are joined by Erwin, who couldn’t make it earlier. So in the evening when Eren knocks on the door, he’s very surprised.“Sorry, I didn’t know you had friends over.”“Yeah, neither did I.”“I’ll come another time,” he excuses himself.But then Hanji appears next to Levi, pushing him aside and dragging Eren into the flat. “The more the merrier,” she chippers and Levi rolls his eyes. Eren shoots him an apologetic look but he just shrugs in response.“There’s probably not enough for everyone,” Eren holds out the bowls.Hanji just waves him off.“I didn’t know you had other friends, Levi,” Erwin notes and snorts when the shorter man glares at him.Somehow they manage to introduce among themselves. As Levi watches the scene he feels something. He doesn’t like it. Erwin and Hanji are his friends, yes. Best friends, in fact. But these evenings were supposed to be his and Eren’s. Eren was supposed to be his. Not literally, of course.It’s the same thing he would sometimes get after introducing them into a book or series he liked and while he wanted to share it, he didn’t, because it was his, but not really. It’s rather confusing and hard to explain.His guess is, it’s caused by interrupting the schedule they kind of established in the past few weeks. He doesn’t really like messing up schedules, after all. Or maybe he never really cared about schedules and is just jealous. But no, that’s certainly not the case. There’s no reason.-It takes another three weeks until he gets rid of the cast completely.Those past two months were suffering. It’s all itchy underneath the cast and he can literally feel all the germs crawling all over his arm. Biting and penetrating the skin. Just the mental image makes him sick. There were several occasions he considered simply breaking the bleeding cast in order to wash his left hand and then get a new one. He wasn’t so sure if the acting skills of his neighbour would work the second time, though and the image of the overcrowded waiting room made him reconsider the idea.He wants to burn the thing down, but before he can make it into ritual sacrifice the doctor throws it into the waste bin.In the evening Eren knocks on the door as usual and when Levi opens he notices, the look on his face seems sort of insecure, which is something he hasn’t seen in a while. He figures the kid isn’t sure if he’s still welcomed since Levi doesn’t have the plaster cast anymore. When he steps away from the door to let him in Eren smiles so widely he practically beams and Levi thinks of how good he looks. “So are you working on something now?” Eren asks while taking their plates to the sink, he even does it automatically now, and after a bit of scolding he’s been able to wash them properly. There is a hint of expectation and maybe even excitement in his voice.“No.”Eren’s face falls. “Why not?” he asks, his tone disappointed.“Feels like I already said all I had to,” Levi answers. They stare at each other for a while and Eren shifts uncomfortably. Levi looks away. The sound of water running breaks the silence.Few hours later the kid is leaving. “Levi?” he turns around just in time before Levi can close the door.“Yeah?” he looks up.“I’m throwing a Christmas party,” Eren says.“Brilliant,” he says deadpan.“Would you like to come?”“Spend my night hanging out with shitty brats half my age? My dreams are coming true,” Levi responds sarcastically and regrets immediately when he sees Eren’s hopeful look fall second time that night. “I don’t really celebrate Christmas. Besides there’s that ‘tradition’ that shitty four-eyes came up with because ‘Nobody should be alone on Christmas’,” Levi rolls his eyes as he repeats Hanji’s words. The tradition being him, Hanji and Erwin hitting as many bars as possible.“Ah, okay,” Eren answers, the disappointment still on his face and Levi realises Eren is actually one of the brats half his age. Well shit.“See you tomorrow?”Eren shrugs. “I guess.”-“It’s snowing,” Eren shouts excitedly at him exactly the moment Levi opens the door.“It’ll probably rain soon, so it’ll melt away,” Levi answers and Eren gives him a pleading look. He returns with an annoyed sigh before grabbing his coat.He’s quite relieved Eren doesn’t seem bothered by the yesterday’s rejection.“It looks as if someone took a giant sugar shaker and sprinkled everything,” Levi notes when he steps out of the block of flats and hears Eren laugh next to him.“Right now I can’t believe you’re an author of a bestseller.”“Eren," he says, and the young man shoots him a curious look. "Shut up.”The thin layer of snow really reminds him of sugar. He’s not exactly sure what Eren’s former plan was but after a while of walking around they end up sitting on a bench in a park watching the snow fall to the ground. It’s rather cold. They don’t talk. The silence is only interrupted by occasional passing of a car or laughing of some teenagers in a distance.The sky gets darker and darker.“My arse is freezing to the seat,” Levi says. Eren looks at him and bursts into laughter. The older man doesn’t really understand what’s so funny. Seriously, his bollocks have probably crawled all the way up to his stomach ages ago. He gets up from the bench and walks back the way they came here and Eren follows him.The kid doesn’t cook tonight, they just order some pizza. While waiting for the delivery Levi makes the tea, because tea is good with anything, fuck you very much, and Eren is going through his film collection.“You like Buffy?” he asks excitedly.“No, I own the whole series because I hate it,” Levi replies as he puts a tray on the coffee table.Eren chuckles. “I grew up on that series,” he explains then. He’s silent for a minute, glancing from the cover, he’s currently holding, to Levi and back.They end up watching the second season.Sometime around ‘Lie to Me’ Eren rests his head on Levi’s shoulder and just now he realises how close the kid’s been sitting all the time. The next thing he knows is, that it’s actually quite comfortable.It’s been a while since anyone dared to get this close to him physically. And for the most cases he can’t really complain. It’s not that he doesn’t like touching, because he actually does, but it’s not that anyone can just jump at him and touch him however he pleases. Well, unless they’re masochist who feels like getting to know his boots very closely. There’s also the exception called Hanji, who simply doesn’t give a flying fuck about anyone’s comfort zone, and Levi is too used to her for that matter, that he doesn’t mind. Erwin on the other hand usually keeps his distance.But he’s very comfortable with Eren pressed to his side. Warmth radiating from his body. He seems a little tense, though. The tension goes away the exact moment Levi lightly leans his head against Eren’s.-He spots Hanji and Erwin at one of the tables, when the brunette notices his approach she says something to the tall man, and rushes towards him. Before he can do anything she places reindeer antlers on his head.“Merry Christmas!” she shouts enthusiastically as she hugs him. He pushes her away and she groans. “Where’s your Chrismas spirit?”“Ho ho fuckin’ ho,” Levi deadpans and Hanji laughs again.As they sit down Levi takes off the antlers and puts it on the table.“You two are no fun,” Hanji whines.“We got a Jägermeister for starters,” Erwin announces and Levi’s mind wanders to his neighbour. Hanji looks at the blond man and chuckles. Levi takes the bottle and pours himself a glass.“So what about your neigbour?” she asks then.Levi downs the glass and grins lightly at the burning liquid going down his throat.“What about him?”“’He still makes you dinners?”He pours himself another one.“Maybe.”-In the morning - or maybe early afternoon would be more accurate expression - one of the first things he does is running to the bathroom and giving a big hug to the toilet bowl, getting out the contents of his stomach – his current archenemy. He’s not sure when was the last time he got as shitfaced as yesterday.He’s so bloody sick and it’s so bloody gross. The sour taste in his mouth makes even worse.Why does he drink again? It’s the question he has been asking himself for years. Maybe he’s too old for this.It feels like he has been sitting there for hours, when his intestines finally decide to calm down. Or maybe there isn’t anything else to barf anymore. Not that it matters. He pulls himself up and moves to the washbasin to brush his teeth, flushing the toilet along the way.As he catches his image in the mirror he groans. He’s paler than usual and the bags under his eyes are even worse. He looks like a zombie shit, he thinks.His head is still spinning. Levi goes through the first aid kit to find some painkillers, lightly doubtful they will work, but what the hell.On his way to the kitchen he notices the calendar, which surprisingly says it’s the twenty fifth of December. Brilliant. Maybe once he could spend his birthday other way than spewing his guts inside out. Maybe next year. There’s a knocking on the door. Oh, who could that be? He opens the door to Eren. The brat looks as bad as his own reflection.“Hey,” his voice sounds just as tired as he looks.Levi reaches out a hand, his palm up, which earns him a confused look.“Do you have any painkillers?”Levi sighs. “That’s the worst Birthmas ever, you know?” No, it really isn’t. It’s the same every year.The confusion on Eren’s face goes even deeper. “What?”“It’s my birthday, nitwit. ‘S even on the bloody Wikipedia, jeez.”Realisation seems to dawn on the younger man’s face. “It’s the twenty fifth.”“No shit, Sherlock.”The brunet whines running his hands over his face, through his hair and ruffling it even more. Cute dork. “Wait here.”Eren runs off to the stairs, leaving Levi baffled. Great, now he’s a dog. He closes the door and goes to the kitchen, he wanted to make himself a tea, after all. Then he moves to his bedroom and takes a neatly wrapped package from the wardrobe.When he opens the door the second time the brat is grinning at him giving him a not so neatly wrapped package, that has probably more tape than paper.When he gives Eren his present he gets a surprised look.“I thought you don’t do Christmas.”“Fine, give it back then.”“No.”Levi actually needs to get scissors to open the package, because it’s impossible to get inside. It’s a film. And Levi is very pleased. Because he bloody loves How to Train Your Dragon.Although, not feeling like twice used toilet paper, he would be able to appreciate it a little better. But that goes for anything at the moment.“I remembered you saying Hanji never returned it so...” Eren’s voice trails off and he shrugs. “There you are.”Levi smirks at him. “Good.”“Please, tell me, you just didn’t wrap the painkillers.”Levi rolls his eyes. “No, you twit.” He nods to the first aid kit he placed on the kitchen table. “I even got you tea.” And didn’t even get a ‘thank you’, the youth these days.Eren unwraps the package and gives Levi an incredulous look. “A comb?”“Face it, you need one.”Eren laughs at first, then he goes pale and runs off to the bathroom. Levi’s only hope is he doesn’t make too much of a mess. It feels weird to just sit there though, so he takes the pills and fills a glass with water to bring it to the kid in the bathroom.As he gets up he realises how tired he actually feels.“There’s a few spare toothbrushes,” he motions to the cupboard under the washbasin. Eren seems to nod and Levi wanders back to the kitchen so that he can finish his tea before it gets cold.“You look terrible,” he proclaims as Eren comes out of the bathroom.“Thanks, you too.” The kid yawns. “Mind if I crush on your couch?”“Wouldn’t the bed be more comfortable?” At second thought, it doesn’t sound as the best thing he could say if Eren’s expression is anything to judge from. Maybe it didn’t sound exactly the way he meant it.Eren shrugs then. “Okay.”Levi’s bed is big enough so they fit in just fine. He takes the spare blanket from the wardrobe.They lay back to back.“Don’t you dare honk all over my bed.”Eren chuckles at that. “It was your idea anyway.”“No honking.”They don’t talk anymore. Levi listens as Eren’s breathing goes steady and deep.-Levi is woken up by the annoying sunrays and why the bleeding hell aren’t the bloody curtains closed. He rubs his eyes and sits, noticing Eren leaning against the headboard and reading the book he apparently picked from Levi’s night table. He notes he still feels sick, though it’s nothing in comparison with yesterday’s waking up.“Hey,” Eren says with a smile as he notices Levi isn’t asleep anymore. He has to note the kid looks much better than yesterday.Levi nods at him.“Fancy a breakfast?”The writer considers it, he hasn’t eaten yesterday, so that would probably be a good start. He affirms and then he heads to the shower.After the breakfast Eren returns to his flat and Levi takes out the detergents, because the place needs serious cleaning.Later in the afternoon Eren is at his place again asking him to go for a walk.“To that fucking freezer? It’s worse than bloody Jotunheim,” Levi grumbles.“Oh come on,” the kid whines, trying the puppy eyes.“You could just sit at the balcony,” Levi offers. Eren actually glares at him. “Seriously.”The kid sighs. “Please, just for a while.” Stubborn idiot.It’s not snowing, there is no snow at all. The sprinkling from few days ago didn’t stand any chance. It’s still fucking freezing though. No wonder they don’t meet anyone. Who in their right mind would even go out in this weather? Or maybe they were all eaten by frost giants.Levi can hear Eren’s teeth chatter from the cold and he rolls his eyes. He throws his scarf at him. “Let’s go home, brat.”When they get back to Levi’s he takes out all the blankets he has and takes them to the couch, while Eren makes the tea. As they curl under the covers Eren presses himself to Levi searching the heat. The latter just wraps his arm around him and pulls him closer, leaving his hand behind the kid’s neck touching his hair lightly.They watch How to Train Your Dragon.“It’s funny, because most of the film it’s quite sunny on Berk,” Eren comments on the intro.“You’re a berk,” Levi pokes his cheek with his other hand and the brat grins at him.During the Forbidden Friendship scene Levi can hear his chuckles muffled by the blankets. He’s not sure what is cuter, this part of the film or Eren’s reaction to it.The brunet smiles at him and he realises he’s been subconsciously playing with Eren’s hair for a while now.As the film nears the end Levi notices the sleeve on his shirt is getting wet. He shifts a little to look at Eren’s face. His expression is sort of bittersweet and there are apparent wet trails under his glassy eyes.“Are you crying?” he asks and Eren lifts his head, wiping the tears immediately.“No.” He sighs then. “I just remembered...” he stops and looks at Levi who is raising his eyebrows in question. “My father didn’t really take it well when I came out.”Oh.The next second Eren is smiling though. “And then the ending. It’s just so, you know.” He rubs at his neck. And he looks so sweet and dorky. Finally Levi realises the proximity between the two of them and it’s been a while something like this crossed his mind, but he just wants to kiss Eren. He doesn’t think of how stupid an idea it is. How it might ruin everything. They tend to start expecting things. Want more. But right now he couldn’t really care less.Levi cups Eren’s face and wipes the last remains of tears with his thumbs. He leans closer. Eren’s eyes widen a little. As he softly presses their lips together there’s a muffled sound of surprise. Eren’s lips are dry and chapped but warm. And it feels so right.The younger of them is somehow stiff though, and maybe it isn’t so right after all?When he pulls away Eren seems to protest just a bit though, and Levi is relieved. He didn’t fuck up.Eren gapes at him for a bit. “What was that for?”For being adorable little shit. For sticking around this long. For being stubborn pain in the arse. For being naive idiot. For being loud annoying brat, who sometimes doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up. For being so childish sometimes. For putting up with him.He smirks. “More tea?”Eren gives him a puzzled look and a nod.Levi manages to scramble out of the pile of blankets and takes the teapot to the kitchen. He leans against the table as he waits for the water to heat up. He realises how screwed he is. Because he likes Eren. Likes him a lot. And while he isn’t one to be insecure or self-conscious this is overwhelming, terrifying. It’s been a while since he felt like this about anyone.When he comes back he finds out Eren crawled out of the cocoon of blankets and is going through his film collection once more.He’s not quite sure how to act now. It’s not just the kiss, it’s the fact he just realised how much he cares for that little brat over there and he’s not sure when or how that even happened. Or what he wants to do with that. He was quite fine with the way things were until now. Maybe it’s the same case with Eren.The kid comes back with another film and crawls back into the blanket cocoon pressing himself almost impossibly close to Levi again. He feels Eren’s hand on his thigh and goes a little stiff. Last time he was in such situation it had much more sexual context and after voicing very clearly he wasn’t interested he was called “selfish narcissist” for “keeping ‘all that’ to himself”, which only made him feel sick of the realisation he was being looked upon like an object, piece of flesh.He doesn’t want things to go this way again, not with Eren. Levi shifts a little away then.-“See ya,” Eren says at the doorstep and Levi nods at him. He turns and makes two steps before turning around just second before the writer can close the door. “Levi?” he asks and the man in question has a weird déjà-vu feeling. He has seen this scene before.“What is it?” he asks.Eren looks at him, turns his gaze to the floor then to the window, after that to the stairs, back to the floor. He shifts. Takes a deep breath. Then he looks at Levi again. “Would you go out with me? As on a date?”Levi sighs. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”Eren frowns. “Why?” he asks confused. “Before... I thought...”“Sorry.”“What?” he says shaking his head. “First you’re all cuddly and suddenly you go so reserved.”“Eren,” he tries to interrupt him.“Did I do something wrong?” “What? No!” He runs a hand through his hair. What has he got himself into? He supposes it was the kiss that triggered this. Why did he had to do that? Why couldn’t Eren just let it go? It was just one bloody kiss, it shouldn’t even mean anything these days, right? “It’s just.... Look, I’m not exactly ‘dating’ person.”“Oh, so you just wanna get laid?” he looks hurt now.He’s getting it all wrong. But can he really blame him?“No, shitwit. I don’t wanna get laid.”Eren looks even more confused. “Then what’s the problem?”“I don’t wanna get laid. Like, at all. I just don’t shag.”Eren blinks. “What?”Levi groans. It’s not the kind of conversation he would like to have on his doorstep. “For fuck’s sake, just how thick you are?” his voice is calm as usual, though now it bears tracks of irritation.Eren’s jaw clenches. He actually looks quite pissed off and Levi would appreciate it if he manages to avoid shouting. “Yeah, I’m just and idiot who doesn’t even know how to wipe his arse properly.” Well, maybe next time.“That’s not what I said, idiot.” And there we go again. “Get your head out your arse and listen, you pile of monkey dump. What I’m trying to say is-““-you’re not interested. Fine. I get that.”“It’s not-““I’m tired,” he interrupts again voice firm and louder than necessary. “Goodnight, Levi.” Eren turns his back on him and he just stands there. He doesn’t try to go and stop him. In the end he smashes the door against the frame. He wants to kick something.One of the things that pisses him off the most is the fact that the only thing the brat could assume was he was only looking for a fuck. He wouldn’t even let him explain himself.-Eren isn’t back the next day, nor the day after and Levi isn’t even surprised. Now he’s only pretty much pissed off at himself, mostly because he actually misses him. He tried to pretend it’s only Eren’s cooking he misses, but then he remembered the conversations they had and the ‘funny’ stories he always had to tell after coming home from work, his warmth and soft hair and eyes so bright. He even misses all the complaints. It’s all so bloody ridiculous.The worst thing is that when there’s a knock on the door he gets so hopeful. Then he’s just disappointed when he sees Erwin.“I thought I gave you the key,” he says as he lets him in. But Erwin answers he wouldn’t like to interrupt his privacy like that. Levi snorts.“You’re quite unreachable,” Erwin notes then.The shorter man shrugs. “Didn’t feel like turning the phone on. Tea?” he asks as he takes the teapot to refill his own cup.“Fine with me,” he answers and Levi brings another cup for his friend.“Anyway, this came yesterday,” he hands him an envelope. Levi takes it. There’s his name on it but the address is the publisher house. When he reads it his eyes widen a bit.“Wha- they want to turn them into films?”“Apparently,” Erwin affirms waiting for any other statement from the writer’s part.“Is there a contract as well?” he mumbles as he goes through the papers. “I won’t sell them shit if they fuck up the script,” he says then.“I figured that. You should be even able to have a say in the casting for the characters.”“Not bad.” It’s bloody brilliant. He can imagine the reaction when he breaks the news to Eren, he’ll probably get all excited and will plan who to cast himself.His face falls. Shit. That’s not happening, is it.“Levi, are you alright?” Erwin asks as he puts the cup back on the saucer on the coffee table.“I’m fine. Just tired.”“I’ve known you for a while. You looked almost excited just a second ago. What is it?”Levi sighs he considers it for a minute and then he tells Erwin what happened with Eren. As he talks about it he realises how stupid it all sounds.It’s only affirmed when Erwin laughs at the end. “Sorry,” he says then when Levi glares at him. Neither of them says anything for a while. “So that’s all?” Erwin asks then, as if it isn’t clear.“Sod off,” Levi grumbles.“No, really. You’ve been sulking here for what, two days?”Levi’s only answer is “Tsk,” because no, he most definitely doesn’t sulk, what does that even mean, the word isn’t even in his vocabulary.“Didn’t you try to explain things to him?”“If that little tosser wouldn’t keep interrupting me, maybe I would have even managed that, you know?”Erwin sighs. “Do you like him?”“No, I hate that little piece of fuck,” he grumbles in response.Erwin raises his big eyebrows. No, really were they always this big, because that’s actually quite creepy.“Levi?”He is distracted from his friend’s eyebrows and sighs. “Yeah. But he’s an idiot.”“Well, two can play that game, am I right?”He gets another glare from Levi for that. They sit in silence for another couple of minutes. Erwin’s right, though. Levi feels like an idiot. He sighs. He’s still confused. “What am I supposed to do?”“Maybe you should apologize.”“I didn’t do anything.”“Well, you called him ‘a pile of monkey dump’, didn’t you.”“That might’ve been a little bit harsh,” he admits.“Yeah, a little bit.”For that matter the brat should be used to it anyway.“Great. And what next? We’re not gonna have a make up shag.”“Depends on what he has to say and the rest is up to you.”He runs a hand through his hair.“Should I like, dunno, get him flowers or some shit? How do you deal with crap like this?”“Just go talk to him.”-When he stands at Eren’s door, or at least he hopes he remembers correctly Eren’s place is on the third floor, he’s actually flustered and it irritates him. He’s having second thoughts again. What if it doesn’t work out? What if he says he’s not interested anymore? What if he says it’s all been a mistake? What if... Shit, just shut the fuck up. He takes a deep breath and knocks.There’s some shuffling inside and then a blond kid opens the door. And he was so sure Eren’s flat was on this floor.He probably looks confused because the kid asks “Looking for Eren?”“Yeah.”“He’s just cooking, wanna come in?”Levi shrugs, because why the hell not, he’s got this far so he’s not gonna back out now. The worst possible scenario is Eren kicking him out. Been there, done that. Well, sort of. Their situation can’t really get much worse, so whatever.The boy lets him in. “I’m Armin,” he introduces himself on the way.“Levi.”“Thought so.” Armin leads him to the living room connected to kitchen. He spots Mikasa sitting on the couch flipping through some magazine. Though he hasn’t seen it in a while Levi recognises the couch very well. That bloody thing caused him so much trouble. If it wasn’t for it, maybe he wouldn’t even stand here in the first place. As they enter the young woman looks up and nods as a greeting before returning her attention back to the magazine.“Hiya,” Eren grins from the kitchen part of the room and Levi doesn’t know what to think. Is this the same ignorant brat who basically told him to fuck off few days ago and then completely ignored him? Now acting like nothing happened?“Hey,” he answers in his usually calm voice.Levi sits in one of the two armchairs on the opposite of the couch and looks around. There’s a small library on the wall by the door, though there are some DVDs mixed between the books. There’s a desk with a closed laptop and few books next to it.He has to note the place looks quite neat and he has to wonder if it’s natural for Eren or if it’s thanks to his own constant bickering and telling him how to do things properly.Armin crashes on the armchair next to him and has the nerve to try for conversation. Levi’s not exactly in the mood to discuss anything with someone he just met. He just wants to get it over with Eren, so that he knows where he stands.“If I didn’t know you, I’d think you’re nervous,” Eren points out from the stove and Levi gives him an eye roll in return. Shit, how he missed those chuckles.After the dinner both Mikasa and Armin leave. Mikasa doesn’t seem twice pleased about it but Levi notices Armin giving Eren the thumbs up gesture before closing the door. As the door click the brunet takes a deep breath before turning to Levi. For a few seconds they just stare at each other expecting that one of them will start speaking.“So...”“So...”They both start at the same time and Eren laughs. Awkward.“You go first,” Levi says.“I’ve been thinking,” he starts and Levi has to bite his tongue so that he doesn’t interrupt him. The kid laughs. “Actually, I talked to Armin. I was so angry,” he looks away and after few seconds he continues. “I told him what you said,” Eren looks at him again. “He suggested... Levi, are you asexual?”In fact, he hates to be put in boxes, but that would be a way to say it. “You could say that,” he shrugs.Eren nods to show he understands, or at least sort of understands.“I like you, though,” Levi says then. “And I wasn’t sure how to put up with that shit. But I wanna be close to that idiotic mug of yours.”“Could you be serious for once?” Eren asks desperate and Levi just hopes he didn’t offend him again. Which reminds him, he came here to apologize in the first place. Whoops.“I am.”Eren sighs. “How do you cope with that?” Levi raises an eyebrow and Eren groans. “You said you don’t date.”“Usually I don’t,” Levi answers simply. He can’t even remember the last time he was on a date. Even with Hanji he couldn’t really call it ‘dating’ they just sort of coexisted, and it was the most comfortable relationship he has ever taken part in up to this point, but he absolutely wouldn’t call it ‘dating’.“What does that mean? For us?” Eren asks frowning.“I could make an exception,” he replies.“Would that work?” Eren asks.Levi rolls his eyes. “Do I look like some bloody prophet to you? I don’t know.” He really doesn’t have the slightest idea. He also doesn’t know what Eren is expecting from him. Even though he’s fine with doing certain things, there are limits. He doesn’t think he could do more than jerking him off. Blowing him or actually shagging is out of question, besides it being sweaty, filthy and gross in general the mere idea makes him uncomfortable. At some point he tried to overcome it, but never managed that.“I like you too,” Eren says then. “I wanna try it.”“You do realise we’re not gonna do the do.”“Yeah, I thought about it too. It will... it will be still the same right?”Levi sighs. He doesn’t want to rush the kid into anything. If Eren decides that it’s not enough in a few weeks it definitely wouldn’t be the best thing to ever happen to him. Also, shit would get awkward between them. No cuddling on the couch or nice walks around the freezer. And Levi actually enjoyed it, well, at least the first part. “Are you really sure about this? You’re young, maybe you should find someone normal.”He is smiling now. “I wanna be with you. Besides, you are normal.”Levi can feel his heart speed up at the last sentence. He never realised it just how much he wanted to hear that. After all those years of hearing shit like ‘you’re just playing hard to get’ or the pressure his parents used to put on him when they started to speak about grandchildren. Although he never wanted kids anyway and never really cared much about others’ opinions of him, it just added to the feeling there was something wrong with him. They never really spoke about their relationship with Hanji, it just was and that was it.“Fine.”Eren’s face brightens and he makes those few steps and wraps his arms around him. Levi pulls him closer. He is so warm and soft. And he apparently uses the softener with smell of violets. Or he borrowed his sister’s perfume. One of those.“’Suppose we can go on the date,” he mutters against his chest.“Yeah,” is all Eren says. Levi turns his head up to face him, digging his chin into Eren’s chest.“You’re such a dork.”The kid frowns and Levi moves one of his arms from his back and pokes him into the nose making him laugh.“What are you doing?” he asks playfully.“I have no bloody idea.” And he really doesn’t, but for once he feels content and that’s enough for him.
1093551	The Library	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Libraries (Anthropomorfic)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by uniquepov", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-22T00:00:00", "words": "100", "Additional Tags": "Yuletide Madness Drabble Invitational, yumadrin", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Yuletide Madness 2013", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	She is a part of me, and I am a part of her. I see her as she walks up the paved path to the front doors, laden with books and bags. I have watched her grow, nurtured her mind and her spirit as she sought shelter and escape within pages and words. From her first stuttering primer, her life has been lived here, with me, as much as any activities she might have outside these walls. I see our shared spark flickering away inside her, bright and shining amidst peace and tranquillity, sheltered from life’s battering winds and storms.
1022786	Other Lines of Work	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Elena Fisher, Chloe Frazer", "Fandom": "Uncharted (Video Games)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Kahika, Rhiannon87", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-29T00:00:00", "words": "7,985", "Additional Tags": "Friendship, Investigative Journalism", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Words With Friends", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	There are a number of things Elena misses about living in California, but the parking is not one of them. As she locks her rental car and starts the ridiculous walk to where she’s supposed to be meeting her contact (one Fiona Maxwell), she somewhat regrets taking the tip from Paul and coming back to California for it. But his bare bones rundown of the situation had been just intriguing enough to spark her curiosity, so here she is, walking to one of her former favorite meeting places--And checking her phone as it buzzes in her pocket. This close to a meeting, it could be her tipper bailing, but it turns out it’s just an alert on Draw Something for Chloe’s latest scribble. Elena squints at it briefly before heading inside the restaurant.Paul’s description of Fiona had been just as thin as the tip: dark hair, dark blue jacket, easy on the eyes. Elena sighs and glances around the restaurant. Maybe this contact will recognize her-- she stops and does a double-take when she spots Chloe sitting at a corner table. What the hell is she doing here? Chloe being in California isn’t that strange. Chloe being in California at the same time as Elena and in the same restaurant as her? Kind of weird.Elena checks her watch and glances around the restaurant again. She’s a couple minutes early, she can at least say hello before tracking down this contact. “Hey, Chloe,” she calls as she heads for the table. “Small world, huh?”Chloe puts away her phone once she makes eye contact, and though she’s smiling, she also looks somewhat distracted. “Sure seems like it, sunshine. I didn’t know you were in town.”“I’m just here for a couple days,” she says and looks around the restaurant again. “I’m actually supposed to be meeting a contact...” Something clicks as she glances back at Chloe. Dark hair, dark blue jacket... “Oh. You’re not. Are you?” Elena raises her eyebrows. “Fiona?”Halfway through a sip of water, Chloe chokes, but waves her off as she coughs through it. “Alright,” she gets out at last. “You caught me. What are the odds? I was expecting Paul would send me a local.”“He owes me a few favors, so he still throws me tips every now and then,” Elena says and pulls out the chair across from Chloe. Of all the possible sources... well, at least she wouldn’t have to go through the song-and-dance of getting a paranoid tipper to trust her. “He was pretty light on the details. What’s going on?”Chloe glances around the room (Elena catches her gaze fixing on a point above and behind her) before leaning in closer to answer, her voice dropping. “A friend of mine got me this job that, strangely, doesn’t involve high speed chases or gunfights, just driving from point A to point B--”“You’re a chauffeur,” Elena says, trying not to smile at the mental image.“Well,” sighs Chloe. “In this economy...”“Hi!” chirps a girl nearby. Elena glances up to see their waiter. “I’m Courtney, and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I get you anything to drink to start with?”Elena sighs, trying to contain her annoyance at the interruption. “Just water for me, thanks,” she says.“Sure!” Courtney says. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with our daily specials.”Elena makes a face as she hurries off. “The service has gotten better since I was here last,” she grumbles.Chloe raises an eyebrow. “It took me almost five minutes to get this water,” she says.“They used to only stop at a table two, maybe three times,” Elena says. “That’s why I liked this place for interviews. Almost no interruptions.” She pulls out her notebook and thumbs it open to a clean page. “So, you were telling me about your chauffeur job?” she prompts with an amused smirk. She couldn’t help it. The mental image of Chloe wearing a suit and one of those silly hats while driving a limo through Sacramento traffic was pretty entertaining.“I’m the best in the legal business too,” Chloe says with a mock-offended sniff, and when Elena continues to smirk, she adds, “Look, there isn’t a lot of work at the moment and I’m paying rent on four and a half places in three different currencies. A semi-permanent address in this country is good for business, but it has its price tag.”“Okay,” says Elena, lifting her hands in surrender. “I’m not judging. But something tells me you weren’t looking for a reporter to complain about the economy.”Chloe takes a long drink of water and another glance around the room before going on.“My client likes to speak French to his friends, especially around the staff,” she says. “His accent’s atrocious, but I haven’t said anything because I don’t really care if he’s screwing the secretary or whoever it is this week. And no,” she adds. “This isn’t a sex scandal.”“If it was, I’d have given you the numbers of a few gossip columnists here who’d love the scoop,” Elena says dryly.Chloe’s smile seems a bit forced. “So I was driving him and a mate last week to this new Italian restaurant, and I’m mostly tuning them out, just trying to keep from correcting his pronunciation, until he mentions-- my friend.” Chloe hesitates for a second before clarifying. “The one who got me the job.”“What’s your friend’s connection?” Elena asks absently, drawing lines between her notes.“Well, it’s gone sour now,” Chloe says, poking at the ice cubes in her glass with her straw. It occurs to Elena that she still hasn’t gotten her water. Not that she wants Courtney to come back anytime soon. “Sounded like he was gloating -- I tuned in and he was so proud of himself for getting her to adjust something in his finances even though she didn’t want to.” Again, Chloe glances up to what Elena now suspects is a security camera behind her. “He said he’d have her arrested if she didn’t, and I’m thinking, no wonder she always looks so miserable at work lately, she always said she was okay --”“Chloe --”“So his friend says, well, hopefully she knows you’re serious, not like that dumb bitch you had before her --”“Chloe.” Elena sets down her pen and pushes her notebook aside, leaning forward over the table. This is going nowhere good, and Chloe’s just talking in circles.“And it sounded like this has been going on for years. I’m hardly an expert on Californian history, but they were talking about -”“Chloe!” Elena risks raising her voice a little to cut into Chloe’s rambling. Chloe cuts off mid-sentence and blinks at her. Elena sighs. “Who’s your client?”Chloe looks fairly miserable as she leans forward, her elbows on the table and her shoulders slumped. She glances up at the presumed camera again before speaking. “Lieutenant Governor Robert Leavitt,” she half-mumbles.Elena’s jaw drops. “Wha--”“Here’s your water!” Courtney announces, and Chloe jerks back. “Our specials today are--”“We’re, uh, we’re fine,” Elena cuts in. “We’re still looking.” She taps the closed, untouched menus in front of them. Courtney’s face falls, and Elena makes a mental note to leave the poor kid a decent tip.“Well, just let me know when you’re ready!” Courtney says, trying to put the smile back on, and she scurries off.Elena takes a sip of water and looks back at Chloe. She hadn’t exactly been expecting to uncover a corruption scandal involving the Lieutenant Governor when she’d stepped off the plane. “I need anything else you can give me,” Elena says, pulling her notebook towards her again. “Names of anybody else who might be involved, anything else suspicious you might’ve heard...” She trails off and starts scribbling down notes, ideas for what her next steps might be. “Can you ask your friend to -”“Absolutely not,” Chloe says firmly. “She’s been through a lot already: some guy she was in love with was murdered, her brother disappeared a few years ago and they still won’t give her a death certificate... She moved to California for a fresh start, and as brilliantly as that’s going, I still don’t want to put her in more danger than she already is.”Elena frowns, but it’s the most sure Chloe’s looked of anything since she sat down. “Wow, Chloe,” she says quietly. “You’re really sticking your neck out for this friend.”Recognition of her own words dawns on Chloe’s face, and she shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “We have a lot in common.”Recognizing that the friend was a dead end, Elena decides to let it drop. There are other angles she can take on this. “What about Leavitt’s friend?” she asks. “He have a name?” * “Twenty dollars for water,” Chloe mutters, as soon as Elena closes the door.“We sat there for an hour and a half and didn’t order anything,” Elena says.“Twenty dollars,” Chloe feels the need to repeat. She will never understand tipping culture. “I thought the guideline was eighteen percent.” And eighteen percent of zero was not twenty dollars.Elena waves a hand dismissively. “Do you need a ride back to your place?” she asks, apparently done trying to defend her insane overpayment.Chloe shakes her head. “I’m parked not too far off from here. And maybe I’m being paranoid, but we probably shouldn’t be seen together too much.”“Probably a good idea,” Elena says. “I’ll see what I can dig up. It might take a few days, though. You should try to keep acting normal-- show up to work and everything.”“I can do normal,” Chloe says, her smile a little grim. “Especially if it means I might overhear more potential leads. Besides, I look surprisingly good in the uniform hat.”Elena smirks back and nods. “If you can get any more information, that would be great, but don’t risk yourself or your friend for it. I know a few people in town who should be able to help me out.”“Of course not,” says Chloe, somewhat appalled that Elena Fisher of all people is telling her not to risk herself or someone else for something. Tipping off that old coworker of hers had been a big enough risk already, and having it go to someone she knows is only mildly reassuring: sure, she knows fighting injustice and saving innocent people is Elena’s thing, but it’s her first time working with Elena on her own investigative turf rather than in the treasure hunting industry. “You’ll keep me updated, yeah? It’ll be nice to have some warning if I need to go job hunting again.”“Probably ought to start job hunting now,” Elena replies with a wry smile. “If this is as bad as you’re saying, your employer isn’t gonna have much need for any kind of staff in a few weeks.”“Tell Nate I’m putting him down as a reference again.”“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” Elena glances around the mostly empty street. “We probably ought to get going. I’ll call you when I have something.”Chloe looks down the intersection, but hesitates before turning. “Elena? Thanks.”Elena smiles. “You’re welcome,” she says. “Be careful.” * Elena looks up from her reading at the sound of a knock on her hotel room door. She glances around at the nest of printouts, notes, and laptop she’s made, then clears a path to the edge of the bed. She grabs a handful of cash from her purse to pay for dinner, and once she’s got the bag of delicious-smelling fried food in hand, settles in at the small table by the windows. She doesn’t want to get ketchup on her notes. Again.Even though taking a break while she’s eating would probably be the better idea, Elena pulls out her phone and scrolls through her contacts one-handed until she find’s Chloe’s latest number. It’s been a few days, and she might as well give her an update on the situation. As the phone starts to ring, Elena clicks it over to speakerphone and sets it on the table, then starts unpacking her dinner.The phone rings a few more times than Elena had expected (was Chloe working tonight?) before Chloe picks up. “Hey.”“Hey, Chloe,” Elena says. “I wanted to let you know how things are going-- do you have a minute?”She can hear another woman’s voice, faint and further away, and Chloe says something muffled, then adds, clearly, “Yeah, I’d love to hear it.”Elena frowns slightly, then shrugs. “Well, it’s not going as well as I’d like,” she says. “I’ve managed to get enough dirt on that friend of his that he’d probably wind up in prison, but not enough to do anything about Leavitt.”“Oh, no,” says Chloe, sounding more comforting than Elena would have thought. “That’s too bad.”Elena pauses with a french fry halfway to her mouth. Chloe had been pretty upset by the whole situation when they’d last talked. Either something has changed and Chloe no longer cares-- unlikely-- or for some reason, she can’t speak freely right now. Since Chloe also doesn’t seem to be trying to escape from the phone call, Elena decides she might as well keep filling her in. “I’m leaning on some other contacts in town, but it might be a few more days before I get anywhere.” If she gets anywhere at all. There aren’t many people here who owe her favors. “Are you sure your friend can’t--”“No, of course not,” Chloe says emphatically. “Why would you even think I’d need a reminder not to bring satay to your potluck dinner? I know your husband’s allergic to peanuts.”Elena rolls her eyes. So much for that. “Then I guess Nate’s been eating all those peanut butter and banana sandwiches to build up an immunity,” she replies dryly. She sighs and rubs a hand across her forehead. “That’s really all I’ve got right now. If you hear or see anything, let me know. But be careful.” Chloe probably doesn’t need the reminder, but it’s habit by now.“Yeah, of course,” says Chloe. “See you at the dinner.”Chloe hangs up, and Elena’s getting back to eating her dinner when her phone lights up with a text a few minutes later: “got my frend ovr sry” Well. That explains that, at least. Elena looks at the mess of papers waiting for her, then checks her watch. It’s not too late in Florida; she can probably catch Nate before he goes to bed. Then back to work. * Unknown number found these in his car IMG_0024.JPG IMG_0025.JPG IMG_0026.JPG IMG_0027.JPG Elena Fisher Who is this? Unknown number Fiona sry Elena Fisher Oh. Are these the best quality pics you got? Fiona Maxwell i had abt 2 min 2 get these yes Elena Fisher Okay. I’ll see what I can get from them. Kind of hard to read. Any idea what the docs were about? Fiona Maxwell funding 4 nxt campaign contacts - priv8 phone lines i think Elena Fisher Okay, thanks. I’ll let you know if I’m able to get anything from these. * Chloe's not stupid. She knows her latest phone's camera isn't the best and the lighting made the photos even worse. She knows a brush off when she reads one. And she knows, when the Lieutenant Governor says on the phone that someone's snooping around and they need to destroy the evidence, that she needs to move fast.This isn't her finest work, she knows that too. She'd rather have a full on diversion set up, ideally a person who can stall for more time if needed, but there isn't anyone here who trusts her enough to take that risk for her, bar Elena, who's probably pretty unimpressed with her already after those poor quality cellphone photos. Instead, all she has is ten stolen minutes. She's cultivated a habit of turning up with the car fifteen minutes early to appointments, "just in case," she tells the Lieutenant Governor, even though the earliest he's ever been is five minutes and it's slightly more likely for his appointments to run over time. (Before this whole blackmail thing came up, the most interesting part of her job had been getting him places on time despite his coming out late from the last one.) Any earlier might arouse suspicion; any later definitely would.She's picking him up from the State Capitol later than usual tonight. Some kind of closed-door meeting with a few Senate committee chairs or something like that. As much as she suspects he won't get out on time, she'd rather not risk this being the one time he's early.Chloe pulls up to her usual idle spot by the door, but rather than pulling out her phone and trying to come up with a word that has the letter V (Elena beats her at this game all the time), she leaves the car idling and gets out for a quick chat with security. This kid knows her by now, so it only takes an excuse about needing the restroom and a smile to get her inside.She heads in the direction of the nearest restroom until she's sure she's out of sight, and then she changes course for the Lieutenant Governor's office, carefully aiming for the security cameras' blind spots. In the stillness of the mostly empty Capitol, her dress shoes sound too loud on the mosaic floors. Idly, Chloe wishes she had her gun, but her suit's just form-fitting enough that it would show.Leavitt's office doesn't have cameras, she suspects so there's no record of what he brags about doing with the secretary. It works out better for her, as she slips behind his desk looking at the door rather than for any cameras. She holds up a tiny LED flashlight to check the speakers are off before she boots up his computer and plugs in one of the two USB flash drives from her pocket. The hacker who'd sold this to her had tried to explain brute force attacks to her (she'd been picturing Charlie beating up a merc on a job in Casablanca; computers don’t make as much sense to her as cameras) before giving up and just telling her the program on it could guess passwords fast, and it certainly does that well: in thirty seconds, she's in.She switches USB sticks to an empty one and clicks around. The finances folder sounds promising, so she starts copying it to the empty flash drive. Employee records too, perhaps -- he could have made good on his threat of arrest with some long ago employee, and that abrupt firing before the end of a contract would show. She clicks, drags, and compares the time remaining for the copying to finish to the time remaining for the meeting."Hurry up," Chloe mutters.Rather than stew anxiously, she eases open a nearby drawer, memorizing the way it's laid out now, and rifles through the folders there. One has a red X in the corner, which one of the paper pushing interns said is how Leavitt marks documents he wants shredded, so she opens it, pulling the small digital SLR camera Charlie got her for Christmas from another pocket. She's already preset it to macro mode with a high ISO, so when she holds her flashlight up, she's confident these will be much better quality than the photos she took with her phone only yesterday. She snaps, glancing at the file transfer and the door between every photo.It seems an eternity before the files are copied over. She puts the paper folders back the way she found them, pulls the USB stick from the computer (life's too short to safely eject external memory, she always thinks; Harry never did), and shuts it down, not bothering to wait for it to shut down all the way before she leaves the office, gadgets back in her pockets. Her heartrate's up as she heads back out to the exit, and Chloe realizes with a jolt that she's smiling -- the stakes may not be as immediately high as a good drive with someone shooting at her, but oh, she'd missed this.The security guy's looking a little suspicious and a little curious when she returns (still within the ten minutes she'd given herself but probably a bit long for the bathroom), but just nods sympathetically when she says, "I had a bad tacquito for dinner. You know that place over in Natomas?"Leavitt's seventeen minutes late and complaining about the Education committee as soon as he gets in the car. Chloe smiles, and nods along to his whining, making the appropriate noises of sympathy when necessary. * Entering her hotel room is a delicate struggle of getting her key card back into her pocket and trying to balance her bag, notebook, and coffee, but when Elena sees Chloe sitting on her bed and tapping her phone into her hand, she nearly drops everything.“Chloe,” Elena starts, scrambling to set her things down; Chloe immediately stands. “How did you get into -- how did you even find my --”“I’ve been trying to call you,” Chloe cuts in.“My phone died,” Elena explains. Time for a new battery, she suspects. “You could’ve left a message at the front desk, breaking into my room is--”“Gretchen’s been arrested,” Chloe blurts out.Elena blinks at her. “Who?”“My friend,” Chloe says impatiently. “The one who was being blackmailed?”“Of course,” she says faintly and dumps her non-coffee belongings on the desk. It’s been five days since Chloe had given her a USB flash drive of much more useful files, and she’s been busy chasing down leads. “When? And how? And why?”“This morning,” Chloe says, starting to pace. “Officially it’s for attempted extortion -- Leavitt’s claiming she was trying to blackmail him.”Elena pulls out the desk chair and sinks into it. “Are you serious?” she mutters, more to herself than Chloe, and rubs a hand over her eyes. “Blackmailing him over what?”Chloe makes a face. “His affair with the secretary. His story’s that she’s making it up because she wants a raise.”“And I’m guessing he really had her arrested because of my investigation,” Elena says. With a sigh, she sets down her coffee and digs her notebook and a pen out of her bag. And things had been going so well today, too.“It was because of me,” Chloe says. “He was on edge because of your investigation, so he put a -- I think it’s called a keylogger -- on his computer, and he could see what I copied. He thought it was her.”Chloe sits back down on the bed and buries her face in her hands. Elena lets out a slow breath. “I was gonna call you when I got back,” she says. “The files you got me were everything I needed-- between the discrepancies in his financials and his friend’s highly irregular tax records, there’s more than enough to get a formal investigation going.” Her plan had been to call Chloe with the good news, then call her network and ask for a camera crew ASAP. She’d been composing the report in her head on the way up to her room. But none of that would help Chloe’s friend. “That’s great,” Chloe says dully, without lifting her head. “I don’t suppose there’s enough to get ten thousand dollars for her bail?”“Um. No.” Elena shakes her head. “I mean, the official investigation might eventually turn up a forgery, or he might drop the case against her to deal with this, but... that’s not a guarantee. And it’d probably take too long, anyway. We need to find a way to clear her name.”“And how are we going to do that?” Chloe asks and finally looks up.Elena hesitates for a second. “I’m not sure yet,” she says slowly. “These blackmail letters-- were they letter-letters or e-mails?”“E-mails,” Chloe says. “The techies say it was definitely sent from Gretchen’s computer.”Elena picks up her coffee and takes a sip, mulling over options. “If they were sent from her computer, but she didn’t send them, then someone else must have had access.“ She stares thoughtfully across the room, then refocuses her attention on Chloe. “I need to talk to the rest of his staff,” she says. “Someone might have seen something--”“But they won’t want to talk about it,” Chloe cuts in. “Gretchen’s arrest seemed to come out of the blue, it’s got everyone scared that it’s going to be them next. They’re not going to open up to a curious stranger.”“You’d be surprised what people will share with a curious stranger,” Elena replies. “But I see your point.” She frowns, staring at Chloe, then brightens. “They know you, though,” she says. “And they’d probably trust another staffer more than they’d trust me.”“Oh, sunshine,” Chloe drawls, her expression wry. “I see where this is going.”Elena offers an apologetic smile. “I could write up a list of questions for you to ask them.”Chloe flops back onto the bed with a sigh. “Fine,” she says. “Hit me.” * “You’re right, Dolores,” says Chloe, trying not to check her phone. “That intern was an asshat.”“Ooh,” says the clerk, momentarily sidetracked from her complaining about one of the press interns they’d had recently. “That sounds so cute in your accent -”And off she goes again, this time about some of the volunteers. Chloe nods when necessary, wondering how she got so far from asking about seeing people where they shouldn’t be (she’s pretty sure at least one of the volunteers has been here longer than she has?), until finally she’s saved by her phone alarm going.“Well,” she says, leaning over to the computer. This has not helped Gretchen’s case in the slightest. “Looks like it’s time for me to knock off. Good luck with Steve, alright?”“Thanks, Chloe, you’re a dear,” says Dolores.Chloe can’t clock out fast enough. Her irritation with the utter uselessness of that interview doesn’t fade on her way to the cafe, and when she catches sight of Elena, the first thing out of her mouth is, “Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of whining about uni students.”Elena doesn’t look up from poking at her phone. “When it’s forty minutes and a deputy prime minister whining about the German ambassador, then you can talk,” she says dryly. She glances up from her phone and does a double-take, clearly fighting back a grin. “Nice hat.”Chloe scowls and takes it off her head as she sits down. Coming straight from work, she’d forgotten to change into her street clothes. “Don’t you dare take photos.”“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Elena promises and very deliberately puts her phone in her pocket. “I take it the interviews didn’t get you much?”“Not today,” Chloe says with a sigh, glancing over Elena’s shoulder at the menu behind the counter. “Just weirdly self important interns and lost volunteers.”Elena looks more intrigued by that description than Chloe had expected. “Lost volunteers?” she asks. “What was going on with them?”“Just new kids who didn’t pay enough attention on the tour,” Chloe explains, wondering if they put real pumpkin in pumpkin spice lattes. “Went looking for the loos and ended up in the offices, that kind of thing.”“Do you think one of them could have gotten into Gretchen’s computer?” Elena asks and glances up from her notebook. “If no one was around the office…”“Probably not,” says Chloe. “She was here for an office-wide notice to make your password more secure just before the volunteers started. Hell, IT said she had to call them because she locked herself out of her desktop for putting in the wrong password too many times, so I don’t think some kid could have guessed it.”“Good point.” Elena taps her pen against her notebook thoughtfully, then starts writing again. “But that means someone from the capitol’s IT would have been on her computer, too,” she says. “Maybe Leavitt leaned on someone there and got them to send the e-mails while they were at it.”“She would have been there so she could make up a new password,” Chloe says dismissively. “I doubt they’d pull that right in front of her --” She pauses, remembering something Leavitt had mentioned in the car the week before. “But maybe it wasn’t capitol IT: He was telling his assistant to get a contractor in for security software upgrades last week, something that would take a while so could she schedule it while everyone was in a meeting…”Elena frowns. “A contractor,” she repeats, leaning over to pull something from the backpack at her feet. She sets a thick sheaf of printouts on the table and starts rifling through them. “Was the security upgrade before or after you grabbed these?” she asks and gestures with the stack of papers.Chloe’s eyes widen, all thoughts of strange lattes forgotten. “After -- and it was the day the first e-mail was sent, so he could have sent it.” She frowns. “Hang on, he was only here for one day--”“Maybe there’s a way to send them out automatically,” Elena says, frowning. “We know that Gretchen didn’t send them, so he must have had some way...” She pulls out some of the pages, tapping the first one. “There are a few invoices for IT work from an Anton de la Cruz,” she says. “Does that name ring a bell?”“Yeah,” says Chloe, thinking hard. “One of the security guards mentioned having to make him another temporary access card; he remembered the guy because he was acting pissy when he came to pick up the card.”Elena nods as she flips through the pages. “It looks like he’s done a fair amount of work for Leavitt,” she says. “The payments are always off, though. Leavitt overpaid by a few hundred on all but the latest one, from a couple months ago.”Chloe leans forward, trying to read the invoices upside down. “And I’m guessing you don’t tip in IT, especially not to the tune of a few hundred dollars. Even you wouldn’t tip that much.”Elena gives Chloe a look. “No, you don’t tip your IT guy,” she says dryly. “And he didn’t overpay on the last job-- he underpaid. By about five hundred dollars.”Chloe whistles. “No wonder he was pissed off this time.”“I’ll say,” Elena agrees. She leans back in her chair and gives Chloe a crooked smile. “You interested in paying this de la Cruz guy a visit?”“I’m in,” Chloe replies, returning the smile. This IT nerd won’t know what hit him. * After getting their drinks (a coffee for Elena, a ‘weird pumpkin thing-- I just need to see what it is’ for Chloe) and detouring to Chloe’s apartment so she could change out of the uniform, Chloe drives them across town to the address listed on the invoice. It turns out not to be an office building, but a mid-sized apartment complex. They park a few blocks away and walk over, Elena running through potential questions to ask on the way.There’s a buzzer and a list of names by the front door. Plenty of them are scratched out, halfway peeled off, or just plain missing, but Elena’s able to find a listing for de la Cruz, A. without too much trouble. “Here he is,” she says and reaches out to hit the buzzer.Chloe slams a hand over the buzzer, covering it without actually pressing it. “Hang on,” she says. “We need to get our story straight. It’s too late in the day for FedEx --”Elena blinks at her. “I was planning on telling him the truth,” she says slowly, like it should be obvious. “I’m a reporter and I wanted to talk to him about his work for Leavitt.”“Who lets in reporters when they don’t think they’ve done anything news-worthy?” Chloe asks.“In my experience? Lots of people,” Elena says. People were reluctant to talk to the police, sure, but a reporter promised fifteen minutes of fame. “I can’t lie to him, Chloe, there are ethical standards that journalists have to abide by--”“We’re delivering pizza,” Chloe says firmly.“The odds that he ordered a pizza this afternoon aren’t that great,” Elena replies. “And I can’t lie to him about why I’m here!” Chloe had skipped right over that part of her argument. Lying about who she was and what she was doing was something to be avoided unless absolutely necessary. She hasn’t found it necessary yet in her career, and she wants to keep that record. Lying to someone to get them to give up information would damage her credibility and the credibility of the story. Given the stakes, she needs to keep everything on this one above-board.Chloe looks like she’s about to argue further, but she glances sideways as a man with a keyring in his hand approaches and unlocks the front door. Without another word, she follows him inside.“What’re you--” Elena starts, then lunges at the door to grab it before it closes. Chloe’s already halfway to the stairs, and she hurries after her. “What the hell are you doing?” she hisses once she’s caught up.“Not lying,” Chloe replies primly, without looking back at her.Elena lets out an aggravated sigh. No wonder Chloe and Nate got along so well. “He’s in 309,” she grumbles as they start up the stairs.There aren’t many people home this time of day, so it’s mostly quiet as they walk down the hallway. Elena stops outside 309 and glances at Chloe, then raps on the door. Hopefully de la Cruz is home. She’s not quite sure what they’ll do if they have to end up waiting around for him--The door opens a crack. “Hello?”Elena puts on her best friendly reporter smile. “Mr. de la Cruz?” The man on the other side of the door nods, and Elena continues before Chloe can claim to be from the gas company or something to get into his apartment. “My name’s Elena Fisher. I’m an investigative journalist, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Lieutenant Governor Leavitt.”“Uh, I’m not really political, sorry,” he says, inching back. “Maybe try across the hall--”“I was actually wondering about the job you did for him a couple months ago,” she says. “The one where he shortchanged you five hundred dollars?” They could get around to what he was up to last week later.“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “Yeah, I’ve done some work for him, but he’s never --”“We have the invoices,” Chloe interrupts, rolling her eyes.“You have-- how do you--”Elena winces slightly. “I have some sources in his office,” she says. “I know what he’s been doing-- the theft, the blackmail. He’s taken money from you, too, as far as I can tell. Do you want to help me take him down or not?” Something of a risk, telling him everything up front -- Chloe’s already got a hand to her face -- but she has to convince him to work with her. He won’t trust her if she doesn’t show that she trusts him.The door closes, and Elena sighs in disappointment, but a second later it opens completely, revealing a wary looking man and a messy apartment. Chloe shoots her a surprised look.“My place is probably safer than the hall,” he says.Elena nods and gives him a grateful smile. “Thanks,” she says and steps inside, Chloe on her heels.de la Cruz glances suspiciously at her. “Hang on, I was letting the reporter in. Who the hell are you?”Chloe hesitates, probably trying to come up with a fake name or cover story, and Elena jumps on the opportunity. “This is my associate, Chloe Frazer,” she says. “She’s been working with me on this investigation from the beginning.”He doesn’t look any less suspicious, but he nods and lets them both in. Elena doesn’t miss the fact that he locks the deadbolt and rehooks the chain, and from the way Chloe’s looking at the windows, neither does she. “Sorry about the mess,” he mutters and moves past them to clear random piles of electronics, clothes, and pizza boxes off of about a third of the couch.Elena pulls her notebook and a pencil out of her pocket, then sits down. Eying the remaining debris on the couch, Chloe sits right next to her, half-hunched over to take up less space but also ready to lunge at de la Cruz if he makes the wrong move. Elena shifts over to add about half an inch of space between herself and Chloe, then thumbs her notebook open. “How long have you been working for Leavitt?”“Few years,” he says as he sits down in the computer chair near the desk. “I work for a lot of other people, though.”“Do your other clients pay you to send incriminating e-mails too?” Chloe asks, laying on the false cheer.Elena takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She really shouldn’t be surprised-- Chloe’s not a reporter, she’s a pissed-off friend. Still, this whole thing could collapse if they don’t handle this carefully. She shoots Chloe a quick, sideways warning glare, then looks back at de la Cruz. “Well?” she prompts, when he just keeps staring at them in mild terror.“Are you guys cops?”It takes a moment, but Chloe cracks up, laughing so hard that she elbows Elena several times. Elena heaves a sigh and shakes her head. How professional. “No,” she says. “No, we’re not. I’m an investigative reporter. I’m not allowed to lie about that.” She unclips her press pass and holds it out for him to examine.He studies it for a few seconds, then hands it back. “Where’s hers?” he asks, nodding at Chloe, who’s still giggling a bit.“She’s not a reporter,” Elena says. “But she’s also definitely not a cop.” About as far from a cop as one could get without actually being in jail (and with Nate’s record, she’s willing to bet Chloe’s had some jail time too), but that wasn’t information that needed to be shared.de la Cruz eyes them both for a long moment, during which Chloe finally settles down. “You won’t publish my name?” he asks. “I don’t want to go to jail over this. He said if the police got involved, he’d ruin me.”Elena glances at Chloe again. That sounds familiar. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”“This started about a year ago…”It takes a while-- long enough that Chloe shoves some of his things off the couch for some more space-- but eventually he explains that while he’d done some shady work for Leavitt in the past, it was only two months ago that it crossed over into breaking the law. He said he’d asked for more money after the fact, which made Chloe mutter “stupid of you” under her breath, and Leavitt had turned him down. He’d also said that if de la Cruz tried to go to the police or argued about payment again, he’d have him thrown in jail.“So when he told me to send those e-mails from that woman’s computer, I didn’t really have a choice,” he says.Elena sighs, tapping the end of her pencil against the page. He did have a choice, he could’ve gone to the cops and taken the risk instead of involving an innocent person, but it was a little late for that.“‘That woman’,” Chloe repeats, pushing something shiny and silver off the couch, “is my friend.”He lets out an exasperated sigh and spreads his hands. “Look, I’m sorry,” he says. “There’s not much I can do about it now, though.”Elena frowns. There is something he can do, of course, but she isn’t sure he’ll want to cooperate with her, give an on-camera interview and everything, out of the goodness of his heart. “Look--”“There is something you can do,” Chloe interrupts, her voice far too even for the glare she’s giving him. “You can lawyer up, play the ‘I was blackmailed too’ card, and probably get away with a shorter sentence. I’m speaking from experience here; it’s a bloody good card to play. Frankly, I actually think you deserve the longer sentence, but since this would be helping a friend, I may be willing to share the phone number of an excellent lawyer I have on speed dial if you help us out.”Elena raises her eyebrows and blinks at Chloe. She hadn’t been expecting that. Nor had de la Cruz, going by the look on his face. “What Leavitt did, and your involvement in it, is going to come out when I break this story,” Elena says. “If you work with me, agree to a formal interview, you can have some control over how you end up looking. You’re not getting out of this scot-free, but you can minimize the damage.”de la Cruz’s mouth sets in a thin line while he considers it. Eventually, he turns to Chloe. “What’s that phone number?”They wrap things up quickly, albeit awkwardly. Elena says she’ll be in touch, and de la Cruz says he’ll be calling this lawyer first thing in the morning. Elena just hopes that the lawyer won’t advise him to not talk to her at all. “So,” she says after he’s shut the door behind them, “that went well.” Much to her surprise.“I didn’t think he’d talk,” Chloe replies, examining her nails. “Let alone agree to the interview.”Elena shrugs and starts down the hall. “Your ‘advice’ certainly helped that along,” she says. She glances at her watch. “I hope I can get a camera crew up here by tomorrow morning.” The sooner she started getting footage together, the better. Get something shot and sent to the local networks in the next few days. Then Gretchen would be out of prison, Leavitt would be on his way to prison, and she could go home.“Let me know if there’s any way I can help,” says Chloe. “Even if it’s just the coffee run -- I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m quite a good driver.”Elena laughs and pushes open the door to the stairs. “From what I’ve heard, you’re the best in the business,” she says, holding the door for her. * Half-listening to some talkback show, Chloe scrolls through her e-mail inbox. Besides the long-suffering e-mail from Nate agreeing to be her work reference “as usual” (“but can you ask them to call at east coast times”, he adds, “that last guy called at 5 in the morning”), she’s still waiting for more messages about potential jobs. She’s e-mailed about a few offers, but with the time differences, they might not get back to her until she’s asleep.The show finishes, and Chloe sits up as the news comes on. She’s not usually a big news watcher, but Elena had texted her a time and a channel--“Good evening, Sacramento. Our top story tonight-- Lieutenant Governor Robert Leavitt has been implicated in a sweeping network of embezzlement, money laundering, and blackmail. We go now to a special report.”The screen fades from the news desk to the capitol building, accompanied by a voice-over from Elena. “For nearly six years, Lieutenant Governor Leavitt has stolen money from state accounts, and used intimidation and blackmail to silence anyone who might have threatened his scheme. Records show that over two million dollars have been taken…”Chloe looks away from the television as her phone buzzes. She picks it up to read the new text message from Elena. Elena Fisher Inside sources say that Gretchen should be out of jail by tomorrow afternoon. Chloe finds herself grinning. Never mind the embezzlement going public, this was what she’d been looking forward to. Chloe Frazer tel ur inside sources thx 4 me Elena Fisher Will do. Want to get drinks tomorrow night? I think we’ve earned them. Chloe Frazer 1st rounds on me * Elena pays the cabbie and steps out onto the sidewalk. Chloe had texted her the address of a hotel with a note that the “bars upstairs.” As she steps off the escalator, she’s a bit surprised that Chloe picked such a nice place-- and immediately feels guilty for being surprised. She shakes her head and looks around. After a few seconds, she spots Chloe and another woman sitting at a corner table, chatting over drinks. Chloe looks up, catches her eye, and waves her over.“Elena, this is Gretchen Welch, my friend and former coworker,” Chloe says; Gretchen offers a hand to shake. “Gretchen, this is Elena Fisher, my reporter friend who did your story.”Elena smiles and shakes Gretchen’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” she says. “Everything got cleared up with the charges, right?” She’s got a ticket home tomorrow, but she’ll risk Nate whining (and possibly flying out here) if anything else needs to be taken care of.“Yes, that worked out fine,” Gretchen replies happily. “All thanks to you! Thank you so much for exposing what Leavitt was really up to.”“Just doing my job,” Elena says and ignores the look on Chloe’s face. This is part of why she does the job, though. It’s not often that she gets to talk to the people she’s helped. “I’m glad everything worked out for you.”“It’s enough to put a girl off state politics,” says Gretchen. “I’m thinking about just moving to the country and raising goats…”“Yaks are nicer,” Chloe says seriously.“Yaks are nice,” Elena agrees. “Either would be better than corrupt politicians.”“Or history.” Elena blinks, but Gretchen’s starting to stand, gathering her purse and phone. “Well, my own bed and pajamas are calling my name. It was really nice to meet you, Elena.”Elena nods. “Take care,” she says.Gretchen leans down to hug Chloe goodbye, and after a second, Chloe hugs her back. When they both withdraw, Gretchen adds, “We’ll catch up again some time.”“Definitely,” Chloe agrees, and they watch her leave.Elena slides into Gretchen’s vacated seat and raises her eyebrows at Chloe. “You didn’t tell her a thing about your role in all this, did you,” she guesses. The dig at history had been odd, but more interesting was the fact that Gretchen’s thanks had been aimed solely at her.“‘Hey, Gretchen, I copied some documents, inadvertently leading to your arrest, and then I tried not to punch a guy,’” Chloe suggests. “Yes, I’m sure that would have gone down well.”Elena gives her a wry smile. “I’d have said that you risked your own safety several times to help a friend,” she says. “And that I wouldn’t have broken this story without your help.”Chloe purses her lips, considering this, then shakes her head. “That’s just a reporter’s spin on what actually happened.”Elena grins and puts a hand to her chest. “I report the facts,” she says. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep this part off the record.” Except for all the stuff she’s already told Nate. Ah, well. What Chloe doesn’t know can’t hurt her.“Don’t expect a statement any time soon,” Chloe advises, before sliding a cocktail menu over. “I believe I said the first round was on me?”Elena nods and glances over the menu. She flags down a passing waiter, who delivers a glass of wine with impressive speed. “To justice served,” she says, holding her glass out to Chloe to toast.“To being out of a job,” Chloe adds wryly, holding up her own glass. “Again.”“Maybe stay away from the legal jobs this time,” Elena says. “They seem to give you a lot of trouble.”“I’ll drink to that!”
1025764	The Raven	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Merlin (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by shadowofrazia", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-31T00:00:00", "words": "1,370", "Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe - Historical, Post 5X13, the raven, Angst", "Relationship": null, "Character": "Merlin", "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "BBC Merlin Rare Fair", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Merlin pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. It was late, too late, and if he listened, Merlin could hear the sound of the bitter wind blowing outside his window.He’d been sitting at his desk for hours, reading a book old enough that the ink had nearly faded from the page. Merlin’s eye’s burned from the strain he’d put on them that night. Still, the lamps in here were far better than the candles in Camelot had— Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Merlin shook his head, forcing away the memories and the names. He turned to face the door, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as a shiver ran through him. Shaking his head again, Merlin laughed.“It’s only a visitor,” he said quietly to himself, turning back to his book. “Nothing more.”He shifted in his uncomfortable chair, pulling at the collar of his shirt. Everything now was so stiff, and Merlin almost longed for the days of tunics and his leather boots. He unbuttoned his collar and leaned back in his chair. The room was cold, and the fire was dying.If Merlin were still using his magic, it’d be no problem to relight the flames. But he hadn’t used his magic in years, and that wasn’t about to change tonight.Merlin allowed his eyes to drift shut, and Camlann burned behind them. Like it was yesterday, Merlin could see it all: Morgana dying on Excalibur’s blade, Mordred thrusting that terrible blade into Arthur’s side… Arthur’s eyes closing on Avalon’s shore… Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Camlann disappeared as Merlin opened his eyes. The room had darkened even further, and Merlin stood, refastening his collar.“It’s only a visitor,” he repeated. Approaching the door, he called, “Excuse me, but it’s quite late. I was working and—” Merlin opened the door and saw only darkness.As he stared into the night, he could almost hear Arthur’s voice on the wind.“Arthur?” Merlin wished he could stop himself hoping.“Ridiculous!” he growled a moment later, slamming the door. Letting his head rest against the dark wood of the doorframe, Merlin closed his eyes and tried to get himself under control.He had been doing so well.By the time he lifted his head, the fire was nearly out. It cast a dim orange glow throughout the room, sending shadows into every corner, over every surface, and Merlin’s shadow loomed, tall and sharp and distorted, where it was cast onto the wall. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound was louder that time and Merlin clenched his teeth. He would not turn. It was only his shutter, surely. He must not have latched it correctly. It must have come unsecured with the wind. It was only his imagination.Hesitantly, Merlin crossed to the window. The curtains were drawn against the cold, and as Merlin pulled them back, he was reminded of Gwen’s skirts as they dragged against the stone floors of Camelot’s castle. Forcing himself to focus, Merlin pushed open the window.The shutter was caught by the wind and, before Merlin could catch it, the shutter slammed against the outside of the house. As he leaned out into the night to reach it, Merlin felt something cuff the back of his head. Window and shutter forgotten, Merlin spun to face the other side of the room.Perched upon the Hecate statue above the doorway was a bird. It was large, black, and gleaming. A raven, like the ones Morgana had been so fond of before…before. Merlin smiled sadly. And then he laughed.“What is your name?” he asked jovially, stepping forward. He felt a bit ridiculous, speaking to a bird as if it was a person, but he couldn’t help himself. “Have you got a name, raven?”There was a long moment of silence, filled only by the sound of the wind outside, before the raven opened its mouth and croaked, “Nevermore.”Merlin blinked, surprised and a little bit wary—he’d been mistrusting of speaking animals after his experiences with Kilgharrah.“Nevermore?” he repeated. “What sort of a name is that?”The raven croaked the word again, and Merlin felt his mirth leave him.“You’ll leave,” Merlin said to the bird as he returned to his desk. “Everyone leaves in the end. Well, everyone but me, I suppose.”The raven was quiet and, slightly calmed, Merlin focused on his work. He wrote and, as more time passed, he let the raven drift from his mind.“Nevermore.”Merlin startled, upending his inkwell onto his desk. The ink was dark where it soaked into the wood, and Merlin couldn’t quite resist the urge to run his fingers through it. Then, he took a steadying breath and calmly set about refilling it.“It doesn’t mean anything,” he whispered, giving a small, nervous laugh, and trying to ignore the way his hands shook. “It’s probably the only thing the bloody bird knows how to say.”He stood and spun his chair around to face the door. The raven stared down at him, eyes dark and gleaming in the dim glow of the fire’s embers.“Did someone teach you to speak, bird?” Merlin asked. “They must have been terribly unhappy to teach you to say that.”Merlin wondered if he should be afraid. Many people feared ravens, after all.But many people feared death, as well, and Merlin hadn’t feared death for a very long time.Leisurely, he leaned back in his chair. The raven watched, still and silent, even at the sound of Merlin’s voice. Merlin turned away, frowning.Everything, even this stupid bird, reminded him of Arthur. Sometimes, while walking, Merlin would think he’d heard Arthur’s voice. More than once, he’d mistaken young men hurrying past—so brilliant, so full of life—for the one man he’d waited for all these years.Until he remembered the way Arthur had gone still in his arms all those years ago.And then, just for a moment, Merlin thought he heard Arthur’s laugh, joyous and familiar. He thought he could smell Gwen’s perfume, or the soap Arthur used for his bath.Merlin stood abruptly, pacing the floor. With shaking, ink-blackened fingers, Merlin once again undid his collar. He wanted to scream, to let his magic out, to do anything but remember. He wanted to forget Camelot and Arthur.He wanted to forget his failure.“Nevermore.”“Where did you come from?” Merlin shouted at the raven. It rustled its feathers, but otherwise, didn’t react. “Have you been sent to torment me, you vile thing?”Merlin turned away, running his hands through his hair and wincing as they came away coated in pomade. The raven cocked its head back and forth, completely unaffected by Merlin’s outburst.Exhausted, Merlin collapsed heavily into his stiff chair. Resting his head in his hands, he focused on taking deep, careful breaths. “Will I ever know peace?” he murmured. Will he ever return? And, through Merlin prayed it wouldn’t, the raven peered at him and croaked another chilling, “Nevermore.”“Leave,” said Merlin quietly, unsure if it was anger or despair that was coursing through him. “Leave!” he shouted, standing so quickly his chair toppled over behind him.The raven didn’t move.“Get out of here!” screamed Merlin, throat burning with the strain. He could feel the panic, the sadness, the anger threatening to overwhelm him. He pulled at his hair and, without thinking, he grasped his glass.The way it shattered against the wall was nearly enough to pull Merlin from his rage. Nearly.He threw his inkwell and his notes and a decanter of expensive brandy. Sweeping his arms over the surface of the desk, Merlin knocked the remaining things to the floor. And when he turned, the raven simply stared.Merlin leaned heavily against the desk. There was a chilling wind blowing through the room, though Merlin was sure he’d latched the window. The inkwell had shattered against the wall above the fireplace, and Merlin imagined the dark ink as dripping blood where it fell onto the mantle. He sank slowly to the floor, head held in his trembling hands, mind reeling with memories and regrets and failures.And through it all, the raven did not stir.
1033519	The Turn	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": null, "Characters": "Morwen Eledhwen, Hareth, Húrin Thalion, Rian", "Fandom": "The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Zimra", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-06T00:00:00", "words": "1,235", "Additional Tags": "Family Drama", "Relationship": "Morwen Eledhwen/Húrin Thalion", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "I Wish the Wars Were All Over", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "Gen, F/M", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The messengers came from Brethil a few months after the sons of Galdor left to be fostered by their uncle, Lord Haldir of the Haladin. Lady Hareth went to greet them with a smile, eager as always for news from her brother, but she had exchanged no more than a few words with the men before her expressive face turned somber. Her sons were missing, the men from Brethil told her sorrowfully. Both of them had been separated from the main party during a raid, and the other warriors had found no trace of them since. If they had not been captured, they were lying dead somewhere or wandering lost in the forest - but every effort was being made to find them, they assured her. If there was news of their whereabouts, she would be the first to know.An eerie silence fell at once over the household; no one dared to speculate on the fates of young Húrin and Huor, or at least not where their mother could hear. Galdor returned from Eithel Sirion several weeks after the news reached them, and by then most of the servants and townspeople had concluded the worst. The lord of Dor-lomin was gracious in his grief, consoling his wife and speaking kindly to Morwen and ruffling Rían’s dark hair. But he could not stay for long, not with Orcs threatening the northern borders of High King Fingon’s realm, and he soon departed for the front again with a heavy heart.Hareth, who seemed suddenly to have aged ten years, donned mourning clothes and continued overseeing her husband’s lands with her usual competence. Rían, a silent little shadow dressed in black, stayed close to the lady’s side. Morwen, ever solemn and dutiful, took the mourning as well, as befitted Húrin’s betrothed. There was never any talk of sending her and Rían away, and in fact Hareth gave Morwen more responsibility over the household than ever. One day she took the girl aside and said, “I promise I will find suitable marriages for you and Rían, but until then you are welcome in my family.” Morwen did not smile, but thanked the older woman and squeezed her hands tightly. That night Morwen couldn’t sleep. She pictured Húrin, sitting on his horse and grinning, waving to her as she stood in the courtyard waiting for them to depart; and Huor, only fourteen and already as tall as his father, gallantly accepting a bouquet of wildflowers from Rían. She remembered how Húrin had kissed her on the cheek before saying goodbye. Take care of Rían and my mother while I’m gone, he had told her, taking her hand. I’ll be back before you know it.When at last she fell asleep, her dreams were troubled. She still slept in the same room as Rían to help ease the younger girl’s frequent nightmares, but tonight it was Morwen who woke up screaming and thrashing, unable to rid her mind of the sight of her grandmother lying in the entrance of the house, cut nearly in two by an Orc spear. Adaer had stood her ground in the doorway to protect her two granddaughters hiding within, shielding them until the soldiers cut her down. Morwen could still remember the sharp terror of that moment, one Orc seizing her roughly while another wrenched Rían out of her grasp, but with her death Grandmother had delayed their foes long enough for Baragund and others to arrive and rescue the girls. That night it was Rían who was startled awake by the sound of her cousin crying. “What’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed, and the sight of her frightened face and big dark eyes only made Morwen cry harder. She gathered the child into her arms and rocked her back and forth, clinging to her until the worst of the memories faded. By the time Morwen had regained her composure and soothed the distressed eight-year-old back to sleep, she was so exhausted that she did not dream for the rest of the night.Another season passed with no word of Galdor’s sons, and they had long since given up expecting any. Lady Morwen, as the people had begun to call her, grew taller and lovelier with each passing month, her manner more gracious, though she was colder than the lady Hareth. The servants marveled at how she had changed - from a ragged fugitive, proud in her fear, to a reserved but kindly girl who could smile freely, and now to this somber young woman with a deep understanding of how quickly good fortune could change.When the messengers came again from Brethil, Morwen half-expected more bad news. Perhaps the lady Hareth's brother had been killed, or they had found her sons' bodies at last. But as she watched from the doorway, she saw Hareth's resigned face suddenly transformed with joy, and she dropped the basket she was carrying and ran to the lady's side. Hareth embraced her, weeping and saying over and over, "All will be well now, child. All will be well." Soon the news had spread throughout Dor-lómin: Galdor's heirs had been found alive and safe, and were on their way home. For the next few days, Hareth exploded in a flurry of activity, sending word to Galdor and furiously planning a great feast to welcome her sons home. Morwen remained in a state of frozen shock. On the day of their arrival, she let the maids help her dress without really noticing what she was wearing, and sat quietly as the Lady of Dor-lómin herself braided her future daughter-in-law's hair and adorned her with some of the family’s finest jewelry. The morning of the feast dawned bright and clear, and Morwen stood with Hareth and Rían in front of the house, waiting. As the riders thundered into the courtyard, led by Lord Haldir and several of his men, a great cheer went up from the assembled guests and onlookers. Morwen found she was holding her breath as she searched among them for Húrin and wondered what she would find. But nothing about him suggested that he had been lost in the wilderness for a year - he looked taller, older, more lordly, and there seemed to be an air of responsibility about him, as though he had been charged with some important task. She watched as he dismounted from his horse and greeted his mother, who looked happier than Morwen had ever seen her. Then suddenly he stood before her, and they stared at each other for a long moment, Morwen's face impassive, Húrin's slightly apprehensive.He knew her well enough to keep quiet until she chose to speak. At last she mumbled, "It is not seemly of you to have kept me waiting for so long." Húrin's expression turned grave, though she could see his hands were shaking. "I know am at fault, my lady. I will do everything in my power to make things right between us, and I hope one day you will be able to forgive me."She burst into tears and flung her arms around him, and after a moment of shock he returned the embrace, holding her as though he never wanted to let go. For once Morwen did not care that everyone was watching them. Hareth's words appeared suddenly in her mind - all will be well, child - and for the first time in years they even seemed possible.
1070033	Moth to the Flame	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Erwin Smith, Mike Zacharias, Petra Ral", "Fandom": "Shingeki no Kyojin \| Attack on Titan", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by SP00K", "chapters": "3/3", "completed": "2013-12-13", "published": "2013-12-04T00:00:00", "words": "17,923", "Additional Tags": "Power Dynamics, Dom/sub, Dom Erwin, Sub Levi, non-canon backstory, Light BDSM, Spanking, Hand Jobs, Light daddy kink, Blow Jobs, Rimming, Anal Sex, Punishment, Corporal Punishment", "Relationship": "Levi/Erwin Smith", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Grace", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Levi stares around the room in an almost blind sweep for the hundredth time at where the tall bastard left him well over an hour ago. He stands up and shuffles as far as the tether attached to the handcuffs at his wrists down to his ankles allows for. His eyes have already scanned every inch of the small room - obviously an office. A large oak desk takes up most of one side of the space, in front of a window that doesn’t even let moonlight shine through or the crisp night breeze. Soft candle light casts dancing shadows across the dull wood furnishings and sets a sleepy, somber mood. The walls are lined with bookshelves of leather bound volumes and scrolls of maps and old papers. There are no personal pieces to give Levi any insight into the rooms owner, but it is a safe bet that this Erwin Smith is the sole proprietor of this sparse and impersonal office. Levi has already tried all of the desk drawers, though without proper use of his hands, he can’t pick the locks. But Levi does take note of one of the larger maps laid open on the desk, it looks as though someone was still working on it’s design and Levi appreciates the fine craftsmanship of the delicate lines and small but almost perfect handwriting offsetting the intricately drawn scenery. Levi has no idea what it is a map of, but it is beautifully made with thick parchment and strong ink pigments. He gazes at the piece of art for awhile longer until footsteps from outside of the door catch his ear. Quickly Levi moves back to sit in the wooden chair in front of the desk just as he was left. The door unlocks with a loud click in the otherwise silent room and the very person who dragged Levi here enters with such authority that the smaller man remembers instantly how he got sucked into this. Into the Survey Corps. Erwin fucking Smith. Already Levi hates this man. He stares as the tall blonde enters into the office and pulls out a ring of keys from his jacket as he moves to sit behind his desk to face the peeved looking young man across from it. “I see you managed to behave yourself, Levi.” Even just sitting down, hands clasped in a casual gesture, this man is an opposing figure demanding attention. The flickering candle light plays dramatic contrast across Erwin’s stoic features and it gives him an ethereal presence. “I’m not stupid, I know you left your bloodhound at the door.” Erwin chuckles as his fingers unfold to play with the gold keys absentmindedly. “That was more for your benefit than any form of intimidation, I assure. His name is Mike, by the way.” Levi looks to the closed door with a snarl. “And why would I give a shit what his name is?” “Well you will be on the same squad - my squad that is.” Looking back at Erwin now, Levi tries to scrutinize the blank mask of a face in front of him. They regard each other quietly and Levi finds himself sucked into the bright blue of this infuriating man’s eyes. “Why me?” “I have been watching you for awhile now.” “Wow, anyone tell you that you are creepy as fuck?” Erwin smiles crookedly, but his response is completely genuine. “Yes, actually, rather often.” “No kidding?” With a soft smile that Levi knows immediately is fake, Erwin sits back into his chair. The hands leave the keys with a soft clink, but stay flat down and outstretched on the thick wood of the desktop. A subtle sign of peace that does not go unnoticed by the smaller man. “You have made quite a name for yourself, Levi - the Ghost of the Underground isn’t it? I have kept careful watch of you until I could be sure you would prove to be everything I’ve been searching for.” Levi cocks one thin eyebrow up at this confession, struck somewhere between flattered and completely creeped out. But Erwin’s face remains impassive. “Oh and what’s that, psycho?’ “Humanities new hope, and my greatest weapon.” Both dark eyebrows shoot up now and Levi doesn’t even try to suppress the snort at the ridiculousness of the man in front of him. Surely this was some perverse joke? But Erwin’s gaze is steadfast, his eyes bright with some spark of emotion Levi could never begin to describe, let alone understand. But for one second Levi finds himself wishing he could believe in something so adamantly as this Erwin Smith obviously does. Delusional or not. “I knew the Survey Corps had to have a few screws loose, but shit how’d they even let you in?” Erwin smiles that fake smile again, lips tugging up at the corners but devoid of any warmth or amusement that usually accompanies the gesture. It puts a cold sort of fear in the pit of Levi’s stomach, a warning that this man is not to be trifled with. That this man’s devotion could be something dangerous, but Levi can’t help feeling drawn to it. Levi has never been devoted to anything in his life other than survival. “You need to learn some discipline and respect, boy. And I always found that the best way to teach such values is through pain.” “Don’t call me boy. And is that a threat?” “No, Levi, it is a promise.” That cold little feeling ripples through Levi’s gut as a dread pools in his veins. But his eyes never leave Erwin’s as though he can not look away. That promise has Levi feeling mildly masochistic and this scares him slightly more than the utter infallible confidence of the blonde watching him as though nothing else in the world matters. But before Levi can respond, there is a sharp knock at the door. Erwin calls for entrance in a calm, deep voice that has Levi shifting in his chair, rattling the cuffs with the subtle movement. A petite blonde steps just inside the door with a customary salute to the chest. Just around her prim body, Levi can see the bloodhound Mike still perched at his post. When Erwin requests the girl at ease she walks a few more steps into the room, never even glancing at Levi. “Commander, sir, everything has been arranged as you asked for.” Levi’s heavy eyes open wide at the title. Commander...Commander Erwin Smith. This is the man who single handedly operates the Survey Corps? Levi feels his heart jump into his throat at the revelation. “Thank you, Petra, that is all. And can you please tell Mike on your way out that he is free to leave and I will find him in the morning?” “Yes, sir, of course Commander.” The small woman gives another salute before turning and heading out the door before shutting it firmly. Levi hears the muffled voices of Petra speaking to Mike, but can not make out the words. His focus is brought back to the man behind the desk though when the metal of the keys jingle together and Levi realizes that Erwin is standing and walking over to him. In a step and a half the tall blonde towers over Levi like some magnificent, sentient statue and Levi finds himself resenting this man and his stature that demands all eyes from his mere presence. “I am going to unlock the shackles now. Please, don’t make me regret it.” It sounds like an innocent enough statement, but Levi hears the underlying threat. At this point, the smaller man feels so overwhelmed he’s not sure how he would even plan for any escape. Besides, he gave his word earlier, and if there is one thing that Levi has in this godforsaken world, it is his word. And so Levi only offers a curt nod in understanding and Erwin drops to one knee beside the chair with more grace than should conform to such long limbs. Levi feels a strange sense of distress to have this man bowed before him, there is an overpowering feeling of wrongness that encompasses him and he sighs out a breath when the cuffs around his ankles finally falls away and the blonde picks his head up. Whatever Erwin sees in Levi’s face has his calculating eyes grow larger and features softening just a fraction before he schools them back to that cold expression. Levi only stares on in a sense of awe and fear and confusion. The close proximity of Erwin’s body has Levi feeling antsy with something more than self preservation. If he had to guess, Levi would call it some sort of sick excitement. When Erwin’s hands grab his wrists to get at the lock better, Levi jumps at the contact. Erwin doesn’t look up or try to placate the man, thankfully, and just works on unlocking the handcuffs before pulling them all away as he stands back up. “You are the Commander of the Survey Corps?” “Yes.” The answer is firm and yet distant. There is a sadness that suddenly sweeps across Erwin’s face before he turns to place the shackles on the end of the desk, casting his face in deep shadow. Picking up the halfway burnt down candle, Erwin turns back to face Levi. “Follow me, please.” Levi stands slowly from the chair as Erwin moves across the office to his door, taking the light with him. Following like a moth to the flame, Levi stays in the little cocoon of candle light that radiates from Erwin as he walks in a sure stride down the narrow hallway. They run into no other people on the way to the stairs that bring them down two flights and out the front doors, and no one still as they walk across the silent and deserted training grounds Levi only got a quick glimpse of on his way here. Levi follows close like he were unable to leave the small bubble of soft yellow that surrounds him and the commander. He doesn’t even get an urge to run or escape and for the first time Levi feels like he may have found someplace safe. Every once in a while Levi catches Erwin peering over his shoulder at him, making sure he is still there, and every time he sees the smaller man at his heels those blue eyes light up. It feels like a short trip to the building set closest to the gate that surrounds the Survey Corps outpost. Erwin ducks in and takes another flight of stairs. Again no one is in their path and Levi has to wonder if it is that Petra girls doing, but he finds himself grateful there is nothing to distract him from the man leading him now with confidence that Levi will stay behind him. The arrogance of keeping Levi at his back has the smaller man furious and yet intrigued. This man obviously knows his reputation, knows that Levi could take him down with two well placed hits despite the total size difference and yet he does not allow him to walk in front, leaving Erwin vulnerable - as unlikely as that sounds. Finally they come to a door down a lonely hallway that the blonde stops at and unlocks before pushing it open and gesturing for Levi to enter first. With a sideways glance, Levi follows direction and steps into the dark room before Erwin comes in behind him to light the way. Levi stands awkwardly by the entrance toeing off his shoes as the front door is shut then locked. Erwin flutters about the space lighting a few candles as he goes and slowly the room’s interior comes into view. It’s a minimal looking living area that’s open to a moderate kitchen that looks as though it has never been used and a dark hallway off to the right. Levi would think it was his new, rather nice, living quarters were it not for the way Erwin moves around in a familiar ease and tosses his Survey Corps jacket to the couch in the corner with a distinct flair of ownership. This is Erwin’s living quarters and Levi feels rather uncomfortable with this invasion of privacy. But Erwin seems completely calm as he sits down heavily into the the couch and crosses his legs staring over at Levi who looks like a fish out of water. “Please, come sit, Levi.” Barefoot, Levi inches into the space, rather unsure what to make of the situation. The room is as sparse as his office, but there are personal touches to what little is there that it makes Levi feel like he wants to run away and also explore every nook at the same exact time. With an unease that radiates from every calculated move, Levi takes up the large loveseat that is sat across from Erwin and the couch. “Now, this is what will happen from tonight forward. I do not trust you to stay with the other recruits. I will not put my men and women’s lives in danger because you have yet to learn proper respect and control of that temper of yours. A soldier's life is something earned with hard work and discipline, but I do not have the time to put you through the usual training protocols. You will instead be trained directly under me in all manners of conduct, fighting, and strategy. When I feel you are ready you will join the rest of the soldiers.” Levi blanches and he feels that anger swelling, but he tries not to give Erwin the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper when he was literally just called out on it. Instead he just narrows his grey eyes at the completely serious looking man on the couch. “So I have to stay here? With you?” “Yes, I have had a cot brought up for you to sleep on and you will follow my schedule. Think of it as...an apprenticeship of sorts. A master and protege.” Levi raises his thin eyebrows in a mocking reproach. “And should I be calling you, master as well then?” A tight little smile pulls at the corner of Erwin’s lip as he looks coolly at the fuming little man in front of him. “You will call me Commander or Sir, or you will not address me at all.” Levi lets out a scathing little chuckle, dark and nasty and portraying everything he feels about this ridiculous arrangement. He didn’t sign up for this, in fact he was blackmailed into it by the bastard currently staring him down. But when Levi did agree, it was under the assumption that he would enter the military like any other new recruit and then make his way to the Survey Corps when the time came - not to become some pet project for the clearly mentally strained commander. “This is no joking matter, Levi. I see a greatness in you that I fear you do not recognize yourself. I believe you have been called to do more than rule a scrap of The Underground and I intend to pull that conviction out of you.” “Why, because I already know how to use the 3D maneuver gear?” “No, it’s the way you use the gear, with innate procession and speed and an ease that says you were made for it. But above all it’s your fearlessness and determination to survive that I need following me into battle.” Levi sinks back into the chair, feeling slightly less nervous as he begins to be moved by Erwin’s words. Never has anyone spoken about him in such a way, let alone to him - like Levi were worth something, like he could have a purpose and meaning beyond living just one more day. But everything is moving so fast, it feels like Levi jumped in on the middle of someone else's life and he is only now along for the ride. Levi already knows how to be a ghost, but to be this man’s shadow he isn’t so sure. Though it’s not like he has much of a choice at this point. “And what if I don’t want any of it? If I don’t want to be humanity's hope, or your weapon or whatever else the hell you’ve got brooding in that deranged head?” Erwin looks thoughtful as he unfolds his legs and hunches forward to rest his elbows on his thighs and peer at Levi more on his eye level. “No one asks for these things Levi. It is only through fate and circumstance that we find what we are called for. But don’t you want something more from this life?” Levi has to look away from the intense stare, instead he focuses on the far wall to his left where an ancient looking map of the three walls and city plans hangs in mostly shadow next to a portrait he can not make out as the candle light doesn’t reach quite that far. He stays silent as he contemplates Erwin’s words. Levi feels drawn to this romanticized view of a life with purpose and a calling - that there is some sort of order in all of this chaos. But Levi does not have the faith that Erwin holds, he never has. Erwin watches as Levi mulls over everything, hoping that Levi will agree on his own, but more than willing to assert his power. Though the very fact that Levi is contemplating anything at all makes Erwin fairly certain it won’t come to that just yet. “Would you like to take a bath?” The complete non sequitur takes Levi by surprise, but the thought of a bath sounds positively heavenly. He looks skeptically back at Erwin and finds a soft smile on the man’s face that seems far out of place. It’s rather startling how the commander can turn it on and off like a spigot and Levi wonders briefly if the man has multiple personalities or something. But he recognizes the need to guard emotions and keep your cards close to your chest and Erwin Smith has mastered the ability. “A bath?” “Yes, let me run you some water and you can think some more as you soak. When’s the last time you indulged in such a thing?” “Are you saying I smell?” Erwin chuckles softly as he stands and snatches the candle from his coffee table and walks towards the dark hallway without answering. Levi watches him go, dowsing most of the room in darkness as he disappears in a doorway. After a moment Levi hears the water turn on and it is like the sweetest music to his ears. Already he can see steam billowing from presumably the bathroom and he can no longer stay patient so he follows the soft light down the hall and into the small tiled room. Erwin sits on the floor, sleeves rolled up and one hand under the stream of water, testing the temperature before putting a stopper in the drain and looks up when he feels Levi’s presence at the door. “I know how much you like to be clean, and I can understand why, given where you were raised.” “Wow, again, you are creepy as fuck.” Quicker than Levi ever thought someone of Erwin’s size could move he finds the blonde on his feet and in his face with the blink of an eye. A strong, large and wet hand grips Levi’s jaw in a vice and the smaller man’s heart beats frantically in his chest. “Language, boy. You will learn some respect.” That temper flares through Levi and he jerks his face from Erwin’s dripping hand, uncaring for the ache those fingers leave on his cheek in their wake. He glares defiantly up at the blonde as Erwin stares coolly down back at him. “I told you already, don’t fucking call me boy!” Levi's head spins before the pain even explodes across his face from the backhand Erwin gives him. Furious and eyes wide, Levi whips his head back around to see the tall man glowering down at him. Levi snaps and charges the much larger man, determined to prove he is no boy. Erwin expects it and is able counter the initial attack with an elbow to Levi’s back, but the sprite little man kicks under his legs and fells him like a tree to the tile. Levi pounces when he sees his opening, straddling the blonde and swings a punch that Erwin deflects easily. Grabbing Levi’s wrist, Erwin is able to throw off his balance and using his thigh he then flips the much smaller man so that their positions are swapped and Erwin kneels over a panting Levi. The sound of water filling the basin of the tub is almost deafening as both men gasp for breath and Levi a semblance of control. The steam and heat that wafts from bath makes them both a little lightheaded. Erwin can see from the corner of his eye that the water is precariously close to the edge of the tub, threatening to spill over, but he makes no move for the faucet. Levi jerks against the strong hold, but it seems more for show than any real effort. “You listen well, Levi. This attitude of yours needs to change, and quick. I have only so much patience, boy, and I urge you not to test it. I am now your commander and superior and I expect to be treated with respect. And in time I hope to have your trust. But for now, you must learn your place here.” Erwin leans low over Levi, their faces close and the weight of the larger man pins Levi to the floor with only brute strength. Levi is dizzy and overwhelmed, he feels utterly torn between thrashing and screaming and laying pliant under the man holding him down. His instincts say to run, but there is a nagging little voice that whispers to stay. In the end it is an innocent knee sliding between Levi’s legs that confirms an unspoken suspicion on both parties sides. As Erwin adjusts on top of Levi in an attempt to reach over to turn the tap off, his knee rocks up into Levi’s crotch and meets an obvious bulge in the loose pants. Erwin’s eyes snap down to Levi, whose face is beet red and looking anywhere but at the man still pinning him down. Levi waits for the inevitable scoffing and quite possibly a beating to end his existence. But all the smaller man receives is an insistent knee that does nothing to curb his apparent enthusiasm. “So is this what you need, Levi? To be controlled? Dominated? Taken apart from the inside out? Is that what it takes hmm little ghost...a bit of scolding and manhandling to remind you just who is in charge here?” The words are whispered so sweetly in a coo and punctuated by the press of that knee into Levi’s groin. Levi can’t help the tiny sound of pleasure that escapes his lips, he is mortified and above all furious at his lack of self control. Erwin reaches over to the tub and stops the water just as it hits the brim of the basin before it could pool over. Dipping his hand down into the tub forces some of the water to slosh onto the floor and he pulls the stopper to drain it down. Erwin retracts his soaking wet forearm, wiping the water on his pants and settles his weight back over Levi who still can’t find the nerve to look at him. Leaning down again Erwin gets close enough to Levi’s ear so that his warm breath tickles the sensitive hairs at the nape of that slender neck and whispers. “I will never break you, Levi. You have my word.” Levi’s eyes slowly slide back to meet Erwin’s as he pulls up some and Levi sees no mirth or lies, only unwavering conviction. Levi isn’t sure what would have terrified him more, but he says nothing in response and just stares up at Erwin, his breath heavy from his raising blood pressure thanks to the heat of the room and stress of the whole situation. Erwin eases off a bit farther until he can get at the buttons running up the front of Levi’s shirt and methodically begins undoing everyone of them, eyes never leaving the grey ones watching him in rapture. Levi just lays there and allows this man, this terribly contradicting, controlling, and powerful man, to strip his shirt from his body. The movements are smooth and sure without even a hint of hesitation and Levi is thankful that all of the doubts and fears and confusion is not mirrored in the stoic man above him. Erwin’s eyes glaze over the pale bare chest that is revealed when he pulls the shirt away before he connects with Levi’s intense gaze again. Scooting lower down Levi’s body, Erwin begins work on the pants and pulls them down sinewy legs along with the boxers to leave the small man naked beneath him. Erwin gives one appraising sweep of all that Levi has to offer, eying the half erect cock with mild interest. “E-erwin…” The blonde’s hand comes down to rest two fingers against Levi’s lips in a warning and halting anymore words with a stern face. “What is the correct way to address me?” “Commander?” Erwin nods and Levi shivers at the feel of the blonde’s achingly long, thin fingers caressing his lips as he mouths the title for the first time, aware of the bit of spit that wets the callused skin when his bottom lip catches on the ‘an’ sound. “Very good, boy, it seems you can be taught. But no questions now or the water will turn cold.” And in one effortless motion Erwin pulls Levi off of the floor like he weighs nothing and holding him by the middle he deposits the smaller man into the warm water. Levi feels embarrassed at being handled like a child, but he bites his tongue against voicing his protest, too drained to fight anymore and besides the clean water feels too perfect to ruin it all by inviting Erwin’s anger again. With a little smile at the calmed behavior, Erwin reaches over and collects his soaps and jars of hair product to line them up within Levi’s reach. “Feel free to use anything you would like. The towel on the back of the door is clean and I will try and find something for you to wear. Take your time.” And with that Erwin collects Levi's clothes then leaves him to his bath, even closing the door to the bathroom like there is still some idea of privacy to be had after being stripped naked and tossed around by the man. But Levi is thankful for the bit of space it grants him after the rather unanticipated escalation of events. Levi’s half hard cock throbs pleasantly in the warmth of the water, but he adamantly refuses to jerk off in the bastards bath tub no matter how bad he wants to. The absolute authority of Commander Erwin Smith makes Levi respond in ways he never felt before. Lust and need are one thing, but this power feels much greater. Levi tries not to think too much on what transpired, afraid to dig very deep into the whys of their action and reaction. Growing up in The Underground, Levi is no stranger to this form of “training.” Of dominance and submission that creates an infallible bond when done correctly. But Levi never thought he would be involved with it, let alone walk himself right into the situation by losing his cool to the domineering man. Levi washes quickly, testing all of Erwin's soaps, then just sits in the rapidly cooling water and listens to the sound of Erwin moving around quietly in the other rooms. He soaks until his skin prunes up and the water turns positively frigid - all excitement from his traitorous cock long forgotten in the lack of stimulus. When Levi feels he can not put it off any longer he steps from the tub, shivering and grabbing for the fluffy towel that hangs on the peg behind the door. After draining the water and drying himself off Levi takes a deep breath before picking up the nearly spent candle and opening the bathroom to door to step into his new life, clean and ready. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- It isn’t even a week into Erwin and Levi’s arrangement, for lack of a better term, and already Levi has fucked up. Fucked up real bad. At least that’s the thought that runs through Levi’s head as his skull collides face first into the ground. Blood pours from his nose and makes a puddle of mud that Erwin takes no pity in rubbing Levi’s face in. The furious grip at the base of Levi’s neck makes sure that the only thing he will be tasting or smelling for awhile is the bitter tang of blood and earth. Those strong fingers threaten to bore five holes into Levi’s soft flesh, and twitch with obvious restraint at not snapping his spine in two. But the voice that leaves Erwin’s lips betrays none of these things, it is deep, calm and in control. “Mike, call for the medic team to get Leon and Kit looked over.” Levi hears Mike’s mumbled reply, but sees nothing as his face is still shoved down in the dirt, on his knees with his torso is pinned flat under the weight of one of Erwin’s knees as the hand on his neck moves up into his hair for a firm grasp in his recently trimmed locks. Levi’s hands scrabble at the dirt, but his struggling is futile in such a compromising position and he is fully aware that all eyes are directed at him from the little crowd he attracted. Erwin wrenches Levi’s head up and he gasps for fresh air, spitting dirt from his mouth. Still trapped in the strong hold, Levi’s back and neck ache with the harsh angle Erwin forces him at so he can look around at the nervous group of young soldiers. “Would anyone care to tell me what happened here?” The little crowd jostles around, flustered and seeming unwilling to look their commander in the eye. One taller kid towards the back looks over the two unconscious boys on the ground then back at Levi’s pained face before finding the courage to look at Erwin and clears his throat. “Uhm, Commander, Sir, um Kit was just joking a bit with Levi and then the maniac attacked him. Leon tried to get him off, I don’t think they meant any real harm…” “He called me a fucking pint sized pussy and asked if I was old enough to even join the Corps. I am twenty-eight years old, I don’t have to take this bull shit from no punk ass kids!” The grip in Levi’s hair tightens in warning and Erwin leans close to his ear to threaten softly. “Language, boy, I would hate to have to make an example of you and humiliate you further in front of your fellow soldiers.” Levi grunts, but keeps his mouth shut and eyes downcast, already having learned that Erwin means every word he says. The slack in his hair lessens and Levi feels Erwin pulling away and then releasing him fully to allow him to collapse back into the dirt. Erwin stands up with a stern face just as Mike comes rushing back over with two medics. “Listen here, all of you! I will not have fighting and childish bullying in the Survey Corps. I expect you to honor and respect every soldier who wears the Wings of Freedom on their back regardless of age, gender, or appearance. When you venture beyond the walls all you have is the person next to you and your own skills to rely on. The sooner you realize this and put your petty differences aside the better chance you have for survival. And if you feel like you can not reconcile your prejudice than consider this your official invitation to leave.” All of the soldiers perk up real quick after Erwin’s little speech, clasping their hands into fists and pounding them over their heart with a vigorous salute and barks of “Yes, Sir!” Levi finds his feet and stands awkwardly at Erwin’s side, arms loose and blood and mud caked to his face. A strange feeling comes over Levi when he sees all of these young kids who a moment ago were fumbling around now stand sure and proud in offering their loyalty to their commander. This is the type of devotion Erwin can ignite with a few choice words, this is power. “You are all dismissed, and I don’t want to catch anymore fighting. Whether you are involved or sit back and allow it to happen, I will not hesitate to personally escort you to the gates.’ Another chorus of “yes, sir” rings out before everyone scatters except Leon and Kit who are being prodded by the medic and still out cold where Levi left them. Mike walks over to Erwin, weaving a path between the scurrying young soldiers to stand on the opposite side of his commander from Levi. “Kit might have a concussion, but we won’t know for sure until he wakes up. Leon has started stirring a bit and should be fine other than a few bruises.” “Thank you, Mike, lets get them moved inside. I will like to speak with them when they are awake.” Mike nods and walks back over to deliver the message to the medics and help move the boys. Erwin turns back to Levi, his face impassive as he looks down his nose at the filthy man. Levi looks off to the side by Erwin’s boot, afraid of lashing out at the indignity he feels. “Go to my quarters and wait for me while I clean up your mess, boy.” Levi turns to follow orders, but a firm hand grabs his forearm halting him just as he starts off in the indicated direction. Erwin whips Levi back around to face him, his blue eyes expectant and narrowed. It takes every ounce of self control to not roll his own eyes, instead Levi just yanks his arm away and looks up with a sour face. “Yes, Sir.” Erwin tilts his head back in a superior gesture at the mocking tone in Levi's voice, but says nothing as the man turns again and walks away. As Levi hurries to the commander’s living quarters, he wipes furiously at the grime caked to his face and sighs heavily as he dodges people left and right. He has been in the Corps for officially four days, and still eyes follow his every step as if he were some sort of wild animal. Levi thinks it mostly has to do with the more than unusual situation of his admittance in the Survey Corps and the even more scandalous personal training by its eccentric commander. No one here would recognize him from The Underground, that was for sure, and it gave Levi a sense of relief that he could start over again. Even if it looked like still here he would have to prove himself before he even started. Despite not being a formal part of training with the rest of the troops, Levi still finds himself surrounded by soldiers in the little outpost. So it is with relief that Levi takes the stairs two at a time up to Erwin’s quarters in the officer’s barracks, a thankfully low traffic area. The door to Erwin’s rooms are always unlocked, in fact the only time Levi finds the man locking it is when it is only the two of them in the quarters. A secured door wouldn’t do much to deter Levi, but the message is loud and clear to him. When that door closes and locks, there is only Erwin and Levi, the rest of the world is shut out and there is no one to depend on but the commander. Levi kicks his boots off before walking farther into the now familiar living room. It’s his own rule to leave shoes at the door which Erwin thoroughly ignores and it drives Levi nuts. Going straight to the bathroom, Levi starts unbuttoning his shirt and unclasping the straps to his maneuver gear, sneering at the cleaning they will need. Turing the water for the tub to a scalding hot, Levi strips off the rest of his clothes as the basin fills. His heart always flutters a bit as he thinks on the way Erwin held him to the tile in this very room on his arrival. The strength of the man is astounding and Levi has to divert his thoughts before they venture into questionable territory. But Erwin hasn’t touched him since that night, unless you count smashing his face into the ground a few minutes ago. Not bothering to close the door, Levi sinks down into the steaming water with a content sigh, relaxing and emptying his mind a bit, not wanting to think of how angry Erwin probably is with him. After a calm moment Levi goes into vigorously scrubbing the blood and dirt from his body. There is a stinging on the bridge of his nose that he happily welcomes since it means that was the source of all of the blood, not any internal trauma. When Levi is pink and clean from the rub down and heat of the water he catches the sound of the front door opening and closing. His breath hitches in his throat before he hears the telltale sound of the lock sliding into place and the familiar pacing of a confident stride. It is only Erwin. The dull thunk of the heavy boots on the wood gets louder until Levi sees Erwin standing in the doorway to the bathroom. Levi sits up a little more out of the water, watching as the blonde gazes down at him with a cool yet blank expression. “From now on when I tell you to wait for me in my quarters I do not want to find you in the tub.” Levi quirks an eyebrow looking unimpressed. “And how would you have me then, Sir?” “On your knees facing the door in nothing but your underwear.” Erwin doesn’t even hesitate in his response and Levi gawks at hm for a second. “Excuse me?” “Did I stutter?” Levi sits back into the water more, staring at the stern face giving him absolutely no signals to read. He feels his own face heating up a bit and it’s not from the dissipating steam from the now lukewarm water, that’s for sure. “You are being serious, aren’t you?” “One hundred percent. Don’t test me, Levi. Next time I expect you waiting for me at the door if I order you here.” Levi can only manage a nod, a little caught up in the vast emotions that are swirling around his head like the soap suds pooling around his body. Erwin doesn’t push him for a verbal response and Levi is thankful for that mercy. Instead he picks up the pile of Levi’s clothes off of the floor and tucks them under an arm before calling over his shoulder on his way out. “Don’t bother putting on clean clothes when you are done. I will be in my room - do not keep me waiting.” Levi swallows soundly as he watches the broad back of the tall blonde retreating. His mind races with fear, curiosity, and quite a bit of nerves. For not the first time in these four days Levi questions just what the hell he has gotten himself into. But nothing so far has felt wrong, in fact Levi has never felt so right in all of his life. The strategy training with the 3DM gear has come so naturally to him, as has the multi-blade techniques and the little bit of tactical maneuvers Erwin has begun to teach him. And though it should be infuriating and demeaning to even think of it, Levi finds himself wondering if this too won’t come natural as well. Almost on autopilot Levi finds himself pulling out from the now cold water and stepping from the tub to grab a towel. Quickly he dries himself and rubs as much water from his black hair as he can before wrapping the towel low around his hips. Erwin didn’t forbid a towel and though Levi has no shame in his petite body, he is not quite ready to parade it around in front of the blonde when he is sure Erwin is still in full gear and boots. Stepping tentatively from the bathroom, Levi walks the few steps down the hall to Erwin’s open bedroom. He eyes the tall man standing at his chest of draws, uniform jacket gone and sleeves rolled to his elbows, Erwin remains still in his boots and white pants as he places the constricting leather straps of the 3DM gear on top of the dresser. Levi hovers awkwardly at the door frame, unsure of what to do so he just waits for Erwin to turn towards him. Erwin gives him a glance, but says nothing as he moves to sit at the foot of his bed facing the smaller man. Levi looks around the room, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny of those blue eyes. His focus settles on the little cot in the corner that serves as his bed and wishes he could dive under the sheets and hide from the intense stare. That deep voice snaps Levi’s attention immediately though back to Erwin. “Care to explain your behavior, Levi? I thought I made it very clear that your temper needs to be controlled.” “Tch you preach respect, but what do you expect me to do when I am disrespected? Just let some kids say shit?” “I expect you not to act like a child.” Erwin’s eyes narrow and it sends a chill down Levi’s spine and he is sure the other man can see the goosebumps break out across his skin. But Levi still lets out an annoyed sigh and crosses his arms against his bare chest. “I am not a child.” “Then don’t act like one.” Levi rolls his eyes and Erwin’s face pinches tight in frustration. The tall man shifts on the bed some, spreading his legs wider and rests his large hands on his thick thighs. There is a deathly silence that comes over the room as the two regard each other. Finally Erwin breaks the anxious tension. “Come here, boy.” Having learned that protesting the pet name gets him nowhere, Levi grinds his teeth and paces into the room to rest before Erwin. Though he stands just taller than the blonde for the first time, Levi takes no satisfaction in it because even even looking up at Levi, Erwin is an intimidating sight - his size and presence still magnificent. It makes Levi feel so very small and exposed in just the white towel. As soon as Levi gets close enough Erwin reaches out and grasps one of his thin wrists, tugging the smaller man between his knees. “When you act like a child, Levi, I will treat you as one. You lack disciple and I intend to correct this.” Levi looks down at the serious face, he has no idea what to expect from Erwin, but he has a distinct feeling that he will not like it. Erwin’s hands reach out and hold Levi at his hips, just above the fluff of the towel. Levi gasps lightly at the feel those cold, large hands on his skin, the fingers long and thin and seem to reach twice around his spine as they wrap firmly to his flesh almost possessively. “If I can’t trust you to walk across the courtyard without causing trouble, how am I to bring you to battle with me?” “I didn’t start shit the-” Levi’s words are cut off as Erwin’s hand snakes up lightening fast to snatch his jaw in an iron grip that forces a pitiful sound from his lips instead. “You engaged. And you lost your temper and then threw a tantrum like petulant child.” Those fingers dig deep into the soft flesh of Levi’s cheek as Erwin forces him to bend down slightly so their faces are close enough for Levi to feel the warm breath fan across his chest. “You must stay calm and focused, Levi. Be strong and confident in yourself and you will gain their respect.” Erwin releases his firm grasp and Levi snaps back up straight and rubs a hand at his sore jaw. Levi’s heart pounds frantically in his chest, but all he does is stare down with wide grey eyes. The blonde watches him expectantly and Levi hesitates before he whispers. “Yes, Sir.” A small smile tugs at Erwin’s lips and Levi didn’t think it possible but the beating of his heart speeds up. Those cold hands find his hips again and gives Levi a little squeeze. “Good. Now it’s time to show you what happens to naughty little brats…” The pleasant grip at his hips turns to bruising as Erwin uses his grasp to force Levi to turn to the side and bend at the waist over his left thigh. Startled, Levi is too shocked to stop himself from being manhandled over the blonde’s lap like some child. Levi feels even smaller as he is hauled over the powerful leg that easily supports all of his weight. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Erwin’s intentions and as soon as Levi’s hips settle against the firm muscle of Erwin’s thigh he immediately tries to kick out of the strong hold. Unphased, Erwin just grabs the squirming young man by the scruff of his neck and jackknifes him over his knee so that Levi can gather little momentum to try and buck away. Levi curses and grabs at the bed and Erwin’s leg as he tries his hardest to break free. Erwin let’s him struggle for a moment just so he can realize on his own how powerless he is in this position and that there is nothing for Levi to do but submit. Levi is panting and yanking at the slick leather of Erwin’s boot, when a cool hand lays over the small of his back. “Enough.” Levi lets out a deep sigh, but the hand now rubbing up and down his spine comforts him - it anchors him and reminds him of Erwin’s promise. I will never break you, Levi. You have my word. Slowly Levi begins to calm down, lulled by the large hand warming nicely with the friction against his skin and the almost pleasant feeling of being so thoroughly held down, secure. It is a foreign sensation for Levi and he almost feels content, like he could lie here and allow this man to run his hands across his body for the rest of his life and be perfectly fine with it. “There’s a good boy. The sooner you accept your punishment the faster we can start.” Levi’s breath catches, but he stays pliant over Erwin’s knee, determined to get through this with as much dignity as he can muster. That hand on his back begins to dip lower and slowly those long fingers start to brush at the skin hidden under the plush towel. It is a teasing touch and with each new pass of Erwin’s hand it get bolder until finally the whole palm makes its way under the material to caress one supple globe of Levi’s ass. Levi feels himself start to rock and move along with the sweet touches, closing his eyes as his body begins to react more to the stimulant. The hand at his neck still forces Levi’s face to the floor so he can not look back to see the appreciation that lights up the commander’s face at the compliance and willingness that Levi is expressing. Sensing Levi is relaxed enough, Erwin grabs the top of the towel and pulls the material from the thin hips, relishing in the milky white skin that is revealed. Though Erwin has already seen Levi naked, there is something so sinfully wonderful about seeing him spread out across his lap, ass up and waiting. Levi lets out a little startled sound as his last layer of dignity is shed and feeling so utterly exposed he wiggles a bit, unaware of how adorable the little display is from Erwin’s view. “Are you ready for your spanking now?” Levi cringes at the word and jerks a bit over Erwin’s thigh. He knows what a spanking is, but never has received one - except maybe a swat to the seat of his pants from a store clerk when he was caught stealing at a young age, but never like this. Never so vulnerable, never so ritualistic and subjugating. Erwin rests his large palm across both bare ass cheeks and waits. It is a sickening dread and excitement that twists in Levi’s gut, anticipation and something else he has never felt before grips Levi and threatens to never let go. And before he feels he is actually ready, Levi finds himself answering in a quiet affirmation. “Yes, Sir.” The fingers at the base of Levi’s skull tightens its hold and its the only warning he gets before that large hand slips from his ass and comes back down with an almighty swing. The sound of flesh slapping flesh echos in the quiet bedroom followed by the gasp of surprise that leaves Levi’s mouth before he can censor himself. The hand returns for another wicked spank and Levi jerks as much as he can in the strong hold, but manages to keep his mouth shut. Erwin holds nothing back, determined to show Levi he means business, and brings a heavy hand down in a slow methodical rhythm, giving Levi enough respite to feel the sting sink in before compounding it with another, and another. Erwin’s large palm is able to cover a vast expanse of skin and it isn’t long before the good majority of Levi’s supple ass is a nice shade of pink. Levi grunts and bucks with every swipe and digs his hand into the bed as the pain mounts. The sting hurts more than Levi ever thought it could and he is mortified to feel tears already bubbling at his eyes. “From now on this is how you will be punished, boy. So if you like sitting I would watch that attitude and temper of yours. Understood?” Levi is barely able to gasp out a “Yes, Sir,” as he tries to hold the pitiful sounds that threaten to break free. Sensing this, Erwin decides to up the ante and pushes Levi’s face completely down into the cool hardwood of the floor. Levi has to catch the momentum before he smashes his nose again and finds himself teetering over Erwin’s thigh with his chest and shoulders flat on the ground and ass way up in the air. Levi kicks about to try and regain his balance and Erwin gets a good view of his cock and balls swinging between his legs. The new angle makes Levi’s backside the apex of his body and Erwin puts it to good use. Levi can’t help the cry that escapes when the first strike to the under curve of his ass hits, catching the tender flesh of his thigh and bottom cheek. Satisfied with the response, Erwin aims to wrangle more of these cries from Levi and sets up a vicious pattern of painting each sit spot with unrelenting pain. Levi squirms and kicks about as he is unable to hold his tongue while the white hot string burns the vulnerable flesh. He swears Erwin’s very hand print patterns has to be branded into his skin at this point. “You will learn your place and you will learn respect, Levi. You will be more than an another soldier, you will be an extension of myself and I will be damned if you act like a hot headed brute.” Levi is gasping for air now, still trying to thrash fruitlessly in his ridiculously vulnerable position. Tired of the kicking, Erwin grabs a hold of Levi’s left leg and tucks it up on top of his right thigh, holding it secure to his body and forcing Levi’s lithe frame to stretch out while his right leg hangs between the blonde’s legs leaving his intimate areas open and exposed. Erwin doesn’t even let Levi get accustomed to the humiliating spread of this position before laying straight into the now defenseless inner thigh. Levi yelps and bucks hard and Erwin has to release his hold on his neck to warp a strong arm around the wiggling frame so he won’t topple over before taking aim again with a vengeance. “You are mine, boy.” Stamping his foot on the ground, Levi curses and cries out as new pain explodes between his spread thighs. It is invasive and horrible and the sting needles right to his core. But Erwin’s hand is relentless and Levi is so wrought with pain and emotion he doesn’t even feel the tears that trail now in hot streams down his cheeks. Levi’s white thighs turn an angry red and the smaller man believes he would be better off if they just feel off. Erwin’s hand doesn’t tire as he continues to spank every millimeter of Levi’s ass and thighs relishing in the way that pert ass bounces deliciously with every stroke. After what feels like an eternity, Levi gives up his struggle and practically deflates over Erwin’s knee, giving into the punishment too exhausted from the pain. Erwin hums to himself as he sees the fight leave Levi and acceptance take its place. With a few more smart pops to the cleft of Levi’s scolding ass, Erwin concedes as well, not wanting to push things on their first go. It takes Levi a moment to realize that the spanking has ended and instead Erwin’s hand rubs soothing circling over his throbbing skin. Whining in a mix of pained relief, Levi feels his hips tipping up towards the comforting hand on their own according, seeking some sort of validation from this man. Levi is completely overwhelmed by the whole situation and has no motivation to try and think things through, instead he lets his body just respond and react to whatever comes natural as Erwin’s fingers begin to cup and squeeze pleasantly at his sore flesh. As Erwin’s attention moves down to the tender thighs his knuckles brush lightly at the delicate sac that hangs heavy between their legs. The action causes a pleased hiss from Levi who buries his head into his arms on the floor and tilts his backside up in offering. Taking the cue, Erwin’s hand ventures even lower to weigh the heat and size of Levi’s cock and balls in the large palm. Erwin finds Levi is half hard and uses gentle pressure to coax a full erection from his young protege. Levi mewls softly and jerks at the gentle touching, almost worshiping, that is such a contradiction to what these hands were inflicting minutes ago. “Should I show you what happens when you are a good boy?” Levi whines and arches back as the touch becomes firmer with a deliberate jerk to create a tease of glorious friction. Closing his eyes and basking in this wonderful pleasure that is starting to chase away the ache in his ass, Levi rocks into the hand wordlessly trying to beg for more. His mind and inhibitions long lost in the abundance of safety he feels while held secure in Erwin's steady grasp. “I can’t hear you, boy.” “Yes, p-please...Sir.” The request leaves Levi’s mouth without a thought and Erwin reward his obedience by wrapping his fingers in a snug hold around Levi’s cock, creating a perfectly pressured hole for Levi thrust his needy prick down into. Erwin’s other hand comes up to smooth over the heated backside adding more comfort and yet also reminding Levi of his power by keeping the back of his mind focused on the dull throb from his spanking. Biting his bottom lip and squeezing his eyes shut, Levi begins to rock into the tight heat of Erwin’s hand mimicking a nice passage to fuck into. It’s a little painful initially as the warmth of that massive hand encompasses him like a vice and skin drags against sensitive skin until Levi feels precum slipping past the tip of his cock, adding a bit of precious lubrication to mix. Erwin works his fist tighter with each time Levi draws his hips back as though trying to hang on to him before leaving enough room for the smaller man to push back down. He let’s Levi do all of the work, thrusting and panting over his knee as he becomes nothing more than a need to get off and find release. Levi can’t remember the last time he was ever so turned on, and from something as simple as a hand job. But no, this isn’t a mere hand job - it is an understanding. Erwin may be relentless and stern and rather terrifying at times, but he is also generous and kind. Erwin will give Levi everything he needs, even if he doesn't know he needs it. And it is with this thought that Levi finds his climax in the tight fist of Erwin’s palm with a shuddering little sob as the bliss overwhelms him. “There is my good boy.” Erwin continues to coo sweet nothings as Levi rocks softly into his warm grasp, milking the beautiful orgasm for all it’s worth. When Levi finally begins to find his way back to reality, Erwin releases the now flaccid length and wipes the cum from his hand on the corner of the bed sheet. Gently he pulls Levi up into his arms before stand and holding the small man like he weighs little more than air. Despite himself, Levi clutches on tight, utterly spent and far too content to do anything more than cling. They don’t go far, Erwin simply walks them around to the side of the bed before laying Levi down on his side and runs a hand through his damp hair. “Don’t move.” Levi isn’t sure he could move if he tried and just watches as Erwin turns and leaves the bedroom. His boots thud down the hall and there is a bit of commotion from the bathroom as Levi lays silently waiting, muscles and backside aching. It is only a minute before Erwin walks back in with a round glass jar in hand. Levi looks on intently as Erwin drops the item on the bed before sitting down by his feet. Shifting his weight to better loom down over Levi, Erwin surprised the smaller man with the softest expression he has ever seen on that stoic face. “Lay on your front, please.” Levi looks at him suspiciously, unsure of his intentions and really not wanting another go with Erwin’s hand. But the blonde just smiles down at him and rest one of those large hands on Levi’s boney hip to give him a bit of a prod. “Trust me, Levi.” Still a bit weary, Levi finds himself obeying without protest and leans with the gentle push of Erwin’s hand to roll onto his stomach. Levi’s red ass and thighs stand out dramatically against the lily white of the rest of his body and soft light grays of the bed linens. Tucking his head to the side facing Erwin, he watches closely as the tall man grabs the jar and opens its. A delicate, fresh scent fills the air as the lid is removed and it’s sweet aroma relaxes Levi deeper into the soft bed. Taking a scoop of the cool balm onto his fingertips, Erwin leans over the pliant body and dabs a bit of the lotion on each ass cheek, chuckling when Levi moans at the initial cold that sends a shock to the hot skin. Levi wiggles a bit as the soothing balm works wonders at taking the sting from his backside and Erwin uses both hands to massage the ointment into the firm globes. Indulging in the wonderful caresses of those large palms, Levi feels himself sinking into a pleasure filled trance of relaxation. He is keenly aware of Erwin’s fingers finding every nook of his backside and playing dangerously close to his privates again, but Levi only spreads his legs a bit wider at the ministrations and hears a please noise from the man above him. To show his appreciation, Erwin’s long, clever fingers dip deep into the crease of his reddened ass cheeks and teases lightly at the puckered hole hidden away, rubbing the slick balm all over the coiled muscles. If Levi were a bit younger man, he may have found himself growing hard again at the subtle nudging of those fingers, but instead he simply groans and pushes up into the hand. Erwin teases lightly, never pushing in and making sure to give attention to the inside of the cheeks as well as down to the incredibly sensitive skin connecting his sac. Levi almost feels himself drift off to he sleep under the gentle massage until those wondrous hands leave and his skin feels empty and lonely after the constant attention. Cracking an eye open Levi whines low in his throat in an attempt to gain some more pleasure from the man above him. Instead he gets a soft smile and pat to his red ass before Erwin closes the lid to the jar and stretches backwards over the side of the bed to snatch Levi’s towel from the floor which he uses to clean his hands of any of the remaining balm. Levi is impressed at how limber the larger man is and sneaks a peek at his flat stomach when the shirt rides up from the motion. Despite living and sleeping in the same room, Levi has yet to see Erwin in anything less than a t-shirt and he feels this is quite the travesty - if not incredibly unfair. But the little show ends much too soon as Erwin snaps back up straight and grabs the jar and towel before standing at the side of the bed. “I will be back to get you for combat training later tonight. Try and behave yourself until then, I will not hesitate to turn you over my knee if you need it. Sore bottom or not.” “Yes, Sir.” Levi shivers at the threat and shifts onto his side in an unconscious effort to get some distant between his punished ass and the tall man. Erwin chuckles at the display and little pout that comes over Levi’s face and then looks over to the corner of the room that was designated for Levi. He thinks for a moment before speaking more to himself than Levi’s benefit. “I think I will have the cot taken away…” Those piercing blue eyes dart back down to Levi’s watchful gaze as he continues. “...you will be sleeping in my bed tonight.” And without another word Erwin turns and leaves the bedroom, collecting his uniform jacket from the hook on the door on his way out. Erwin’s boots thump heavily down the hall in time with the rapid pace of Levi’s pulse as he tries to wrap his head around all the implication of that sentence. For awhile Levi just stares at the open door, long after all noise from the other man is gone and the front door has slammed shut. Levi lays in wonder of just what the hell he has gotten himself into and why he isn’t more concerned about getting out of it than he is the mess of dirt from Erwin’s boots that has surely tracked mud down the hall. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Levi jerks on his knees when the door bursts open, but he keeps his gaze downcast and to the floor. The door slams shut again and the lock clicks into place with a sort of finality that has Levi’s gut twisting in nervous anticipation. The sound of heavy boots pounds loudly in the quiet of the room until the tips of Erwin’s leather bound toes stand just in the perimeter of Levi’s eyesight. And then an anxious silence falls over them that it makes Levi shift in his prone position on the floor, on his knees and in nothing but his uniform issued briefs just as he was taught.“Safe word.”The voice is calm, but the danger and anger register just fine to Levi’s attuned ears. They have discussed safe words and their needs, but have yet to implement them. But Levi should have known after what happened, after the fear he saw on Erwin’s face, that this would be demanded of him. And yet he can not find his voice.“Now, boy!”Erwin’s voice booms in the room, making Levi squirm again with the intensity of it. His fingers dig into the bare flesh of his thighs and he keeps his head bowed, racking his brain for a safe word to give Erwin. Terrified that he could end up using it.“Fly, Sir.”Despite the nerves, Levi does not waver. He fucked up. He disappointed Erwin. And he is going to pay for it....Levi wasn’t ready to go out beyond the walls, it had only been two and a half weeks since the little spitfire was brought into the Survey Corps. They were going on a routine mission to check the security of Wall Maria and do a sweep for supplies or anything else useful just along the perimeter. But available troops are tight, the enlistment of soldiers into the Corps is down since the last failed mission and Erwin thought it would be a good test run for Levi who was taking to their training like a second skin. Levi was more than happy to be allowed to prove himself to Erwin and the rest of his comrades and took the mission very seriously, which was a relief for the commander. But routine or not it was dangerous nonetheless and when two seven meter titans wander into their surveying area the order was given to fight, not flee in order to keep the integrity of the wall they were patching. Levi was swift, but reckless and when Erwin ordered him to stay back he did not listen. Too caught up in the desire to prove his worth and test his own abilities, Levi charged ahead with the special operations squad. Two of the soldiers made quick work of the first titan, one slicing low at the heels while the other flies high to rip his blade through muscle and skin at the base of the ugly neck. Levi didn’t even watch the titan topple to the ground, his adrenaline pumping and body on high alert as he trailed the other two elite soldiers going for the last titan. Levi saw an opening to get in around the side of the beast, just as Erwin taught him, and he shoots a grapple hook into a near by tree to propel him. But he shot too high and it attracted the attention of the bumbling titan who swatted at the wires and yanked Levi straight from the air, suspending him from his gear. Panic stricken, Levi lost the grip on his blades and with no other way to cut himself down he frantically began to pull at the leather straps to his gear, trying desperately to get them undone - unconcerned for the height of the fall when he feels himself being swung closer to the vicious mouth of the monster.The hellacious noises of the titan gets louder until one final earsplitting sound rings out so close to Levi he can feel the heat of its breath and the foul stench makes him gag. Levi felt himself falling fast as the titan is felled by the other soldiers and before he can even brace himself for impact with the ground a dark shadow flies overhead and he heard the chink of his wires being cut as strong arms wrap around his waist and Levi is whisked away by the mechanical gears of the 3DM gear. It all happened instantaneously, but Levi felt like he was lost in time when he looks up and sees more emotion painted on the face of his rescuer than he thought anyone could express at one time. Commander. Sir. Erwin. But the fear is overwhelming any other emotion in the blonde’s eyes, and Levi knows right away it is that gut wrenching fear for another person, that deep seeded anguish of feeling like the world is crumbling around you in chaos and there is nothing you can do but watch. But Erwin didn’t sit by and watch, he could have and probably should have let Levi die right then and there for his insubordination. But he didn’t. They land a few feet away from the smoking titan and Levi crumpled to the ground when Erwin releases him and drops to one knee over Levi. That strong hand snatched his jaw and grips mercilessly as he wrenched Levi onto his back and forced him to look up at Erwin.“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”That distress, that horror- it looked so wrong on Erwin. And even worse, Levi is the one that put it there. Levi almost thought it would have been better to be dead on the ground than have to face this all consuming look. He was stupid and foolish, he should have listened. All Levi managed in reply is a merger shake of the head as Erwin’s big bright eyes cataloged every inch of his body searching for signs of injury, his hand patting and smoothing across his chest with the efficiency of any medical soldier. A visible sigh of relief left the commander and just as quick his brows furrowed and his expression turned furious. Levi prefers that though, basks in the anger, just anything but that heart stopping look of fear. The grip on his jaw turned to a bruising vice as Erwin tilts his head back and looks down his nose with quiet fury. “You will go straight to my quarters and wait for my return, boy. That is an order.”Erwin didn’t even wait for a reply and stood up and turned back towards his troops and the wall. He bellowed a command to rally and retreat back inside the walls and everyone moves to obey with ease and efficiency. Levi was slow to his feet, but moves quickly to get in step behind Erwin’s long stride. The commander ignored him despite Levi’s silently shadowing him all the way back to the outpost. Erwin went one way to check in with the troops and success of the mission and Levi veers off to the officers barracks to await his punishment. ...And now here they are, both filthy from the excursion and Levi kneeling at the door in submission for his commander, half naked and antsy with guilt and fear. Erwin makes no comment about his choice of safe word and simply takes a step to stand next Levi and brings his hand down to thread his fingers through the dirt in his hair. It is gentle for a moment until those fingers grab a clump of black locks and yanks viciously, Levi’s hand shoots up automatically to grab at Erwin’s wrist and try to relieve the pain shooting from the hair roots threatening to rip out. Erwin pays no mind and starts to drag Levi backwards down the hallway to his bedroom. Levi shouts and kicks as he is pulled behind Erwin, fingers digging into his wrist as he hangs on tight to keep his ass from sliding across the hardwood floor and not tear any hair out in the process. But Erwin is silent and determined as he stomps down the hallway and into the bedroom with Levi squirming and cursing in his wake, not even feeling the small hands clawing at his wrist for release. When they finally cross through the bedroom doorway, Erwin throws Levi head first to the floor at the foot of his bed. Levi gasps and immediately rubs at the sting from his pulled hair as he watches Erwin stalks towards him.“You deliberately disobeyed me, Levi. I ordered you to stay back and you decided that my judgment wasn’t good enough.”“No I waa-”A quick backhand to the side of Levi’s face shuts him up real fast and he keeps his gaze down to the floor where he sits, face and head now throbbing in pain.“I don’t want to hear any of your excuses. If I tell you to stay you better damn well stay put. I should never have brought you along today. You almost got yourself killed. Look at me boy!”Levi’s eyes snap up to the blonde looming over him. Erwin is furious, he has never seen the man so open with his emotions. He really thought that Levi was going to die and it just about tore him apart because he knew the young man wasn’t ready and it was almost another death on his shoulders, another wasted life. Anguish, relief, bitterness, fear, need, hatred it all flows across Erwin’s face as he tries to process why this man means so much to him already, why he feels like it is his duty to nurture the great promise he sees within him - why he would willingly die just to keep him breathing. It is all too much to try and take in at once and Erwin opts for the more readily distinguishable emotion - anger. Levi stares up at him with hard eyes, but they are no longer defiant, instead Erwin finds an internal struggle raging and he plans to make sure the victor be in his favor.“You will never, ever, undermine me again, do you understand? Never. I thought you had learned your place here, but clearly you have not.”Levi wants to run. He knows things are taking a turn into dangerous territory. That this is his last chance to leave, because after whatever happens tonight Levi knows it will cement him to this man for the rest of his life. Because there is something deeper here that they both keep tiptoeing around, but it is creeping to the surface with every second that passes between them in this room.“Bend over the bed and spread your legs.” The command leaves no room for protest and Levi jumps to obey. Laying his chest flat against the plush bed covers, Levi leaves his legs over the foot of the bed, knees barely grazing the floor and he spreads his legs wide. The thin white fabric of his underwear pulls taunt across his ass and Levi grips at the covers in front of him at the vulnerability of this position. Erwin unbuckles his belt and pulls the soft leather through his belt loops with a menacing snap that makes Levi’s heart race. He hears the jingle of the buckles as Erwin folds the belt over and takes a step closer to the smaller man.“Tell me your safe word again.”“F-fly.”“Fly what?”“Fly, Sir.”Erwin nods, though Levi can not see it. The commander surveys the man on the bed and reaches down to cock his hips up a bit more for a better target. Erwin kicks his knees a bit wider and watches the cotton of his briefs pull tighter still, one of the leg holes slipping up the crack of Levi left ass cheek as it gives way. Delivering a hearty smack with his hand to the cleft of Levi’s backside, Erwin steps away to the side and takes aim with the belt. “You will count them, boy.”Erwin doesn’t give time for Levi to respond before he brings the belt down hard over the meat of Levi’s ass. The fire from the stripe is immediate and Levi gasps and jerks hard up the bed already forgetting to call out a number as the pain receded out from the red lash surly branded to his skin. Erwin waits a moment as Levi squirms in the new and sudden pain, but when the man fails to comply with counting he readies his arm to give to give an underhanded lick.“I told you to count, boy, and already you are disobeying me again. Anytime you fail to count out or try to interfere in your spanking in any way you will receive a penalty stroke.”And then to demonstrate Erwin gives a pop of the belt now held vertical to his cheeks so that the whole of the leather connects down the crease of Levi’s ass and grazes his inner cheeks and sac that lays wide open between the spread thighs. Though Erwin doesn’t strike this area nearly as hard, the pain is immense on these incredibly sensitive areas and Levi doesn't even try to hold back his reaction to it as he shouts and kicks at the horribly intimate strike. The message is loud and clear and Levi clutches desperately at the bed to keep his position and avoid another one of those awful penalty strokes.“F-fuck ah sorry, Sir! Two, Sir!’“Nope, we start from the beginning anytime you make me stop. So I recommend you keep your numbers in order.”Levi groans into the soft bed as Erwin switches his hold on the belt again and takes aim. Erwin lays the leather across the thinly covered backside before pulling back and strikes again a bit higher than his first lick. Levi yelps again but immediately follows it up with the appropriate number.“One, Sir!”And the trend follows, a lash and a count. Erwin takes aim to stripe the whole of Levi’s ass, making sure to overlap every few strokes to make Levi squirm and cry out. When he hits closer to the thigh area it makes Levi kick and Erwin allows it for now since it is his first true punishment spanking. But at thirteen Levi loses count and calls out fourteen instead and Erwin halts. Realizing it too late, Levi tries to correct himself.“Shit, no thirteen, thirteen! Please I’m sorry please don’t make me start again!”“I’m sorry, boy, but you know the rules. Spread your legs a bit more, you are losing position.”Levi doesn’t care that he is begging at this point, he just can’t fathom starting this all over again. But despite his pleading he still widens his legs as Erwin demands and with tears in his eyes prepares himself for the dreaded penalty stroke. Erwin doesn’t make him wait long an swiftly delivers the strike to the tender spread area. Levi howls and pops up from the bed for a moment before digging his face into the comforter, letting the tears fall from his eyes freely as the pain explodes from his very core. Erwin takes up position back to Levi’s left and rests the belt across his ass glowing red even through the underwear.“P-please, Sir, please…don’t make me start over…”“We will start from one. You have your safe word and my promise that I will stop immediately if you say it. But a punishment is suppose to hurt, and you have earn one hell of one, boy. And I also need you to trust me to know how far to push, how much you can take, and I don’t just mean here. You disobeyed me beyond the walls, yes, but ultimately you did not trust my judgement when I told you to stay back and that is why you are here being punished.”Levi sniffles into the bed, tears still streaming as he processes all that Erwin is saying. Levi doesn’t feel like he could take another lick, but Erwin believes he can and is asking him to trust him because he didn’t earlier and it almost got him killed. Sinking deeper into the bed, Levi readjusts himself. “I promised you I would never break you, didn’t I?”“Yes, Sir.”“And do you believe me, Levi?”“Yes, Sir.”Levi doesn’t hesitate and it sinks in that yes, he truly does trust this man and he is now ready to show him. Tilting his ass back in offering, Levi peaks over his shoulder to look at Erwin as he stands there with belt in hand. The commander looks contemplative and menacing, but Levi also senses pride and it makes his heart swell despite the ache in his backside. “Are you ready then, boy?”“Yes, Sir.”The belt swings and it isn’t any less painful or easier to take and Levi yelps and the tears return tenfold as the old throb is reunited with the new sting. But instead of Levi feeling like he has something to prove, he now wants nothing more than to make his commander proud. He wants to become all of those things Erwin sees in him, all of the hope he has for him, simply because it pleases the man. Levi pipes out a count as he hunkers down and fists the sheets to prepare for the next strike. Again and again the belt rains down punishing blow after punishing blow and Levi curses and bucks and kicks, but diligently keeps count. Levi is determined to get through this without disruption, without disappointing the commander again today. Erwin’s aim is precise and he knows just where to land each strike of leather to get his point across, he stripes over already burning flesh, not needing to see Levi’s ass to know just where he has had enough and where a little more taste of the leather couldn’t hurt. It feels like an endless pain to Levi, but he holds his legs wide and pushes his ass back out after each stroke.“T-twenty, Sir!”And finally at this mark Erwin tosses the belt to bed just beside Levi who is shaking from trying so desperately to hold his need to sob in. Erwin is quick to slide onto the bed next to the other man and wrap him up in his strong arms. Levi latches onto the larger man and buries his head into the broad chest, snot and tears clogging his sinuses and ruining Erwin’s shirt. But the blonde just pulls Levi closer as he lays back on the bed taking the small man with him. Wrapping his large hands around Levi, Erwin begins soothing strokes up and down his back coaxing Levi to let everything go. The hands feel wonderful on his slightly sweaty skin and even better when Erwin dips them lower to run over the cotton on his burning ass. He makes another pass up the length of Levi’s back and into his hair before those deft fingers slip down again beneath the waistband of his briefs to caress the sore, punished backside. Erwin begins to kiss at Levi’s neck when he feeling his resolve crumbling and the tears flowing freely as he lets out a pitiful sob and just deflates on top of the blonde. Those fingers continue to bring relief to his ass, reaching between his cheeks to sooth every inch of flesh he caused pain to.“I thought you were dead when that titan got you.”The voice is a soft whisper against Levi’s hair, a confession. The guilt that Levi feels is a terrible one. He has been so used to being selfish, living day by day doing whatever means necessary to get by. Sure he had a gang of followers that he was loyal with, but Levi wasn’t living for them, they were a survival tactic. But Levi can see himself living for this man. Living and fighting for his lofty ambitions. An it terrifies him.“I’m sorry.”It is a broken sound that Levi can barely understand himself amongst the sniffling and tears. But Erwin hears it. They hold each other close, Erwin cooing softly and rubbing the sting from Levi’s ass while the smaller man begins to calm down a bit. When the tears finally stop and Levi starts to feel embarrassed he begins to shift away and pulls up on top of Erwin to look down at the mess he made of the commander’s shirt. Without thought, Levi begins to work the buttons open in order to take the shirt off and once a good amount of bare chest is revealed he seems to realize what he is doing. Cautiously Levi looks up at Erwin who is watching him with a look of amusement.“Please, continue. Just know that if you start to take my clothes off in the future without my permission or an order you will be thoroughly punished. But I will let it slide tonight since we did not discuss this.”“But you just take my clothes off all the time…”The thought slips from Levi’s mouth without thought, but he is surprised to hear a little chuckle from the man beneath him. Levi bites his bottom lip as his finger toy with the next button nervously.“That’s because you are mine, boy. And as soon as you get these clothes off I can show you just how much you belong to me.”The tone and words send a shiver down Levi’s spine and he moves to sit up fully over the blonde. The new position has his sore ass rubbing uncomfortably at Erwin’s thighs, but he does little more than grimace as he goes back to work on getting the shirt and gear off. Levi’s heart pounds in his chest as the hard flesh is unveiled to him for the first time. Erwin’s skin is riddled with scars old and new and there is a faint dusting of freckles across the tops of his shoulders which fascinates Levi. His own skin is stark and pale and a little pallor, but Erwin’s is flushed and speckled and reminds Levi of the constellations in the night sky, the long thin scars shooting stars that only add to the beauty. Levi feels privileged and goes slow in order to show his reverence. A calloused hand cups Levi’s tear stained face, large enough to encompass his entire head it seems, and guides the man’s attention back to Erwin's face. There is a soft expression on the blonde, dare Levi say a happy one. Well Levi is happy too, throbbing ass and all. Levi can smell the dirt and grime of the battlefield, but for once he does not care. His hands move with ease to unbutton the final few latches on Erwin’s shirt, eyes never leaving the piercing blue as he finally pulls the shirt open. When his patience wears thin, Levi’s eyes travel down the impressive expanse of skin and muscle that makes up the slim, but powerful build. He takes in the light pink little nipples on the hard pecs and follows down the line of stoney abs to the small belly button where a fluff of dark blonde hair begins and leads Levi to Erwin’s pants minus a belt. Levi’s hands immediately go for the fastening on the white trousers, but Erwin squeezes at his hips.“Boots first.”Levi looks up confused at first, but then nods his understanding before slipping backwards down Erwin’s legs to drop to the wood floor, weary of his reddened ass. Erwin spreads his thighs to give Levi room while propping up on his elbows to look over his body and bed as the small man tries to situate himself in such a way that his poor bottom isn’t irritated. Levi settles on sitting back on his heels and reaches around the back of Erwin’s thigh for the hidden clasp just under the knee and pulls the ties free to unlace down far enough to be able wiggle the powerful leg from the thick leather. When Levi manages the boot free his hands settle on the warm socked foot and peels the fabric from surprisingly thin feet. Levi wraps his hands around the delicate bones and soft skin before he massages Erwin’s arches until the man squirms and kicks away with a stifled laugh.“I’m a bit ticklish there.”Smirking, Levi files that away for a later date and moves on to the next foot, giving the same treatment as it’s twin received. Levi doesn’t tickle this time, knowing now is not the time to push his luck. Instead he sits up higher and his hands return to the top of Erwin’s pants and this time isn’t stopped from popping the button and opening the fastens. His fingers are itching to feel the flesh on Erwin’s hips and doesn’t even yank the pants down before hooking his hands in the front of the commanders underwear. His fingers play lightly in the coarse hair as he feels around the prominent pubic bones before slowly beginning to pull both materials down the strong thighs. Erwin raises his hips to help Levi along and the small man eyes the half hard cock as he brings the pants completely down those warrior sculpted legs. Levi doesn’t even see or care where he tosses the clothing and gear, he can not take his eyes from the gorgeous length jutting up at a gentle curve in the nest of dark blonde hair. It is huge already, thicker and longer than any other dick Levi has seen, and he can’t imagine how much more it will grow. Running his palms up the powerful thighs, Levi’s fingers stop in the deep crease of the blonde’s pelvis before he finally looks up to Erwin’s face again. The heated look he finds makes Levi’s breath hitch in his throat and he licks his rapidly drying lips.“May I, Sir?”“May you what, boy?”“May I suck your cock, Commander?”Erwin groans a deep sound from deep in his gut. Levi isn’t sure if it’s the request or because it is the first time Levi has addressed him as Commander, but he enjoys way those blue eyes glaze over in lust.“Well you do have a lot of apologizing to do.” Levi gives another lick to his lips before bending down and running his tongue from the base of Erwin’s shaft all the way up to the tip, tracing along a vein on the way. He can feel Erwin shutter lightly when Levi wraps his tongue around the flared tip of the head then flattening out to give a firm lick to the tip. This isn’t the first time Levi is giving head, but it certainly is the loveliest cock he has had the pleasure to put his mouth to - clean and pink and heady. Levi looks up through the top of his eyelashes at the blonde as he makes an o with his lips and takes the head of Erwin’s cock right in. The commander moans and brings an encouraging hand up to ruffle Levi’s hair and guide him further down. Levi stuffs as much of the large dick down his throat as he can and uses his hands for the rest, cupping the heavy sac and squeezing pleasantly at the base below his lips. As the warm length goes deeper down Levi's throat he can feel it swelling further to a full erection, forcing the muscles in his esophagus to stretch and testing his gag reflex. Tears prick at the corner of Levi’s eyes again as the pressure and need for air gets to be a bit too much. Erwin helps lift the smaller man back off of him and Levi takes a greedy breath before licking sweetly at the cock again. “There’s my good boy. You want to be a good boy for me don’t you?”Levi looks up and nods slightly before wrapping his lips around just the head again and suckling softly while he pumps his hands up and down the length. The hand in his hair tightens as Erwin’s breathing gets heavier. “You are going to obey me like a good little soldier from now on right?”Pulling off with an obscene slurp, Levi works his hands harder on Erwin cock using his spit to ease the motions.“Yes, Sir.”Levi dips down and licks a bubble of precum that has collected on the tip, but before he can go down further Erwin tugs on his hair and leads him back up onto the bed until he has crawled over the blonde on hands and knees and they are now face to face. It feels odd for Levi to be looking down on Erwin in a semblance of power he doesn’t want or hold. Erwin's hands run up the sides of the petite body, teasing his sides before flipping their positions with one smooth motion. Levi gasps as his vantage changes and stares up with wide grey eyes at the man eclipsing anything else in his line of sight. The soft blonde hair hangs loose around Erwin’s face from gravity and Levi has barely a moment to enjoy the bit of dishevelment before the man swoops down and captures his lips. Levi moans into the smooth, thin lips, startled slightly. Erwin takes control of the kiss immediately, his tongue seeking entrance and Levi opens readily to let him explore. Their tongues play together as they begin to map and taste each other from the inside out. Tentatively, Levi wraps his hands around Erwin’s waist and runs them up his back to feel the muscles pulling and working as he holds himself over the smaller man. “Tell me you are my good boy.”Erwin whispers against Levi’s mouth before nipping at his bottom lip. Levi moans and squirms, fully aware of his rapidly hardening cock and having nothing to rub against.“I am your good boy, Sir.”With another lick at Levi’s kiss bruised lip, Erwin pulls back to kneel between the spread thighs and takes in the site of Levi flushed and panting, his cock obviously tenting the front of his underwear. Taking pity, Erwin hooks his fingers into the fabric and swiftly pulls them down Levi’s lean thighs, bending his knees to get the material off and tosses it to the floor. Erwin rubs his hands up the legs and caresses the soft skin before flipping Levi again onto his stomach unceremoniously. Yelping Levi tries to orient himself again, both loving and hating how easily the much larger man can toss him about. Erwin grabs his hips and hoists him up on to hands and knees and holds him there until Levi is settled. But Levi freezes when those lips kiss one of his still tender ass cheeks, then his other cheek.“You are really red back here. I will have to get the oil.”Erwin murmurs offhandedly as he continues to pepper little kisses all over the scarlet skin. Levi can’t help but arch up into the sweet little nips and kitten licks that help to sooth the punished skin. Gently Erwin cups the tender cheeks and massages before pulling them apart to get a look at the reddened flesh between noticing a bit of puffiness to the little hole there. Levi is mortified at being examined so thoroughly and gasps when he feels a wetness over his asshole and then a firm heat as Erwin laves his tongue over the swollen pucker in apology. Whining now Levi drops his chest and face to the bed to try and muffle the noises of delight he can not hold down, but keeps his ass high in the air for Erwin’s mouth. Giving another slow lick from the bottom to top of Levi’s crease, Erwin pulls away just far enough for the smaller man to feel his puffs of breath on the cooling saliva glistening hole.“See what happens when you are a good boy, Levi? I always take very good care of what is mine.”Giving a sharp slap to the punished ass, Erwin pulls away fully and gets off the bed. Levi curses at the new sting and looks over to get a look at the commander in all of his glory. He gets a good view of the blonde’s rather pert and toned ass and watches the muscles of his back constrict and pull as Erwin walks around the bed and goes to his dresser. As the other man riffles around in his drawers, Levi snakes a hand under his body and wraps thin fingers around his very needy cock and gives a few light tugs that do little more than tease. But all of a sudden Erwin is back kneeling on the bed beside Levi with his hand grasped firmly around the smaller man’s neck forcing him harder down on the the bed while his right hand whips up a storm of pain down the back of Levi’s thighs. The pain spurs Levi on to jerk himself off harder, writhing and bucking in the strong hold before Erwin yanks his hand away from his prick.“You do not touch your pretty little cock unless I tell you to, boy!”Levi yelps when the hand at the back of his neck moves to wrap around the base of his cock and balls and squeezes tight as the other hand focuses stirkes on his inner thighs and his legs quiver and spread wider. Erwin gives him a few more quick sweeps of that punishing hand to drive his point home while keeping his pressure tight around the throbbing erection.“Are you going to keep your hands to yourself or will I need to tie you up?”“No, Sir! Please I will be good…”Erwin smirks at the wantonness in Levi’s voice, he knows the man has passed the point of inhibitions and is simply feeling and expressing. He gives a final hard swat up the middle of Levi’s ass and keeps his hand there after impact to tease between the cheeks again while his other hand fetches the oil he retrieved from his dresser.“Another time. You have yet to earn my ropes anyway, boy.”Groaning at the promise of bondage, Levi just presents his ass out for Erwin in invitation and digs his face into the soft bed. Erwin pulls the stopper out for the oil with his teeth before pouring the contents at the top of Levi’s crack and then spreads the cheeks apart to watch the spicy smelling liquid stream down the cleft and over the little anus. Levi squirms at the tickling warmth but holds still when the commander’s fingers begin to play and tease in the slick mess and press at his puckered hole.“When is the last time you were good and fucked?“A-ah few months…”“So you will nice and tight for me then, boy.”“Yes, Sir.”“Good, I want every inch of my cock to burn into you so you never forget who you belong to.”Levi groans at the dirty words cooed so sweetly, though he is quite certain he could have been fucked ten minutes ago and Erwin’s massive cock would still make his ass feel as tight as a virgin. But Levi thinks sometimes Erwin likes to hear himself talk and with the way those deep vibrations of his voice pulse straight to his own prick Levi can’t find much to complain about. Erwin shoves two of his slick fingers into Levi’s tiny hole getting minimal resistance thanks to their foreplay. But the intrusion still makes Levi cry out and he is torn between thrusting back and pulling away until those nimble digits begin to scissor and stretch the muscles. Levi goes pliant, barely able to keep his ass in the air as he relaxes into the expert way those fingers fuck into him, brushing his walls and massaging and dragging deplorable sounds from his mouth he would otherwise be humiliated by. Erwin’s other hand comes up to support Levi at the hip as he adds a third finger, pushing deep inside of Levi searching for that special little spot. The reaction is unmistakable when Erwin finds Levi’s prostate, the smaller man jerks harshly like he has been shocked, going ridged for half a second before releasing the spike of pleasure in a guttural moan that he seems to deflate right along with into the bed. Erwin has to hoist him back up by the hips before adding the fourth finger and begins to fuck furiously into the clenching heat.“Yes, that’s right...you are my boy aren’t you Levi…my good boy who will listen to me from now on…always trust me to know what’s best for you…my good little solider.”“Y-yes, fuck, yes…Commander, please I promise to be good, just fuck me Sir….”Erwin gives a hard slap to Levi’s ass.“You do not make demands of me, boy. You ask nicely or not at all.”Levi yelps as another hard spanks hits his other cheek and then again and again, irritating the already bruising backside. “Ah I’m sorry, Sir, please I need you…Commander, will you please fuck me so I can be your good boy?”“That’s better.”Then Erwin pulls his finger out and flips Levi onto his back, chuckling when Levi groans in protest of the fabric on his newly stinging ass. The man was going to have some serious trouble sitting for a few days. Erwin grabs the oil again and starts to slick up his cock as he settles between Levi’s obscenely spread thighs. Levi watches with rapture as Erwin tugs on his impressive length, still unsure how it will fit up his ass but more than willing to try it out. When he is satisfied with the coverage, Erwin’s greasy hands reach for Levi’s legs and he hoists them up and back so that his knees almost touch his ears giving him ample room to line up his cock to puckered hole. Breathing is a bit difficult in this position, but Levi finds he doesn’t care as starts to push into him. Levi is able to watch the proceedings as Erwin’s holds him splayed open by the ankles and uses only his powerful hips to nudge into the oiled hole. They both moan as the thick head pushes past the tight ring of muscles, forging a smooth entrance for the rest of Erwin’s length. It hurts, but it is the sweet kind of pain that mixes so well with pleasure, the way Erwin’s hand spankings are starting to feel. Inch by inch Erwin’s cock slides home into the welcoming heat and he pushes farther up Levi’s body until his shoulders hook onto the back of Levi’s knees and he rests them there to use his hands as a bracketed support on either side of Levi’s head.They stare at each other for a moment, both trying to get acclimated to the size of the others body. It is a tight, but perfect fit. Erwin swoops down and steals a kiss from Levi’s gaped mouth, dominating and forcing Levi back into the bed with the fierceness of his lips and tongue. Levi hangs on for dear life moaning as that cock shifts around pleasantly up his ass and he sinks into his submission willingly. “Mine.”Erwin whispers heatedly against their lips before starting to pull his hips out of the vice of Levi’s ass until just the tip of his cock is stretching the muscles. They hang in suspended anticipation before Erwin slams back in with enough force to make the bed creak. Levi cries out loud as the thrust connects pointedly with his prostrate before the drag of Erwin’s prick back out pulls a low moan as the blonde lines up to do it again. Erwin goes slow at first, wanting Levi to memorize every ridge and vein on his cock as he thrusts in and out purposefully. But the clenching heat of Levi’s tight hole and the way the smaller man clings to him with strong limbs spurs the commander to rock harder and faster. Levi puffs hot little breaths into the side of Erwin’s neck as he wrenches them flush together so that Levi’s cock rubs deliciously against the commander’s hard abs. Levi’s ass is achingly full and Erwin drives his cock relentlessly to continuously remind him of just how good it feels. As those hips piston furiously both men get much more vocal, moaning and gasping their pleasure into each others skin. Levi tucks his head into nook of Erwin’s shoulder as he pushes his pelvis fervently into the brutal thrusts when he feels himself hurtling to his climax. Erwin gets his mouth on the side of Levi’s neck where he clamps down with his teeth, tasting the salty tang of his skin and marking Levi as his. Groaning at the sharp bite, Levi bucks hard once more before an overwhelming bliss explodes through his body and he spills his seed all across both mens stomach. When Levi cums, his whole body locks tight and the little hole pulses around Erwin's cock, milking him and pulling him over the edge as well. With a final hard thrust, Erwin buries himself as deep as he can go and climaxes with a low moan up the warm passage, painting Levi’s walls a sticky white.Erwin pulls out and rolls to the side before he collapses down on the bed next to Levi who is still trying to catch his breath and lays unseeing with lidded eyes. In a daze the commander leans over and runs his tongue filthily though the mess of Levi’s cum on the pale stomach, licking a path up the small man’s chest and over the already bruising bite mark at his neck before meeting Levi’s lips in a passionate kiss. Levi groans unhappily at the taste of his own seed on Erwin’s tongue, but he greedily laps and plays in the blonde’s mouth nonetheless. They lazily explore each other until Levi can no longer taste his tangy spunk and only Erwin’s own pleasant flavor fills his senses. But it doesn’t take long for the cum and sweat on their skin to become itchy and irritating and Erwin pulls away.“I am sure you would have no objections to a bath.”Just the very idea has Levi moaning with desire to be cleaned. And he nods his head yes. Erwin scoots off of the bed and before Levi can follow suit the commander is scooping him up in his arms bridal style and holds him close against his chest as he walks them towards the bedroom door. Though Levi wants to kick out of the undignified hold, he has little strength left to do so and can’t deny the way his heart flutters at being so easily held like this. Levi’s entire body thrums with soreness and he just wraps his arms around Erwin’s neck, trusting the man to take care of him. As he nuzzles into Erwin’s shoulder they enter the bathroom and Levi’s voice comes out soft, but strong.“I’m sorry.”“You are already forgiven, Levi. Just please, trust me.”“I do, Commander.”
1063541	Undeniable	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Kiryuu Zero, Cross Yuuki", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by KibaSin", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-30T00:00:00", "words": "6,163", "Additional Tags": "Bloodplay, Blood Drinking, Alternate Universe - Vampire, One Shot, Soul Bond, Sexual Tension", "Relationship": "Higurashi Kagome/Kuran Kaname", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Past Time", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale, Vampire Knight", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Disclaimer: I do not own any material belonging to the respective owners of Inuyasha or Vampire Knight. "What is it you want now?""Zero, that's no way to treat the headmaster!" Yuki frowned. She watched as the boy merely reached up to rub at the marking on his neck, turning his head away from her. A small scowl had found its way onto Zero's face, and she shook her head at him. He had been quiet lately, and she hoped that he was all right, since he had not refused to speak with her since she had offered her blood for him to drink."Ah!" he replied, "Tonight I have a very special order for you both."Yuki raised her hand in a salute, and said, "Whatever it is, we shall fulfill it! It is our duty as members of the disciplinary committee.""That's my girl, Yuki!" Headmaster Cross replied.Zero sighed, "Will you get on with it?""Right," he nodded. "Yuki. Zero. If either of you see Kuran-san doing anything odd, anything out of character, within the next twenty-four hours, do not interfere. Whatever it is, even if it is against the academy rules, I want you to report to me. Do not provoke him," the headmaster ordered, his voice soft, as his head lowered."Headmaster, what is it you think Kaname might be doing—or going to do?" Yuki asked curiously.Zero's hand clenched, his eyes narrowing in thought."Oh, nothing!" the headmaster responded cheerfully. His head raised, eyes glittering happily. "I'm not worried that anything dangerous is going to happen, but I thought you two should be on alert. After all, we are going to be receiving a very special guest, and I do hope that the Day and Night Class will welcome them happily.""Who is it, headmaster?" Yuki asked.Zero turned on his heel, retreating from the office. His thoughts were moving, and he hoped that Yuki was prepared, because even now her feelings could not be completely wavered from that vampire.Yuki turned, "Zero!""You better go with him, Yuki," the headmaster said. "Make sure he stays out of trouble."Yuki nodded, and began to retreat from the office herself. She stopped, however, when she heard the headmaster speak again. She turned her eyes toward him in that moment, noticing that he had turned serious."Yuki, for tonight, it is good to remember that not everything is how it appears. Take the Night Class for example—they appear to be a bunch of beautiful, yet sometimes troublesome students. However, underneath the human mask, they are and always will be vampires.""Of course, headmaster."The headmaster smiled again, saying, "Best you be off then! The Night Class will be coming out soon for class, and the Day Class girls will no doubt be very excited." He stepped closer, his stance calm as he glanced over the scene. The energy he had felt was gone now, but it lingered in the air, calling all those who wished to drink from it. It was that call that had brought him here, his feet traveling across the ground in order to stop the violence that would no doubt break out. He did not care to claim the power for his own, but it would need to be contained, forced down, before the one holding it was destroyed from the overload—thus destroying others, as well. His face calm, neutral, he stepped closer toward the sound of hissing. No doubt another had come to claim the power and blood said to be unstoppable, and undeniably addictive when turned. However, he knew that many more would fall should he not bring peace, for the energy was building up once again, ready to strike any who were not worthy. The human turned would not have control over that response until someone put a stop to the chaos, and he knew that he was the only one in a respectful distance who could. Moving from the shadows, he moved around the corner, his eyes casting over the scene. The former human was huddled on the ground, while the lower class vampire hissed down at her—even through the thick scent of blood, her feminine scent was not hard to decipher. The vampire demanded for her to give herself over to him, but he only received a blood-red stare, the former human revealing gleaming white fangs from behind her curtain of dark hair. The recently turned human did not move, though, for already the uncontained power was rising, tensing like a viper going to strike. Her urges were thick, heavy upon the air, but she did not go for the neck. No, instead she allowed the power crackling in the air around her to go for the soul, burning the other vampire's flesh until it was dust. Surprisingly, the scent of blood grew in thickness, though it was clear that the lower class vampire had been turned to ash. The energy did not die down, the female crying out, unable to hold them down, as she probably had been able to while human. Thus was the curse of her rebirth. Tears leaked from her eyes, the red stare fading into seas of blue, while a whimper of despair rose from her throat. She looked so weak, though her kind were said to be so strong—like a butterfly, beautiful until dead. Her body shook, the energy returning to strike out at the body that it was contained within, nothing stopping it from attacking in its recently found freedom. It had been given a taste of vampire blood, and without something to stop it—without sacrifice—it forced itself upon its master, slowly gaining more freedom until it had obliterated itself. The only way to stop it was through sacrifice—through the drinking of blood, for it was the only thing that locked the energy away. Humans did not understand this, and those with this type of energy were even more reluctant to take what was offered. They considered it a sin, something that should not happen, even when it was a matter of life and death. Humans with this type of energy were the worst, and very few drank, destroying themselves before they were given even a chance to see the good in being immortal. Her eyes snapped up, blood swarming in from the edges, when he stopped before her. Her face was covered in dirt and blood, but he could see the beauty that she had held even as a human. Her energy rose away from her body again, swarming around him, crackling the air, but he easily ignored it, pressing his own against it and forcing it to submit. Then, she whispered, "W-what do you want?" "What I want is not important," he stated softly. "It is what you want." The crackling energy realized that it was unable to fight against such hidden strength, and retreated to the former human's body. The girl whimpered again, the energy no doubt returning to its previous actions—tearing her apart the longer she waited. "I did not want this," she replied, "but he wished to die, and I could not stop myself from helping him." "Who?" "The pureblood T-Toshiaki," she whispered. "I-I was a fool, I did not believe that he would go to such means to die." "Tell me," he asked, "do you wish to die as he did?" She was silent for a moment, and then her eyes looked up at him. They were once again seas of endless blue, magnificent and pure, though the energy swirling beneath the pupil was powerful and unforgiving. "No," she replied softly. "I wish to live." "Do you know what you must do?" he asked. "Yes, but I do not wish to die," she whimpered. "They gave up far too much for me to die because I am not able to drink blood to survive." He did not know what she spoke of, but he knelt down at her side in order to gather her into his arms. Her body was limp, her head instantly falling to the side in order to reveal her pale, blood-covered neck. The energy swarming underneath her flesh was already beginning to cripple her, but he knew that it would soon be over. He leaned into her, pulling her head so that she was positioned to feed, before he said, "And you know of the consequences?" "Of this forbidden union? Yes, I know of them," she nodded lightly. "Yet still you wish to live?" he asked. "Yes," she replied, not a moments hesitation in her voice. "So be it," he muttered. His lips then pulled back, gleaming fangs showing themselves for any who might witness the moment. His tongue slipped from between them, sliding up her throat, tasting the blood that had already spilled from her sealed wounds. A groan left his throat, before he finally pressed his fangs to the skin covering the vein he sought. Her energy rose again, spilling from the wound he had created and into his mouth with her blood, but the added sting was delightful as he heard her gasp. Soon, her energy would be too focused on him, and her urge to return the bite would rise to the surface. Her tongue began to ravish his neck, and he knew that it would be soon. Yuki moved forward, her mind replaying her orders, even as she hoped that she would not come across some over adventurous girls from the Day Class, hoping to get another glimpse of the beautiful vampires of the Night Class. Her feet tapped lightly against the ground, her eyes sweeping over the darkness as she continued her patrol. For a moment she wondered where Zero had gotten to, but decided that she should not worry about his lazy bum—he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Besides, this was not the first time that he had disappeared, and she doubted it would be the last, even if she did give him a good talk on the proper conduct of a member of the disciplinary committee.Rounding a corner, Yuki paused when she realized that she was not alone. Her hand instinctively settled onto the Artemis Rod, as she spun herself away behind the shadows of the building to her left. She crept forward, realizing that the others had not noticed her presence, and paused when a feminine voice spoke."Hello," one of them said, "Kaname."Yuki allowed her eyes to widen, realizing that the taller of the two was in fact the President of the Night Class. She found it odd, since she had seen him walk into the building for class, yet he was standing in front of her now. And next to him, slightly obscured from the way he was position in front of her, was a girl. However, Yuki could tell, even from the distance now set between them, that the girl was quite beautiful, enough so that she could have sworn she was a vampire for a moment. But, there was something about the way she seemed, the way her beauty did not glow, that told Yuki she was probably human.Blinking, Yuki wondered what Kaname was doing outside of class with a human. And how in the world have the girl managed to get on campus without alerting anyone? She was not wearing the Cross Academy uniform, and Yuki could not recall seeing her before within the hordes of girls who wanted to take a peek and admit their affections for anyone in the Night Class. However, that did not answer the question of what Kaname was doing with her. Yes, he was polite and kind, but what could he possibly want to do with a human that had somehow happened to appear on campus?His hand lifted, reaching out toward the girl, and Yuki thought for a moment he might be going to strike her. It would make sense, that he would remove her if she were a threat, or take her to the headmaster if she was lost. However, she was confused when Kaname merely grasp a few locks of the girl's raven colored hair, shining with a dark blue tint in the moonlight. Even more questions swarmed into her mind, as her hand slipped from the Artemis Rod, deeming the girl a non-threat. But she could not stop herself from watching, even when she knew that she should put a stop to the interaction and take the girl to the headmaster.His hand fell away from her soft, raven hair then, his fingers brushing against her pale cheek. Yuki could not see his eyes, but she watched as the pureblood stepped closer to the girl before him. His voice then rose into the air, "It has been a long time, Kagome.""No amount of time is long for us," the girl replied. "But even so, I have missed you."Kaname leaned into her, his nose finding a home in the crook of her neck. A hiss escaped his throat, as his hands rose to grip her arms. He pulled her closer, inhaling her scent—so sweet and pure—as it incased him in a strong hold. His nose moved only slightly, enticing a shiver from the girl, searching for the prefect vein, so vulnerable and easy to take from. "My precious little butterfly—so beautiful and elegant you appear, yet how weak you are…"She snaked her hands behind his back, holding him close, as she pressed her body to his. "Kaname," she whispered, tilting her head a bit more to the side. Her long neck was exposed to him, as well as the thin choker about her neck, a tiny butterfly hanging from the center. "You are not as strong as you claim, either.""My little butterfly," he repeated.Kagome moaned when his tongue slipped from between his lips, the stiffened tip pressing against her throat. The wet appendage slipped upward, marking a path along the thick vein that he was paying so much attention to. Her head fell a little more, feeling her blood pump beneath the surface, as if it was begging for him to take a bite. Then, as quickly as the feeling had appeared, it vanished as he pulled away. "Nggh…" she whimpered.Burying his nose once more, Kaname forced down the instincts rising within. However, he was not the least bit surprised when Kagome pulled herself closer. Her mouth settled against his ear, and his instincts refused to be held down once she began to whisper. Her voice was so soft, so alluring, and he knew that she held him tightly when he felt himself breaking."Kaname, please," she whimpered. "Stop torturing us both."Instantly, her words like a command, his lips pulled back to reveal his deadly fangs. He pressed against her, one hand cradling her head, allowing the sharp tips to graze her tender flesh. The moan that left her throat became his undoing, and without a moment's hesitation, he sank his fangs deep into the vein calling to him. His urges would not be denied, not now, and he knew that his little butterfly would not be the one to deny him.Thick, heated blood escaped the wound he had inflicted, swelling up in his mouth, and moving down his throat with each strong gulp. The girl in his arms shuddered, another moan slipping from her lips, and Kaname knew that it would not be long. His little butterfly was as weak as he was, unable to deny the urge she had each time he drank from her. It had been so long, and he knew that it would not be long before she gave herself over to the instincts building beneath her skin.Yuki's eyes widened from her position. From her spot she could hear the thick moan that slipped from the girl's parted lips, and her heart beat loudly as she watched her head fall back further into Kaname's hand. She could not make out much, for Kaname was at least a head taller than the girl he was drinking from, but she saw the red liquid stain the girl's white open-collared shirt. The sight was what set her into action, her hand going to grip the Artemis Rod. Drinking blood on campus was forbidden, Kaname had to be stopped, whether the girl was from Cross Academy or not.A hand settled onto her head, and she turned suddenly to find Zero standing behind her. "Zero," she breathed, "we have to stop Kaname before he gets into trouble!""Don't you remember what the headmaster said, Yuki?" Zero asked."But he's—""She smells like them," Zero frowned.Yuki frowned, her thoughts rushing. What do you mean, Zero? Them? Does that mean she smells like a vampire? Does that mean I was right the first time—that she's not human?"She smells like him," Zero continued."Ka… na… me…" Another long moan slipped from the girl's mouth, filling the air around them. Yuki swung her eyes away from Zero's, though she had noticed his narrowed, and watched as the girl gripped Kaname's loose shirt tightly. At that moment she realized that he was not wearing the academy Night Class uniform. The girl, though, pulled at it until it had bared his throat, her head fallen back into Kaname's hand completely, as her face twisted in pleasure. Then, Yuki's eyes widened when the girl lifted her head weakly, her eyes staring at Kaname's neck in lust.Her eyes were alight with flames, the blue twisting away into lustful orbs that had only sight of the expanse of flesh before her. Zero's eyes narrowed a bit more as the girl pulled her lips back, revealing hidden fangs, and moved in to take from the pureblood as he was taking from her. He almost moved to save her from her own death, knowing what the pureblood might do should she actually take a nip at his neck, whether he was drinking from her or not. However, the energy, the power that he saw swirling in her eyes the next moment stopped him. He had only heard of such a creature, but her eyes told all as she leaned in to feed.Zero's eyes narrowed just a bit more. No, the Night Class President would not hurt her, for he was drinking for more reasons than simple lust. If her blood were really as sweet and addictive as the creature's was said to be, then the pureblood would not dare kill her in fear of losing his snack. And he had no doubt that it was, for the smell was sweet and demanded that he try to fight for a taste himself, but he knew the consequences of such a thing. Her blood would kill him—the energy rising up to kill, for he was not the one that she had first drank from.Her head moved, the fangs pressing against the slightly moving flesh, and piercing through with ease. A growl moved through them both, delight causing them to shiver, before she buried her fangs deep into his neck. Thick, delicious blood filled her mouth quickly, slipping down her throat as she gulped hungrily. Her hands gripped Kaname tighter, her eyes slipping closed as she drank, a pleased moan managing to dribble out with the blood that she was not quick enough to drink. She took from him as he took from her, though, greedily allowing his blood to settle in her stomach and replenish what he was taking from her—and he did the same as he sucked harshly, drawing more blood into his mouth.Kaname growled lightly, feeling the sting of her energy as it washed over his tongue and down into his stomach. He growled again at the feeling of her lustfully pressing against him, sucking from his neck as if it would be her last meal. He had unleashed her pent up urges, but along with it came the energy that was hidden so easily beneath her skin. It trickled down his throat, burning his lips and mouth, but he simply could not get enough of the pain as her blood brought him so much pleasure. He knew his eyes were beginning to bleed, but he wanted to fill his stomach completely before she managed to pull away from him and halt his actions.She groaned at the feeling of him burying his fangs a bit more, pressing his mouth to the wound more. Through the haze and the blood, though, she knew that she must stop before she managed to lock herself forever in that position with him. Her urges were strong, but the energy swimming beneath her flesh told her that it was time for her to stop, before something went too far. So, with a small whimper, she pulled her fangs from the punctures she had created softly, and allowed her tongue to slip out and lap over the wounds roughly, forcing a few more precious drops out before they closed over.Her head fell back again, feeling him clutch her to him, continuing to feed. The haze was becoming thicker, but she knew that she could not do what her body urged her to here—no, but she knew that the truth was undeniable, for eventually she would lose herself to the other urges for him. Her hand slipped up, taking hold of his hair, and pulled harshly, allowing a long, pained whimper to escape her throat. He growled, gulped, but eventually softened his hold, knowing that he had had his fill.Kaname lifted his head, his eyes catching hers, before he reached his hand up to slide through the blood covering her chin. He appeared calm, but he had leaned in again, this time to lick at the blood that had escaped his greedy throat. He felt her do the same, cleaning the surface and searching for any drop she could find with her hungry tongue. The strokes of her tongue almost pushed him to sink his fangs deep into her flesh again, reopening the punctures, but he held himself against the urge, knowing that they would not stop then. She was so addictive, but he knew that she did not wish for such a thing to happen until she was certain—but the outcome was final.Pulling herself away, she watched as Kaname did the same, the pureblood taking one final lap of her throat. However, she giggled slightly at the sight of him, watching as his eyes softened as she did so. "You always make such a mess," she chuckled, reaching up to brush her fingers through the blood dripping from his chin. "It is a wonder how you manage to get anything at all.""You are not much better," he replied, watching as she moved to pull a white handkerchief from her pocket. He allowed her to reach up and wipe the blood from his face, though he had a strong urge to stop her, wanting each drop for himself. It was a waste, truly, for her sweet, sweet blood to dry on that pathetic piece of cloth. However, he ignored the urge, enjoying the feel of her fingers moving against his flesh, while watching his own blood slip down her throat the more she tilted her head back."I guess not," she smiled. Her smile twisted away into a small look of shock when he suddenly sucked her fingers into his mouth in the next instant, though. His face was still blank, but his eyes glowed as he rolled his tongue around the two digits he had managed to capture. No doubt he wanted the blood that had smeared onto the tips, but she knew that look well enough that he was enjoying her treatment and reaction, as well. It did not take much from his suckling mouth, before she dropped the handkerchief, uncaring of where it landed.He delighted in her actions, her eyes glazing over as she watched him. His little butterfly was so easy to please, so easy to shock, even after all this time. He knew that he should stop, stop before it went too far, but he could not deny the urge that swelled in his chest. His hand reached up to grasp her wrist because of that urge, and when her fingers slipped from his mouth, he pulled her closer, leaning down to take a taste of his own blood.She tilted her face the way that he wanted it, her eyes slipping closed, feeling his tongue run across her throat with retracing laps. A moan slipped from her when he moved upward, taking little licks at her chin, before smoothing his wet appendage across her cheek. He retraced his path only once, before her eyes opened, and she gazed into his own, soft and filled with affection. Another smile crossed her lips, as she allowed herself to indulge a bit, pressing her blood-covered lips to his, knowing that he would take the opportunity to finish his treat.Kaname growled a bit, refusing to leave a drop of blood behind, even as he forced his tongue between her slightly parted lips. His tongue tangled with hers, his eyes slipping closed, as he felt her hands return to gripping his shirt."Alright, that's enough," a voice growled.She gasped, pulling away from Kaname even as he tried to suck her tongue back down his throat. A thick blush crossed her cheeks, seeing two figures standing a bit in the shadows of the building nearby. Kaname turned a bit in her grasp, even as she tried to bury her face into his shirt, wishing that she had not been caught giving in. He was just so hard to ignore, to refuse, and she knew it was because of what he had given her."Vampires," the male hissed."Kiryu," Kaname greeted. His eyes shifted slightly, and a sigh left him at seeing his precious girl. However, he knew that though she had previously held feelings for him, her feelings were beginning to turn toward the male at her side more and more. The knowledge caused him to reach up and grasp the back of his little butterfly's head, knowing that she would never leave him; never stray away. "Miss Disciplinary Committee.""Kaname," Yuki nodded. However, her eyes had not left the girl tucked into Kaname's chest, refusing to look at them. She had never known Kaname to lose so much control, so give in the way he just had, and she could not help but wonder who that female vampire was. "I—I think that you should… should…""Are you afraid, Yuki?" Kaname asked.Kagome glanced up, though she felt her fingers grip Kaname's shirt tighter at the somewhat soft tone he used. She had never known to him act anything but kind, except when he was hunting, but there was something about the way he had spoken to that human. A soft growl filled her throat without her consent, and she felt his hand press her tighter against him. Her chest twisted, wondering what his relationship was with that human, and she felt her energy begin to crackle at the thought."Sh, my precious little butterfly," he mumbled softly.Zero narrowed his eyes, "I think that you need to come with us, Kuran. I think the headmaster would like to know what you've been up to out here with your… girlfriend."Kaname allowed his eyes to narrow a fraction, daring the former human to say what he really wished to. His lip lifted in challenge, but he knew that Kiryu was not that stupid. He might have been able to steal his precious girl's feelings from him, but he would not get away with insulting his little butterfly. When Kiryu did nothing, though, he brushed his fingers through Kagome's hair, and said, "If you think it best, Kiryu."Yuki watched as Zero turned on his heel, ordering them to follow. Her shock—and, yes, she did feel a bit of fear course through her veins—still shivered down her spine, the fresh memory of fangs splitting into flesh passing through her mind. However, she managed to get herself to move, watching Kaname as he brushed his fingers through the female vampire's hair, leading her along behind Zero. And once again her curiosity rose, wondering whom the vampire was, and why she had seemed so human before she revealed her fangs. Headmaster Cross perked up, a bright smile appearing on his face. "Oh, joy! You've arrived just in time! I just found your uniform, Higurashi-san! I do hope that it is the right size, since we had a few mishaps the last time they came. Everything was either too large or too small, and my dear, sweet vampires simply refused to trade or adjust them until new ones could be made."Zero scowled at the sound of his cheerful voice, before he growled. "She's one of them, isn't she?"Yuki glanced at him, confusion filling her eyes. What are you talking about, Zero? You already know she's a vampire, you said so yourself. What else could she be?"Whatever do you mean?" the headmaster blinked.Zero clenched his hand, forcing himself to resist the urge to slam it against the desk in front of him. "Don't act stupid," he replied, "you know what I'm talking about! She smells like a vampire, but I felt that energy. What the hell are you thinking bringing one of her kind here?""Zero," Headmaster Cross said calmly, "Higurashi-san's energy has been contained by Kuran-san's blood. She is not a danger to anyone, you know that.""Damn it," Zero hissed. "You know what will happen if someone else decides they want a bite. Kuran will go berserk, and her blood will turn them to dust. You won't be able to keep that from the Day Class, you know that.""As President of the Night Class, Kuran-san will be able to control any unauthorized biting that might come close to happening," the headmaster smiled. "After all, Higurashi-san will be in the Night Class, and I'm sure that she will remember that only Kuran-san can bite her without consequences. And I'm sure that Kuran-san will keep her close if the others decide that they can try to show advances toward her.""What are you talking about?" Yuki finally asked. "Why would they try to bite her? And why would they turn to dust?"Headmaster Cross glanced at his adoptive daughter with a soft eye. "I had forgotten you do not know most of what we are speaking of, Yuki. Tell me, do you know anything about the levels that vampires are categorized in?"She nodded, "I was told that purebloods are the highest level, and it ranks down until Level E, where former humans lose themselves to their bloodlust.""That's right," he replied. "However, what is not so well known is there is another level. One that is set outside of the pyramid, for it is very rare to find one that can be categorized into that level. This level would be directly next to the highest level, with purebloods, though.""Another level?" Yuki asked."That's right," he smiled. "This level consists of rare, holy vampires.""Holy vampires?" Yuki blinked. "What is the difference between a vampire and one that is holy?""We were once humans with high levels of spiritual powers," Kagome spoke up. "All beings have a level of spiritual energy, but holy vampires are former humans that had very high levels. It might not be known to the human, unless they have been trained to control and manipulate that energy, but once they have been bitten by a pureblood—once they begin to turn, their energy strikes out at the holy vampire who bit them, and then turns upon the former human."Zero frowned, "I've only heard of them in legends and tales, since there are so few these days—""There are three of us," Kagome replied quickly."—but they are said to be stronger than normal vampires. They are said to be on the same level with purebloods. Is that true?" he narrowed his eyes again."We have our defenses and our powers, but I cannot be the one to answer that," Kagome said. "After all, who am I to say that I am on the same level as a pureblood vampire, when I am not one myself?""That's avoiding the question," Zero snapped.Yuki glanced at him sharply, opening her mouth to tell him to be a little nicer. She wanted to know as much as she could about this strange vampire, one who made someone like Kaname lose all control, but that might not happen if he continued to be so rude. However, she found no need to speak when the pureblood began to, a slight edge adding to his voice."Kagome might not seem very strong, but I would not put her on a level lower than mine, Kiryu." Kaname frowned, reaching out to brush his hand through Kagome's hair once more. His little butterfly was being so very quiet now, looking up at him with a small, questionable glance.Another question rose in Yuki's mind at the gesture. "Why—why did you bite her, Kaname?"Kaname looked up, debating what he should tell her."Because," Kagome spoke up, "though I do not like to be viewed as a possession, I belong to Kaname. He is my savior, the one who sealed away the power that would have killed me. He gave me new life, and in return I give him the gift of experiencing my power coursing into his body. It is described as very unique and addictive, because the one who saved a holy vampire is able to feel the shock of death, but know that it will not grasp them in that moment.""He saved you?" Yuki asked, her eyes widening."Yes, because that is the curse of our birth. Unless we have the will to live, to allow ourselves to be bitten by a vampire strong enough to resist purification, our energy will remain untamed, wild, and eventually kill us while changing," Kagome nearly whispered. "Kaname is the one who saved me, who stopped the fire from raging, so he is the only one who can take my blood and bring forth my true nature.""Why would he need to do that, though?""Holy vampires," Zero spat, "receive the gift of appearing human, of being able to choose whether they become nocturnal, and whether they wish to walk among humans because they do not have the normal urges that former humans get. Once they have chosen life, their energy gives them those gifts, because it holds down the urges, the bloodlust, wishing to live, but still knowing its true nature to kill any who are tainted. It's said that energy can only be unlocked by the vampire who sealed it, because it somehow recalls the familiarity in the vampire's own spiritual energy—anyone else who tries is killed, turned to dust in their own greed.""Yes, and that is why I belong to Kaname. He is the only one that I will drink from, because I refuse to harm others, and he is the only one who can unlock the urge to feed from within me," Kagome smiled softly.Headmaster Cross looked up, having remained silent during the discussion. Yuki looked ready to ask another question, but he quickly cut her off. "Look at the time!" he said. "The Night Class should be returning soon, which means the Day Class will be up and ready for the shift. I do believe that the members of the disciplinary committee should be there in order to keep the Day Class girls are getting too excited."Zero snorted.Yuki blinked, her mouth slightly open, a question hanging on her tongue. However, she was not able to ask as Kaname and Kagome excused themselves, Kagome retrieving her uniform from the headmaster and thanking him before they moved from the room.She found herself keeping the girls in the Day Class in line soon after, as the Night Class moved back to the Moon Dorm. She found that many of the girls were confused by the appearance of a new girl—one they had not seen when the Night Class came out at dusk—gliding soundlessly at Kaname's side. Her uniform was in place, the crisp white colors contrasting with her raven hair and causing her blue eyes to shine as she smiled. As they moved, many of the girls who had wished for Kaname's affections began to whine.It was very clear, it could not be denied, that there was more between them than they wished to let on. Yuki saw that, and she hoped that they would be happy—as happy as she felt whenever she was with Zero. -Fin
1058951	Never	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Steve Jinks, Myka Bering, Helena \"H. G.\" Wells, Claudia Donovan, Leena (Warehouse 13), Pete Lattimer", "Fandom": "Warehouse 13", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by QuimbyCub", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-26T00:00:00", "words": "2,995", "Additional Tags": "Inspired by Tumblr, drinking game, pre fem slash, drunk oversharing", "Relationship": "Myka Bering/Helena \"H. G.\" Wells", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Claudia was standing on her tip-toes to reach the bottle of liquor on the top shelf when Leena came into the kitchen to finish the dishes from dinner."What are you doing?" Leena laughed, grabbing a stepstool to help Claudia reach the shelf."Thanks." Claudia hopped up and grabbed the bottle. "We're going to play a game.""A drinking game?" Leena asked, a little disbelieving. "Who is 'we'?""Myka, Steve, HG, Pete, and me." Claudia listed cheerily, filling her arms with soda cans and some glasses in addition to the bottle of vodka. "You want in?""No." Leena judgmentally replied. "Wait, is Pete drinking?"Claudia rummaged in the pantry. "Yeah." She pulled out a bottle of Sriracha and waved it in the air triumphantly. "He gets the nonalcoholic stuff.""Lucky him." Leena let the disapproval tinged her voice."I know!" Claudia, missing the sarcasm, smiled as walked to the dining room to join the rest of the group.Everyone was gathered around the table discussing the guidelines to their game. "Ok, so, since Claudia isn't used to drinking, I say we dilute her drinks with soda." Steve purposed."I second that." Myka agreed. "Probably not a bad idea to just do that for everyone."Helena snorted. "I can hold my own, thank you very much." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I dare say I can drink you under the table.""I'm sure you can." Myka appeased. "But I don't think we want to call Dr. Vanessa because someone went overboard. Although," She started pouring soda and liquor into the glasses. "I'm pretty sure you'll win this one.""What's the game?" Leena interjected from the doorway."'Never Have I Ever'" Steve supplied. "I'm still not sure this is a good idea.""Why not?" Claudia objected. "It'll be great 'cause no one can bullshit it without you catching 'em." She threw the hot sauce to Pete. "You really shoulddilute that.""Nah." Pete shook the bottle and poured some into the tumbler in front of him. "I'll be fine.""So," Helena leaned back in her chair. "What exactly is the goal?""Okay," Myka sighed, this was not the first attempt to educate HG in the ways of modern drinking games. "We take turns saying things we've never done. For instance you might say that you've never been in a limo. Then anyone who has done that thing has to drink. So, you want to say things that are fairly common that you haven't done.""It usually gets kinda dirty." Steve elaborated. "But the point is to get the other players as wasted as possible.""Or as the case is today," Claudia smiled. "To make Pete drink so much hot sauce he barfs.""Alright…" Helena thought it over. "Wh—""Let's just get started and you'll catch on." Pete cut in, slightly excited to get his partner to spill her guts."Fine." HG nodded as Myka handed her a glass. "So, the whole thing or a sip?""The whole thing." Claudia answered quickly."A sip!" Myka corrected. "Especially for you Claud.""Shall we begin, then?" HG asked."Ok, who goes first?" Steve asked. Everyone looked around at each other. "Don't everyone start at once." He thought for a moment. "Ok, never have I ever…been on TV."No one drank."Alright." Claudia was next. "Never have I ever…gone skydiving." Again, nothing. "Really? Lame."Pete sighed. "Okay, never have I ever been to Africa."Myka and HG both started to drink, then Myka reached out and placed a hand over Helena's glass, "Wait! Yes, you have Pete.""When?" He objected, quite certain he would have remembered going to Malaria central."Egypt?" Myka reminded him. "It was only a year ago."Pete squinted his eyes at her. "Egypt is in Africa? Oh." He thought it through…"In his defense," Steve piped up. "He wasn't lying. He just didn't know.""Geography not our strong suit, Mr Latimer?" HG teased."Fine, Australia." He ignored the taunts, ego bruised. No one drank. "Come on, guys""You're doing this wrong." Leena sighed and pulled a chair up to the table. "Never have Iever kissed a coworker." She smirked defiantly. Everyone but Claudia drank. Pete coughed as he drank some of the bright red liquid and Myka laughed at him openly. "That's better." Leena smiled. "Who's next?""Never have I ever…" Myka began. "Danced on a stage."Claudia and Pete drank immediately. "Is a bar a stage?" Leena asked.Myka raised an eyebrow. "Yes."Steve and Leena took a sip."Righty-ho, then." Helena smiled. "Never have I ever…" She eyed Myka dangerously. "Gotten a tattoo."Myka, Pete, and Leena drank. "Really?" Pete asked the innkeeper. "Where?""Vegas." Leena replied, purposely side-stepping the question."No, I mean—" Pete began."Never have I ever," Steve interrupted. "Hacked a computer.""That's not fair!" Claudia objected. "You can't do that!" She turned to Myka. "Can he do that?""I don't see why not." Myka nodded for the girl to drink.Claudia pouted and took a swig, making a face as the alcohol burned her throat. "Fine, if we're gonna make personal attacks on one person like that," She thought quickly. "Never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex."Steve rolled his eyes and drank. So did HG, who looked expectantly at Myka. Myka sighed and took a quick sip too. "Oh, really?" Pete asked, apparently the only one surprised by this information."I went to college." Myka defended. "Go ahead."Pete thought quickly of some way to embarrass Myka. "Never have I ever been blonde."Myka rolled her eyes and drank. At HG's look she explained. "Marilyn Monroe's hair brush with a few other artifacts…long story." HG nodded, satisfied with the explanation.Leena kept the game moving. "Never have I ever eaten an entire plate of cookies.""Aw, man," Pete lifted his glass again. "My tongue is starting to hurt.""Maybe you should be a little less of a blabbermouth about your past." Myka said, "Never have I ever…" She smiled smugly. "Never have I ever measured a part of my body with a ruler."Pete and Steve drank. "What part of your..?" Claudia asked. "Oh, never mind.""Your move, Wells." Pete rasped; he really was starting to have trouble with the hot sauce.Helena cocked her head. "Never have I ever cheated on a partner."Myka smiled inwardly, good to know. No one drank. "Pete?" She asked."Nah, I keep Little Pete under control when I dating. I'm hurt that you think so very little of me Mykes." He turned back to Steve. "Go for it Jinksy."The game continued with fairly innocent questions about travel and hobbies until it got back to an only slightly buzzed Steve a few rounds later. "Never have I ever been handcuffed by a lover."Myka choked on her water. "What?""What?" Claudia asked."Guys, I think it may be time to call it quits." Leena tried.Myka took a sip and shook her head. "Nah, we can keep going."Everyone, except Claudia, around the table took a sip."Did they do kinky stuff back in the day, HG?" Pete asked, choking on his Siracha.HG smirked. "I'll have you know that quite a lot when on in Victorian society that was not recorded in your history books, Mr. Latimer." She gave Myka a suggestive glance. "Including a fair amount of, as you said, 'kink'." Her voice curled around her final word.Claudia spun her glass around and around in her hand. "Never have I ever used lube."Everyone took a sip except HG. "What is-?""It's a sex thing, makes everything go…smoother." Pete offered.HG still wasn't sure. "Remember when I made you get a pap smear?" Myka asked."Yes." HG replied, still unhappy about the experience."The gel they put on the speculum was lubricant." Myka finished."Oh, then, does that count?" HG asked."Not if you consider the intent of the question." Myka answered. "She was really asking if you've been with or" she gestured to the boys. "Have a huge dick that requires such an aid."Pete laughed out loud. It was becoming clear, especially to him (the only truly sober one), that everyone was starting to loosen up. Time to make his move. "Never have I ever…fantasized about someone at this table."Myka rolled her eyes, past the point of caring if a question may cross a line, and tossed back the rest of her drink. HG followed suit, but the glare she shot Pete clearly told him to drop it. Myka began her statement, "Never have I ever!" She emphasized by slamming the bottle down on the table after topping herself off. "…Been married."Pete glared back at her but drank the last of his hot sauce. "Okay," He shivered slightly as he tried to get the last of the liquid down his throat. "I'm out.""Me, too." Leena agreed, pushing her chair back and sliding her suspiciously full glass to the middle of the table.HG furrowed her brow. "But it was about to be my turn." Her voice was fairly innocent, but, as many of the questions had been decidedly baised to either her, having come from the 19th century, or the others, having all been alive during the same era, Helena was faring better than the others. She probably only had to drink as much as Claudia, but the red-head was not processing her alcohol as well."Nah," Claudia waved them away. "It'll be more fun if the responsible adults go to bed.""Hey!" Steve and Myka objected.Claudia looked at them both condescendingly. "Right, you're both very grown up." She teased."Ok, bantling, my turn," HG stretched languorously. "Never have I ever watched pornography." She paused at everyone's faces. "You did say the 'responsible adults' were gone, didn't you?"Steve, Claudia and Myka all drank. HG raised a curious eyebrow at Myka, but the game continued. After an uneventful question from Steve, Claudia tried her turn."Never have I" she burped. "Ever…oh god, I'm gonna ralph." She said sprinting down the hall to the bathroom."I'm gonna go…check on that." Steve volunteered and followed the young woman from the room.HG started collecting the glasses. "Well, that made for an interesting evening.""Yeah,"Myka began, catching what the Brit was doing. "Hey! No, we're not done." She waved her arms to emphasize her statement, her limbs loose and uncoordinated."But it's just the two of us." Helena said. "What fun would that be?""Are you scared?" Myka teased.Helena sat back down and poured one of the other beverages into her own. "Never." There was an unmistakable defiance in her voice. "I believe it is your turn.""I believe it is!" Myka chirped. "NeverhabeIever," she slurred a bit. "Worn a corset."Helena gave Myka a reproachful look. "Cheater." She spat, but took a drink anyway. "Never have I ever met a US president.""Now who's cheating?!" Myka objected, swallowing a far too large mouth full of soda mix. "Had sex outside."To her credit, Helena didn't even blink, just drank and shot back. "Had sex in car.""Had sex with a woman." Myka said even before drinking to the car question."Really?" Helena asked, this time slowly raising the glass to her lips. "Isn't that good to know."Myka paled a little. Okay, maybe just because she knew a question would get HG to drink didn't mean she should go straight for the jugular without considering what she would be admitting to.Still, HG continued. "Never have I ever had sex in public."Myka drank, this time taking her time to think of something sufficiently…sufficient. "Never have I ever had sex with someone more than ten years older than myself."HG started counting on her fingers but ultimately drank. "We could fix that." She offered thoughtfully."Fix what?" Myka asked, trying to pull her hair back with little success.Helena got up and stood behind Myka. She took the hair tie from Myka's hand and combed her fingers gently through the brown curls. "We could fix you not having had sex with a properly experienced woman." She wrapped the band around the bulk of Myka's hair, allowing a few strands to fall and frame the agent's face. As she moved back to her chair, she trailed a hand over the back of Myka's neck and down one shoulder."Agent Wells? Are you" Myka pointed an accusing finger. "Propositioning me?"She laughed. "Perhaps I am." She stood and extended a hand to Myka. "What other wondrous things have you 'never'?"Myka stumbled up the stairs behind the shorter woman, never releasing her hand. Halfway up, Helena turned to check Myka's progress, and at seeing the stumbling woman and it struck her how much Myka must have imbibed. She slowed her pace, steadied her hand, and assisted, more than lead, the younger woman up to her proper bedroom."Here we are." Helena smiled. She urged Myka to sit on her bed and knelt at the woman's feet. "Allow me." She insisted, removing Myka's sneakers and socks. "Lay back." She instructed. Myka eagerly crawled up the bed and lay in the middle. Her cheeks were flushed and it was visible in her eyes that she was intoxicated, both by HG and by the alcohol.Helena sighed to herself. There had been a time, in her youth, when if presented with a beautiful and willing woman, even one who had gotten that way from immoderation, she would have indulged herself. But not now. And never with Myka. Myka was not a one-night conquest. Myka was someone she cared for deeply and wanted…She wanted more for Myka and herself. She leaned over the woman spread out on the bed and placed a chaste kiss to her forehead, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Go to sleep, darling.""What?" Myka shot up. "You're supposed to fuck me." It was almost a pout, and would have been somewhere in the realm of endearing had it not been so entirely out of character for Myka. "I was promised sex.""Yes, and sex you will have." HG agreed, still standing to exit the room. "But not tonight.""But," Myka stood and closed the distance between herself and the inventor, only swaying a little. "I wanna," She pushed the sheet of ebony hair back over Helena's shoulder. "I wanna nibble on your collarbone." A clumsy finger trace said line on HG's chest.Helena took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself, but only succeeding in filling her nose with the sweet and spicy scent of Myka. "Please, go lay down." She said calmly."Why?" the taller agent questioned, not backing away."Because," Helena placed a hand on Myka's waist and steered her back the bed. She coaxed the drunken woman to lay down again. "I think I love you Myka." She admitted, and continued before she could be interrupted. "And taking that into consideration; I want our first time together to be more than one night of mind-blowing, earth-shattering hedonistic passionate fucking" She emphasized the word with distaste. "That you'll remember only as part of a night of excess." She helped Myka under her blanket even though she was still clothed. "And if you do not keep your hands to yourself that is exactly what will happen.""I like the mind-shattering, earth-blowing part." Myka interjected.Helena smiled, running a hand over Myka's hair. "And you will have that. On another night, much later, after I have taken you out to a lovely dinner and properly courted you, the way you deserve.""Tell me about it?" Myka asked like a child asking for a bedtime story. Her eyes were starting to grow heavy with sleep and Helena doubted very much that Myka would remember any of the evening's events.So she conceded. "You will wear a dress that clings perfectly to your magnificent figure and high-heeled shoes that will be far too tall and look very uncomfortable. I will wear those black trousers that you seem to like watching me walk in. I always catch you looking at me, you know." She looked down to see the other woman's eyes starting to drift closed. "I always shake my hips a bit extra when I catch you, just to tease you." She yawned and started to leave."Stay." Myka whispered, half asleep. She shuffled over to one side of the bed and patted the empty space beside her."Myka," HG started her protest."Stay and tell me more about our courtship." She insisted.Helena complied with Myka's wishes, lying behind her. She not objecting when Myka cuddled back into her chest and pulled one of Helena's arms across to rest on her waist. HG hugged her lightly, she figured she could sneak out before Myka awoke in the morning and the younger agent would not suspect a thing. She continued her story. "I will take you to a nice restaurant, somewhere far away from here, and we shall talk about everything that is important until we are all talked out. Then we will talk about nothing in the way only two people truly in love can." She snuggled closer to Myka's warm form. "We will walk under the stars and laugh at the moon; our evening will be magical, in a safe, non-artifact way. And we will do whatever you want. Then," she sighed, her voice little more than a whisper. "Then after I have made you laugh and smile and let you know how much you are loved, I will take you back to our hotel." HG yawned again against Myka's neck. "Then I will spend the rest of the evening making love to you. I refuse to fuck you our first time, love."She pressed a kiss to Myka's shoulder. "It will be so much more than that." And fell asleep with a smile on her face.
1002224	Show No Mercy	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Lucifer (Supernatural), Michael (Supernatural)", "Fandom": "Supernatural", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by earthtoallie", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-13T00:00:00", "words": "533", "Additional Tags": "Dubious Consent, Sibling Incest", "Relationship": "Lucifer/Michael (Supernatural)", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“I hate you,” Michael snarled venomously, bent over on his hands and knees, Lucifer’s weight bearing down on him. The two of them were used to this little song and dance by now; they would trawl circles around each other for as long as it took, tossing snide remarks across their respective sides of the Cage until one of them snapped, pinned the other down and fucked it out of them.Michael had been the losing party this time, not that he hadn’t gone down without a fight. He had known from the predatory look in his brother’s eye exactly what he was planning to do, and the second Lucifer had touched him, he had lashed out at him, scratching and clawing at Lucifer’s flesh. His actions had hardly deterred Lucifer, though. If anything, they had only spurred him on further.The younger archangel had caught one of Michael’s wings, squeezing the bone harder than necessary and tugging at his feathers until Michael had submitted to him. He had clutched at Michael’s wings before throwing his brother down on the ground, ignoring the pained grunt Michael let out at the contact. He knew his knees would likely be black by the end of this ordeal, but he refused to give Lucifer the satisfaction of letting him know it bothered him.“Lying is a sin, Michael,” Lucifer smirked, pushing down on Michael’s wings and spreading them further apart, an uncomfortable twitch rippling through the elder brother’s back. By now, Michael should have known his wings were his weak spot; they were immaculate and sensitive, and an obvious target that Lucifer always went for, but for some reason he always left them undefended.A growl rumbled through Michael’s chest as Lucifer toyed with his wings, the younger brother canting his hips and driving his cock that little bit deeper inside Michael in retaliation. The elder archangel barely managed to hold back a pleasured moan as Lucifer’s cock slammed into his prostate, knowing all too well his brother would get some sort of sick satisfaction out of it.“Get off me,” the elder archangel snapped, trying to move away from his brother, but Lucifer’s grip on his wings was too tight, too vicious, and all he succeeded in doing was shifting his brother’s cock so it brushed against his prostate, sending a shiver down his spine.Lucifer’s grip moved from Michael’s wings to his hips, his grip bruisingly tight as he anchored his brother’s hips in place, the two of them rutting against each other as they pushed each other over the edge. Lucifer eased out of his brother, arms sliding around Michael’s waist in an embrace so drastically different from what had just happened that it shocked Michael. He wormed his way out of the younger archangel’s grip, a scowl glued to his features.“Don’t touch me,” Michael hissed when he felt Lucifer follow him, struggling in vain as Lucifer pulled him into another embrace. Michael sighed, the tension draining from him as he sank into Lucifer’s arms, head resting on his shoulder. “I hate you,” he murmured against Lucifer’s skin.Lucifer let out a quiet chuckle, pressing a kiss to Michael’s crown. “I know.”
1006794	Patch Job	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski", "Fandom": "Teen Wolf (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by jackpack", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-16T00:00:00", "words": "1,786", "Additional Tags": "Highschool AU, Med Student Derek, Bullying, Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Alive Hale Family, Fluff, Mates, Sort Of, derek never really tells stiles, Werewolves are still a thing, but stiles doesn't know that either", "Relationship": "Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "The Great Big Book of Sterek", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Stiles had been to the nurse’s office so often that he’s struck a deal with her- she doesn’t report his various bully related injuries, and he doesn’t report the frequent smoke breaks she takes behind the big tree on the football field. So, when Stiles limps in after another beating, he isn’t prepared to see someone new behind the desk- a young guy, a young hot guy who is staring at Stiles with wide eyes. A lot of things run through Stiles’ mind (most of which equate to “I know I’m bleeding but can I lick your abs?”), but the first thing that comes out of his mouth is: “You aren’t Gertrude.”The guy stares at him for a few minutes, blinking, before he replies. “No. I’m Derek. I’m… an intern. Med student.” Stiles nods (and then winces) because he’d remembered seeing “INTERN” being written on Gertrude’s calendar I bright red letters this week (surrounded by a disturbing amount of smiley faces.) “Right, hi. I’m Stiles.”“You’re also bleeding.” Derek huffs, suddenly beside Stiles, man handling him over to the cot in the corner and pushing him down onto it before going to rummage through a drawer. “How did this happen?”“I fell.” Stiles lies. Derek stops rummaging and glares at him.“Lying.” he says simply. “Try again.”Stiles gapes for a moment. “I… assholes cornered me by some lockers. They pushed me and I took one to the face; it’s no big deal.” Happens all the time.“Has this happened before?” Derek asks.“No.”“Lying.” Derek says again, and Stiles is really starting to hate this guy.“I can take care of myself.” he huffs. Derek snorts.“Not if you’re ending up here you can’t.” He stops rummaging, pulling out a bottle of disinfectant and some cotton swabs and goes back over to Stiles. “Hold still.”The disinfectant burns when Derek begins swabbing it across the cut above Stiles’ eye, and he flinches on instinct. Derek growls- like actually growls- and puts a hand on his shoulder, holding him down as he swiped at the wound. He has a look of determination in his eye, concentrating on the cut like it’s the most important thing in the world, and he’s a grown man Stiles barely knows, and he really shouldn’t look that adorable , but he was. “Your eyes are really green.” he blurts, and Derek abruptly stops scrubbing. “I-I, um…” Derek clears his throat, ears going red. “Thank you?”Stiles gives a small smile. “I, er, yeah. Sorry, I just say things sometimes without thinking. You were focusing really hard and I noticed your eyes and you looked cute and… I’m... I’m going to shut up now.”Now both Stiles and Derek were blushing. Derek stood back up, moving away and tossing the cotton swab in the trash can before turning to rummage through the drawers again, this time coming up with a bandage. He tossed the wrapper in the garbage can and walked back over, putting a hand on Stiles’ should again as he put it over the cut.“There.” he says, stepping away again. “Done.”“Thanks.” Stiles says, hopping down from the cot.“Just… try not to get into any more trouble.” Derek mutters, herding Stiles out the door. Stiles calls “no promises” as he walks down the hall, but he does stay out of trouble, oddly enough. None of the people that usually bother him will even look him in the eye when he gets to school the next day, and they go out of their way to avoid him in the halls.This reprieve lasts the entire time Derek’s there and then it’s back to business as usual, worse than before. Stiles stops going to the nurse’s office all together after that, and instead buy some makeup and starts learning how to cover it up on his own. It’s easier that way, albeit harder to blink. Three weeks after Derek’s interning stint, Gertrude’s smoking spot is discovered and she’s fired (which makes her happier than any person should be when receiving that kind of news) and Stiles is confronted with a familiar face while he’s attempting to mask a black eye in the bathroom.“What the hell?” Derek hisses, and Stiles nearly drops the cover-up stick down the sink.“Derek! Hi!” he says, whirling around to face the scowling man. “You’re Gertrude’s replacement, then?”“Temporarily.” Derek’s voice is still low and dangerous. “What the hell happened, Stiles?”“It’s nothi-” “Don’t even, Stiles.” Derek growls. “I fucking toldthem to leave you alone, dammit!” “You what?” Stiles blinks, incredulous. “How did you even-”“It doesn’t matter.” Derek says hastily, and Stiles’ eyes narrow.“Yes, it does. How did you even know who was doing it; are you, like, stalking me? Because, if you are, you need to back the hell of because my dad is the sheriff and I will not hesitate to-”“I’m not stalking you!” Derek cries, exasperated. “I could smellthem on you!”“… You could what?” Stiles squeaks.“Smell them.” Derek repeats slowly. “I’m… it’s hard to explain, but I have stronger senses than most people. I can smell individual scents of people, and it wasn’t all that hard to track down the idiots that hurt you. I told them to stop.”Stiles is silent for a while, because, wow. Derek barely even knows him and he stuck up for him. “Uh… thanks?” he finally says. “But, next time, maybe don’t? They only stopped until you left, and then it kind of… escalated. So I started dealing with it on my own.”“By covering it up?” Derek snorts. “That isn’t dealing with it, Stiles.”“It’s how I deal with it.” Stiles argues. “I can’t tell anyone- you see what happens when I try and go to a teacher or something, if I tell my dad he’d probably arrest them for assault and battery or something, and if I fight back I’d just be bringing myself down with them. It’s not really worth it so I just… deal.” Now Derek has fallen silent, standing and staring at Stiles. “… Do you have a piece of paper?” he asks suddenly, and Stiles blinks.“Um, sure?” he rummages through his bag for a minute and hands a piece of paper to Derek, who pulls a pen out of the pocket of his scrub shirt and quickly scribbles something on in before handing it back. “It’s my phone number.” he explains when Stiles gives him a bewildered look. “When this happens, call me instead of covering it up. I won’t say anything unless it gets really bad, but, I will patch you up best I can.”Stiles nods and shoves the paper into his pocket. “Right, will do.”Derek nods at the promise and leaves, leaving Stiles to stare at his reflection and wonder what has become of his life. --------------------------------------------------------- He never has to call Derek. Not that he isn’t still being knocked around on a daily basis- he is, but when he pulls his phone out to call Derek, he’s already there, first aid kit in hand. Jokingly, Stiles accuses him of being a stalker again, and Derek glares at him. “I just have a sixth sense when it comes to these things- or these things when it comes to you, at least.”“Jesus,” Stiles breathes. “Are you some kind of superhero? Superhuman senses plus a Stiles-sense.”“A superhero.” Derek says, half-smiling. “Something like that.”“Cool.” Stiles crows, and Derek actually laughs. ------------------------------------------------------------- It isn’t long before they’re hanging out outside of school and Stiles’ visits, and Stiles learns that Derek’s actually a pretty cool guy. He has a huge family, but is closest to his sisters- Laura, his older sister, a writer (“and a pain in the ass.” Derek snorts) and Cora, who actually goes to school with Stiles. (She stares at him in the hallway now. It’s really a little creepy.) Derek’s a bit obsessed with basketball, and the look he gets with he’s ranting about stats and plays and god knows what else (because, honestly, Stiles is really just watching his mouth at this point. (It’s a kissable mouth.) is adorable.(Stiles has a tiny crush.Okay, not so tiny.)Derek even comes to a few lacrosse games, even though Stiles is rarely ever even on the field. His dad loves Derek, even invites him over for dinner a few times, which Derek respectfully declines in favor of school work.Things are going pretty fine, Stiles thinks, until he passes out in the middle of a history test. He wakes up with a panicked looming Derek looming over him, panic turning to relief when he notices Stiles’ eyes opening. “Thank god,” he breathes, throwing his arms around Stiles’ neck. “What happened?”“Wha-oh.” Stiles is still a bit out of it, focused more now on Derek hugging him then anything else. “I.. Adderall withdrawal, I think. I’ve been taking more than I need to for the past few weeks to study for this test, and I stopped suddenly because I didn’t need it anymore, so-”Derek pulls back, looking angry now. “You’ve been overdosing?” he hisses, and there’s a flash of blue in his eye that Stiles vaguely registers as never having been there before. “That’s fucking dangerous, Stiles!”“I know, I know.” Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s no big deal, really.”“You could have died!” Derek cries, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s exaggerating, but doesn’t say anything. It probably wouldn’t go over well. “Weeks, Stiles! Weeks!”“I’ve done it before!” Stiles protest, and Derek slams a hand down on the counter. “I don’t fucking care what you’ve done before, you aren’t doing it again!”“You don’t get to-” Stile begins, but suddenly Derek is kissing him and oh. Stiles feels like he’s going to pass out again, so he fists his hands into the Derek’s scrub shirt and kisses back best he can, but Stiles has no idea how these things go outside of television and the making out he’s seen in the halls, so they end up bumping teeth and noses a few times (not that either of them care.)Derek pulls away, hair mussed and cheeks bright red, and all Stiles can say is “Oh.”“I… care about you. A lot.” Derek says slowly, not looking Stiles in the eye and still blushing like someone who’d been caught with their hand down their pants. “And it would kill me if you died. So, please, don’t scare me like that again.”“I will do whatever you ask if we can do that again.” Stiles says breathlessly, and Derek glances at him and half-smiles. “Repeatedly.” he agrees, and Stiles silently thanks Gertrude and her smoking habits.
1098794	No Man Needs Nothing	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Lawrence of Arabia (1962)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by russian_blue", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-24T00:00:00", "words": "253", "Additional Tags": "Introspection", "Relationship": null, "Character": "T. E. Lawrence", "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Yuletide Madness 2013", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	They all think he's looking for something in the desert. Glory, or victory, or conquest, or the adoration of men; escape, perhaps, or simply himself. He finds all of these things and more, and loses them, and sometimes gets them back. But none of those are why he loves -- no, why he needs the desert. He needs its nothingness. Its empty expanses, the searing heat of the sun, the blowing desolation of the sand. Not because he is a Bedouin, or a god, or English . . . but because he is Lawrence. The desert is the only place where he can lose everything. England, and ambition, and himself. When he stares out into the wastes of Arabia, his quick mind falls silent; the incessant turning of the gears in his mind slows at last to a halt. He thought for a while that it was peace he sought, but peace is a thing of too much substance. He wants nothing. He needs it. He needs a void, a little span of time in which he can cease to be Lawrence. Even here, he can only lose himself in brief snatches. There are others about, and obligations. There is glory and victory and conquest and the adoration of men -- and he is human enough to want these things. But when he stands at the edge of camp and stares out into the sand, burned white-gold by the sun or cold silver by the moon . . . then, for a little time, there is nothing. And he is content.
1039797	18 Hours	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/F", "Characters": "Mako Mori, Sasha Kaidanovsky, Aleksis Kaidanovsky", "Fandom": "Pacific Rim (2013)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Zoi no miko (Zoi_no_miko)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-11T00:00:00", "words": "1,163", "Additional Tags": "Kink Meme, Polyamory, Polyamorous Character, Shower Sex, Lesbian Sex", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Sasha Kaidonovsky/Mako Mori, Aleksis Kaidanovsky/Sasha Kaidanovsky", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Mako had been startled the first time Sasha Kaidanovsky showed interest in her. She'd nursed a crush on the Russian pilot almost since the first time she'd met her - how could she not? Sasha was perfect: strong, fierce, beautiful, sexy. Everything that Mako herself wanted to be. Sensei had assigned her to be the Kaidanovsky's assistant during their visit to the Alaska shatterdome, and she spent three days as their hostess, escorting them to meetings and making sure they had everything they needed, and she felt that she had formed the beginings of a firm friendship with the couple by the time they left. Still, the idea that Sasha would return her interest never crossed her mind.The politely worded email from Sasha came a few days later, relaying their thanks for the good time and company. She had to re-read the end several times. 'Aleksis likes you and thinks that I should date you. I'm inclined to agree. I hope you will consider letting us return your hospitality when you visit Vladivostok?' One shy reply turned to two, turned to daily emails and frequent phone calls. They'd talk about piloting, about Mako's work restoring Gipsy Danger, about silly little things that had nothing to do with Jaeger and the war at all. Sensei seemed glad to see Mako find a friend, something to focus on beyond her drive to become a pilot and avenge her family. And if sometimes she ended up in her bunk when they talked, one hand between her legs to Sasha's throaty encouragements, well... Sensei didn't need to know.When she finally visited Vladivostok she nearly froze, even with the PPDC-issue thermal tights she'd put on under her dress uniform. Sasha was waiting for her at the helipad, eyes bright and lips red in the sea of white that was the ice and snow and her white fur-lined winter coat. She tutted and whisked her off to the couple's quarters, issuing orders to the techs that Mako hoped meant her bags would be taken care of, then snapping in Russian at anyone who tried to waylay them.Aleksis looked up from his book and nodded as they entered, stretched out in an armchair even bigger than he was, feet up on an ottoman. The Vladivostok Shatterdome wasn't much different than Alaska, but somehow the pilots had managed to commandeer two sets of living quarters, a door cut in the bulkhead between them covered with one of the many colorful tapestries that warmed the walls. She barely had time to look around the bedroom before Sasha had pulled her through it and into the bathroom, turning the shower on full blast.Sasha shrugged out of her coat and tugged Mako's from her shoulders, tossing both back into the bedroom before crowding Mako back against the bathroom door. "Don't worry, lastochka," she murmured, and the mix of desire and affection in her eyes made Mako's heart pound faster. "I'll keep you warm."Sasha's lips were warm and soft with lipstick against her cold chapped ones, but Sasha didn't seem to care, sucking gently at her bottom lip as her fingers made quick work of the buttons on her uniform. Mako had been afraid that shyness and inexperience would get the best of her, but being in Sasha's arms now felt like the natural progression of every conversation they'd had until now. It felt better than she'd imagined, yielding to Sasha's strength and desire, letting the other woman remove her clothes and urge her into the shower, joining her moments later under the spray of warm water.She'd thought Sasha beautiful before; now she couldn't imagine anything more perfect. She reached out hesitantly to stroke a hand over the curve of Sasha's hip, pressing closer at Sasha's appreciative hum and encouraging smile. When the other woman bent down to kiss her again, Mako let herself go completely, stroking greedily over the slick softness of Sasha's skin, over toned muscle and the faint lines of scarring from her circut suit, over the full softness of her breasts. Sasha's kisses made her head spin, made her heart pound and her breath catch in her throat, and her pulse throbbed hot between her legs.Mako felt simultaneously more vulnerable and more alive than she'd ever felt before, body singing under Sasha's touch. She didn't even try hold back her mewling gasps of pleasure, back arching up into Sasha's kisses as she nuzzled Mako's small breasts, catching one nipple in her mouth and lathing it with her tongue as her fingers sought the slick heat between Mako's legs. A thought flitted briefly across her mind, that she should have done this - women, sex, Sasha long ago, but it was quickly eclipsed by the pleasure that shivered through her from the caress of Sasha's fingers against her clit. She came almost embarrassingly quickly, thighs trembling and fingers digging into Sasha's back, crying out against Sasha's smudged red lips at the pulses of sensation that overwhelmed her.Mako felt like gold for the rest of the day, and had to fight to keep from smiling any time her gaze met Sasha's. She agreed immediately when Sasha asked later if Aleksis could join them that night, because she couldn't imagine being so ungrateful as to deny the request, not when Aleksis had been so kind as to allow her to share Sasha's passion. A few drinks of vodka were enough to keep her from feeling too shy under Aleksis's gaze, and Sasha was a heady distraction, winning Mako over to her attentions as easily as she had earlier. Aleksis seemed content mostly to watch, voice murmuring low encouragements in a mix of English and Russian to Sasha when she pressed her lips between Mako's thighs, and later, when Mako moved to return the favor, she found she was grateful for the guidance of Aleksis's fingers on hers, voice low as he nuzzled Sasha's breast. "Like this, lastochka. This is how she likes it."By the end of the week she felt a warm bond of affection and friendship with Aleksis that almost rivaled the love and desire that Sasha had awoken in her heart. They held her tight between the two of them in their quarters, and Mako tried to concentrate on the warmth and love she could feel and not on thoughts of the chopper waiting to take her away. "I don't want to leave," she whispered, and buried her face in Sasha's shoulders to hide her tears."We'll meet again soon," Sasha promised, arms tightening around her, lips pressed to her hair. "Don't cry, lastochka. Soon. I promise."Aleksis hummed in agreement, a deep rumble in his throat. "And if we cannot find a good excuse, we will take Cherno Alpha and walk to Anchorage."The idea was ridiculous, and Mako found herself laughing despite the tears. "That would take days!""Not days," Aleksis replied, as if he'd actually thought about it. "Only perhaps eighteen hours."~~~
1053721	Dragging You With Me	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Jason Orange, Howard Donald, Gary Barlow, Mark Owen, Robbie Williams", "Fandom": "Take That (Band)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Dracothelizard", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-21T00:00:00", "words": "6,050", "Additional Tags": "90s fic, post-reunion fic, Drag", "Relationship": "Howard Donald/Jason Orange", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "TakeThatSlash Big Bang 2013", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	When Jason is informed his part in the rock’n’roll medley will be very much dancing only, he’s disappointed for a split-second before the usual dull acceptance sets in. He even manages a weak smile when Nigel tells him with a rather pleased expression on his face that Jason will be playing the woman’s part and that obviously the costume change will take too much time to give him another slot for back-up vocals. “Besides,” Nigel adds, “didn’t you say you wanted a more challenging choreography?”And he had said that, had told Nigel that they could do more if only they had the opportunity and the rehearsal time, but this hadn’t been what he had wanted. Prance around on stage in some fifties dress and a shitty wig so everyone could laugh at him? No thanks. “I did, yeah.”Nigel raises his eyebrow. “I thought that you, as a dancer, would be happy with my solution, Jason. Each of you singing, it wouldn’t have worked.”He musters a more convincing smile, the one he’s practised over and over for photographers by now. “Time constraints, right?”“Right,” Nigel replies, and they both know it’s a lie.*He tries not to sulk and bring the others down, but they spend so much time together that everyone’s attuned to each other’s moods. Mark and Robbie try to distract him by talking about films, television, everything but music and the fifties, Gary talks about nothing but, because Gary finds the influence of fifties rock’n’roll on current pop music fascinating, but Howard’s the only who brings up the thing that’s actually bothering Jason.“You know what would be the best revenge?” he says three days after Nigel’s announcement. “If our dancing bit is the best part of the entire medley. We’re the last ones, right?”Jason nods. The order’s been finalised. It’ll be Gary, Robbie, Mark, then him and Howard and then the five of them. “And Nigel does always say a show has to build up to a climax,” he muses, seeing what Howard’s getting at.Howard grins. “So let’s give ‘em one. Let’s give ‘em the best rock’n’roll dancing we can, Jay.”He imagines the look on Nigel’s face if the crowd was to scream more at his and Howard’s dancing than at Gary, Robbie or Mark singing. He likes it. “If Nigel wants a show, he’ll get a show.” He still doesn’t like the idea of being the only one wearing a dress, the only one singled out like that, but he trusts Howard. The two of them are going to make this work far better than Nigel imagined.When it comes to his costume for the rock’n’roll dance, Jason only cares for two things: It has to be easy to put on and take off, and it has to look ridiculous. Being laughed at on stage is still a fear of his, but if it has to happen, it may as well be on his terms.The first time he wears the full costume at a group rehearsal, Robbie is the first one to burst out laughing, Mark stifles his sniggers in Robbie’s shoulder and Gary is shaking his head and laughing as well. Howard grins at him and offers his hand. “May I have this dance?”He grins back. “You may.”The way the other three laugh at the resulting dance wasn’t as intended, since the costume makes things slightly different and the wig falls to the floor halfway through. Jason himself nearly joins it, but Howard manages to get his arms around Jason fast enough, holding him tight.Jason is clinging to Howard with one arm, his heart in his throat.“It’s all right, I got you,” Howard tells him, his voice shaking a little from exertion.“Thanks,” Jason mutters, heart still racing. Thank God for Howard’s reflexes. He’s fallen while dancing before, but it’s never fun and they can’t risk one of them getting injured at this stage of rehearsing. He looks up at Howard and his assuring smile, and something squirms in his stomach.There’s still a risk of falling.“You okay, Jay?” Gary asks. “Why d’you stop?”“Nearly dropped him,” Howard replies instead, looking from Jason to Gary. “Must be all those curries he’s been eating.”Jason huffs and snaps his fingers in Howard’s face to get his attention. “If you can’t carry me, we can always swap places.”“I’ll tell you what,” Howard says as he puts Jason down. “Next time one of us has to wear a dress, I’ll do it.”Jason eyes him suspiciously, then turns to the others. “We all heard that, right? Right?”Gary, Mark and Robbie nod. “You wanna get that in writing,” Robbie adds. “Signed in triplicate.”Nigel sighs and pointedly looks at his watch. “If you don’t continue rehearsing right now, I’m going to have a chat with the costumers and get all five of you dresses for the tour.”Jason notes that Mark and Robbie don’t seem particularly bothered, but Gary briefly looks panicked, and Jason smiles.“I meant it,” Howard says quietly.“What?” Jason turns to face him as Gary suggests they go over his Great Balls of Fire again, which leads to Robbie telling him he should see a doctor about that.“About the dress,” Howard adds, eyes flickering down at the halter neck dress. “Next time I’ll wear it.”“It has to be on stage,” Jason replies, because Howard can be very sneaky and Jason’s not going to let him get away with wearing a dress in private. “In front of a crowd at least as big as the one during this tour.”“Fine.” Howard doesn’t even have to think about it, and he holds out his hand. “I promise you, next time one of us has to wear a dress for a performance in front of a massive crowd, I’ll do it.”Behind them, Gary, Mark and Robbie are still arguing over STDs while Nigel threatens to replace them all with circus elephants. “You’re on,” Jason says, and he shakes Howard’s hand. “And a wig.”Howard lets out a dramatic sigh. “You drive a hard bargain, Orange. Deal.”Jason grins. “Can’t wait to see it.”If he knew then how long he’d have to wait, well, Jason wouldn’t have changed a thing. Some things are worth waiting for.Things are tense a few years later. The four of them have to put up a cheerful, united front for the press, for the fans, for everyone, and Jason has never wanted to disappear this much in his entire life. He wants to pack up his bag and go. He’s not sure where he can go without being immediately recognised, but he vows to himself that he’ll find that place.The Smash Hits Awards feel surreal. Judging by the ridiculous amount of awards they collect, the fans still love them, and they perform and joke around as they’re meant to, but as they wait around backstage Jason has to fight the urge to flee.The four of them are huddled in a corner, ready for Never Forget. Nigel has gone off to ‘network’, which means he’s making use of the free bar and talking to any industry contact useful to him. It’s probably for the best; the last thing they need right now is Nigel adding to the tense atmosphere. Howard’s looking paler than usual, and Jason tries to reassure him that he’ll be fine, they’ll be fine. He’s not sure if Howard’s even listening right now, all his replies are monosyllabic.Mark, who has been pacing restlessly for a few minutes, suddenly stops when Gary snaps at him to stop it. “I’ll be right back,” he says. He walks over to one of the backstage crewmembers assigned to watch them and talks to them quietly before being led away.Gary frowns as he watches Mark go, then turns to Jason and Howard. “Why did he do that? He’s got to go on stage soon for that Fanciable Male Award.”“No idea,” Jason replies. “He didn’t seem angry.” He nudges Howard. “Dougie? You know what’s going on with Mark?” He knows it’s a futile question, but right now he just wants to draw Howard into a conversation and distract him.Howard looks up from the floor and frowns. “Where’s Mark gone?”Gary sighs and sits back in his chair, slumping further down. “Great,” he mutters. “Just great.”Mark stays away for a long time, and with every passing minute Jason becomes more nervous. Nigel’ll be back soon, and he’s going to be angry if he finds them here without Mark. He wants to look for their missing member, but the backstage area is filled with people and he doesn’t want to risk leaving only for Mark to return a few seconds later and have Nigel give him a bollocking instead.“He’s got to go on stage in ten minutes,” Gary grumbles, tapping his foot impatiently. “This is ridiculous.”Just then, Mark appears with the crewmember who led him away earlier. He’s dressed in a gold lamé dress, still with his black jumper on underneath. He’s also found some terrible blonde wig. “Speaking of,” Jason manages, then dissolves into laughter, leaning against Howard.Mark, with a big grin, twirls around for them. “How do I look?” He flutters his eyelashes, and Jason feels Howard shake with laughter.“Mark,” Gary says, exasperated but fond. “They’re never gonna give you those awards now. Worst Dressed, maybe.”“Don’t know, the gold suits him,” Howard replies, still sniggering.“Thank you.” Mark smirks at Gary. “You’re just jealous you don’t look this good.” He tries to flip his hair, but ends up nearly pushing the wig off. With the help of the crewmember, who is clearly trying to hold in her laughter, he gets it back on properly.“You know, the award is just Most Fanciable Male,” Jason says, having regained some of his composure. “Doesn’t say who’s supposed to find him the Most Fanciable.”“Exactly. I definitely fancy you now.”It’s the most Howard’s said in a while, and Jason smiles with relief. “More than you fancied me in a dress?” he asks jokingly.“Don’t worry, Jay, you’ll always be the Most Fanciable Male to me,” Howard tells him with a smile, and Jason’s heart skips a beat. “Even without a dress.”Not for the first time, Jason is struck by the urge to kiss Howard properly. It’s impossible, of course, not without someone catching them and causing a shitstorm. And that’s ignoring the possibility of Howard either thinking Jason’s taking the piss or rejecting him.“So that’s what happened during those special dance rehearsals, eh?” Gary raises his eyebrows suggestively and Jason finds himself flushing even though he knows nothing ever happened during those rehearsals. One day, he promises himself, when the opportunity is right, he will kiss Howard the way he wants to.The crewmember whispers something in Mark’s ear. “Right, you three, behave yourself while I’m gone!” He flips his hair again, more careful this time, and tries to sashay away in the dress. Howard starts sniggering again.“You think he’s willing to do that on tour?” Jason asks, and that reminds him. “And what about you, eh? You promised me, next time we had a massive crowd, you’d wear a dress.”“When did he promise that?” Gary shifts closer, sounding intrigued.Howard glares at Jason. “A few years ago, when we did the rock’n’roll thing.”“And he’s not holding up to his end of our deal,” Jason says, mock-indignant. “Mark’s wearing a dress instead.”Gary shakes his head and tuts. “Dougie, Dougie, Dougie, I’m disappointed.”Howard just snorts. “You want me to do Never Forget in Mark’s gold lamé dress?”“No, I don’t think it’s your size,” Jason replies, looking Howard up and down pointedly. “Besides, I’m not sure gold is your colour.”“Really?” Howard sits back. “So what colour d’you think works for me then?”“Pink,” Jason says immediately, and Gary sniggers next to him. “I bet you’d look great in pink.”“Definitely,” Gary adds, almost managing to sound like he means it.Howard simply smiles. “All right, pink it is.”Jason and Gary exchange an amused glance. “I think the after party’s gonna get interesting,” Gary says.“Nah, that doesn’t involve a stage and a massive crowd, does it?” Howard points out. “Just wait and see. The time’s got to be right.”Jason’s just glad the tension’s gone. Part of him doesn’t really think Howard will ever go through with his promise, but he’s happy Howard still remembers and seems willing. Even if it never happens, he’s grateful for the offer.It’s March 2007 and Jason is trying to fall asleep so he’s well-rested before rehearsals tomorrow. He can’t stop worrying, though. What if the last tour was a fluke? What if the new songs don’t translate well to the stage? What if no one buys tickets?His phone beeps with a new text message, and he isn’t surprised to find it’s from Howard. He is surprised at the content.‘seen rob’s new video yet? Its right up your alley’None of them pretend not to keep up with Robbie’s career, and he’s listened to Rudebox a couple of times. The 90s especially hits too close to home and he’s given up trying to figure out exactly what Robbie’s message is.With a sigh, he grabs his laptop, because he might as well check it out. He hopes Robbie didn’t decide to release The 90s as a single and once he’s finally online, he’s relieved it’s She’s Madonna instead. It’s not a typical Robbie song, and he wonders why Robbie picked this one as a single. He’s also wondering why on Earth Howard thought this’d be up his alley, but then the video starts and it’s Robbie in drag.He shakes his head at the visible chest hair, the tattoos, the sequins, the dress that’s clearly from the eighties, but then the Robbie in the video starts talking and Jason listens. It’s a performance, of course it is, and Jason’s never been very good at telling the difference between Rob when he’s serious and when he’s taking the piss, but Jason would still like to have a quiet sit-down with Robbie and talk about things with him. Things like the difference between their private selves and their artists’ personas, how trying to live up to the larger than life image of Take That has broken all five of them in different ways, and how hard it must be for Robbie, who is dealing all of that by himself while Jason’s got Howard, Gary and Mark back in his life to share it with. No one else in the world really understands what the five of them have been through.When the song ends, he grabs his phone to text Howard back. ‘thanks for telling me. interesting use of drag to differentiate between private and stage persona. shows willingness to be vulnerable.’Only a few seconds later, there’s a reply from Howard. ‘shows he’s a lazy git more like. didnt even bother to wax his chest!’Jason snorts, and puts the phone away. Trust Howard to focus on that and drag Jason back down the ground, away from theorising about and overthinking everything. He watches the video again and thinks that he definitely wants to sit down and talk with Robbie about expectations from the audience and how costumes are a way to separate the artist from the person and how there’s often an element of stripping in Robbie’s videos, a peeling off of layers.At least this time, there’s no blood involved.There’s no blood involved, and that’s what scares Jason the most when Howard cracks his rib in Vienna. Not that he wants Howard to be bleeding, but watching him in pain with no visible cause is almost worse. It feels like forever before they know what’s going on, how long Howard has to stay in the hospital and finally they’re allowed to see him with some ‘get well soon’ gifts they got from the hospital shop fifteen minutes ago.Howard looks pale, but he’s smiling, so Jason forces a smile on his own face.“How’re you feeling?” Mark asks, gently sitting down on the side of the bed.“Pretty sure I’m still high as a fucking kite on painkillers, mate,” Howard replies easily. “I could do another flip and not feel a thing.”“Let’s not,” Jason puts a hand on Howard’s arm. “Are you sure you’re all right?” They’re not sure if Howard can re-join them at any point of the tour at all, and Jason can’t imagine going on stage without Howard tomorrow. They need him. He needs him. Going on without Robbie was one thing, they had time to prepare and Jason had wanted him gone. Going on without Howard will be like going on without a limb.“You sure you are?” Howard counters, his eyes worried as they try to focus on Jason.“Y’know,” Gary says, taking a mini-Twix from the box of assorted chocolates he’d put on Howard’s nightstand as a gift. “If you wanted out of the Germany leg, you could’ve just said.”Howard laughs, then promptly winces in pain. “I didn’t think,” he manages, “you’d figure it out so soon.”Jason is rubbing his arm soothingly as Howard lies back down. “We should leave you to get some rest.” They’ve all had a long evening.“That keen to get to Switzerland without me?” Howard asks, then pouts.“There’s only three of us now, we haven’t got any spares to lose,” Mark replies, grinning when Howard snorts.“Jay, you’re not doing any dangerous flips tomorrow,” Gary tells him, stealing a mini-Mars bar. “Imagine having to go back to Britain two members short.”“You just don’t want to learn the pole dancing,” Jason replies, still idly stroking Howard’s arm. He doesn’t want to think about having to do that by himself tomorrow.Gary swallows his chocolate and nods. “That too. I swear, I thought that’d end in an injury before the dance-off would.”In the back of his mind, Jason’s going through all the routines and songs they’ll have to change because of Howard’s absence. Scratch that, the entire setlist’ll have to be changed. He sighs, and knows that he’s not going to be getting much sleep that night.“It won’t,” Howard says firmly. “Jason knows what he’s doing, right, Jay?”He looks at Howard, sees the faith and trust there, and nods. The tight knot in his stomach feels a little lighter. “Yeah, it’ll be fine.” And for a split-second he actually believes it.“Good.” Howard glances at Gary, who is reaching for the box on the nightstand. “Oi, how many have you had?”“It’s only my third!” Gary holds up another mini-Twix. “Besides, you don’t even like these. I’m doing you a favour.”“I’m watching you, Barlow.” Howard narrows his eyes at Gary, who shrugs and eats the Twix bar.Mark sits up and grins. “Ooh, you can watch us! When you get released, you can watch the concert.” He smiles comfortingly at Howard. “Maybe give us some feedback after.” “That’s not a bad idea,” Gary manages, his mouth full. “Always wanted to see myself live. It’s not the same on DVD, is it?”“I could do that,” Howard muses, staring up at the ceiling. “Take notes, see what we can improve.”It won’t be at all like having Howard on stage, but it’s better than nothing. “Don’t do it while high on pain meds,” Jason warns him with a smile. “Or you’ll be criticising your own hallucinations.” Especially with the lightshow they’ve got.“Don’t worry,” Howard tells him. “It’ll be fine, just wait and see.”Jason reminds himself of those words in the following days of having to do shows and interviews without Howard. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.Although it’s hard to remember that when some German journalist off-handedly says it’s fortunate that it’s not Mark or Gary who suffered the injury instead. Jason remains quiet while Mark gives one of his stock answers that they’re all equally important to the band and Gary goes off on a tangent about backing vocals and harmonies until the journalist uses that as a segue to ask about recording their first album in ten years. Howard handles the whole thing with his usual sense of humour, taking the chance to dress up and have fun at his own – and their – expense. He even remembers Mark’s suggestion from the hospital and has used up half the sheets from a notepad with remarks, feedback and the occasional crude doodle.“I can’t wait to have you back on stage with us properly,” Jason tells Howard when he’s going over a few notes from last night’s show. “Have I mentioned that?”Howard gives him a quick smile, then glances back down at his paper. “Yeah, yeah – now what the fuck does this say?” he grumbles, frowning at his own handwriting.Jason leans in but can’t decipher it either. “It says ‘Jay doesn’t require feedback because he has to get into costume for the show’.”Howard looks at his watch. “I’ll talk to you later, then, promise.” Then he grins, eyes glinting mischievously. “Speaking of, remember that promise I made back in 1993? Wait and see, Jay. Wait and see.” With that, he claps Jason firmly on the shoulder, squeezing it briefly before walking off.Promise? What promise?Jason shakes his head as he watches Howard go and tries to get his mind back on the show, but it keeps niggling away at him. Howard’s gonna need a whole new notepad just for his feedback for Jason at the rate his brain refuses to focus as he gets dressed and does his warm-ups with Gary and Mark, Howard smirking knowingly in a corner.“Your pen run out of ink yet?” Gary asks once they’re finished.“Got two spare ones,” Howard replies, clicking his ballpoint pen pointedly. “You’re not getting out of it that easily, Barlow.” He stands up, still looking far too pleased with himself. “I’m gonna find my spot for tonight, you three enjoy yourself.”“See you later!” Mark calls after him, then turns to Jason and Gary with a hint of desperation in his eyes. “How long did the doctors say before he gets to join us on stage again?”That evening in Berlin, the first thing Jason thinks when he sees Howard is ‘oh dear God, please don’t fall down those stairs, you idiot’ because Howard does not look stable in those high-heeled boots at all.The second thing is ‘oh dear God, that promise’, because watching Howard strut around and flip his wig brings back the memories from years ago. Gary and Mark have dissolved into sniggers, especially when Howard slinks up to Jason and grinds against him for a moment. Jason doesn’t even know what he’s saying in his microphone while Howard is pressed up so close.“Told you,” Howard whispers, then struts off again.Jason looks him up and down carefully as Howard poses and lifts his skirt – one of the rare times Howard’s showing off his clothed arse – and talks to the laughing and appreciative crowd. He has no idea how or where Howard got the boots, the latex dress, the whip or the wig, but he is impressed. He grins at the crowd, thinking that Howard met all the terms of his promise. Dress in drag? Check. On stage? Check. Crowd at least as big as during the tour when he was the one in a dress? Definitely check.As Howard’s about to leave, he turns to Jason and winks. Jason, who is applauding, nods back with a smile firmly on his face. He also remembers a promise he made himself years ago.Time for him to keep that promise as well.After the show, Jason doesn’t stop until he finds Howard behind the stage, back in his own clothes and staying out of everyone’s way. Jason grabs his arm, pulls Howard into a more secluded corner and before he can lose his nerve, plants a firm kiss on Howard’s lips.His heart is racing in his chest, and with one hand curled around Howard’s neck, he can feel Howard’s heartbeat thumping under his fingers. There’s too many other people around to keep doing this and Jason pulls back after a few short seconds, swallowing nervously when he meets Howard’s wide eyes.“So blondes do it for you, then?” Howard asks, blinking a few times.Jason laughs. He’s still holding Howard awkwardly, but Howard’s not backed off yet. That’s promising. “Yeah, you could say I’ve got a type.” The strong, sexy, utterly ridiculous type he wouldn’t change for the world.Howard wraps one arm around Jason and grins. “I’ve always fancied tall, leggy blondes myself too.”Jason is about to make a pointed remark about Howard keeping that a bloody close secret when Howard’s hand drops and squeezes his arse just when Gary and Mark are coming up to them.“Oh, don’t mind us,” Mark tells them cheerfully.Jason turns around, his arm now around Howard’s shoulders, the other dropped to his side. “Howard was just saying how much he missed all the on-stage hugging.” That’s apparently a cue for a group hug, with one of Howard’s hands still on Jason’s arse as Mark and Gary join them.“Where did you get a dress and boots in your size?” Gary asks, once he’s moved back to give Howard a suspicious eyebrow-raise. “Is this why you like living in Germany?”“I have my ways,” Howard replies, keeping one arm around Jason’s waist casually.“He means he asked Kim who sent out some poor runner,” Mark says, grinning. “That was your best costume yet, Dougie.”“If you wanna borrow it tomorrow, just let me know.” Howard grins wolfishly and Mark splutters briefly before laughing.“Come on, let’s get changed.” Gary pointedly tugs on his shirt, drenched with sweat. “We won’t be long.”Howard looks at Jason. “I can wait.” He pats Jason’s waist one last time before giving him a friendly shove. “Go on.”Jason holds Howard’s gaze and thinks that he’s going to have long chat with Howard. As well as do other things, of course.Once they’re all back at the hotel, they gather in Howard’s room for a round of feedback and asking him how he’s feeling.Howard, as he has every night, insists he’s fine. “Don’t know why the doctors aren’t letting me back up on stage.”Gary, who is lying down on Howard’s bed, snorts. “They probably saw you on stage tonight and now they’re questioning your sanity.”“Do you want to risk this happening again and missing the rest of the tour? All of it?” Jason asks, when he sees a look of deep frustration and impatience cross Howard’s face.“No,” Howard mutters, and picks up his notepad.Mark and Jason, sharing the sofa, exchange weary glances. “I’m pretty tired, I’m gonna go to bed,” Mark says. As he stands up, he lets out a big yawn. It looks only slightly fake.Howard rips two sheets off the notepad and gives them to Mark. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow, then.”Mark takes the sheets, briefly looking down at them. “Thanks for the bedtime-reading.” He gives them all a smile. “Night, guys.”Gary is sitting up, already holding his hand out to Howard. “Come on, let’s get it over with.” He receives three sheets, and his look of surprise earns him a snigger from Mark.“You were late during Pray tonight, Gary,” Mark tells him as he’s standing in the doorway.“I wasn’t late,” Gary grumbles, off the bed and striding over to Mark now. “You two were early.”“’Course we were,” Mark says. “That’s why I’ve got two pages and you have three.”Gary swats him with his notes. “Maybe it’s three pages of praise, you don’t –” He stops when the other three start laughing and he smiles as well. “Don’t stay up too long, you need to get well soon, Dougie.” He gives Jason a pointed look. “And you try and get some sleep too, all right?”Howard smiles. “I’ll send him off to sleep by reading out my notes, how’s that?”“I’ll do my best,” Jason replies, because he’s been having an insomniac phase ever since Vienna. He’s more than ready for some proper sleep. “Night, Gaz. Night, Mark.”The other two leave, closing the door behind them. Jason can hear them chatting as they walk down the hall. “So, how many pages d’you have for me, then?” he asks, aiming for casual, but he’s feeling the tension now that they’re alone.“Praise or criticism?”He shifts on the sofa; Howard’s still standing there and looking at him. “Bit of both?” He doesn’t know if he’s ready for this, for what could be something good between the two of them. There’s so many ways in which it could be a disaster. So many ways in which it could be one of the best things to happen to him. His heart’s racing and he hopes Howard is feeling the same nerves.“Well, you seemed a bit unfocused during Wooden Boat, it wasn’t the highlight it usually is.” Howard is looking at his notes, and completely misses the way Jason’s mouth falls open.“Highlight?”Howard finally meets his eyes. “Yeah, Jay. Wooden Boat’s one of the best bits. I told you that before, right?”“You liking it is different from it being a highlight,” Jason counters. Howard has told him before that he loves watching him during that song, and it’s an odd kind of reassurance, knowing that Howard is there looking out for him. It doesn’t make it any less terrifying, though.“You haven’t seen the crowd the way I have,” Howard tells him, smiling softly and walking over to sit next to him. “They love it.”“Oh.” He tries not to look at the faces in the crowd, tries to focus everything he has on hitting the right chords and singing the right notes and remembering the lyrics. There’s cheering and applause, yeah, but it’s not louder than during any other part. “Really?”“Yes, really.” Howard shakes his head as if Jason’s the biggest idiot ever. “It’s a bit of calm, y’know? Quiet and intimate. You know how I feel about having too many slow songs in there, that it’s always a risk of bringing down the atmosphere, but Wooden Boat’s just right.”Months ago there were endless discussions over the set list and the order, and Jason remembers that was one of the arguments for putting his song where it is now. It fits perfectly, one new and calmer song in between the upbeat and older songs. One more way to show the contrast between then and now. He was just never entirely sure if the audience saw it that way too. “I’m relieved it’s working the way I – we wanted it to,” he mutters.Howard edges closer, his eyes briefly darting back to his notes before looking at Jason again. “There’s this massive sense of anticipation and excitement that builds up. It’s been a long wait, Jay.”Jason stares at him, and he knows Howard’s not just talking about the fans waiting for him to get his own song. “You could’ve said something earlier.”“So could you.”Point taken. “There’s never been the right moment...”Howard laughs. “So you decided that the right moment was the night I decided to keep my promise from years ago?”“Well, I do like leggy blondes,” Jason says, smiling as he shifts closer to Howard. He reaches out to stroke Howard’s cheek, feeling the rasp of stubble. “Even lazy ones who don’t shave.”Howard leans into the touch. “At least I didn’t wear trousers underneath my dress.”He’s still idly stroking Howard’s face. “I’ll give you that.”“So,” Howard says, shifting closer still, “was it worth the wait?”His stomach squirms with anticipation and some dread as he leans in to carefully kiss Howard. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, tongues sliding against each other experimentally and yes, it was definitely worth it. “Yeah,” he replies, when he breaks the kiss and smiles at Howard with a happy grin.“Great.” Howard moves forward to lean over him meaningfully, but he’s stopped by Jason putting an arm on his shoulder. “What?”“Doctors said no strenuous activity,” Jason reminds him, looking up at Howard. “If something goes wrong, how’re you gonna explain it to them in the morning?” “You really want me to get a doctor’s note for sex?” Howard asks, miffed.Jason pushes himself up, pressing his chest against Howard’s. “I want you healthy,” he says, and he runs both hands slowly down Howard’s t-shirt. “It’ll be worth the wait, promise.”Howard kisses him again, wrapping one hand around Jason’s neck to pull him closer. “I know you are, Jay.”They eventually move to the bed, but despite Howard’s arguments that sex doesn’t have to be strenuous, Jason’s not swayed. Eventually, they settle down for the night, Jason wrapping one arm around Howard, his bare chest against Howard’s naked back. He feels tired and infinitely calmer than he has in a while and decides that that is a good sign.* Autumn 2012 Gary’s not surprised when he gets an email from Comic Relief about Red Nose Day 2013. He enjoys doing his bit for the charity, but he also knows what’s in this particular email. He’s been asked the same question in 2008 and 2010, and he already knows what his answer’s going to be.Perform one of his songs in full drag? No, thank you, not for half a million like Comic Relief was offered in 2008 through a certain trio of anonymous benefactors, not for a million like offered by the same trio in 2010 and while the offer of two million offered by a quartet is flattering, Gary still declines politely. He would rather climb Mount Everest. Twice.He sends Robbie an email, then rings up Howard, who picks up after a few seconds. “Funniest email I just got,” he drawls.“If it’s about penis enlargement, don’t take it personally, mate,” comes the reply.Gary snorts. “My answer’s still no, by the way, like always. Not for all the money in the world.” He thinks they all know that but his band mates are nothing if not stubborn. “Sorry.”“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Jay? You know anything about funny emails offering Gary money?”Gary smiles as he hears Jason say something about being careful with Nigerian princes in the background. “Have a good night, guys.” And with that, he hangs up.***“Hello? Gaz?” Howard frowns at his phone then puts it away on the table next to the sofa. “He hung up on me.”“Can’t imagine why,” Jason says, curled up against Howard as he’s reading a book. “I’m guessing he’s not going to do it?”“We’ll wear him down eventually,” Howard replies, sagging down further on the sofa as he watches I’m a Celebrity and tries to figure out who’s who. “It’ll be worth the wait, trust me.”Jason sits up and eyes Howard. “You planning on something I need to know about?”“’Course not.” Howard gives Jason a quick peck. “Dawn’ll skin me alive.” When Jason gives him his best imperious look, Howard pulls him closer. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”Jason grins and Howard knows he’s the luckiest bastard in the world when Jason kisses him, pushing him against the arm of the sofa. “Where’s the remote, love?” he murmurs, nuzzling Howard’s neck.Howard squirms, one hand running across the table and knocking his phone to the floor as he searches for his remote. He finally finds it between the cushions underneath him and sneaks one last glance at the television.“Turn it off, Howard,” Jason tells him, calm but firm, and Howard obeys immediately. “And if you make any more jokes about the bush tucker trial being in your pants, you’re sleeping on the sofa.”He’ll get Jason to appreciate his sense of humour one of these days. “Wasn’t even thinking it,” he murmurs, then he’s kissing Jason again. Yes, definitely the luckiest bastard in the world.
1063012	Wills First Office A	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Grell Sutcliff, William T. Spears", "Fandom": "Kuroshitsuji \| Black Butler", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by flecksofpoppy", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-29T00:00:00", "words": "1,077", "Additional Tags": "Grelliam, young!Will, Young!Grell, Backstory, Headcanon, Reapers, Early Grelliam, Will does not approve of spitting, Everyone wants dat ass, Except Will, supposedly", "Relationship": "William T. Spears/Grell Sutcliff", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "A Time to Reap, A Time to Sow", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	(ca. 1805-1810) Will's first office is small and shared with another reaper who he doesn't particularly like. His coworker tends to chew smelly tobacco and has a bronze container he spits into.Will's impeccable sense of professionalism and decorum keeps him quiet about the repulsive habit. However, he's finding out very quickly that if there's one thing that truly riles him, it's people in his position that have absolutely no sense of responsibility, integrity, or the sacred nature of the job.Will hadn't exactly excelled while working in Collections. Of course, he'd proven acceptably efficient, but the upper management had thought he'd be far more useful in an office setting.They had been right, and Will was privately relieved by the decision to move him. This is partially due to a fact that Will won't admit unless upon pain of being reaped, and that is that he doesn't like sending human souls to Hell.Sentencing is a predetermined fate; a reaper's only job is to monitor whether there's an exception to the rule, and there are very rarely exceptions.The memory of being entrenched in the very human consciousness of Thomas Wallis, however, left him with unwelcome emotions every time he reaped a soul with his own hands.Will doesn't let his mind dwell on that too much, though, since it only acts as a distraction and makes his life unenjoyable. ("Enjoyment" for Will is an office without a spittoon... preferably that he doesn't share with someone else.)On the other hand, this is why Grell Sutcliff has been placed in Collections, even though he's always on thin ice, and has been the day he underwent exams. However, his ability to reap more souls during a shift than half the Collections department combined, when he actually puts in the effort, is what keeps his status quo. That trump card will only last so long, of course.However, Will finds that one thing he does enjoy is finalizing Grell's demotions and disciplinary action paperwork when he acts improperly.Will has the same stamp that all other Administrative personnel do: a circle with the word "COMPLETE" spelled out in large, bold uppercase letters. Whenever an assignment or open case is closed, the stamp is thudded down on the paper in bright red ink. "Grell Sutcliff: Accused of being late to an assigned reap and causing cinematic record to remain spinning in postmortem body. Trauma mitigated soul's intended placement in purgatory to immediate ascension into heaven. Conclusion: Suspended with pay to desk work for one week." Thud."COMPLETE."Will's pleasure in stamping the disciplinary action paperwork may also have something to do with the fact that Grell has made a sport out of trying to capture Will's attention, mainly because he knows he won't get it. Every dinner hour without fail, he shows up at Will's (side of) the new office for his daily jollies.This particular day is no different, much to Will's chagrin."Oh, William," he croons as he enters the office with a flourish, "what a dreary decorating job. Would you like to borrow a woman with a keen eye for décor?""No thank you, Sutcliff," Will responds, not looking up and adjusting his drawer so that all of the pencils are in a row and perfectly sharpened. "Please do me the courtesy of leaving my office if you find it so dreary.""Oh, but you're here, my lovely," Grell replies, and then much to Will's utter dismay, has the gall to perch - perch - on his desk."Sutcliff, remove your person from my desk immediately," he says, sitting up straight in his chair and frowning, "that is highly inappropriate."Grell does the opposite, and instead, tilts his hips suggestively and turns toward Will."Who is that, Spears? Your girlfriend?" comes a positively salty voice from the other side of the divider."Why, yes, darling," Grell trills in response. "Who are you?"A slightly grizzled looking man walks around the corner from behind the divider, stopping to spit into his the bronze container Will so strongly despises.The expression on Grell's face is worthy of a laugh."You are not my... girlfriend," Will interrupts awkwardly. "This is Grell Sutcliff," he says, nodding his head in Grell's direction with a look of distaste. "He's an employee in Collections.""Oh, so you're the Sutcliff everyone is always talking about," his office mate says, eyes widening. "I went through an entire red ink pad in one month because of you.""Well, darling," Grell says, bending his leg up and planting a high heeled, very red shoe (Will stifles the urge to sigh) on the surface of Will's desk, "red is my favorite color, after all."To Will's surprise, his office mate actually stops for a moment and lets his eyes run over Grell's body swiftly, then looks away. Grell gives him a cheeky smile and tosses his hair slightly."Get off my desk, Sutcliff," Will finally says, breaking the moment. He nudges Grell's side firmly enough to warn that he will push him off the edge and onto the floor."William! It's highly inappropriate to touch a coworker in such a manner!" Grell shrieks breathlessly, righting himself with a scandalized expression as he gets to his feet.He gives Will's now enraptured coworker a wink and turns toward Will again before walking out the door. "Really, William," he says, "I know we deal in death, but this moratory color scheme has just got to go."Grell swishes away, leaving the distinct scent of... roses, is it? ... in the office. Will picks up a piece of paper and waves it around to clear the air."How do you know Grell Sutcliff?" his stunned office mate asks.Grell has become something of a local legend around Administration, mostly due to the fact that a reaper hasn't come along in quite a long time that possess his combination of flawless practical skills and borderline sociopathic ethics. "He was my exam partner," Will replies simply."Really? Did the poor human even stand a chance?""It was I that made the decision," Will says, adjusting his glasses, "and I that reaped the subject of our exam."At that moment, Will realizes for the first time that a few words sprinkled in a conversation, but of a particularly potent strength, are like drops of iodine that sterilize murky, diseased water.The spittoon is gone the next day, and soon, Will finds he has the office to himself.
1074901	ObQuerDrabble	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Highlander: The Series", "Language": "Deutsch", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by ariunderscore", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-08T00:00:00", "words": "498", "Additional Tags": "Deutsch \| German, Humor, badfic", "Relationship": "Duncan MacLeod/Original Male Character", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "GSSU", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Duncan stand nackt bis auf eine kleine Rüschenschürze im Zimmer, und wartete angstvoll darauf, bis sein Herr und Gebieter heimkam. Endlich hörte der große, gutgebaute Schotte, wie sich von draußen Schritte näherten - ja, endlich, er war endlich wieder da, nach einem viel zu langen Tag in der Arbeit. Draußen war es dunkel geworden, und da der Highlander sich vor der Dunkelheit so schrecklich fürchtete, war er immer so ganz ganz tragisch nervös, wenn der Mittelpunkt seines Lebens nicht rechtzeitig da war, um ihn zu beruhigen und ihm zu versichern, daß die Sonne morgen früh ganz ganz sicher wieder aufgehen würde. Am liebsten wäre Duncan vor Freude gehüpft, daß die lange, schreckliche halbe Stunde in der Dunkelheit gleich vorbei sein würde, aber er hatte Angst, daß dies dem Baby schaden würde, auf welches jenes sich er und sein Geliebter schon so lange freuten, also ließ er es sein. Die Tür ging auf, und kaum war sein wunderbarer Mann über die Türschwelle getreten, da fiel ihm der muskulöse Schotte schon enthusiastisch um den Hals, ganz ungeachtet dessen, daß er dadurch das Blut und die anderen ekeligen Flüssigkeiten von dessen Mantel über seine geölte Brust und sein niedliches kleines Rüschenschürzchen schmierte. "Es tut mir soooo leid, daß ich heute wieder zu spät bin, aber diese blöden anderen Kimmies nehmen ja nie Rücksicht, und es ist ihnen immer ganz egal, wenn ich ihnen sage, daß du auf mich wartest. Aber schau, ich hab dir zur Wiedergutmachung was mitgebracht!" Eine wunderschön geformte Hand zog ein großes, wunderschön verpacktes Paket hinter dem Rücken hervor und hielt es Duncan hin. Dieser riß das Ding freudig an sich, und mit glitzernden Augen öffnete er das geheimnisvolle Paket. Duncans Unterlippe begann zu bibbern, und Freudentränen sprangen in seine großen, rehgleichen Augen. "Ein Tedddybär!!!!!!" rief er freudig aus, und drückte das große, kuschelige Wesen fest an seine muskulöse Brust. "Aber nicht irgendein Teddybär - nein, schau, das ist ein Schufflebär, der wird ganz ganz fest auf dich aufpassen, und außerdem leuchtet er im Dunkeln, damit du nie wieder Angst haben mußt, wenn ich wieder mal länger in der Arbeit bleiben muß. Ich mach das ja nicht gerne, aber wir brauchen das Geld für unser Haus, allein der weiße Zaun war ja nicht billig, und Fluffy, unser Hund, frißt ja auch immer eine Unmenge Futter!" Der schottische Unsterbliche war hin und weg davon, wie sehr sein sexy Liebhaber immer an ihn dachte und auf ihn Rücksicht nahm. Weinend fiel er ihm in der Arme, so gut daß halt ging, mit seinem 8-Monate-schwangeren Bauch dazwischen. Zärtlich, aber doch mit einiger Anstrengung, wurde er von seinem gedankenvollen Geliebten in dessen Arme gehievt, und von ihm in jenen in Richtung Schlafzimmer getragen, wo das große, vibrierende Wasserbett mit ausgebreiteten Armen auf sie wartete. Duncan kuschelte sich in die Sicherheit der starken Arme, die ihn trugen, und flüsterte dem andern Mann ins Ohr: "Ach, ich liebe dich so unendlich, du mein großer, starker, lieber Mann, mein heißer Geliebter, mein Ein und Alles, mein Richie..."
1053103	Sibling Rivalry	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Faith Lehane, Dawn Summers, Buffy Summers, Ichabod Crane", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by DragonsPhoenix", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-21T00:00:00", "words": "553", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse, Sleepy Hollow (TV)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Buffy's jaw was clenched. Uh oh, bad sign. “Dawn, do you think you could give Faith the tour?”“A frigging castle,” Faith said, shaking her head. “When did we get a frigging castle?”“Sure,” Dawn said. She knew the two of them got on each others' nerves.“And maybe introduce her to the new Watcher?”“New Watcher? B. Last time I got a new Watcher, it was Wes. Don't wanna rock the boat, but that didn't work out too well.”“Oh, don't worry,” Dawn said. “This one's cool.”“Yeah,” Buffy added. “You'll like him.”Faith gave Buffy a look but followed after Dawn willingly enough. Dawn headed for the great hall first. That's where they did their training and where the Watcher was likeliest to be. Best to get him out of the way first. Despite Buffy's willingness to give her more chores, she really was busy and wanted to get through this as quickly as possible.He was standing in the center of the room, explaining the finer points of sword fighting. Before he'd been hired, the finest point any Slayer had cared about was hack and slash, but now they crowded into the hall for sword lessons. “Damn,” Faith said, her hips shifting as if they were squirming to get out and do some damage. “New Watcher?”“Yep.” Dawn kept her face straight but it was difficult. “Mr. Ichabod Crane.”And, check, there it was. Faith's seductive stance fell along with her jaw. “Ichabod? Really? Ichabod?”“Yeah, I know, but he doesn't go by his first name anyway. He's a bit formal.”“Crane, then?” Faith asked. “He sure rocks that retro look.” As Dawn waved Mr. Crane over, Faith's hips got that slink back to them. “I could do Crane.”“Miss Summers,” he said as he joined them.“Mr. Crane, this is Faith Lehane.”As Faith held out her hand, he averted his eyes. “Miss Summers.” One unnerved Watcher. Check.“Yes Mr. Crane?”“Do I have to remind you of the protocols we discussed pertaining to proper attire?”“Oh. Right. Sorry.” As Mr. Crane left without glancing back, Dawn turned to Faith. “You can't show so much skin, not during training at least.”“What?”“It's Mr. Crane. I told you he was a bit formal, right? He has this whole thing about not showing skin.” “What the fuck?” Dawn watched as Faith checked out the Slayers. While some of their tops were cut pretty low, to a girl they were covered from breast to toe. No torsos showing. No legs displayed. Not even ankles showed skin. “If we're gonna hire cute Brits,” Faith raved, “could we get at least one that doesn't have a stick up his ass?” One pissed off Faith. Check.As Faith stormed off, Dawn glanced up to see Buffy watching from the second level of the hall. She gave Dawn a thumbs up. Good, with Buffy pleased Dawn could get back to her real work. Not that she minded helping out; it kept the peace after all. Ever since the fall of Sunnydale, Buffy and Faith had been getting along, but only by messing with each other when they had the chance. Dawn was glad to help out on either side of the sibling-like rivalry. It was better then letting them go at each other with knives.
1058340	Secrets Untold	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Will Turner, Jack Sparrow", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by psghayleaux", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-25T00:00:00", "words": "146", "Additional Tags": "Don’t copy to another site", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Jack’s cabin; a lone candle flickered on the table.Jack said he had a secret to share with him, something to do with a debt he owed Will’s father.This was the first time Jack had willingly offered him information without getting something out of the deal for him self.Will was more then a little worried.He sat gingerly on the cabin's only chair to wait. The candle slowly burned itself out, its last flame guttering away hours before dawn.Jack never showed up.When dawn arrived Will left, he later found out that Jack had passed out in a tavern after going in claiming he just needed to have a drink to calm his nerves before talking to Will.When he heard this he just shook his head and said he expected nothing less from Jack and that he’d given up on expecting more.
1006669	Ego	{ "Archive Warning": "Underage Sex", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Hunter X Hunter", "Language": "Português brasileiro", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by AsdeEspadas", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-16T00:00:00", "words": "608", "Additional Tags": "Greed Island, Shota", "Relationship": "Gon Freecs/Hisoka", "Character": "Hisoka (Hunter X Hunter)", "Relationships": null, "Series": "100 temas HisoGon", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Hisoka era considerado, por muitos, uma pessoa arrogante. Ele assumia sua postura egomaníaca ás vezes e apresentava seus motivos para ter um ego tão grande, o que não surpreendia ninguém. Surpreendente seria se um lutador do nível do mágico psicopata escolhesse o caminho da humildade. Na opinião do ruivo isso seria semelhante a não conhecer a própria força... E Hisoka certamente conhecia a extensão de seus poderes, assim como seus limites.Mas mesmo com um ego considerado grande o homem com roupas de palhaço não era insuportável e passava por raros momentos em que o ego era deixado de lado, ou trabalhado de uma forma um pouco diferente do convencional. A primeira vez que alguém que sobreviveu pra contar a história pôde perceber esse tipo de mudança foi em Greed Island, quando Gon perdeu a consciência no final do perigoso jogo contra o Game Master. Tudo podia ter terminado ali, mas Hisoka se recusava a aceitar uma vitória pela metade. Era tudo ou não. Ele aceitou sacrificar ainda mais as próprias mãos, todos os dedos quebrados a aquela altura, para obter aquela vitória. Deu tudo de si em nome de um objetivo que não era dele... Mas isso não queria dizer que não havia motivo pra estar fazendo aquilo. O motivo de Hisoka era a atenção de Gon. Era fazê-lo pensar que havia valido a pena chamá-lo para complementar o time; marcar na memória dele todo seu esforço. Ele queria que Gon tivesse mais motivos para pensar nele.Hisoka também queria a paz de espírito de saber que tinha sido responsável por aquela vitória, que tinha sido teimoso para permanecer de pé mesmo quando a situação parece tão ruim, com um time inteiro incrivelmente machucado. Isso o faria feliz. Ele não gostava de perder. Talvez a lógica de Hisoka não fizesse muito sentido e ele sabia que todos estranhariam sua “boa ação” ao exigir aquela vitória para presenteá-la a Gon, mas isso não importava. Uma das vantagens de um ego tão grande era que ele raramente se importava com o que o resto do mundo pensava, vivendo apenas pelas próprias regras, aceitando somente as próprias criticas ou elogios... Isso tudo porque ninguém conhecia o ruivo melhor do que ele mesmo. Ninguém entendia os mistérios ocultos por trás dos olhos dourados de predador. - Isso não parece nada com você, Hisoka.O mágico apenas sorriu ao ouvir a frase proferida por Gon. Nessas horas ele escolhia nunca falar demais, sob o risco de revelar qualquer pedaço da própria alma. Talvez tivesse feito isso se estivesse completamente a sós com Gon, mas com Killua por perto ele preferia não revelar nada de si. Era uma situação em que ele preferia que cada um tirasse suas próprias conclusões, mas não dava a mínima para quais seriam. Ele não pretendia ficar ali muito tempo mesmo.Na hora de partir, após breve despedida e o lembrete de que fizera tudo aquilo “sem ganhar nada em troca”, uma vez que recusara a carta que servia de prêmio, o mágico sorriu para si mesmo, abandonando o local onde tudo tinha acontecido, para continuar a própria missão dentro daquele jogo desinteressante. Havia algo que ele podia pedir a Gon como retribuição por tudo o que tinha feito, sabia que seria muito difícil para o mais novo negar-lhe alguma coisa após tudo o que tinha feito, mas sabia que Gon não estava pronto para o tipo de compensação que poderia querer.E parecia muito mais interessante mantê-lo com essa sensação de dívida. O envaidecia imaginar o pequeno Hunter sempre se lembrando de que ele fora o Coringa daquele jogo, a carta que o tinha permitido obter a vitória.
1067391	Ficlet 1	{ "Archive Warning": null, "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson", "Fandom": "Sherlock (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Drago", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-02T00:00:00", "words": "181", "Additional Tags": "I blame lack of sleep, what am i even, Size Kink, big hands", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Johnlock", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage Sex", "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	John Watson wasn’t a particularly handsome boy. Some may even say he was ordinary, but his easy smile, fair hair and gentle eyes did things to Sherlock, made his belly burn with desire. He couldn’t stop thinking about John’s tanned, golden skin. He needed to taste it, mark as his, leave bruised to warn off potential suitors.He dreamt about John’s slim hips, they would fit perfectly in his big hands. He would be able to easily lift the boy, take him however he wanted, even if John struggled. He wanted the boy to be soft and pliant under his hands, God knows he wouldn’t take John against his will, but the mere thought that he may struggle made Sherlock’s cock harden and throb with want. He ought to be ashamed of himself, but no one else, apart from John, has thought him to be good, so why should he bother with pretending? The only thing that did worry him was the ridiculously short amount of time it took him to come to the fantasy of John chocking on his dick.
1015899	Status Report	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Soundwave (Transformers), Starscream (Transformers), Rumble (Transformers), Frenzy (Transformers), Ratbat (Transformers), Ravage (Transformers), Laserbeak (Transformers), Buzzsaw (Transformers)", "Fandom": "Transformers Generation One", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Fledgling", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-24T00:00:00", "words": "685", "Additional Tags": "Fluff", "Relationship": "Soundwave/Starscream", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Starscream tapped his pede on the ground, arms crossed over his cockpit as he waited for the ship to land. It was a small speck on the horizon now, growing larger every moment. A few others milled about, waiting to greet those returning. Starscream huffed. How something like camaraderie of all things could survive in the Decepticon army was beyond him. Starscream was shaken from his thoughts by the hiss of the ship slowly descending. He watched as it hovered for a moment over the landing pad, before dropping with a thump. Starscream winced, the vibrations through the landing pad shaking his body and making many others fall over. With another hiss the door unlocked and slowly dropped down to allow the passengers to disembark. Starscream stood still as the small crew eagerly stepped out into the waiting arms of their friends and lovers. Starscream fought the urge to roll his optics. Finally, the last soldier exited the pad, leaving only Starscream. He glared into the depths of the ship, waiting, until finally a red glow appeared. "Took you long enough." he sneered. Soundwave looked around the landing pad, seemingly analyzing every inch before facing Starscream. "Megatron: absent?" Starscream rolled his optics. "Dead, for all I care." He turned, and made a grand gesture with his servo. "He's off somewhere, I'm sure. I didn't bother asking." Soundwave didn't comment, stepping down the ramp. For such a large bot, he moved very quietly. He made to walk past Starscream, but a servo clamped on his upper arm. "And where do you think you're going?" Soundwave tilted his helm. "Soundwave: going to-" "Give me a report, yes?" Soundwave stared at him. Starscream released him, and headed to the entrance to the base. "I expect a full status report as soon as one can be readied, Soundwave." "Soundwave: does not need to give Starscream a report." "Oh?" Starscream looked at him over his shoulder. "I am your superior officer, yes? And, while Megatron is away, the highest ranking officer of the Decepticons." he turned fully to face him. "So if not to me, who would you turn one in to?" Smirk firmly in place, Starscream turned on his heel and sashayed into the base. The knock on the door of Starscream's quarters a few groons later was not unexpected. He looked up from his project, and briefly entertained the notion that Megatron might have returned and be on the other side. Dismissing the thought (because if it was he wouldn't have a door at this point), he sent the command for it to unlock. "Enter." Soundwave entered, the door closing silently behind him and locking automatically. Starscream turned from his project, rising to stand in front of him. "Yes, Soundwave?" Soundwave tilted his helm. "Starscream: wished for status report. Status:" There was a click, and suddenly Starscream's back met the floor with a clang as several small bodies tackled him all at once. Soundwave's face appeared above his, mask retracted to show the small smile usually hidden away. "We missed you." Starscream scoffed as Ratbat clambered up his shoulder vent and perched on his helm. "I can tell." he noted dryly. "Aw, c'mon Screamer! Ya know ya missed us too!" Frenzy chirped from his sprawl over the Seeker's right thigh. Rumble nodded from the left. Starscream sighed dramatically and rolled his optics. "I guess I might have missed you. Maybe." The twins protested, but not strongly. Ravage rubbed his helm against Starscream's palm, purring. Starscream sat up, rubbing his servo down Ravage's back. Soundwave sat behind him, wrapping his arms tight around his waist and pulling him so his back rest against Soundwave's front. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw chirped at him from where they sat on Soundwave's shoulders. Starscream tilted his helm back, cooing and rubbing against them. Soundwave pressed kisses along his neck, nuzzling him in between. Starscream practically melted, his engine giving a pleased hum. "You know, we both have work to do." "Suggestion: silence. Soundwave: missed you greatly. Has no intentions of moving from this spot any time soon." Starscream's laughter echoed throughout half the base.
1092812	Stayin Alive	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson", "Fandom": "Sherlock (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by old fandoms (Lothiriel84)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-21T00:00:00", "words": "540", "Additional Tags": "Friendship", "Relationship": "Sherlock Holmes & John Watson", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Two years he's been away – seven hundred thirty-one days and eleven hours, to be more precise. "I knew you were alive," that's all Mycroft says, though it actually counts as a peace offering on his side. He only nods and walks away. Molly can't even swallow the lump in her throat when she sees him – she's the one who helped him fake his death and yet, she can't resist placing a quick peck on his cheek. He lets her, for he knows he owes her one. "You son of a –," Lestrade blurts out as he steps into his office, while Donovan drops all the files she's carrying. "Such language," he remarks suavely, and he's secretly pleased that his dramatic entrance has sorted its intended effect. When he shows up at 221B Baker Street Mrs. Hudson is in hysterics, she probably believes he's a ghost or something. He walks her to the armchair and gives her a mouthful of brandy; she gets hold of his hand and cries, he waits patiently until she calms down again. It takes five minutes and twenty-four seconds before John can form a coherent sentence after finding him on his doorstep. "Two years! It's been two years, Sherlock," his friends yells, grabbing him by the lapels of his coat. He knows John is angry and rightly so, but he's not really expecting to be thrown out of his new home. "I'm sorry, I had no choice," he says to the closed door, then slowly finds his way back to the apartment they used to share. It feels incredibly empty now, and he tries to convince himself that he's just bored instead of plain lonely. Mrs. Hudson starts to worry when she hears him scream in the dead of the night; he apologizes for the inconvenience and tells her he's fine, though she doesn't really believe him. A week later he wakes up to find John standing over him. "What's wrong, Sherlock?" "Nothing's wrong," he mutters, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "Mrs. Hudson says you've been having nightmares." "So, what of it?" "I had nightmares too. What are yours about?" He shuts his eyes as a sign he's not interested in having this conversation; however, when he opens them again John is still there. "In my dreams, they always pull the trigger," he murmurs as last, a wave of nausea rushing through him. They do, and he's left to stare at the lifeless bodies of the only friends he's ever had. "What are you talking about?" "A life for three, that's what Moriarty offered me. It's not too high a price when you come to think about it, though I preferred to take another way." John pales a bit as the meaning of his words starts to sink in. "I'm one of the three, am I not?" He doesn't answer, doesn't need to. "You should have told me." "Too risky. I might as well jump off that roof instead." A moment later two strong hands are gripping at his shoulders. "You great idiot," his friend says affectionately, and he feels something warm stir in his chest. "People will start to talk, John," he warns him with a smirk. Neither of them actually cares in the slightest.
1026696	Maybe Love is the Reason	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Kaburagi T. Kotetsu \| Wild Tiger, Kaburagi Muramasa, Kaburagi Tomoe, Antonio Lopez \| Rock Bison", "Fandom": "Tiger & Bunny", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by january_sunshine", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-01T00:00:00", "words": "922", "Additional Tags": "Disney Songs, High School, Courtly Love", "Relationship": "Kaburagi T. Kotetsu \| Wild Tiger/Kaburagi Tomoe", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	High schoolers were stupid. That was really all it was to it in Muramasa's point of view. He was glad he was out, and already working on his final year of college, but his younger brat of a brother was still stupidly doing stupid things. He was sixteen and a "rebel". The rebels who had nothing to rebel against except authority. The ones who pitched fits and did as they pleased... until mom came home, at least. But so long as their mother was off on errands or babysitting some of the neighborhood kids, Muramasa had to deal with the annoyance from down the hall.Today, the toxin of choice was the television. Kotetsu had just about claimed the living room, having moved the sofa over to use it for some surprise. That was all he had said it was--and it was odd, that was for sure. But it was loud, noisy, and repetitive. What was he doing out there anyway?Setting his pencil down, Muramasa rose from his desk and headed out...to find Kotetsu dancing on the table.To the Goofy Movie.Not just dancing around, dancing along to it.Muramasa decided not to ask, merely returning to his room to turn on his own radio.--However, he couldn't take much more of this. Every time their mother was out, if Kotetsu wasn't wasting time at Antonio's or running around the city like a nut, he was in the living room, furniture askew, practicing the 'wicked' dance moves of the one and only Powerline....how cheesy.But Muramasa noticed something odd about the jumpy sixteen-year-old. He seemed oddly focused on getting it right, as if he was preparing it for something. But from what Muramasa knew of his school, they didn't have any festivals or talent shows going on anytime soon. And Kotetsu didn't participate in any rhythmic afterschool clubs--the boy had horrible rhythm most of the time. None of this added up.So he waited, bringing Kotetsu a glass of water after a runthrough on the sixth day."What are you doing?" he asked simply enough.Kotetsu smiled, mumbling out a hurried thanks through heavy breaths as he took the water. He took a few seconds draining half the cup. Then, once his heart stopped racing, he grinned."I'm dancing, what's it look like?"Muramasa's eyes narrowed. "I know that. I'm asking why. You don't dance.""None of your business, aniki!" Kotetsu replied, shoving the cup back at him. Muramasa took it back, frowning as Kotetsu rewound the VHS tape to the beginning of the concert scene. Muramasa just walked out of the room.--It wasn't until a week or so later, while Muramasa was out running errands for his mother, that he finally figured out his brother's surprise. It had been a chance encounter, really: he was just passing by the high school when he heard this music blaring from a stereo system inside. Curiously moving over, he peered through the window, and that was when he saw it.Antonio Lopez and Opus O'Donnell messing with the lights, putting an amateurish spotlight on none other than his brother, who seemed to be dressed to impress. His school uniform was replaced by his favorite leather coat and a fancy button-up, along with his nicest pair of slacks. Then, to top everything off: sunglasses.Before the dancing boy, the audience: of one. A young girl with long, dark hair, sitting in a little foldable chair. She was laughing and swaying to the beat of the song, watching as the boy gave her a solo performance.And he did the whole song, absolutely flawlessly. Even down to the Perfect Cast and the following moonwalk. Muramasa didn't even think Kotetsu knew how to moonwalk. But he knew what he was doing, even improvising his own choreography for what didn't have a set move yet. A few spins, some fancy footwork, air-guitaring, and definitely singing along--or rather, mouthing along. That was definitely not the dorky, stupid Kotetsu he knew at home; that was a young man with serious skills.Kotetsu ended it by sliding on his knees, arms stretched out to the girl. As the tape stopped, the two background boys turned the lights off, but they didn't make any motion to move just yet. They were all waiting for a reaction, some sort of response from the girl. Did she like it? Absolutely hate it? Even Muramasa found himself holding his breath as he watched the scene unfold. All of that to impress a girl... Kotetsu should have earned at least a few brownie points with that.And the girl started clapping, her soft laugh breaking the silence. "Kotetsu, that was wonderful!" she said."Did you like it, Tomoe-san?" he asked. "Will you answer my question now?"With another laugh, she leaned in, her hands touching his cheeks. Muramasa couldn't tell what happened, but judging by Antonio and Opus high-fiving each other in the background, he was sure that meant Kotetsu scored himself a kiss.As the girl moved back, Kotetsu wiggled closer on his knees and just wrapped his arms around her. Standing, he pulled her up and spun her around, just as Opus and Antonio ran over to congratulate the two of them.Of course it'd be for a girl. Muramasa hadn't even thought of that. With a shake of his head, he just headed back home. He didn't tell his mother... But Kotetsu would definitely be in for a world of teasing when he got home.
1050348	Spring in the Dales -	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Anne Neville Queen of England, Richard III of England", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Oshun", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-18T00:00:00", "words": "617", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Anne Neville/Richard III", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "15th Century CE RPF, The White Queen (TV)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Written for Pandemonium_213 who requested "Richard III and Anne Neville are out for a ride on a fine spring afternoon..." Springtime did not last long in the dales surrounding Middleham, but was all the more precious for its brevity. Anne had finally convinced Richard to take a holiday from his toils and go for a leisurely full day’s ride. They had passed through meadows filled with daffodils and the scent of wild flowers. It was a glorious day, bright and warm as summer. “Oh, look, Richard,” she exclaimed, pointing in the direction of a small wooded copse, divided by a narrow stream. “We came here as children. Do you remember that?” “I do. Francis and Rob complaining all the while about having to hold back for Belle on her pony and you installed in front of your nurse on her mule. That was one fine mule, though.” She frowned at him for recalling her indignity, which she had momentarily forgotten. “Ah,” he continued, chuckling. “Nothing too fine for the Earl of Warwick's little ladies in his glory days.” “I was plenty big enough for a pony. Papa was overly solicitous of me then.” “I remember every day of those years, Annie. I had never been so happy before, nor would I be for a long while after.” He looked lost in those memories, far too serious again. His stiff posture and the proud jut of his jaw contrasted with the sudden blush on his cheeks when a small smile pulled at his lips once more. Her Richard had inherited the elegant finely wrought features of his still beautiful mother. It was said that his wavy dark hair and strong chin belonged to his father. His royal blood he owed to both. “We’ll make new memories here now,” she insisted, the tenor of her voice turning fiercely protective. She would do anything to support her precious Dickon. “Even better than the old ones.” “Indeed we will. All of this is ours to make of what we will. Let them squabble in London over favor and fame. One day people will remember all of this as our fair Kingdom of the North, with me as its honest king, in all but name, and you my benevolent queen.” He laughed at his own fanciful language. But Anne knew this was no idle dream; he had already begun that work. No dispute over land or grazing rights, trade or inheritance, charity or the service of God, was too large or too small for his diligent attention. She never ceased to wonder at what a capacity for work the boy that she had married possessed. Even her father, ambitious as he had been, had never worked Richard’s hours. Nor did he take an interest in the small people of Yorkshire in the way that Richard did. The Earl of Warwick had been most willing to delegate in many areas where the earnest young Duke of Gloucester was not. Richard’s pensive, wistful look had entirely fled, to be replaced by a wry, self-deprecating grin. “You’ve given all this to me, Annie, and I am most grateful. Well, strictly, Ned gave it to me, but without you he would not have had it to give. And I value it almost as much as your sweet kisses. Perhaps more.” His smile broadened to take over his entire face and his eyes glittered with mischief. “You wicked boy!” She menaced him with her riding crop, provoking a full out belly laugh. “Scoundrel. We shall see how much you miss those kisses if I lock you out of my bedchamber tonight.” “But you never would, sweetheart. Admit it! You want that part as much as I do.”
1059787	The Confession	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Matt Smith, Jenna-Louise Coleman, Steven Moffat", "Fandom": "Doctor Who (2005)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by AmysToyTARDIS", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-26T00:00:00", "words": "1,090", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Jenna-Louise Coleman/Matt Smith", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	It was part way through the Eleventh Hour show at the Doctor Who 50th celebration convention. Matt Smith, Jenna Coleman, Steven Moffat and Nick Hurran were sat on the sofa as the host of the show asked them questions. "Shall we look at the clip?", the host asked. As the lights dimmed and the audience looked up at the screen Matt and Jenna shuffled closer to each other, whispering into each other's ears, longing to be closer. As the the clip finished and the lights brighten, Matt and Jenna moved away from each other as though to hide from the audience what they had been doing. Moments past as the host asked more questions, mainly about the episode, The Day of the Doctor. The host brought up the topic of the Eleventh Doctor's regeneration and therefore Matt's departure."I wish I could've done another series with Jenna she's been amazing to work with!", he placed his head on her lap and hugged her legs. Jenna patted his head and smiled. "Do you two want a room to yourself?", Steven Moffat asked. Jenna giggled as Matt's head shot up. "I don't think Jenna's boyfriend would be very happy with that," he replied. "Well don't hug my legs!" "Your legs aren't pretty!", Matt stared at Jenna as giggled at this comment, her face began to go bright red. "SMOLEMAN!", someone from the audience shouted. There were mummers of agreement from the audience and Matt, Jenna, Steven and Nick laughed. "WHEN ARE YOU TWO GOING TO GET MARRIED?!", another shouted. "Looks like we've got some Matt and Jenna shippers in the room", the host announced. "NO BUT SERIOUSLY WHEN ARE YOU TWO GETTING MARRIED? WE NEED AN ANSWER!" someone from the audience called out. "You all know that we're only messing around right? I'm with Richard and I'm happy. All this stuff that makes you ship us, it's just a little joke between me and Matt. Isn't it, Matt?", Jenna said. Matt ignored her and stared across room, he appeared as though he was about to burst like a balloon. "Matt?" He turned to look at her, his eyes filled with compassion as they met hers. He gazed down her beautiful body and sighed. "Matt?", Jenna asked again. "No", Matt replied. "No? What do mean no?" "No, it's not a joke. At least not anymore, not to me. It was at first but then I realised, Jenna, that I...I...I...oh god." Matt stared into her deep brown eyes to remind himself of what he was trying to say. He took a deep a breath and tried again. "I love you, Jenna. There I said it! I love you! That's the real reason why I left, not because I felt like my time was up. But because I can no longer bear being so close to you, knowing I can never have you! You're with Richard and you're happy, I wouldn't want to change that", Jenna stared at him in surprise as the whole audience gasped. "I can't cope with this I'm sorry", Matt announced as he got up and walked off the stage. "MATT?", Jenna called after him. "MATT!", she got up and went after him. Jenna ran round the corner to find Matt standing about 10 feet away, staring at the floor, clearly deep in thought. She didn't want to interrupt him but she had to, she had to sort this out. She slowly and quietly walked towards him. "Matt?", he looked up at her, tears streaming down his face. Jenna sighed and wiped the tears away softly with his hand. He smiled at her gentle touch. It was amazing how such little contact with her could make him feel on the inside. His heart fluttered as Jenna opened her mouth, he knew exactly what she was about to ask. "You didn't mean that did you?", Matt stared back at the floor. "It was just a little thing for the Smoleman shippers wasn't it?" Once again Matt refused to give a reply. "Matt?" "No. NO IT WASN'T JENNA! I LOVE YOU! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? I LOOK AT YOU EVERY DAY AND MY HEART BREAKS BECAUSE I KNOW I CAN'T BE WITH YOU! THAT'S WHY I HAD TO GET AWAY FROM THE SHOW! NONE OF THIS HAS BEEN A JOKE, JENNA! NONE OF IT!", Matt declared. Jenna stared at him in shock and fear. Matt realised he'd upset her and pulled her close, his arms surrounding her body, never wanting to let go. "I'm sorry Jenna, I'm so sorry", he kissed her on the top of her head, "oh what have I done?!" he asked himself. Jenna looked up at him, her eyes were filled with tears that her vision was blurred. "Are you expecting me to choose between you and Richard?", she asked. "No! No of course not. Jenna, that is why I left. So you can be with Richard without me being in the way." "You weren't in the way!" "Not then no, but what about now? Imagine if I was still working with you Jen? Now that you know this, then what would you have done?", Jenna stared at him at the sudden realisation of the truth. "We can still be friends right?" "No, I'm sorry, Jenna but we can't. I wouldn't be able to cope", Jenna began to cry again and Matt's heart broke into million pieces. He hated seeing her like this, he wanted to get this over and done with so he could get out of her life and she could be happy with Richard. That's all he wanted. Her to be happy, even if that meant committing great sacrifices. He wiped the tears from her face and smiled before heading away from her in the opposite direction. Jenna grabbed his arm. "Please don't leave", she sobbed, "I don't want you to be out of my life! I want you in my life, Matt! I love you!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" "I don't want...." "No, no, no. Not that. After that, the last thing you said in that sentence. What was it?" "I love you, but I meant it in a friendship way", Matt stared at her. "No you didn't. No one would ever say it like that if they meant it in a friendship way, ever!" Jenna stared down at the floor. "Oh, Jenna", he placed his palms on her cheeks, "you are beautiful." They stared at each other longingly and smiled before leaning in for a kiss.
1091624	Stain My Skin	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/F", "Characters": "Rachel Berry, Quinn Fabray", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by angelffxmaniac", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-21T00:00:00", "words": "792", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Faberry Week 2013 - The Sequel", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Faberry - Fandom, Glee", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“I give you the power, my body is yours” You don't even realize how it happens.You've only been in Lima for two weeks, and in that time, you've met for coffee just twice.Today is the first time you're actually visiting ehr at her home, and it's a little bit scare how it doesn't take more than that; more than being alone in the same space.Perhaps it's the years of represed feelings, that are to blame. Feelings that you thought were long gone, but are now resurfacing. Perhaps it's the fact that Rachel feels lost, trapped in a life you, once upon a time, so desperately wanted out of.Maybe it's all that, and maybe it's the moment.Finn is at work, you're all alone with her for the first time in years, and the tension between you coils so tightly that you have no choice.Her body crashes against yours and everything else fades into the moans that follow.You surrender completely. "It's fine if my blood drips on the floor, with your ink in hand Stain my skin, I desire that erotic sin" You decide it won't happen again - she's married and you'll be leaving for New York at the end of the summer - but it's a resolution that lasts only a day.It happens again and again, when you get the chance, and you quickly realize that this is turning into an addiction.Oh, you know it's wrong. You know it, and she knows. But it also feels so right, like she's the solution to a puzzle you've een trying to figure out for years.And maybe you have. Maybe that's why you can't stay away.You know this is a sin, but having Rachel like this, moaning under your touch, whimpering your name, it's worth the punishment. "Don't try and soften the pain, it's the best part Go slow, so I can remember it by heart" You don't pretend that this is some kind of fantasy that finally comes true. You're not that naive, and Rachel won't let you believe it anyway.There's still a wedding ring on her finger, and his name leaves her lips every time she has to go.That's what hurts the most.So you try. You try to memorize every line, every curve, every heartbeat, every breath exchanged. You try to carve moments in your mind, hoping they never fade. You try and you try, like a drowning man fights to swim in those last moments.The pain is imminent, you know it all too well. But you can do nothing, anymore, to avoid it. “When you’re done, just let me lie, so I can ponder that tortuous bliss” "We could do it, you know," you whisper into the night and you're not sure if she heard you until she asks, "Do what?", her fingers never abandoning the rhythm with which they draw patterns against your stomach."We could leave tomorrow, together." Your eyes focus on a spot on the ceiling and you smile. "You'd come with me to New York, you'd audition for a Broadway musical and you'd immediately get cast, and I would become - ""An author," she supplies, and you grin stupidly as you look down at her. "Yeah, an author. And you'd get your Tony, and you'd do movies, I'd do book signings...We'd become crazily succesful -""New York's very own power couple!""Yeah..."Your voice trails off, and you tighten your arm around her.This is the fantasy, you realize. You think about this so much, until it becomes the dream that haunts you when she leaves.It kind of sucks that's all it'll ever be. “When you’re done let me cry, for the touch I’ll miss” It ends like everything between you ends.A bit too fast, a bit too dramatically, burdened with tears, but thankfully, no car crashes this time around.It ends the night before you have to leave Lima.Rachel makes love to you again, and again, that afternoon, like it’s the first time. Like it’s the only time. Her tongue traces paths on your body that only she’s come to know. Your skin burns and aches, and her lips light fires that no one will ever be able to douse.Rachel makes love to you desperately and hungrily; her hand resting on the small of your back, right on top of the tattoo that turned into a gardenia, when you found out the truth.She holds you until you come, and then she cries with you, as she says goodbye.She doesn't come to the station the next day, and you never see her again, but you never stop feeling her touch.Etched on your skin, right on top of that tattoo.
1006534	When Sam drove The	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Impala - Character", "Fandom": "Supernatural", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by JulieRoxanaJames", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-16T00:00:00", "words": "873", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Sam bit his lip. The trip went very wrong. Dean told Sam to go to the nearest supermarket and get beers and pie and some water and then come back. Easy as turning the radio on and Sam thought it would only take an hour to do everything. He parked the Impala on the parking place, went to the supermarket and did the shopping. He returned to the car and smiled to himself. It was probably the most boring day he ever experienced because no wendigos attacked him, he didn't have to kill anything or pretend to be an FBI agent, anything of it. It was a relief and Sam enjoyed every minute of the day. He started up the car and headed to the motel where Dean waited. But then it happened. He was at the crossroads when a red Panamera behind him sped up and bumped into the Impala. Sam banged his head against the steering wheel and almost slid down off the road. The Panamera hooted at Sam angrily, got ahead of him and disappeared in the distance. Sam wanted to insult and touched his forehead. He had blood on his fingers because there was a cut above his eyebrow, but it seemed this was the only wound he has. But he couldn't say the same about the car. When he got out, he almost fainted. The fender was deformed, one light was burst and there were red paint stains from the Panamera. Dean is going to kill him. Sam gulped and took the bag out of the car. He slowly approached to the door. He was expecting shouting and he was sure his driving abilities are going to be doubted. He entered and heard a trigger click. Dean was standing behind the door and aiming at him. When he realized it's just Sam, he calmed and put the gun down. "Were you expecting trouble?" Sam asked. "You know, people around here told that there is some kind of a monster getting into their houses and killing. I was just careful," Dean threw the gun at his bed and sat at the corner of it. "Then you should be aware of this deadly pie, I asked in the neighborhood and people admitted that the monster had a very crunchy crust," Sam warned and Dean laughed. This was good, Sam decided he has to get Dean into a good mood before he serves the bad news. "Sam?" Sam froze. Dean's tone wasn't happy anymore. "Is that blood on your face?" Sam sighed. Okay, now or never. "Uh, yeah, um, when I was on my way back this car bumped into me and I hit the steering wheel..." "What?" Dean sounded angry now. Sam was sure Dean's going to storm out and be mad because of the Impala. But Dean didn't do that. "You okay? Are you seeing black?" Dean wondered. He stood right in front of Sam and lifted a hand. "How many fingers do you see?" "Wh-Dean, I'm okay," Sam was confused. This wasn't the thing he expected, "it was just a little bump. But the car..." "Sam, this is blood," Dean said and wiped the blood from Sam's forehead away, "you sure you don't have a headache? Don't you want to sit or sleep?" Sam didn't believe his ears. "Dean, I'm fine, it's nothing. Did you find anything about the monster?" he assured him, put the bag on the table and tried to act as he doesn't give a damn about his wound. "Yeah, I might figured out where it hides but we're not going now. Whatever it is, it might be strong and you might be sick and I can imagine how furious the creature would be if you puked on it. We're staying here," Dean told him and got a can of beer out of the bag. He opened it and took a sip. Then he caught Sam's look. It was a mix of unbelieving, confusion and amusement. "What?" "Dean, I can't believe you just said this. The other day I almost had my arm ripped off and you just handed me a bottle of alcohol and now? I banged my head against something and you're playing a nurse?" Dean shrugged. Sam wanted to say something else but he stopped in the mid-movement and barked a laugh. "I guess I should take the advantage of it," he took a beer too and sat on the bed. Dean came to the TV and turned it on. "Wanna watch Dr. Sexy?" he asked. Sam would refuse any other day but today, why not. "Yeah, whatever." They watched and laughed every now and then. When a dramatic moment appeared, Dean shut his mouth and his body was tensed and he explained everything to Sam. Sam still didn't believe this ordinary afternoon is actually happening, that this was real, and somehow, he wished every day was like this and no more ghosts, monsters, shape shifters and other not natural things are going to appear again. And when Dr. Sexy ended, Sam realized the show isn't that bad and maybe they could watch another episode tomorrow. Who knew, it could have happened if Dean didn't asked: "Now Sam, what's with the car?"
1091774	Separation Anxiety	{ "Archive Warning": "Major Character Death", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Hitachiin Hikaru, Hitachiin Kaoru", "Fandom": "Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Prince_Nemesis (BetterThanburningontheceiling)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-21T00:00:00", "words": "1,324", "Additional Tags": "Suicide, Depression", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Their parents were gone out for who knows what. Hikaru was on a date with his girlfriend, Haruhi. Kaoru was left home alone to ponder his thoughts.Hikaru and Haruhi were walking around the park area when suddenly Hikaru's phone rang. This kinda irritated him, because he hated it when people interrupted his alone time with Haruhi. Annoyingly he picked up his phone and looked at who was calling. It was Kaoru. This made him a little more at ease, but he was still a little angry. He flipped it open and answered with a sigh," What do you want, Kaoru...?"There wasn't a reply. Just some heavy breathing."K-Kaoru...? Is everything all right?"... "Hikaru..." The voice was barely audible from the other side.Haruhi stepped forward and worriedly asked," Is something wrong, Hikaru?"He held the phone away so he could say to her," I'm not sure, yet..." To his ear again," Kaoru, what's going on? Are you okay, are you hurt?"The boy on the other end barely managed," Hikaru, I... I don't think I can... I can't do this any longer..." It was now obvious that the other was crying hard."What do you mean... Do what any longer?" "You... And Haruhi... I can't stand... To just sit back and watch you anymore..." "What...?" "I... I'm happy for... The both of you... But... Ever since you two got together, I've been... Alone... I feel like... No one cares anymore..." "But that's not true! You should know that's not true!""I'd love to believe that, but... Even when you are with me... It seems like your mind is always on Haruhi..." There was a long pause. Hikaru didn't know what to say, mostly because what Kaoru was saying was true this time. Kaoru continued," I love you both, Hikaru... Both you and Haruhi... So to see you together... It makes me feel both happy but very lonely..."He was stunned. He stared off into the distance as he listened to what his twin was saying. Haruhi said something, but he didn't hear it."As much as I'd like to say good-bye and hang up right now..." Kaoru said," But I figured you'd want to stay on the line... So I don't think I'll be able to say good-bye at the proper time... So I'll say it now... Good-bye, Hikaru... I love you..."With the realization of exactly what was going on, Hikaru's eyes widened as he looked for the quickest way to get to his house. He kept the phone to his ear so he could hear anything that were to happen. As he waved for a taxi and he and Haruhi got in, there was multiple clicking sound on the other end. "Kaoru, what are you doing?" He exclaimed," You can't actually be thinking of-" BANG! The loud noise of a gunshot echoed through his ears. It was so loud everyone in the car heard it."Oh my god!" Haruhi exclaimed and covered her mouth in shock. The driver panicked and started to lose control, but he soon got it together, again..."K-K-Koaru...? A-Are you there...?" Hikaru's voice wavered as there was no answer. "Kaoru, please, say something! You're really starting to scare me!"BANG! There was that sound again. "Why...?" The younger's voice said," Why aren't they working?" BANG! BANG! BANG! "No! This can't be! They're all blanks! Who’s the asshole who only put in blanks?!" CRASH! There was a sound of metal breaking through glass."Kaoru, just stop! We'll be there soon, hold on! Don't do anything rash, okay?""Dammit, where does dad keep his rope...? I don't exactly want to do this, Hikaru, but.. I feel I have to...! Aah! There it is." It was disturbing how happy his voice sounded. There was a sound of a door opening and someone running away.Hikaru held the phone away and said," Driver, PLEASE go over the speed limit. This is life or death situation. I will pay you twice as much." The driver nodded and stepped on the gas as they spend off to the Hitachiin mansion.As they pulled up to the front of the house, Hikaru got out, stopped to look and the broken window and the gun laying in a pile of glass, then ran inside, leaving Haruhi to tell the cab driver to just wait while they looked for Kaoru. Inside, Hikaru ended the call, only to ring him back, hoping the cell phone was still nearby his brother and that he wasn't too late.He ran up the stairs and entered the room that the sound came from. No one was there. On the third room he tried he found it was locked. Kaoru had to be in there."Kaoru, open up!" He shouted, banging on the door. "You don't have to do this, Kaoru, we can work things out! Just open up the door and talk to me!"Haruhi came running up, out of breath," Is... Is he in there?"Hikaru nodded. He stepped back," You keep trying here. There's a way in from my room next door." He went to his door and threw it open. He dove under his desk and pulled open the hidden door in the wall.After crawling all the way through, he was in Kaoru's room. But what he saw almost made him fall to his knees. A chair lay on its side on the floor with a shadow cast over it and swung slightly. There was a quiet creaking sound that would most likely haunt Hikaru for the rest of his life. “K-Kaoru!” He exclaimed, quickly hoisting up his poor brother onto his shoulders. But he just slumped over. “Kaoru? P-please, say something!” He reached up to untie the knot behind Kaoru’s neck. Once it was loose enough, he slipped it off from around Kaoru’s neck and then went to lay him down on the bed on his lap. “Hikaru, what’s going on, is Kaoru all right?” He heard Haruhi call from behind him, coming in from the little secret door. She gasped at the sight. “Oh my god. Is he breathing?” She went over and put two fingers to his neck. Immediately her face hardened as she slowly pulled away. She looked back up at Hikaru, both of their eyes brimming with tears. Nothing could be done. Nothing could be said. Hikaru wrapped his arms tightly around his brother and cried into his shoulder. He could feel Haruhi put and arm around them both. She was crying almost as bad as he was. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. How had he not of noticed that something was wrong any sooner? Hell, they were supposed to be twins, right? They used to know everything about each other and tell each other everything! When did that change? WHY did that change? And what kind of older brother didn’t notice that something was wrong? “I’m sorry.” Hikaru apologized, though he knew the one it was meant for would not hear it. “I’m so so sorry, Kaoru.” “Hikaru…” Haruhi muttered, “It’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself.” “No… It is my fault…” This was completely all his fault. He should have been able to do something. He should have been able to stop this and convince Kaoru that what he thought was wrong and that… That he didn’t have to do this. But maybe this was Hikaru’s punishment… His punishment from being such a terrible older brother. But it was too late for those kinds of thoughts. No matter what, nothing could bring Kaoru back. He was gone, and they both knew it. And now and forever more, that is all Hikaru would wish for. All he could ever want now was to hear his brother’s voice again. A/N: I'm going to re-write most of it and post it as a second chapter... Don't know exactly how, yet, though... Anyway... Tell me what you think!
1099608	Finally	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Lou Teasdale", "Fandom": "One Direction (Band)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by hrrystylesbian", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-24T00:00:00", "words": "1,648", "Additional Tags": "PWP, Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Fingering, Birthday Sex, basically harry just rims him okay", "Relationship": "Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Harry had been fiddling with himself all day. After he had come in to the studio for hair and makeup he’d wished Louis his happy birthday. Louis thought that had seemed a bit off. There hadn’t been a present or a hug or even a slice of cake. Just a pat on the back. Harry always did big things for his birthday. Not that he expected to get something big, not at all. He was always pleasantly surprised whenever Harry offered him his present. He knew Harry always planned out for these things. So it wasn’t that it was expected. Just that it was the thing that made sense.He also knew Harry’s fiddling meant he was nervous about something. He did it all the time. It started on Xfactor when they would do huddles before going on. Harry would tug at his sleeves, ruffle his hair, and pull at his collar- anything to work himself out of the nerves. When they had played Madison Square Garden Harry had been a right mess. He’d torn two shirt sleeves, accidently ripped out his cuff links and he’d poked himself in the eye trying to brush his teeth because his hands were shaking so bad.So Louis was sure of two things, Harry was nervous as hell and that was a result of extensive planning of Louis’ present. Louis sank down onto the couch beside him. Harry’s eyes and mind were focused on the vent above his head, not even glancing at Louis until his hand came down firmly onto his skinny jean covered thigh. Harry’s head snapped to Louis and his breathing nearly stopped. He was not ready for Louis to be near him yet.“Hey,” Louis said gently. “You alright? You’re fidgeting like a mad man. Look like you just killed a man.” He joked neatly, a small smile splaying on his pretty lips. Harry let out a nervous chuckle and glanced down to his long fingers. “Mhm, I’m fine. Just thinking too much, if I’m honest.”“You do that a lot hm? Think too much about everything.” He laid his head onto Harry’s shoulder before swinging his legs onto his lap. Harry’s hands automatically rested on Louis’s calves to hold him still. And it was true. Harry was always over thinking things. It took him more than half of XFactor to admit how much he liked Louis and even longer than that to allow Louis to even touch him. After that it had been all downhill- full of steamy make out sessions in stairwells and Harry dropping down to his knees for Louis in dressing rooms, tour buses, gas station bathrooms for snack stops. He was completely devoted to Louis.Harry looked down at Louis and pressed a kiss to his forehead before intertwining their hands and fiddling with his fingers instead of his own. “Yeah. It’s a problem you fix usually. Just shove me onto the ground and force your cock down my throat.” He said with a chuckle and a shake of his head. Louis perked up at that. “Is that what you want now? To calm down?” his fingers were already working his belt loop. “Because we can do that-, “ Harry shook his head quickly.“No! No. No, not that I wouldn’t love that- really Lou you know how much I love being on my knees and taking everything you give- the reason I’m nervous is because I wanted to try something new. Give you something I’ve never been able to give and I know you wanted because you told me back when we first met. “Louis racked his brain for anything he could’ve said back in the xfactor house when they had just met. He grimaced when he couldn’t and waited for Harry to explain. “I-I want to rim you.” Harry explained and it all finally clicked. Louis felt a mixture of emotions. Shock because that was one of the first desires he’d expressed to Harry and that had been three years ago and predominantly arousal. Even the mention of Harry’s tongue buried deep into his arse was sending him into a frenzy. He pulled Harry’s face to his and kissed him slowly, tongue sliding along his lower lip. Harry’s cheeks were in Louis’ hands. “Fuck yes Harry. You can do that to me 100 percent I approve and I want it.” He promised, looking him right in the eyes. “Now go lock the door and get me undressed.” He ordered.Harry nodded slowly at first, still unsure of himself. Louis’s orders were usually the main thing that kept him anchored. Louis slapped his hand down on Harry’s thigh as a warning. “If you make me ask again I’m going to shove a cock ring on you and make you leave it on all day.” He warned lowly. Harry’s eyes widened and he rushed up off the sofa, turning the lock on the door until he could hear the soft click. He moved back to Louis and fumbled with the belt buckle, his breathing ragged and Louis could tell Harry was having trouble seeing from being so nervous. He slid his fingers into Harry’s curls and hummed softly.“It’s okay baby. Take your time. We’re not in a rush. Lou hasn’t even gotten to Zayn’s hair yet.” He said with a teasing smile, but it was all necessary for him to say or Harry would never relax. Harry’s green eyes fluttered and he looked up through his lashes once the belt was undone. “Do you- do you wanna lay on your stomach or your back?” he asked as he pulled his tight trousers and pants down around Louis’s ankles. Louis bit his lower lip as he kicked off the clothes from his lower half. “Stomach.” He said before turning away from Harry. He grabbed the nice pillow from further down the couch and settled it under his chin.Harry licked his lips as he admired Louis’s pert bum. He ran his hand over the soft skin and settled himself between his legs. He thanked his lucky stars that this couch was long enough for him to fit onto while Louis was on as well. He carefully spread Louis’s cheeks and bit his lip. He ran one finger along the tiny ring of muscles and watched in fascination as he clenched his hole. “So pretty Lou.” He complimented before bringing his lips down to kiss his arse. He moved slowly, taking his time and getting comfortable before finally sliding his tongue out and skimming Lou’s hole.Louis didn’t want to rush Harry- didn’t want to rush any of it but he couldn’t deny how good it felt to actually have Harry’s tongue on him after nearly three years of waiting. He dug his teeth into his lower lip as he listened to Harry suck his fingers, covering them in his salvia before pushing his longest finger into Lou’s hole and curling it for just the right angle. Louis’ hips jerked forward when Harry skimmed over his bundle of nerves.“More, harry.” He breathed shakily. “More tongue, faster finger.” He instructed. Harry nodded, lowering his head and pushing his tongue in beside his finger as he applied constant pressure onto his prostate. He made short movements with his tongue, in and out, just trying to move quickly. Louis was loving every bit of it. His cock was painfully hard against the cushions of the couch and rutting against them simple wasn’t doing the trick. He lifted his hips and wrapped his fingers around his prick. Harry noticed immediately and pushed Louis’ hand away. He wanted to do it all for Louis. This was his special present. His long fingers stroked Louis gently as he pulled his fingers and tongue from his arse. Louis whined at the loss. “No, Harry, more.” He begged pathetically. He was getting quite desperate. “Want your tongue, want your fingers, wanna cum.”Harry chuckled softly and kissed Louis’s fluttering hole. “It’s okay Lou. Just relax, let yourself go. Give in to the pleasure and let whatever happens happen.” He instructed as he moved back down to Louis’ delicate hole. He began to push his tongue farther each time and once he felt Louis shaking from pleasure and whining out little pathetic noises he sped up his hand on his cock. He rubbed his thumb over the slit, spreading the precome along his hard cock as he relentlessly tongued Louis’ arse.Louis was pathetic about it. He lasted about five more seconds before coming all over the cushions. His cock was still angry, red and hard as Harry milked him through it. He replaced his tongue with his long fingers and stroked Louis’s prostate until he was in a second round of becoming a whimpering mess. “Harry,” He whined out into the pillow he had buried his face into. Harry slowly stopped all the motions and pulled his fingers out of Louis and off of his prick. Louis whined softly as he felt the couch dip and then Harry’s weight was off of it. He turned his head slightly to see Harry walking to the sink. He wet a flannel and moved back to Louis, gently turning him onto his side and cleaning up his come from the leather cushions. He threw the towel to the side before crawling into the small space beside Louis.“Did you like your present?” Harry asked after a moment. Louis had wrapped his arms around Harry and was cuddling him gently. He let out a laugh. “It was brilliant. I’m ecstatic that you thought it was finally time and that you were ready. “ He promised, leaning down to kiss Harry’s lips. Harry smiled and nudged their noses together. “Even if I ruined your favorite shirt?” He asked and Louis laughed. “Even then, darling. I love you.” He spoke softly. “I love you too. Happy birthday, Lou.”
1027171	Heard Your Voice Through	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": null, "Characters": "Suzie Costello, Owen Harper, Harriet Smith, Adam Mitchell, Donna Noble, Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Lyaka", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-01T00:00:00", "words": "1,624", "Additional Tags": "Pete's World, Postcards From The Other Side, Remix, Doctor Who Remix 2013", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Jackie Tyler/Pete Tyler, Jackie Tyler (Pete's World)/Pete Tyler (Pete's World), Jake Simmonds/Ricky Smith", "Series": null, "Collections": "Doctor Who Remix 2013", "Fandoms": "Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "Gen, F/M, M/M", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“And I think we’ve just got time for one more question – yes – well, let me see. Would you mind terribly, Mr. Tyler, if we made it a personal question?” The interviewer leans forward on her couch invitingly, smiling, perfectly made up. Automatically, Pete Tyler smiles back from his armchair, hot under the studio lights, bright under the makeup. So far the daytime television interview has run precisely as his PR team directed. Even this question isn’t unexpected. Up until now they’ve been talking about Vitex’s latest line of nutritional drinks (extra fizzy! Now in strawberry and grape!), but too much business isn’t good television. The interviewer always wants to get a little ‘human interest’ into the stories. There’s an approved list of questions with an approved list of answers, and Pete Tyler smiles graciously, inclines his head, and says, “Of course, Sandy,” with the charm and warmth that sold ten million bottles in the last fiscal quarter alone. Sandy’s smile turns a bit conspiratorial. “You know our organization recently published its top ten list of Britain’s Most Eligible Bachelors,” she says, “And of course you’re not on the list…” Sandy pauses, and the live television crowd, well-trained, sighs dramatically. The cameramen pan around, getting some reaction shots on B-roll; they’ll be edited in later, with a focus on the most attractive women in his age demographic. “You and Mrs. Tyler have been together for so long, and you always look so happy together!” Another sigh from the crowd, this one tinged with romance. Pete’s already mentally readying his answer. This is going to be the ‘share your secrets to a happy marriage’ question, one of the most popular among interviewers in this particular broadcast slot. He’s all ready to explain to Sandy that the key is mutual respect, admiration, lots of communication, and – of course! – love, and he’s already started to flash out his trademark smile when Sandy catches him completely by surprise. “…and I was just wondering if you would tell us, for all the hopeless romantics in the audience, when it was you first knew you were in love with Mrs. Tyler.” Pete freezes. It’s only for a split second, the cameras may have caught it but the crowd at home will never know, but he knows. He never freezes; he’s always been more comfortable in front of a camera or a crowd than in private life. But he freezes for a second, and he has no prepared answer to this question, and for once in his long career as a salesman he actually blurts out the truth before he has time to think. “The moment I saw her, Sandy, I knew she was the woman from my dreams.” The crowd goes nuts.Sometimes Suzie dreams she’s dead. When those dreams come, it’s never just the one death; it’s always a dozen of them, one right after another, until she’s died and been resurrected and died again enough times for it to almost become downright boring. Her friends, her family, her teammates, they just keep killing her. Don’t they have anything better to do, she wonders? Game night? Drink at the pub? No matter how terrifying the dreams start out, it’s really hard to keep mustering up fear when they’re beating a dead horse for the thousandth time. The next day Suzie will report her dreams to the Torchwood psychologist, as required in the Torchwood Employee Guide, and they’ll both have a good laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all before she gets back to work.Ricky Smith has nightmares. That’s nothing new; they all have nightmares. And if Ricky’s are worse than most, well, he’s allowed. He’s their leader, after all. London’s Most Wanted Man has a lot on his shoulders. And if his nightmares sometimes wake Jake up, too, that’s the price Jake is willing to pay to be with Ricky. It’s not like his sleep is undisturbed either. The things they’ve done. That’s not the problem. The lack of sleep isn’t the problem. “Go back to bed,” Ricky always says, rolling over. “Don’t worry about it.” “I do worry about it,” Jake insists. But Ricky doesn’t listen. When Ricky’s awake, he loves Jake. There’s never a moment when Jake doubts that. Ricky’s hardly demonstrative – probably wouldn’t be even if none of them were wanted fugitives; that’s just not who he is – but Jake doesn’t need sweeping demonstrations. Ricky’s always the first one at Jake’s side in a firefight, the first one Ricky looks at the moment the shots start flying, the one Ricky wants most of all to make sure isn’t hit. It’s all the proof Jake needs. Except. Jake ducks, bobs, weaves. His lungs are aching in his throat and his muscles burn with lactic acid, but he pushes harder, harder. A silver, humanoid blur rushes towards him – he dodges – he kicks – “Goal!” someone yells, as the ball sails right past the silver team’s keeper and into the net. Jake laughs, feet sliding out from under him, and half-a-dozen of his teammates pile on top of him in their happiness. He twists his head around, out from under Bob’s armpit, looking over to the sidelines. Someone’s supposed to be there watching him – someone Jake wants to be sure is impressed – except – except there isn’t anyone there, and a second later he can’t remember why he thought there ever would be. There’s a moment, always a moment, right after Ricky wakes up from a nightmare, when he won’t look at Jake. And there’s a moment, right after Jake wakes up from one of his own, when he doesn’t remember why Ricky should.Sometimes Owen dreams he’s dead. Waking up after those dreams is always a disappointment.“President Jones, the new budget numbers – “ “Yes, yes.” Harriet Jones takes the folder from her aide. (What is his name? She can never remember. She keeps wanting to call him Adam, but she knows that’s wrong.) Harriet's manner may be brusque, but her voice is kind. She learned the value of kindness a long time ago, the hand and the glove, as it were, and it’s always served her well. She nods at not-Adam and continues hurrying down the corridor. She’s late for a Cabinet meeting. Of course, the Cabinet arranged it that way on purpose. They don’t like her any more than she likes them, and they’re deadlocked right now, battling it out over the thorny problem of what to do with the trapped Cybermen and the deactivated Cyberman conversion facilities. The naïve fools insist that there’s got to be some way to bring the converted back from the dead, and no matter how hard she tries, she can’t seem to make them grasp reality. “Coffee, ma’am?” a voice interrupts. She looks up reflexively. “No, thank you, Donna.” Wait, that’s wrong, Harriet thinks to herself, vexed. That young woman’s name isn’t Donna; it’s – it’s – Mary, or something like that, but Harriet’s rubbish with names, always has been. Probably-Mary doesn’t even blink an eye, just continues pushing the coffee cart down the hallway. “Call me if you change your mind,” Probably-Mary calls back over her shoulder, smiling encouragingly. The staff here were always so nice, Harriet thinks. Not like those so-called servants of the people with whom she had to argue constantly. Of course the staff had to be polite, it was their jobs, and after all she is President – Harriet Jones, President, oh, she loves the way that sounds, says it every chance she gets – but they’re more than just polite. They’re nice. Kind. Kindness is important. And they’re all used by now to the way Harriet mangles their names. Probably-Mary’s been here since before Harriet was elected, and not-Adam was hired shortly after her election. Oh, and there, waiting just outside the meeting room with another folder for Harriet, is Alistair – well, not really – she knows perfectly well he’s not really called Alistair – but he’s been her senior military advisor for the better part of a decade, and he told her three weeks into their acquaintance to just go ahead and call him Alistair if it made her happy and not to worry about it any more. “Latest troop dispersals, ma’am,” he says now, handing over the obligatory folder. “We’ve had to double some of the guard forces around the Cyberman manufacturing facility. Some of those foolish young children were actually taking bits of cyber-metal as souvenirs. Now they’re keeping an eye on each other as much as on anyone else.” Alistair shakes his head and sighs. He’s getting old, Harriet notices regretfully, moustache more white than black, swagger stick left tucked under his arm rather than being used to energetically punctuate his points. This job is aging them all, but Alistair has always been the sort of iron-clad British soldier that seemed immune to the passage of time. He’s been everywhere, it seems to her sometimes, seen everything, nothing ever fazes him – why, the idea of him getting old is impossible. Harriet puts it straight out of her head. “We need to come up with some other kind of solution,” she says ruefully, referring to the problem of the now-defunct Cyberman manufacturing plants. “We can’t just go on guarding them forever.” “No, ma’am,” Alistair agrees. He waits a moment longer, in case she has anything more to say than just repeating the obvious. When it becomes clear she doesn’t, he salutes, crisply, and moves on. She watches him go for a minute, sees when he stops to accept a cup from probably-Mary, and thinks that it’s really been such a honor to work with everyone here. After all, it seems she chose her companions well. Harriet Jones, President, squares her shoulders and enters the Cabinet meeting ready for battle.
1092016	Iris	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Eren Yeager", "Fandom": "Shingeki no Kyojin \| Attack on Titan", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by BlakeBroflovski (levi_ebooks)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-21T00:00:00", "words": "1,948", "Additional Tags": "heavy introspective bullshit, these men are both three years old i swear, part of a series", "Relationship": "Levi/Eren Yeager", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Sentiment", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	You stare out the stable door toward your horse. The sky is far too dim anymore for you to make out precisely what she's doing, but her head is bent low, shaking off the occasional fly, and you'd like to think she's sniffing through the grass and rooting out only the best blades to chew on, as she always does.You relate to her far better than you'd care to admit.You'd ordered your squad to muck out the stables and scampered off as fast as you were able, convincing yourself it was purely because your bladder was full to bursting, but once it was empty and everything involved scrubbed thoroughly, you'd had no distraction anymore from the realization that had dawned on you in the field: You're going to lose him. You'd known in some hidden corner of your mind that he's too young for you not simply in numbers, but in experience, in the way he communicates to and connects with others and in the way he views the world and its possibilities. He doesn't have the time for a cynical, angry old man like you, not in his head nor in his heart. He's got people connected to him much deeper and more soundly than you are.The knowledge that they'd be joining you today, that he'd left you to go see them yesterday, had brought that sentiment out of its hidden corner to the forefront.You'd tried to face it, but your lifetime honing the skill to conserve what's yours has left you too selfish to let him go.You'd challenged him in an attempt to physically ram the idea into his head — that he really needs to let you go, but you paradoxically won't let him view you as less important or trustworthy than his friends — but you'd ended in flirtatious touching, and you're pretty sure all you managed to do is bewilder the fuck out of him.Your horse shakes her mane, and you let out a heavy sigh.The fight had been therapeutic for you, though, because you'd unleashed the pent-up frustration that he might drift away from you. He's passionate about you, he was terrified to face you, and though you recognized him switching off and developing a counter-tactic, you know it was a matter of self-preservation, not a matter of apathy. After all, you'd had to do the exact same thing every time you moved to hit him, both today and in the past. If you attempt to internalize what you're doing when you're attacking someone you love, it'll fuck you up.After that, you were pretty sure he'd cling to you and that you'd be okay. Last night, you'd given yourself permission to stop fighting your desires for him, to advance on him and reciprocate his feelings. You're not sure if the imminent arrival of the 104th had anything to do with it, but you don't think it did; you might have been petty and selfish in writing that note to retain his attention during the induction, but by the time he'd arrived back to your room in Hanji's sweater vest, you'd forgotten all about your jealousy.You'd been feeling pretty good about him, even starting to gain some confidence that your relationship wouldn't be a distraction to either of you.Then you'd come back to find all the new horses stabled, and you'd known right then and there without a doubt that Eren would run to them.You'd returned outside from your bathroom break to find them clustered around him, the scarf girl and blond boy from the tribunal taking his sides and holding his arms, a boy with a shaved head giving a jovial slap to his shoulder, a tiny blonde girl vibrating where she stood just looking at him with a grin that could split her jaw off.You'd walked past, and no one had sent so much as a breath your way, not even Eren, too engrossed in another boy who had approached from behind.You'd stood in the door, leaning against the frame and waiting for him to notice you.He never did. He'd let that boy grab him by the shoulders instead, and he'd hugged him. A boy built like a tank and with such pale features you'd swear he was translucent had ruffled Eren's hair, and at that point, you'd called it fucking quits. Enough is enough.You'd dragged the stool into your stall and lit the torch to find your horse already turned out, a note from Petra tacked to the stall door. You hadn't read it. You know what she wants from you, and you can't give it. You never could. She tells Auruo to stop imitating you because his image of you is incorrect, and she's right about that, but you don't believe for a second that hers is any better. She's not in love with you; she's in love with the idea of you, too beguiled by your perceived perfection to offer any real counsel or mediation, too enchanted with your perceived superiority to even think she could be interesting in her own right around you. She's just like the small children you see lining the windows as you depart and return on every expedition — too enthralled to see the real thing for what it is, too busy idolizing you to notice who you really are. She fawns over you and dotes upon you, but not at all for the same reasons Eren does.But you're going to lose him, if you haven't already.You crumple the note in your fist and drop it to the stable floor.You'd viewed him as a broken bird, an orphaned youngling with so much power to discover and so much rage to channel, a little boy misplaced and alone in the world.You'd viewed him as you.But he's not you. He's found a place to belong, people to love who love him back, and he'd latched onto you so firmly because you were all he had. Once he adjusts to the change in human presence here, he won't need you anymore.Your arms cross over your chest so tightly the buckle of the harness digs into your skin.You don't want to lose him. You really, really don't fucking want to lose him. Of all the people you've ever let into your life and into your heart, Eren is the only one you feel knows you for who you really are. There have been some — Erwin, Farlan, Isabel, hell even Hanji — who have known quite a bit of you, but no one who has seen past the glamor to what lies beneath. You feel like everyone else has been focusing on tiny brush stroke details of the painting that is your being, or so focused on its symbolism they forget to look at the surface, and only Eren sees the full picture.Much as you push people away and deny them access to your mind, you've been desperately craving someone who could break through all your defenses anyway, and do it so softly and kindly as to not make you resentful about it.Fuck, you're in love with him, and you can't lose him. Not to them, not like this.Running boots sound on the barn floor, muted in the dirt, and skid to a stop just outside your door. You don't bother looking; it's probably Moblit terrified out of his skull that there's an unchecked fire Hanji's lit as an experiment or something, and once he sees it's just your torch, he'll be gone."Captain?"Your heart skips. The voice doesn't belong to Moblit.It belongs to Eren.Your gaze whips up from the door to find him peeking into your stall, as if afraid you'll try to hit him again, and you remember that despite your jovial return ride, you still attempted to beat the living shit out of him a few hours ago. Now that his friends are back, the disparity has been thrown into sharp focus; you're not his friend, and you never were. You're merely an aggressive superior officer.You're not his companion anymore. You're just the captain.You stand, dust your hands, and move toward the torch. As you reach for it, his hand extends toward yours, but he snaps it back to his side, mumbling something about washing up. His excuse sounds remorseful and half-dead and completely transparent.God, he can't even touch you anymore.You have no idea what he's doing back here rather than following his friends, but you're not inclined to sort through the emotional breakdown of losing him while in his presence. "I'm not really feeling up to a group dinner tonight, Eren. Forgive me.""Oh," he murmurs. "Of course, sir..."His voice sounds almost strained now, and as you remove the torch from its mount, you sneak a glance at him. His complexion is blotchy, eyelids swollen, and his cheeks are stained with barn dust that clings to damp tracks over his skin, gleaming in the firelight. This is not at all the expression you would have expected to see from someone freshly reunited with his friends and hugging them."Have you been crying?"It's a terrible question, and you know it because you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it, and his face twitches in response. "Just, um... just found out one of my best friends died in Trost." His lower lip trembles, his eyes sparkling with tears welling fresh, and his whole form quakes. "You were right, Captain, you're completely right, it's a fucking war and people are dying and I don't have room to love people or get attached—"Oh. His words hit you like an arrow in the chest, and no, no that's not what you'd meant at all. You'd only meant what you'd said in the dungeon the other day, that nothing is certain, not even alliances, and in the end you can't trust anyone but yourself, but you hadn't said anything about love. "That's not what I said, Eren," you murmur, moving the cuff of your sleeve to blot his tears as best you can. The bottomweight cloth of your shirt isn't very absorbent, and he blots the rest with his own sleeve.Suddenly, the hugging and the arm-touching and the hair-ruffling make sense.As gestures of reuniting, they're one thing, but as gestures of shared bereavement and mourning, they're something else entirely — something that doesn't mean he's forgotten or misplaced his affection for you. And then, rather than following them, he'd come looking for you. Above them all, he's still chosen you, still put you first, and even in the peak of his grief, you're the one he wants to see.Slowly, a weight begins to lift inside you. You're not stupid enough to let your hopes up entirely, but... perhaps you're not going to lose him.And if you're not, you'd like to hang onto him as tightly as possible tonight, and show it as much as he'll let you.You take his hand in yours, and even through the tears, it lights up his whole face. The weight in your chest lifts another increment."We've still got some leftovers in the cooker upstairs," you tell him softly, "and I have some granola too. I don't think you finished your sandwich, either."He smiles, clearing his cheeks one more time, and squeezes your fingers in his. "Sounds like dinner to me."You stop at the mess hall to grab his sandwich from the supply basket as Petra unloads it, and depart without a word or a glance toward anyone, leading him up to your quarters alone.
1017474	Bent	{ "Archive Warning": "Graphic Depictions Of Violence", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Dean Winchester, Castiel, Risa (Supernatural), Chuck Shurley, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s)", "Fandom": "Supernatural", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by zerostumbleine33", "chapters": "16/16", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-25T00:00:00", "words": "41,629", "Additional Tags": "Minor Character Death, Substance Abuse, Sexual Content, Violence, Homophobia, Homophobic Language", "Relationship": "Castiel/Dean Winchester", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Bent", "Collections": "DCBB 2013", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death”-Oscar Wilde August 2012 Chapter 1: Unnatural Selection A piercing ring and blast of light brings Dean to his senses. He opens both eyes, and notices that he is on the ground. His ears sting with the hum of the blast-his vision flitting in and out of focus. He’s on the ground, and blood is dripping down his forehead onto his cheek. He absently wipes at it while watching everything in slow motion.Castiel is yelling, but Dean can’t hear anything except a high pitched ringing in his ears. As his eyes focus, he can see that blood is soaking through Castiel’s green shirt; somewhere near his collar. He doesn’t have time to notice more, as Castiel pulls him to his feet, wrapping one arm around Dean’s waist.Castiel just barely pulls out his gun as the door is finally knocked down. His eyes scan the room quickly, his mind quickly and effortlessly calculating their odds of getting out alive. Without Dean to back him up, their chances have been cut in half. Castiel can only grit his teeth and do his best to protect them both. The thought crosses his mind that he should be careful to save at least one bullet. That was their pact. Castiel lifts his free arm and fires two perfect shots, killing the first two who walk in the door. There are more, he is sure of it.He tilts his head to get a better look out of the window and he can see why they aren’t yet surrounded by a hoard of Croats. He shakes his head bitterly and turns away, pulling Dean towards the door at the back of the room.Dean leans into Castiel, his head swimming, and his eyes still not adjusted. He wants to ask Castiel what happened, but the ringing in his ears has yet to subside. Instead he shakily pulls out his own gun, hoping to be of some use. The hard line drawn across Castiel’s face tells him that they aren’t in a good position right now and he doesn’t want to ask where everyone else is.Castiel puts his hand against the door, and pushes quietly, his gun held up. He raises one finger to his lips, in a gesture to tell Dean to be quiet. Dean can’t help but grin slightly, considering he has been the one organizing all the supply runs lately. He knows to be quiet in an area crawling with Croats.Together they walk into the back room of the abandoned bar they are stuck in. It is dark, but thankfully empty. Castiel sets Dean down as he double-checks the room, looking behind the various supply shelves.Dean takes a moment to look at their surroundings now that his head has started to clear. Castiel reaches into his backpack and tosses a rag at him. He says something that Dean still can’t hear through the ringing in his ears, but he gathers that he is supposed to wrap the rag around his head to stop his bleeding. He does as Castiel instructs, and quickly.In the meantime, Castiel stacks a few boxes in front of the swinging door they had just entered through. He stacks just enough to not trap them, but also enough to stop anyone from getting in too easily. He looks at Dean, relieved to see that Dean seems to be on his feet again. 35% chance of getting out alive now.Dean pulls his backpack off his back and looks at Castiel. They don’t need words anymore. This is routine. Castiel watches both doors; his safety off, his finger on the trigger. Dean looks through each box in the room. This is their objective, and while a rundown bar hadn’t been their initial target, they have to make due. Dean’s eyes light up as he finds a medical kit, which he holds up to show Castiel before stowing it in his backpack.There isn’t much to be desired in terms of necessities. There are bags of peanuts, which Dean also stores, but not much else. With his bag still mostly empty, he grabs all the bottles of alcohol that his pack can hold. He throws a glance over at Castiel, who doesn’t bat an eye.At this point, it doesn’t matter anymore what anyone drinks. If they can get a hold of anything, that is good enough. Dean fills his bag with as much whiskey, and vodka as he can fit. It isn’t food, but it is something to get by on (as much as it sucks to need that too).As Dean pulls his backpack over his shoulders again, there is a thud against the door leading back out to the bar. He and Castiel exchange quick glances again as Dean pulls out his gun. He nods his head, to show that he is fine now; his hearing mostly back to normal and his head has stopped swimming. Castiel opens the back door to the stock room, sprinting out as fast as he can. Dean covers him, firing a shot into the door, hoping to stop at least one. He pulls down a supply rack as the door is pushed open and six Croats claw their way forward.Castiel shoots three more in the alleyway as he runs. They’ve been here before, on this side of the city. He knows there’s a dead-end to his right, but to his left leads to the open road. Without their comrades, they now stand little chance there. His mind calculates again, remembering their routes. As he watches Dean stumble into the alleyway, he knows he needs to think faster.He remembers a ladder leading to the top of the building, and while it seems like a dead-end, it is the best solution he has for now. As Dean meets up with him, they run together, Castiel leading the way. He points to where they are heading, as Dean shoots another Croat that was following them. If they don’t hurry, the sound of the gunshots will alert more.Dean’s eyes scan the alleyway as he covers the area behind them. He hopes that Castiel has a plan, since he seems to be leading them towards a dead end. They have been through much though, and Castiel has never failed him. As they reach the ladder extending along the side of the building, Dean can’t help but groan. His hearing seems to have returned fully, albeit with a nasty ringing to it as well that permeates his brain, sending pain to the back of his eyes.“Really, Cas?”“Dean, we have no other choice,” Castiel replies, as he helps boost Dean up to reach the first few rungs.“What? I can’t hear you,” Dean says, lying through his teeth. He isn’t a fan of heights, and while he has never told Cas, he knows that Cas is aware of this. Dean swears under his breath, hoping that Castiel can hear him.Dean reaches one hand down towards Castiel, helping pull him up as well. A few Croats walk into the alleyway and it is mere moments before their eyes travel upwards towards the ladder that Dean and Castiel are climbing. Dean pulls out his gun, shooting a few, but it doesn’t help much. The alleyway quickly fills and his ammunition is running low. He sticks his gun back into his leg holster and begins to climb as fast as he can.The notion crosses his mind that Castiel is the one below him, and that the Croats following them up might just pull him down. His fingers reach for the next rung, adrenaline pulsing through each of his movements. He doesn’t dare look behind him, especially not since they are four stories high by now…just two more to go.“You OK, Cas?” he asks, as he hears Castiel’s heavy breathing behind him. Dean’s mind travels back to the blood stain on Castiel’s shirt.“Yes, I’m fine. Just hurry.”Castiel fires two more shots, his gun clicking blankly as he attempts a third. He swears under his breath, a Dean habit that he had picked up, but he quickens his pace up the ladder. As if the end of the world isn’t bad enough, Croats aren’t just zombies or mindless creatures entirely. They can open doors and climb stairs and ladders. They are lining up below him; quickly gaining speed on Castiel, whose shoulder wound is beginning to cause more than a little discomfort. He bites his lip to keep from screaming out, as his reopens his injury, fresh blood coating his shirt again.Dean throws himself against the floor at the top of the building and scrambles to reload his gun. He extends a free hand to Castiel, pulling him up behind him. His eyes glance over the dark stain on Castiel’s shirt, which now covers the whole top half of the shirt. He makes a mental note to bandage him up soon, before he loses too much blood.Dean shoots the first Croat that comes up on the ladder landing. He doesn’t flinch as he hears the body hit the pavement below, nor the next three the meet the same fate. Castiel is checking along each edge of the rooftop while holding one hand against the gash near his collarbone. When the sound of gunshots dies, Castiel joins Dean.“So you got a plan to get us out of here, or what?” Dean asks, grimacing at their prospects.“Yes. You aren’t going to like it though,” Castiel responds, peering over the edge of the building again to make sure no more Croats are crawling up the ladder.Dean sighs loudly, “This is when I really wish that you could just strap on those angel wings and zap us somewhere safe, Cas.” He immediately regrets saying it, wishing he could stuff the words back into his mouth.Castiel’s face barely registers the comment, but Dean knows better. To anyone else at the camp, they’d never catch the split second of pain and embarrassment. Dean knows it though, in the small crease in Castiel’s forehead and the way his shoulder’s tense and his blue eyes darken, glazing for just a moment.They don’t have time to talk this over, and Castiel ignores Dean’s comment, as he ignores a lot of what Dean does these days.“If we hop to the next rooftop, we should be able to take the fire escape down. We will make a line for the trees. If we are lucky, we can hotwire a car before we draw too much attention to ourselves.” Castiel doesn’t mention the silent statistics running through his head as he calculates his own chance of survival as well as Dean’s.Dean’s face recoils in disgust at the thought of jumping across a rooftop, and he groans. He has followed Cas so far, but this just seems ridiculous. Dean tiptoes to the edge of the building, trying to not look down. The distance isn’t too far, and he estimates that with a small running start, he should easily clear the gap. Even with his head pounding, he figures he is better off than Cas right now.The blood on Cas’ shirt is dark, and it poses a start contrast to Castiel’s now-pale skin. All color has drained from his face, and Dean can’t help but notice that Cas is still breathing hard. They don’t have much time, but this wouldn’t be the first time that Cas has failed to register his own mortality.“Hey Cas, you OK? You look like you’ve been losing a lot of blood.”Castiel tries to keep control, while his head is spinning. For the millionth time, he curses his weakness, his humanity. He manages to nod at Dean, but he knows his strength is failing him. Climbing up the ladder had torn open his wound, and he’s been steadily losing blood for far too long now. What he wouldn’t give to be able to heal them both and fly them to safety.Dean removes his backpack and his jacket in one swift move. His plaid button-down shirt is blood stained and hasn’t been truly clean for weeks, but he rips it off, his fingers fumbling as he tries to not waste one moment. One look at Cas had told him all he needed to know. Cas has pushed himself too far again, and they aren’t exactly in a good place right now. He needs to work fast.Dean gently helps remove the jacket that Castiel is wearing. It is one of Dean’s, like most of Castiel’s clothing. Castiel looks away as Dean lifts the blood soaked shirt, not wanting to see his own mangled skin. Dean inhales slightly as his eyes trace the deep gash along Castiel’s collarbone, extending from his neck to his upper arm. He shakes his head and blinks several times, reminding himself to hurry.He wraps his shirt around the injury, tying the sleeves in a knot at the back of Castiel’s neck. Dean tries to ignore the pulling in his heart, the sadness that would overcome him if he let it. It doesn’t take much for him to discern that Castiel had probably been injured trying to save him. Dean pushes his guilt down, deep inside him, along with the rest of it, and helps Castiel back into his jacket.Their eyes meet, and a silent “thank you” passes between them, the words unsaid that they have long forgotten. Dean puts a hand on Castiel’s good arm, and squeezes. Dean nods at Castiel, his hand dropping back to his side. He will go first.Castiel blinks, trying to keep his mind clear. He feels dizzy, and his vision is blurring again. If he makes it across, they have a 50% chance now. He holds onto this fact, forcing his feet to work together. Dean clears the gap easily, turning to give him a thumbs-up. Dean’s face has a smile forced on it, but Cas knows that Dean’s heart is racing.Castiel places both of his hands on his knees, gearing up to make his sprint and leap. The ground is moving and he would give anything to sit down and have some water right now. His mouth is dry, and he can acutely feel how his body temperature has escalated. He ignores this, knowing that Dean would never leave him behind-so he needs to make it across. He runs, each moment suspended. One foot in front of the other, his mouth set in a hard line, determination overruling his biological needs…the only way Castiel knows how to be human. As he flies across the gap between the two buildings, he closes his eyes for just a millisecond, recalling the pleasure and freedom of flying. The gap is small, and he doesn’t have more than that before one foot connects with the rooftop. Dean’s hand reaches out, grabbing at Castiel’s shirt, pulling him forward. Castiel hadn’t noticed that his jump had almost been too short, but he is tumbling on top of Dean now. Awkward limbs slam into the rooftop and Dean curses before his eyes meet with Castiel’s, silencing him. A moment passes, and Dean inhales before rolling out from underneath Castiel’s body. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 2: Happiness is a Warm Gun They make it down from the rooftop, having switched positions now; Dean is supporting Castiel with one arm and trying to keep him from passing out. Dean hotwires a car and attempts to make it back to camp before dusk. Castiel is in the passenger seat, nodding in and out of consciousness.Dean watches him, driving silently. The radio stations are almost all gone now. Sometimes you can find a station that is running on a backup generator, but it is just a looped recording most often. They had listened to them all. The first few months, they had tried to make it to the military camps, but it hadn’t done any good. You either got turned away, or you got shot. They stopped trying after that.As Castiel’s breathing becomes more ragged, Dean presses down on the gas pedal. His eyes glance at the gas tank meter, thankful that the car had been half full when he found it. In the last few years, they have both lost so much. Dean can’t begin to fathom losing Castiel; not now.Dean breathes a sigh of relief as their camp entrance greets them. Castiel has been groaning slightly, and trying to keep from vomiting, but he hasn’t passed out yet. Dean kills the engine, simultaneously jumping out of the car and rushing over to the passenger side door.“Need a little help over here”, he calls over his shoulder at the figure standing guard at the entrance. He lifts Cas into his arms, his eyes frantic with worry. He swears under his breathe, assuming that some moron kid was guarding the camp entrance and had now left it to get some help, meaning it was unguarded. Dean makes a mental note to bring this up to Beckett later.Castiel breathes in slowly, his head resting against Dean’s chest. He can feel them moving, Dean’s arms gripping him tightly. He registers their location briefly; the camp. His head nods further as he struggles to keep his eyes open.With one foot, Dean kicks at the door to one of the cabins. He doesn’t have time to be polite.“Open up, Abby, hurry”, he yells.A light flickers on, and the door swings open immediately. A small brunette is standing there, and her light brown eyes linger only briefly before taking in the situation. She is quick, efficient. She closes the door behind Dean and motions for him to lay Castiel down on the empty bed nearby. She works quickly; her small hands are deft, nimble, and well-practiced. They give away her young age, but she is more than capable. She immediately washes her hands in a bowl by the bed, and puts gloves on.She barks orders at Dean, one of the few people in the camp who can do so without hesitation. Dean responds, helping her in any way he can. He hands her a pair of scissors and tries not to grimace as she cuts open Castiel’s shirt to reveal his large gash.She turns quickly to look at Dean, her eyes clouded over. “Is he infected?”Dean stammers out “no”, before realizing he has no clue. He had been out when Castiel got injured. His thoughts form a muddled heap in front of him; the feverish conditions, and the time frame. Cas could very well be infected. Dean squats down, pressing his palms to his head, trying to keep from screaming. His heart pounds as he considers the possibility.“No,no…he can’t be,” he stammers, his eyes brimming with tears. He can’t look at either of them right now.“I’m going to continue under the assumption that this is Cas here, and he would never come back with you if he was infected, OK?”Dean nods slowly, his heart in his throat. Abby nods towards the gun in his holster, her lips in a determined line. “You have to be ready though, in case he is turned. You make sure you have some bullets ready, Dean”.Dean takes a deep breath and nods with some resemblance of determination, pulling his gun out and laying it across the palm of his hand. The weight of it drags his hand downwards, as he tries not to imagine what it would be like to shoot Cas. As much as he likes Abby, he’s not even sure he can do it. His eyes can barely watch as she works to clean and close Castiel’s wound. She talks while she works, half out of nervousness, and partly to help Dean calm down as well.“He’s lost a lot of blood. That’s the worst of it, since we can’t treat that here,” she says, as she runs an IV through Castiel’s hand. She motions at Dean with her left hand, instructing him to hang the bag of saline solution on the wire clothes hanger stuck against the wall above the window.Dean does everything she asks, keeping one hand trained on his gun. Cas stirs occasionally, but he seems to have passed out. Each movement he makes causes Abigail to jump, but she never stops. She stitches Castiel’s wound closed after cleaning it, and checks over his chest and arms for any other injuries. Once she is satisfied with her work, she removes her gloves carefully, breathing a sigh of relief. She checks her watch, and smiles at Dean.“It’s been long enough now. If he was infected, he would have turned,” she says as she pats Dean on the shoulder. She is almost a whole foot shorter than him, so she has to stand on her toes to look at his head. She narrows her eyes at him, before pulling him over to one of the two chairs in her cabin. She gives him another stern look before rummaging through one of her bins and pulling out some gauze, tape, and alcohol pads.Dean groans, knowing that it is now his turn to be patched up. The pounding in his head seems to have returned in full force, especially now that he doesn’t need to worry so much about Cas. His fingers are still wrapped around the gun in his right hand, and his knuckles are white. Abby must notice this at the same time because she puts her hand over his and quietly pulls the gun out of his hand.“I don’t think we need this anymore,” she says gently, unloading it and setting it on the table nearby. She is quick, and gingerly cleans up the cut on Dean’s head. She explains what she is doing and why. Dean has heard it a million times by now. Abby has stitched up every injury of his for months. He smiles as he recalls Castiel telling her that he knew the finer points of emergency care, but she had simply laughed and told him that it was more for her than anyone else. That was the last time they had given her hell for anything.Abby finishes and hands Dean two pills.“Aspirin?” he says with surprise.She rolls her eyes at him, “Hey! That is all we have right now unless you picked up more goodies today.”Dean snaps his fingers and smiles as he remembers that they did pick up something. He strides over to his backpack and rummages through it, ignoring Abby’s scoff at the alcohol bottles. “Here, it isn’t much but that’s all we found,” he says as he hands Abby the medical kit he had found earlier.Her face falls slightly as she rummages through it quickly.“We’re going to need more soon. I hate to even ask but-““I know, I know,” Dean interrupts, “we need to go back to the hospital and pick up more stuff. I figured as much”.Before she can respond, Castiel lets out a groan and his eyes open slightly. Dean stands up and walks over to his side, finding Castiel’s hand.He had heard their voices, but they had sounded so distant. He could only listen, trying to catch bits of their conversation. Castiel tries to lick his lips; his throat dry, and his eyelids heavy. He blinks several times, taking in the dim light inside, and the darkness outside…at least this tells him that it is now night. He briefly closes his eyes and feels Dean slip his hands around his, squeezing tightly.Castiel notices Abby standing behind Dean and watching them both intently. She clears her throat, hinting to Dean that he should move over. Dean obliges, stepping to the side. A small grin tugs at Castiel’s lips. Abigail is half Dean’s size, can barely shoot a gun, and still commands the utmost respect from him. This girl, barely 25 years old, has patched them up more times than they can count. Here they are again, as she repairs their broken bodies after things went (unavoidably) wrong on a supply run.Abby’s hands quickly check the IV line in Castiel’s hand, and she tells him to remain relaxed but to try not to move. She gives him water and forces him to take some pain killers. Castiel doesn’t object. She is thorough, and stern, knowing that Castiel tends to push his physical limits. They have an odd friendship. She sometimes reminded him of Sam, with her calm nature, and her love of learning. Castiel keeps finding himself threatened by this, and hoping that Dean doesn’t pick on this as well. Which is silly, Castiel reminds himself, as she smiles at him and pats his arm.“I’ll leave you guys here tonight,” she says, grabbing a bag by the door and tucking some stray items of clothing into it.Dean blinks a couple times and tilts his head to the side, stammering “No, why would you think, I mean, this is your cabin”.She raises an eyebrow at him and smiles. “I’ll see you guys in the morning. Cas should feel much better by then. Just watch his IV line,” she says with what Dean convinces himself is not a wink.As the door shuts behind her, Castiel can only grin to himself. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks of them. The world is ending, he is human, and he doesn’t think it matters much who you love these days. It is usually torn away from you anyway. His head is swimming slightly, as his eyes slide over to gaze at Dean, who is already filling a cup with some whiskey.Castiel frowns and rolls his eyes, not bothering to say anything. It isn’t as bad as when they had lost Sam a little over two years ago. The months that Dean had spent drunk, breaking down in Castiel’s arms-they don’t talk about it much. When they lost Bobby about a year later, it had almost been worse. Dean didn’t even cry that time; he had walked into the shower with his clothing on, and stood there under the cold water for what seemed like an eternity. When he got out, his eyes had been cold, unforgiving, and he went straight to his bed. He didn’t leave the bed until Castiel had finally broken down as well, weeks later. They don’t talk about that either.Dean closes his eyes, reclining back in his chair, bringing the glass cup to his lips and savoring a long gulp. He finishes the glass and pours another, drinking half of it in one go. His head feels much better already, and he finally manages to look Cas in the eyes.Castiel holds out his hand for Dean to take, which he does. He slides out of his chair and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. Dean takes another gulp of his alcohol, finishing his second large glass in mere minutes. Castiel tries not to frown, tries not to let it show how much it hurts that Dean does this.Dean grins back at Cas, rubbing his hands along the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. His palms are sweaty, and he reaches up with his free hand to close the curtains on the window. He lifts one hand to Castiel’s head, pushing his hair back slightly. For a moment, he thinks to himself that he kind of likes Cas with longer hair.Castiel inhales at Dean’s touch, Dean’s warm hand against his own cool skin. He closes his eyes for a moment and is shocked when Dean’s lips meet his own in a forceful kiss. Dean’s hand runs through Castiel’s hair, pulling on it as his fingers intertwine around the hairs on the back of his head. Castiel stiffens, pulling back from Dean briefly.“Not tonight, Dean,” he says, trying not to sound so saddened by his own rule.“Dammit, Cas, why not?” Dean asks, trying to keep his voice low. He is already buzzed and hasn’t eaten since this morning. The alcohol is hitting him hard and quickly.“Because I’m injured, and you’re already drinking,” Cas hisses back, trying not to let the last part reveal too much about his own insecurities. While he doesn’t care about labels, Dean still seems to care. They share a cabin for Christ’s sake, and Dean still barely touches him in public. Instead, he drinks, and when he is drunk enough, he doesn’t care anymore who knows. It hurts Castiel much more than he cares to let on.Dean blinks in surprise and puts his glass down. He looks down at his hands, his vision already blurring slightly. His hands are still dirty, covered in blood. His pants are torn; his shirt is bloodstained from carrying Castiel and from god knows what other small cuts he picked up along the way. His cheeks begin to flush, and he feels embarrassed. He isn’t dumb, he knows how he is behaving, but it is like a train wreck that he is helpless to stop.“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “I’ll leave”.“Stop. Dean, please,” Castiel pleads, his eyes open wide now. Dean looks back at him and nods, forcing a small smile.“I’ll stay if you want me to,” he says. The pleading tone isn’t lost on Castiel. It is their usual game now. Neither of them knows how to need someone else, so they dance around the idea, any sleight of hand to avoid the words themselves. The devil is always in the details.Castiel nods at Dean, using his good arm to push himself over enough to make room for Dean in the bed. Dean puts away his liquor bottle and tugs off his shirt. He quickly washes his hands and face before crawling into bed next to Cas. He wraps one leg around Castiel’s legs, and curls into his embrace. His energy is drained from him like a receding wave in a tide pool. “I’m glad you’re OK” he says, as his eyelids close and he falls into a quick sleep. Castiel always takes longer to fall asleep, but when he is sure that Dean is sleeping, he mumbles into his ear the words that both of them can’t seem to say. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 3: Stanley Climbfall Dean wakes up, the sun peering through the window, the cheap curtains doing nothing to shield him from her rays, or the chilled August weather of Illinois. He squints and adjusts his body slightly, taking an extra moment to soak up the tenderness of Castiel’s embrace. Dean’s mouth forms a small smile as he listens to the gentle snoring coming from the body next to his. He absently lifts an arm up to run through Castiel’s dark hair, but he thinks better of it, hoping to allow Cas some much needed sleep instead.He swings his legs over the side of the low hanging bed, his feet meeting the rugged wooden floor of the cabin. He shivers slightly, remembering that the top half of his body is naked. Dean quickly and quietly collects his belongings and dresses in his dirty clothes from the previous day. His cheeks get hot as he thinks of anyone else noticing where he spent the night, and he makes a mental note to run to his cabin and change before being seen.Dean looks back at Cas once again before silently slipping out of the cabin. It is chilly out; winter is coming early, and Dean groans as he wonders why of all places they are stuck in Illinois. The wind is already brutal, and winter will be even worse. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets as he strides quickly to his own cabin, his head down hoping to avoid any conversation with anyone.Of course, when is luck ever on his side? As he nears his cabin he groans inwardly. Abby is waiting there, leaning against the paneling with her arms crossed and a book in her hand. She looks up as she hears him approaching, a grin quickly spreading over her face.“About time you got up. I need to get back in my cabin and clean up. A couple people went on a run again today since yesterday was kind of a disaster.”Dean kicks at some stones near his feet, trying not to look her in the eye. He is sure she is thinking about the fact that he had spent the night with Cas, in a cabin with one bed, and his cheeks redden at the thought.“Uhh, Cas is still sleeping. I thought he could use the rest and stuff,” he says, his eyes focused on his door behind her.Abby looks at Dean and narrows her eyes at him. They are pretty good friends by now; you either got to know people fairly well, or they died before you could get the chance. She trusts Dean with her life, and he has saved it on several occasions without question. His thing with Castiel though, she cannot figure that out. She is usually good at keeping her mouth shut about things that aren’t her business, but it is just ridiculous now.“You know…I don’t care about whatever is going on with you and Cas, it’s cool” she ventures, starting slowly and then picking up more speed. Dean’s eyes widen, the sun reflecting off his green eyes as the color drains from his face. Abby notices for the first time that he has a light sprinkling of freckles across his nose, which make him look so much younger now that she has noticed.Dean inhales sharply, feeling as if he is an animal caught in a trap. His heart races slightly, and he wishes he were anywhere but here. He wishes that he was in a hot zone battling Croats and demons, rather than hearing someone tell him that it was perfectly fine that he is “with” Cas. Is he “with” Cas? He doesn’t even know what they are. He opens his mouth to object, to correct her, but he isn’t sure what to even say. She cuts him off before he can say a word, snapping her book shut and holding up one hand to silence him.“I’m just sayin’…Risa has a thing for Cas, so if he’s taken, let her know”, Abby says, winking at she walks away quickly. Dean is speechless, and hurries into his cabin, wondering why his life is so cursed. He groans and runs his hands through his hair, being careful to avoid his injury from the day before. His eyes travel around the cabin, stopping at the bed, and then at the small cot that is covered in clothing; the cot that has remained virtually unused since their first day at this camp.His mind flits back to the first day they’d arrived, injured and wandering on a rainy day in May. They were following a tip they’d received in Chicago from some military officers. They had a friend up North, an old military buddy, who they heard was taking in some civilians at a remote park, Seven Eagles Camp, they’d said, right off the highway if you follow the signs. That was the most help they’d had in weeks, so him and Cas trudged on, grumbling about the stupid name of the camp and the god-awful weather that had seemed to accompany the apocalypse, or maybe Midwest weather had always been awful.It was hard to believe they had been here almost 4 months now. It was a stable home, the most stable kind you could get these days. Sometimes it seemed like this was the only life they had ever lived, and that alone helps Dean cope. Life sucks now, but it kind of sucked before too. Dean shakes his head, staying clear of the memories that would suffocate him like a man drowning at sea.He opens a dresser and finds a new shirt, and throws it on, trying to ignore the mess in the cabin. It is really too small for two people, but the camp had been full at first. Everyone bunked up back then. Dean used to insist that they take anyone in, women and children, as well as elderly. It isn’t as simple now. Their camp is smaller; they’ve lost so many. There is probably room for Cas to get his own cabin, but Dean would never suggest it, that much he can admit to himself. Even when Castiel makes a mess, and is constantly moving things around to random spots, Dean can’t fathom sleeping alone in the darkness, not anymore.Dean finishes getting dressed, and checks the time. It is almost 10am, and if Beckett ran a supply run this morning, they are bound to be back soon. In general, it is easier to go early in the morning; less chance of running into Croats since they also have to sleep, although seemingly not as often as normal humans. Same goes for eating, and half the time they will just eat other people if they are hungry enough. Dean shivers at the thought, remembering to grab a jacket on his way out.Most of the camp is awake now, buzzing with activity. Dean walks around, hoping to find Beckett barking orders somewhere. It isn’t hard to find him usually. He’s a large Irishman, who has a booming voice, and arms covered in tattoos. Sure enough, Dean hears him telling someone to inventory everything they are bringing in. They’d apparently brought in a large supply of food and clothing.Dean decides to grab some food when he sees Beckett milling by the main cabin used for food storage and preparation. He is slightly dreading the report he has to give, especially considering the people they lost and the lack of picking up anything useful on their last run. Luckily, Castiel is already sitting at one of the benches alone, eating slowly with his one good arm, his other arm in a makeshift sling.Dean’s fills his plate with whatever morning rations are being given out. He doesn’t bother complaining anymore. Most of it is canned food, and it is usually awful. He’d quickly learned to stop being picky. He slides in to the open seat across from Castiel and says hello, his eyes trained to his plate.Castiel looks at Dean, his expression a muddled mix of confusion and exasperation. He briefly considers opening his mouth to protest, to ask why Dean had to be so distant in public, but he thinks better of it. He scrapes his fork against his metal plate, the sound grating against his own ears. He knows he’s being purposefully sullen and despondent, hoping to get a rise out of Dean. His brooding temperament doesn’t last long, and he groans silently as Beckett approaches their table.Castiel’s eyes narrow as he watches Dean sit up slightly straighter, and push away his plate, his food half eaten. Beckett is a large man; commanding, and demanding of respect. Castiel remembers a time when he would have relished falling in line behind a leader, a commander. That time seems so distant, and the memory only brings him pain. Perhaps that is why he finds every movement, every word so agonizing from Beckett.He knows the speech is coming, the disapproving tone with which Beckett will chastise them both. Castiel rolls his eyes as he shoves food into his mouth to keep Beckett from asking him any questions about their failed mission.Dean recounts every minute of their supply run, down to the bullets spent. It is routine, and he’d found it was easy to do things the way Beckett asked. He is similar to his own father in so many ways; it is almost a relief to follow orders again. Both men were soldiers, had loved and lost, and were hardened to civilian life. It is no secret that Dean is training to become the next in command, if he lives long enough. Beckett pats Dean on the back with rough hands, before his eyes trail over to where Castiel is sitting, respondent.Castiel looks up in annoyance as Dean kicks him underneath the table. Beckett’s arms are crossed over his chest, the veins popping out on his tattooed arms. His mouth forms a hard line, and he loses all sense of familiarity. It isn’t that they don’t get along, but they don’t entirely trust each other either.“So, you gonna fill in some gaps in the report, Castiel?”With a grin, Castiel leans back slightly and looks up, trying to avoid looking into the sun. “I’d be happy to recount the mission to our leader”. Dean kicks him again under the table, but Castiel ignores this. He’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed apparently, and of course Dean had snuck out early. He isn’t in the mood to play nice.Beckett licks his lips and adjusts his stance, his temper seething just beneath the surface. He takes a deep breath, calms his voice, and sits down next to Dean. He’d learned early on that these two boys were messed up and mixed up, so it was best to ignore their mood swings and try to talk reasonably with them. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at Castiel.“Look, man, we lost 3 people on that supply run,” he nods at Castiel’s arm in a sling, “almost 4”. Castiel looks down in embarrassment, trying not to remember the images in his head. He sighs and surrenders, and begins to recount what had happened while Dean was unconscious; Dean’s eyes widening and then closing as he shakes his head in disbelief.They had been running when they were caught by the military, who assumed they were Croats and opened fire. Before they’d had a chance to identify themselves, a grenade had been tossed in their midst. Castiel heard it first; the metal hit the ground as the pin fell near his foot. Castiel pauses, guilt crossing his face as he looks at his hands. He swallows and blinks, trying not to think of the people he had let down. He continues, his head still hung down in defeat.He and Dean were the furthest from the blast, and Castiel had only a moments warning when he saw the grenade pin on the ground. He had grabbed Dean and thrown him behind a parked car, using his own body to shield Dean. The blast erupted seconds later; Castiel’s screams lost in the sound. Dean’s head had connected with the pavement, and a piece of a nearby car had flown off and hit Castiel in the explosion.He had only mere moments to move before the street was full of Croats. The military was long gone and the only nearby safe haven was a bar with the windows half blown out. He’d carried Dean in there, but he didn’t need to check to see if their friends were alright. Castiel had seen it in the debris and wreckage. He shivers, trying not to recall the Croats who crawled out to eat the remains. He had seen it before, but he wasn’t sure he would ever be numb to it.Castiel looks up at Beckett as he tries to keep his voice from shaking, “Is that all you needed to hear?” Beckett nods, his eyes tired and all disappointment gone from his voice.“You did good Castiel, the best you could with the situation. Fucking military.”Dean looks up at Castiel, his eyes red around the edges as he tries to fight back the millions of words he wants to say, somewhere mixed in between “I’m sorry”, “thank you”, and “I need you”. Instead he can only shake his head with a small sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he looks down again.Beckett stands up, running his hands through his sandy hair, his blue eyes still clouded. He forces a smile, the hard lines on his face recalling the paths seldom taken.“Well a bird told me you boys picked up some damn whiskey, so let’s make good use of it tonight,” he says, patting Dean on the back again before wandering away with a small wave towards Castiel.Dean lets out a breath of air as he pulls his food closer to him again. “I thought he was gonna tear us a new one”.Castiel barely looks up as he finishes his own food. He replies with a simple “ya”, before fiddling with his sling. He peels back some of the gauze over his wound and is pleased to notice that it has healed a lot already. All his grace is gone, but he still heals at a much faster rate than humans. He is thankful for this one remaining gift, considering how often he finds himself injured. He stands up quickly, unwrapping the sling from his neck. He tells Dean that he is going to go clean up, not bothering to wait for a response. Dean’s fork is suspended in mid-air as he watches Castiel walk away, the weight of his humanity bearing down on his shoulders. He knows he deserves the cold treatment, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. Dean’s mind trails back to what Castiel had said about their mission, and the knot in his stomach tightens as he imagines Cas throwing his body over his to protect him. Dean shakes his head, the and grimaces, wishing he knew how to tell Cas that he would do the same for him. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 4: Blue Monday Castiel spends the majority of his day evading Dean, which proves to be a cumbersome and annoying task, but he does it anyway. He avoids their cabin, instead offering his help with organizing the supplies and the menial task of counting the food stock while Chuck marks it off on his clipboard. At least this hides him from Dean until the sun sets and without much light, there’s not much that can be done at night in terms of work. He waves at Chuck and walks out of the supplies cabin, his eyes quickly scanning the campground for Dean.He is surprised when he feels a hand on his shoulder that abruptly turns him around.“What are you doing without your sling on?”Castiel breathes a short sigh of relief at Abby before flashing her an apologetic smile. She grabs the cloth that is still hanging from the back pocket of his jeans and lightly smacks him on the shoulder with it before instructing him to hold his hand to his chest while she secures the sling around his neck.“Thank you,” he says quietly, secretly glad that she didn’t tell him to go ask Dean to do it for her. She nods and gives him a small smile, but her eyebrows are pulled together in a questioning look and Castiel hates that look, so he turns away quickly before the image sits behind his eyes for days. He waves to her as he turns, striding towards his cabin now.“I better see you at the bonfire tonight, Cas!” he hears Abby call behind him, and he can’t help the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. As he walks up the steps to his cabin, he pauses with his hand on the handle, listening for any sound that may indicate Dean is inside. When he is satisfied, (and slightly embarrassed of himself), he walks in and throws himself onto the bed. The room is dark and cluttered, obviously too small for two people.Castiel inhales, breathing into his pillow, on his side of the bed. They’ve shared a bed for a long time now and if he thinks too hard about Dean right now, he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop. He turns on his back, careful not to jostle his sling too much. The lone window to the right of the bed has the curtain drawn, but he can already see the fire being started in the fire pit outside. The flames cast shadows along the walls, and the sun has all but hidden from the sky now.For a moment he contemplates sleeping, pretending that he isn’t frustrated with Dean and that his arm in a sling isn’t annoying the hell out of him along with everything (and everyone) else, but he stops himself. Castiel shakes his head, clearing his thoughts and setting a small smile on his face after he takes a deep breathe. He stands up, stretching his worn muscles and twists his torso several times. He doesn’t think he will ever be used to the small aches and pains that accompany being almost fully human. Regardless, he plans to put on a smile and try to enjoy the small parts of humanity that are nice (even if it doesn’t include Dean at the moment).*Dean tries to ignore him, but he can’t help himself. His eyes follow Castiel’s figure as he sits down on a log on the opposite side of the growing fire, mostly obscured the flames. Dean rolls his eyes, taking another gulp of the whiskey bottle in his hand before setting it on the top of the picnic table that he is sitting on. Part of him is glad that Cas isn’t staying cooped up inside, sulking, but he really wishes Cas didn’t make such an obvious effort to be pissed off at him.Ignoring the way Castiel refuses to look at him, Dean leans back on the picnic table, crossing his arms behind his head and looking up at the stars. He likes looking at them, and they are more visible now than before, no matter where you are. The stars are no longer obscured by the bright lights from the cities, and through the branches above him he can made out what is the little dipper (maybe the big dipper?). He has no idea really, and for a minute he thinks back to a time when he was young and hoped to stay in one place long enough to join Boy Scouts. He’d come close, but then they had to move again, and he’d never mentioned it again.For a minute, the mindless chatter around the campfire dulls, and Dean sits up again, feeling slightly dizzy from the sudden shift in position. He looks at his whiskey bottle, glaring slightly before taking another drink from it. It is chilly out, which thankfully means that his drink isn’t warm as it goes down. He’d had enough of that in the summer months. Dean looks again across the campfire, catching Cas’ profile through the flames. Dean’s stomach knots a little when he sees Risa sitting on the log next to Castiel, a wide grin on her face. She looks at him at just that moment, and Dean curses himself for watching them, because already he can tell he will regret being out here tonight, so he takes another drink and then one more just to be safe. The empty seat to his side stirs a longing in him that he decides to drown away with alcohol.Castiel nods slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light from the fire and the occasional smoke billowing towards him. Risa is talking, telling him about the supply run earlier in the day. He smiles, noting her pauses and when to interject small noises to indicate that he is listening. He’s gotten much better at it, making small talk, even when he doesn’t really care to listen. She must be happy with his responses, because she scoots closer, and Castiel throws a quick glance over towards Dean before looking back at Risa, hoping Dean does not notice.Risa takes this lull in conversation to inch closer to Castiel, wrapping an arm around his shoulders in a playful gesture. Castiel doesn’t know whether he should scoot away, or allow her to continue in this manner. Of course, she could just be acting friendly, and he is overreacting. He goes with that, keeping a small smile on his face and staring into the fire now. There are quite a few more people gathered around the camp-fire, the small sounds of conversation flitting around like fireflies.Risa gives his shoulder a squeeze before standing up, stretching and taking a long drink from the bottle of whiskey she has with her. She hands it to Castiel and winks, before walking over to Janet, one of the newer members of the group. Castiel looks down at the bottle of whiskey and then up again, his eyes finding Dean naturally, as if they serve no other purpose. Their eyes meet, through the flickering flames in front of them, and Castiel watches as Dean takes a long drag from his half empty bottle. Without hesitation, Castiel lifts his own bottle to his lips in a game of chicken, taking his own long and deep drink. Bitterly, he thinks, “I can play that game too”.Dean is surprised to see Castiel drinking, and he knows he shouldn’t be. They’ve been drunk before, fairly often. It just usually took a lot of convincing and cajoling from Dean, and Castiel was never more drunk than Dean by the end of the night. Now though, his heart sinks a little as he watches Castiel drinking across the flames. Risa sometimes flits by; her hands touching Castiel in ways that make Dean burn deep in the pit of his stomach. Chuck is there now, a sloppy grin on his face and loose limbs that indicate he’s already had too much to drink.Without thought, Dean drinks more of his bottle, waiting for the heaviness to set in and drown out his thoughts. He smiles when people sit next to him and talk, and he laughs at jokes that he barely registers. However, when Risa stands up and cups her hands around her mouth to say something, the entire camp-fire goes quiet. She tends to have that effect, which Dean would admire if he wasn’t so pissed at her 90% of the time. She is too much like him.“Hey guys, we’re gonna play truth or dare. Usual rules, everything inside the campground. If you’re shit-faced drunk, go to bed,” she says with a look at Dean.This of course, has the opposite intended effect on Dean. Castiel watches with slightly blurred vision as Dean’s eyes narrow at Risa and he takes another drink from his bottle. Castiel shakes his head, wondering why she even bothered insinuating that Dean should go to bed. However, he can feel a smile crawling across his face as Risa pulls Chuck up from next to him and asks him “truth or dare?”Chuck laughs as he wobbles slightly, drumming his fingers along his thigh as he contemplates. “Truth,” he finally says after swaying as he attempts to take a seat next to Abby on the log to the right of Castiel.“Hmm,” Risa says, taking another drink from her bottle. Her eyes flash and she grins lasciviously at Chuck. “If you could sleep with one person, who would it be?”“Just one?” Chuck says with a laugh as he rubs the stubble on his chin. “Nancy McKeon,” he says laughing and sliding from his seat on the log onto the ground, his hands held to his heart.Chuck waits a moment, looking around the campfire at each person. He stops on Dean, his eyes narrowing.“Dean, truth or dare?”Dean rubs his chin for a moment, feigning contemplation. Castiel doesn’t need to look at him to know what Dean will choose (but he looks anyway).“Dare, of course. Give me your best shot,” he says, lifting his eyebrows and smirking.Chucks rolls his eyes, tilting his head up to look at the sky. “Of course you’d choose dare, what else would Dean Winchester do? Well…I dare you to lick Janet’s foot!”Dean pulls a face, grimacing and glaring at Chuck. “Dude, you know I hate feet, come on here.”Chuck just grins wider and motions towards Janet, laughing.Castiel can’t help but laugh, not just out of malicious glee, but because Dean truly does look more disgusted than he should. He also reminds himself not to think of how Dean doesn’t have a problem with his feet, and he feels like maybe he shouldn’t be quite so smug about that right now. So he takes a drink instead, allowing the alcohol to trickle plentifully down his throat because sometimes if he drinks enough, his fingers feel a little numb and so does his toes. It reminds him that’s he’s alive and he can feel things, and maybe it isn’t always the worst thing in the world to be drunk occasionally, though he would never admit that to Dean.Stuck in his own reverie, Castiel nearly misses Dean licking Janet’s foot. Her foot is on his lap as he sits in front of her and she is glaring at Chuck too. Her sock and shoe are set to the side of her and Castiel laughs loudly as Dean sticks his tongue out slightly, looking more like a scared cat above a water bowl.“Get it over with, Dean,” Janet says with a hiss.Castiel nearly falls over with laughter as he watches Dean, who licks her foot and promptly stands up and attempts to walk gracefully back to his spot on the picnic bench, despite how much he is stumbling now. Dean shoots him a look and Castiel forgets to look away this time, quickly silenced by the eye contact between them. Dean’s cheeks flush slightly and he breaks their gaze, turning to look around at Janet again.“Hey Janet, truth or dare?”Janet groans loudly, giving Dean her middle finger. “Dare.”“Good choice, sweetheart. See, I was thinking about how Beckett said he’d be out here drinking with the best of us tonight…but he’s not. He stomped away with his own bottle a little while ago…” Dean pauses for dramatic effect, raising his eyebrows. “I think you should go see how he’s doing you know, knock on his door.”Janet frowns, glaring at Dean. “Really? He’s gonna put me on kitchen duty for the next month as WELL as every midnight guard shift, come on. He hates being bothered on his down time, you know that.”Dean just smiles devilishly, “you chose dare, and mine was too tame.”After a moment passes, Janet stomps off towards Beckett’s cabin, cursing under her breath. Dean’s not even sure why he picked that as his dare for her. It’s not like she was the one who dared him to lick her foot, and really just because she hangs out with Risa and they both always looking at Cas like he’s a piece of meat…that’s not really important to him. He’s a little too drunk right now anyway, and he can feel the warmth settling on his cheeks and in his stomach. If he drinks any more, he might not make it to morning without puking, so he sets his drink to the side.When Janet comes back, she flashes Dean a wide grin which catches him off guard. “Did you chicken out?” he asks.“Nope. Beckett sends his regards. By the way…you have midnight guard shift tomorrow…with Colin.”“Are you kidding me?” Dean exclaims, running his hands through his hair. “That kid is useless! Great, thanks Janet.”“No problem, sweetie,” she says, blowing Dean a kiss before laughing and sitting down beside Chuck again who has been smiling stupidly at her all night.Janet takes a moment to wrap her long, thin arm around Chuck’s shoulders and pull him close to her as she whispers in his ear. He laughs but shrugs his head, and Dean can’t help but be suspicious. Risa must feel the same way because she calls out Janet’s name, telling her to hurry the fuck up and stop flirting before she gets another stupid dare.Janet leans back against the log, gazing at Janet across the fire.“Yo Risa, truth or dare?”“Dare.” Risa answers, her alcohol slurring her word into two syllables as she stands and places her hands on her hips.Dean can’t help but notice that her hair is down, which is rare, and that in another life he’d have probably wanted to be with her. She’s got an athlete’s body, well-toned and lean, with dark hair that flows down her back. In fact, sometimes it pains him a little to notice how much she looks like Lisa, and even her damn name is similar. When they’d first met, he’d done a double-take and it had taken more than second to collect his thoughts and maybe not hate her for almost giving him some sort of hope. Instead, she’d turned out to be loud-mouthed, brash, cocky, and way too skilled at taking out Croats. She is nothing like Lisa Braeden, so he never made that mistake again.“I dare you to kiss the person here who deserves to get the most wasted tonight”.Dean’s mouth drops open, because he doesn’t need to wonder to know who she will kiss. He thinks back to Abby’s words earlier and his eyes meet hers, followed by her shrugging her shoulders apologetically. Dean places his hands on his knees, already noting the nervous sweat that is coating them. He hates himself for it, and right now he hates Risa too and Janet for that matter. Risa throws a brief cautious glance towards him, before walking towards Cas instead. The words “fuck” run through Dean’s head several times but he still can’t look away.Castiel takes another drink, careful not to look up from the ground. He’d heard Janet’s dare and it made his heart clench and a small coil of fear tightened in his spine. More than once, Risa had told him in passing that he needed to loosen up, get drunk with the rest of them. He hated hearing it then, and he hated hearing it even more as a dare from Janet a few seconds ago; especially as he keeps his eyes stuck on the ground in front of him, scratching at his chest nervously with the hand that is in a sling still.It doesn’t do anything to deter her. Risa comes to stop in front of him, a teasing smile on her face as she taps her finger against her chin. After a moment, she doesn’t just lean down to kiss him; she swings one leg over his, straddling him, causing him to nearly fall off the log. She sits down slowly, her eyes darkening as her figure obscures the light from the fire behind her. Castiel’s tongue catches in his throat and wants to tell her to stop, but part of him is curious. He wants Dean to say something to stop her, but two can play that game. Castiel licks his lips without meaning to, apprehension settling into his stomach and replacing his curiosity. He’s never kissed a woman before, he realizes.The entire camp-fire grows silent and Castiel can practically hear his own heart hammering inside his chest. He closes his eyes as Risa leans closer, and hears her whisper, “don’t worry, this won’t hurt,” and he barely responds with a shaky, “ok”, before her lips press against his. For a moment, he imagines it is Dean instead, and it feels like falling…only, he realizes too late that he is incredibly drunk and he is falling. He slides backwards off the log, gravity doing its evil part and taking Risa with him as he throws out his one good arm to catch them against the ground below. It is only a moment later that he realizes their lips are still pressed together and her hands are gripped tightly around his waist. A sharp pain in his shoulder causes him to hiss slightly, pulling away from Risa.“My arm,” he says by way of explanation as she quickly stands up and reaches down a hand to pull him back up as well. He accepts it, even though his eyes don’t meet hers. Someone coughs, breaking the awkward silence around the camp-fire and Castiel’s eyes fly up, looking for Dean. A force that feels like a tornado hits him in the chest when he sees that Dean is gone, and Abby is looking at him with a stern glare. He stands, grabbing his bottle of alcohol, while he shakily steps around the rest of the camp-fire circle. “Shit,” he says to himself, because he knows that they’ve never put a label on what they are…but well, they’d also never had a reason to define it. Castiel can feel himself breaking into a million pieces again, and he takes a drink from his bottle as he makes his way towards his cabin, and hoping (because he doesn’t pray anymore) that Dean is in there. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 5: Bent Dean sits on the edge of their bed, his head in his hands as he blinks back his own feelings of jealousy and betrayal. The more he tries to remove the image from his mind, the stronger it seems to hold on, burrowing deep into his insecurities. The jealousy fills his stomach, twisting his emotions and he can’t help but feel ugly for it. When he thinks of Risa’s hands wrapped tightly around Castiel’s hips, he finds his fingers clenched into tight fists, his knuckles turning white from the strain.As they had toppled over, their lips locked together, it took everything he had to walk away. Dean had imagined pushing her off Castiel, taking her place instead. His own strong legs would have wrapped tightly around Castiel. He would have instead cradled Cas close to him as their lips would pull each other open artfully and with the familiar ease that only exists in the privacy of their own bed. Dean wishes he could do that; that it could be sosimple and easy. He knows he has no right to be mad, because he’s the one who refuses to define what they are…but it doesn’t make it any easier.His head is still in his hands when the door to the cabin opens slowly. His head snaps up and for a moment he forgets his honesty with himself and instead feels only anger towards Castiel. The moonlight casts dim shadows across the room and he is sure he can tell that Castiel’s lips are swollen from kissing, and his mind immediately imagines Risa pulling Cas closer, kissing him over and over again as she presses her body against his. He hopes it is just the alcohol, because he can tell that he is going to lash out stupidly, but he does it anyway.“Bored with Risa already, Cas?” he spits out, standing up slowly, hoping the effects of his drinking wear off soon.Castiel recoils slightly and shakes his head, “Dean, that wasn’t my choice, you know that.”“It wasn’t like you stopped her, or maybe you liked it? You didn’t like actually kissing her? Did you…?” Dean says, worry quickly replacing his anger; his emotions a tumultuous tide crashing back and forth between extremes.“How could you think that?” Castiel retorts, his expression going from apologetic to angry. “I do everything for you, Dean. I want to be yours, not Risa’s or Janet’s, or Chuck’s, if we’re going to be completely absurd here!”Dean stops, not realizing he had been slowly walking towards Castiel, his fists clenching and unclenching. Cas’ words hit him like a slap to the face and he feels a certain clarity again through the haze of his anger, jealousy, and alcohol.His voice softens, and maybe his liquid courage can help him tonight rather than hurt (as it usually does). “Cas…you aren’t mine.”Castiel visibly flinches, his face falls completely and his hand grips his pant leg tightly. Dean backtracks, running his hands through his hair; because of course he is saying everything all wrong.“I mean…you don’t belong to anyone, Cas. I don’t want you to feel that way. I just…I want you with me, and I want you to want to want to be with me. Dammit, this probably makes no sense…”Dean drops his head to the floor, cursing himself for being the most ineloquent bastard in the history of ever, and he tries to find the words that will say what he can’t say yet. As he notices Castiel’s feet begin walking towards him, he drags his eyes up slowly, and maybe he drinks in the sight just a little bit. He’s only a man, and it’s rare to see Castiel so loose and limber with a red flush across his cheeks from drinking; his hair is longer now too and Dean really is starting to love it that way. Rather than the usual frown that seems to have been sewn onto Cas’ face, there is a small tug of a smile on the corner of his lips.“Thank you, Dean.”The tightness in Dean’s chest evaporates slightly as Cas steps close, placing his hand gently on Dean’s hip, his eyes looking questioningly into Dean’s. Dean nods, allowing Cas to pull him close, their hips touching. Dean buries his head into Castiel’s shoulder, breathing in his scent, a mix of smoke, alcohol, sweat, and their shared ocean breeze body wash. He smells so familiar, and Dean inhales deeply, exhaling his worries away.As he pulls back from Castiel, he places a small chaste kiss on Castiel’s lips. He knows Cas hates to fool around when Dean is drunk, and he really doesn’t want to push his luck right now. Which is why he is taken completely by surprise when Cas’ hand travels up his spine, and rests against the nape of his neck for a moment before pulling him in for a passionate kiss.A moan escapes Dean’s lips and he closes his eyes, sinking into Castiel’s mouth, parting his lips and allowing Cas to suck on the bottom of his lip. He can’t help but think, “if this is my penance, then god help me, I’m gonna sin again”.Castiel pulls Dean against him, their hips flushed together, as he explores Dean’s mouth and the gentle familiarity. He can’t help but think of Risa for a moment, and the unwelcome and uncomfortable feeling of her mouth against his. He fights back the feeling to run to wash his mouth out, and instead imagines Dean’s kisses purifying him instead. He relinquishes his grip on Dean’s neck, stepping back slightly to pull his shirt off.“Hey, let me check your wound first, Cas,” Dean says gently, as he steps forward to undo the knot in the sling. He is quiet, subtle, knowing how much Castiel hates this. He checks quickly, his fingers brushing lightly against Castiel’s skin as he pulls his shirt off and discards it lazily to the floor. Dean drops his head, pressing wet kisses around Castiel’s neck and traveling lower, hesitating only a moment above the place where Castiel had been injured.“You’re perfect, Cas,” Dean whispers as his hands travel up Castiel’s sides, gripping him tightly. Castiel can feel Dean pause for a moment before stepping back. “I mean, your wound…it’s perfectly healed,” he says, his eyes sliding to the side. Castiel grins, rolling his shoulders back slightly, watching Dean from the corner of his eye. He pretends not to notice as Dean’s eyes travel down his torso, lingering on Castiel’s pants, slung low on his hips.Castiel waits a moment more before pushing Dean towards the bed gently, ignoring the way Dean stumbles slightly backwards. The back of Dean’s knees hit the bed and he sits down ungracefully, which draws a small laugh from Castiel. “Shirt” he growls at Dean, tugging at the hem of Dean’s worn Henley. Dean obliges quickly, throwing his shirt across the room with enthusiasm and lifting his eyebrows at Castiel.He takes this opportunity to climb slowly onto the bed, his gaze locked onto Dean. Dean inches backwards up the mattress, stopping when his head hits a pillow. Castiel moves slower, placing his hands on Dean’s hips, squeezing the gentle flesh there. He drops his head, biting gently at the skin on Dean’s stomach, his tongue darting out to taste Dean’s flesh, made salty already by sweat.Dean moans, closing his eyes and arching his body upwards slightly. Castiel supposes he will never tire of this sight; of watching Dean fall to pieces in front of him just because of his touch. He closes his eyes, allowing his hands to travel up Dean’s sides, feeling only slightly the motion of Dean’s ribs expanding and contracting as his breath becomes labored. Castiel’s knees are planted on either side of Dean, and he slowly lowers himself into a sitting position on Dean’s lap.Castiel watches as Dean’s lips part and he scrunches his eyes closed even tighter. He leans forward, pressing his lips to Dean’s again, catching Dean’s breath in his mouth and this time Castiel moans, rocking his hips forward into Dean’s. “You taste so good, Dean. I only want you, ever.”At this, Dean throws his head back, pushing his straining erection against Castiel’s, his hands on Castiel’s hips grip him tight enough to bruise. “God, Cas, don’t stop.”It doesn’t take much encouragement, and Castiel places one hand on Dean’s bicep, squeezing tightly as his body slides lower, sucking into Dean’s skin incrementally. Part of him hopes that Dean will be seen without his shirt, and someone will see the dark marks littered across his gorgeous skin, and there will be no question again of someone else being with either of them. Castiel thinks of this as he leaves mark after mark along Dean’s torso, kissing gently the freckles along his shoulders and moving downwards along Dean’s abdomen.As he reaches Dean’s bellybutton, his tongue darts out quickly, and he grins lasciviously at Dean as Dean wiggles slightly, holding back his laughter. Castiel loves knowing every spot that makes Dean laugh, like touching his bellybutton or his feet, and sometimes the back of his knees. He continues onwards, dropping his hands to Dean’s jeans, unbuttoning them deftly and pulling them off completely. He wants to pleasure Dean tonight, and maybe it will help some of his guilt over the kiss with Risa, and maybe he just likes doing things for Dean too. He’s broken several rules tonight, and so just this once it might be ok since they are both drunk anyway. Castiel reasons with himself for no reason, because he has never been able to resist Dean anyway.Dean opens his eyes briefly, watching Castiel’s dark mop of hair rake across his skin gently as his mouth plants devils kisses across his torso. He both hates and loves it, because it feels good and it is so Cas, and when he looks in the mirror the next day it fills him with a sort of elation. However, it means he can’t remove his shirt in public, and thankfully only Abby has seen the marks while patching him up, and at least she only lifts an eyebrow and looks at him questioningly but never asks. He hates hiding. These thoughts don’t last long however, as Castiel throws his pants across the room (oh, maybe that’s why their cabin is always a wreck) and wraps his hand hotly around Dean’s erection. The blood pooling there leaves his brain empty and useless.Castiel’s eyes meet his, the darker blue almost entirely obscured by his blown pupils, effects of lust and a darkened room. That sight is nearly enough to knock Dean over the edge as Castiel wets his lips, his tongue darting out again before he lowers his head slowly over Dean’s cock. They hold eye contact for a moment before it is too much and Dean throws his head back against the pillows. One hand comes up to rake through Cas’ hair, while the other grips the sheets tightly.Dean never would have thought that a former “angel of the lord” would be the king of blow jobs, but he can’t really describe Cas as anything else. They had been awkward and unskilled the first few times but then it was like something clicked and now they can move with such seamless effort, and Dean’s too old to be ashamed to admit that no girl has ever blown him half as well as Cas (he still rarely admits this though).Opening his eyes for just a moment, Dean looks at Castiel’s body, his head bobbing on his nearly painfully erect penis, and his hands gripping Dean’s hips tightly to keep him from moving. Dean remembers to not guide Castiel’s head too much with his hand (he’d gotten an earful and Cas had withheld sex for a week last time). He loosens his grip on Cas’ hair and lets his eyes drink in the sight of Castiel’s lean shoulder muscles, moving. Dean is close and he is only barely holding on as he throws his head back against the pillows again, moaning loadly.He knows he is being obscene but he can’t bring himself to care. As he nears the edge, every inch of his skin feels on fire, his blood warm and coursing. He moans again, parting his lips to pant slightly. “Fuck, Cas” he says, teetering so close to the edge. Castiel takes him in one more time, deeper than before, and Dean can’t hold on anymore. His orgasm crashes over him, like a white hot light behind his eyes. For a second, he is floating and free before he opens his eyes, pulling Castiel towards him.Every inch of his body feels warm, and he is spent, but he doesn’t want to leave Cas out to dry either. He pulls Cas into a gentle kiss, tender. He pulls back and plants kisses along Castiel’s cheekbones and eyelids, returning back to his mouth for a more passionate one. “Cas,” he says, one hand traveling down to grip Castiel’s own erection, strained against his jeans.Castiel shakes his head and smiles. “Just for you Dean, I wanted to do that for you.” Castiel sinks down beside Dean, pulling his jeans off finally and dropping to the ground beside the bed. He wraps an arm around Dean’s waist, pressing a kiss to Dean’s bicep. Dean furrows his eyebrows, looking at Cas questioningly.“Huh?”Castiel burrows his head against Dean’s side, his voice muffled slightly. “To apologize, Dean. I’m sorry about Risa,” he says softly. Dean pulls back slightly, placing a finger underneath Castiel’s chin and pulling his head up to look at him.“Hey, look, it’s fine, ok? It’s my fault too, so let’s just forget it, yeah?” Dean doesn’t want to ruin this by going into why it’s his fault too because that is the same circle they’ve been running in since they got to this camp. Instead, he wants to hold Cas, and be held by Cas and try to sleep because tomorrow they will most likely be on a mission again and the world will keep on spinning. Right now though, he feels like everything is paused and he’d like to just hold onto it, as much as one can hold onto sand slipping through a sieve. Castiel nods and pulls the blankets up over them, wrapping Dean tightly in his arms. Dean can feel himself slipping off into dreams he may or may not want to have but he lets go anyway, secure in Cas’ embrace. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 6: Something Castiel wakes before Dean, just as the morning sun peeks through the window of their cabin, a gentle light spreading around the corners of the old worn sheet they use for a curtain. Castiel gently slides his arm out from beneath Dean’s head, wiggling his fingers to restore some feeling back in his hand, ignoring the prickling sensation moving up his arm. He plants a kiss on the back of Dean’s neck and rolls quietly off the bed.Soon, the morning patrol person will be making their rounds, knocking on cabin doors and waking everyone up. It’s old-fashioned, tedious, and annoying, but it is the best way right now. The sound of alarms or horns would just draw Croats to the camp, and it’s not like their generators supply enough power for frivolous things like alarm clocks. That world seems like a distant past. Castiel peeks his head around the curtain, eyeing the dim figures moving from cabin to cabin.He stretches quickly, turning his torso from side to side and reaching down to touch his toes. Ever since he’d fallen, he’d begun to notice a change in his body. As his grace receded, the flow of time seemed to settle in his bones. At first, he had been alarmed. This was Jimmy’s body, and then Jimmy was gone, but Castiel’s true form was merely contained in it. Now though, it is nearly all him. Each ligament, tendon, and muscle is just Castiel. The small flow of grace left is barely enough to notice now, flowing through his bloodstream quietly and calmly; the only remnant of what Castiel had been before. Now, his knees crack if he kneels down too quickly first thing in the morning, and the rain sometimes brings a drumming numbness to his right leg (ever since he took a nasty hit to the knee a year ago on some hunt gone wrong).So he stretches in the morning before pulling on a pair of loose jeans, and he brushes his teeth dutifully, because this body is just a body and must be cared for as such. Castiel wanders into the small bathroom to prepare for the day. Most mornings he doesn’t mind a cold shower if it means he can sleep a little longer, but today he wants a warm shower to shake off the worries from last night. As he brushes his teeth, he looks at the cup of now-stale water and sighs. Once he is done, he takes the cup and the large bucket in the shower out to the watering area in the main campground.There are several clean water stations thankfully, meaning he can avoid the one outside of Beckett’s large cabin. He fills both buckets, struggling to bring one to the water tent where he exchanges his larger bucket for one that is warmed for a shower. He gives Chuck a small smile as he thanks him, and wanders back to his cabin with both buckets. The air is getting colder and he figures he won’t be able to get away with cold showers and late starts for much longer. He laments this as he struggles to quietly bring in the large bucket in one hand and the other small bucket in his other hand. His eyes travel over to the bed where Dean is snoring softly, one leg poking out from beneath the covers.Castiel grins to himself as he pushes open the bathroom door with his foot. He places the smaller bucket on the sink in case Dean wants to shave; Castiel figures he can get away with one more day of not shaving before Dean starts to complain about it being too itchy. He unhooks the water bag from the wall, using the pulley system installed to bring the bag down to around his waist. Being careful not to take too long, causing his hot water to go cold, he dumps the hot water into the water bag. Castiel secures the lever again, pulling upwards, hoisting the water bag to its natural spot above the shower tiles.He thanks humanity for their ingenuity, just one of the many miracles he’d come to be thankful for. He turns the spout on at the bottom of the bag, feeling for the temperature of the water. A steady stream pours out in a small umbrella shape, and he runs his fingers through it before quickly shutting it off to conserve water. Smiling to himself, he sidles over to the bed, sliding in next to Dean. He pulls Dean close to him and kisses his nose before whispering in his ear, “good morning, Dean”.Dean stirs, nuzzling his head in briefly for a moment and squeezing his eyes shut tightly. “Just a few more minutes, Cas” he says drowsily. Castiel smiles gently and tightens his arms around Dean’s waist, squeezing his body to his own. “You should get up before I use all the warm water,” he whispers before untangling himself from Dean and sauntering over to the bathroom, removing his jeans on the way. He doesn’t need to look to know that Dean’s eyes are peering at him sleepily.Indeed, a moment later, Dean has trudged out of bed and is wiping the sleep from his eyes as he leans against the doorframe of the bathroom, one arm above his head. Castiel doesn’t stop his eyes from traveling up and down Dean’s body before he steps under the make-shift showerhead. As Dean steps in behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, Castiel is grateful again for sharing a cabin with Dean; particularly one that has its own bathroom.He turns the shower on, allowing it to wet them both. He grins to himself as he hears Dean behind him moan gently. “This is great, Cas. Thanks for getting the hot water this morning.”Castiel shuts the water off, lathering the soap in a washcloth in his hands. He turns around, facing Dean, handing Dean the other washcloth to lather. They are quiet as they wash each other, periodically turning the water back on to rinse their bodies, and then their hair. This is sometimes Castiel’s favorite part of the day. They wash each other, usually in tired and lazy silence, but it is comfortable. For some reason, it seems like their problems can be washed away with the other grime, and they emerge cleansed and new again. Sometimes their showers turn sexual; with gentle hand-jobs and long, slow kisses beneath the water. Castiel likes that too, the lack of any urgency to their time together.For now, he finishes washing Dean’s hair and places several kisses along Dean’s collarbone. Dean smiles gently, water droplets hanging on his eyelashes. Castiel has to hold his tongue to keep from saying, “you’re beautiful,” because really, they don’t say those kinds of things to each other, but he can think it in the safety of his mind. So he does, nearly screaming it as he stares into Dean’s eyes, the beautiful green speckled with hints of gold. The corners of his eyes crinkle as a small grin spreads across his face, and Castiel leans forward to kiss these, because they remind him of Dean smiling and nothing makes him happier than to see Dean smile.Dean chuckles as he instructs Castiel to tilt his head back under the water so he can rinse it out for him. Castiel obliges, finally breaking their eye contact. He tilts his head back under the water, closing his eyes as Dean massages his head softly. When he is done, Dean turns the water off and steps out first, grabbing a tower hanging from the back of the door. He hands it to Castiel before grabbing another one for himself.As Castiel pulls his own clothing on, he watches out of the corner of his eye as Dean straightens up their cabin, dressing slowly as he goes. He has one sock on, jeans unbuttoned, and no shirt on as he periodically picks up articles of clothing, smelling them and throwing them into two separate piles. Castiel hides his grin and pretends not to be watching, for fear of being told (again) that he’s the one who makes their place a mess. He sits on the corner of the bed, tying the laces on his boots when he hears the inevitable morning wake-up knock on the door.“Ya, ya, we’re up already,” Dean says loudly, picking up his towel and running it through his damp hair.There is another knock on the door, so Castiel stands this time, swinging the door open wide. He narrows his eyes slightly, wondering why Beckett is personally waking them up.“Morning, boys,” he says.Castiel steps aside, ignoring the sudden change in atmosphere. He doesn’t need to look at Dean to see the effect Beckett has. He looks anyway, exasperated. Dean stands a bit straighter and fumbles to button his jeans and throw a t-shirt on. “Mornin’, sir” he says with a sheepish grin.Beckett’s eyes travel around the small cabin, his eyes flickering back and forth between Dean and Castiel. The movement is almost imperceptible as his eyes settle for a moment on the cot covered in junk, and the tousled bed. His eyes don’t linger for long, but Castiel catches it and it makes him clench his jaw.“You know, you two boys don’t gotta share a cabin, we got some more space now.”The meaning is obvious and Castiel isn’t sure how to respond, a bubble of fear caught in his throat. Surprisingly, Dean is the one who objects for the both of them. “We don’t mind, sir, we’ve been roommates for years as it is,” he says, no hint of sarcasm or anything innocuous.Beckett nods slowly, before turning briskly to walk back outside. Over his shoulder he instructs them to meet at the group cabin in 10 for a mission briefing before heading out on the supply run. Dean relaxes the second the door closes behind Beckett, striding over to the bed to dig a stray sock out from the pile of clothing next to the bed. As he sits down, he exhales and runs a hand through his damp hair. Castiel watches him, one eyebrow raised. “That was weird, right?” he asks.Dean shoots him a look, lips drawn tight. “Fine, we won’t talk about it,” Castiel mumbles back as he runs a towel through his own hair to dry it further. Dean strides toward him and pulls him in for a long kiss, running his hand down Castiel’s spine. Castiel can’t help but feel himself melt a little in Dean’s arms and he wonders if he is always so obvious. Dean pulls back suddenly, putting his hand to his own cheek. “Shit, I forgot to shave!”Castiel grins and gently drags his hand along the stubble on Dean’s jaw. “It’s ok, I don’t mind it this way,” he murmurs as he leans up to catch Dean’s lips in a gentle kiss again. When he pulls back, he feels a bit better, even though he knows they are about to leave their safe-haven and be thrown back into a world of destruction. Dean drops one hand to Castiel’s and gives it a gentle squeeze before heading out the door. Castiel trails behind, throwing one more glance around their messy cabin. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 7: I am a Rock Dean can feel Cas’ foot tapping impatiently beside him as Beckett goes over the plans for the mission. Honestly, Dean had been hoping they would put off doing a run for medical supplies, but it seems that isn’t the case. Most of the hospitals nearby have been cleaned out for months, meaning this would be a trip into the city. Last time they went, it had been extremely dangerous. Dean hates this hospital, hates how close it is to the city, and he can’t help but wish he was being left out of this run.Beckett puts them into their standard pairs, pausing for a moment before putting Dean with Castiel as usual. Within the hour they are packed up and ready to go, packing tightly into cars to preserve gas. Two young guys, in their early twenties ride along with them. Dean doesn’t remember their names, something like Kurt and Brad, but he can’t be sure. They have decent aim and haven’t been totally useless, but they are new to going on supply runs. Dean can’t figure out why Beckett would make them come along, especially when this type of mission is typically more dangerous. He doesn’t dwell on it too long though, he has other concerns.“Hey Cas, want me to run point? You cover me?”“Sure. But Dean, why are we risking going so close to the city?”“I dunno man, but don’t question it. Beckett must have his reasons.”Dean sneaks a sideways glance at Cas, noticing the way his foot is tapping against the ground, causing the car to shake slightly. He would yell at Cas to stop but something in his demeanor makes him worried instead.“Floor seven huh?” Dean says instead, looking back at the road, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter.“Yes.” Castiel says curtly, still not removing his gaze from the window.Dean contemplates asking the guys in back how they feel about guarding the front with Beckett, but he stops himself when he sees them each looking worriedly out the window.They spend the rest of the trip in silence, nearly three hours in the car. Castiel pretends to sleep for most of it and the guys in back whisper in hushed tones. Dean grips the steering wheel tighter as they get closer, a “Welcome to Oak Park” sign looming ahead in the distance. This town might have been one he enjoyed a lifetime ago, at least for a couple nights. The buildings are old, close together, but undeniably attractive. There’s a downtown area full of shops, run-down and destroyed now, but it doesn’t take much imagination to see what it was like when it was shining and bustling with human activity.The convoy slows down, cutting down on the sound of engines running. It is something Dean will never get used to; the silence. Towns that used to be full of people are now silent and dead. They drive quiet cars for supply runs, looking to be in and out without being noticed. Dean doesn’t need to look at Castiel to know he is checking his gun and attaching the silencer to it. Not that it matters much, any bit of sound is like a scream. Even the hums from the engines of the cars are enough to draw Croat attention if any are around.As they pull up to the hospital, Dean groans inwardly. At least the grounds aren’t large and it won’t take long to comb through before teams go inside. As soon as the outside is clear, each pair will take a floor and scour it for supplies, taking everything they can. Priority is on bags of saline, antibiotics, painkillers, and bandages. Floors one through three are essentially clear by now. The groups that have those floors are running clean-up to ensure no Croats are walking around the lower floors or nearby grounds. Without power or elevators, the stairwells are like deathtraps.Before they get out of the car, Dean reminds everyone to do a weapons check. A small smile crosses his face as he hears Cas exhale next to him, annoyed.“You too, Cas,” he says for good measure as Cas looks at him with narrowed eyes. The file out of the car quietly, each pair falling in step together. Dean appreciates that the missions have a set plan, and that it is familiar and comfortable to run through. Having been on so many supply runs, Dean and Cas don’t have to stop with Beckett first, they know what to do. They go together scouting the perimeter of the hospital, always within vision of another pair from their camp.Dean and Cas put down a few Croats they find in the courtyard, the usual, but the area is thankfully mostly deserted. They report back to Beckett, nodding at him that their sector is clear. Risa and Janet return next, followed by the two younger men who had ridden with them in the car. A few more pairs come up later, giving a thumbs-up sign to Beckett and the rest of the group. Beckett reminds them to listen for a whistle and to get out if they hear it. Dean doesn’t need to be reminded.They used to have walkie-talkie’s for supply runs, which worked really well until they eventually all got ruined. Tha is the biggest pain; having nice stuff that is impossible to replace. So now they have to listen for a whistle and use really outdated methods. Dean waits with Castiel outside the main doors of the hospital. Each entrance is guarded now and after they get the “OK” to move on to the next floor, they head to the stairwell.“After you,” Castiel says, swinging the door open. Dean walks in, making a face at Cas.There’s a checkmark drawn on the door to the next floor, so they move on. Floors 2 and 3 are clear, and hopefully if those groups finish quickly, they can join in scavenging floors 4,5, 6, and 7. Dean hopes so anyway. He waits with Cas outside the door to floor 4, exhaling as Risa walks up and draws a checkmark on the glass window; so they continue upwards. There’s a checkmark on the window of floor 6 as well, and Dean feels like he should be relieved that this is going so well, but there’s a tightness in his chest and it isn’t from climbing all these hospital stairs.He looks behind him at Cas as they near the landing to their floor. Cas has his gun drawn, and his finger moves expertly over the safety lock. Dean checks his pockets for his knife and extra rounds as well before swinging open the door. They step quietly, rounding the corner to the main hallway of the floor. Dean stops dead in his tracks causing Cas to run into him.Sometimes Dean feels like that little boy in the dutch myth, the kid who put his finger in the hole in the wall to stop the water from flooding and the dam breaking. Dean feels like that a lot actually, because he knows how to hold that spot in the wall and keep it from leaking, but if he removes himself for just a minute, the dam walls come crumbling down. This is a lot like that.There’s a wheelchair in the center of the hallway, black and slightly rusted around the wheels. It has a single gunshot hole in the upper right corner, and for a minute all Dean can see is Bobby sitting there, bleeding out. March 2012 The front door to Bobby’s house was open, swinging slightly with the cold air of a winter that had lasted far too long. He knew instantly that something was wrong; a dark cloud overhead had seemed to encourage that feeling all day. Dean didn’t wait for Cas to get out of the passenger seat. He turned his car off, leapt from his seat, and willed his legs to carry him faster across the lawn of Singer Salvage. He had taken the front steps in one stride and slammed his hand against the front door as he pushed it open completely, barreling in.All sound had been wrenched from his throat as he wasslammed with the reality in front of him. Cas must have been running behind him, because Cas didn’t stop; he ran immediately to Bobby, assessing the damage. Dean had felt weak in the knees for just a moment he contemplated falling to the ground and letting himself never move again.He didn’t do that though. Instead he ran to Bobby’s side, his eyes wide and frantic as they settled on the large bullet hole through Bobby’s chest. Blood had been running down in a thick stream, staining Bobby’s plaid shirt and dripping down his arm which had been gripping his wheelchair rest tightly. Cas had already removed his jacket by the time Dean’s mind caught up with reality. Cas worked quickly, a tight grimace across his face as he pressed the shirt against the wound. Dean had dropped down beside Bobby, holding his head back up, making eye contact.“Bobby…Bobby, we got you, ok?” he had said.His eyes flashed upwards at Cas, a realization hitting him. He had grabbed Castiel’s wrist, his fingernails digging in desperately. “Heal him, Cas!”“I can’t, Dean…I’m sorry.”“I don’t care! Don’t tell me sorry! Use up the rest of your mojo if you have to, dammit.”Castiel had shaken his head, placed his hands on Bobby’s shoulder, and closed his eyes tightly. Dean’s heart had raced as he looked back and forth between Bobby and Cas, looking for any sign that it worked. When Cas finally looked back at him, he had just shaken his head and looked down at the floor again.“I took away his pain. I’m sorry, Bobby. I can’t do more.”Dean didn’t care that tears were streaming down his face; he grasped Bobby’s hand in his.“What happened, Bobby? I swear, they won’t get away with it. Demons?”Bobby shakes his head, some strength seemingly regained with the removal of his pain. “Son, it was just damn people. They wanted supplies and we had’em. They got the jump on me…course I ain’t hard to get the jump on, being in this damn chair.”“Dammit,” Dean had yelled, his body crumpling further to the floor. Cas moved to grip his shoulder but Dean had shoved him off angrily (not for the last time).“You don’t try to bring me back or nothing, you got it, Dean? Give me a proper hunter’s burial. Come here.”Dean had let Bobby pull him into a hug, as he ignored the blood still pooling through Bobby’s wound and soaking through Cas’ coat. He had shut his eyes, breathing in the familiar smell of old books, whiskey, and oil.“Listen here boy, I won’t be here to tell you what to do now. But that angel of yours, he ain’t a rock. He can break too. Take care of each other, you hear me,” Bobby whispers into his ear.Dean could’t help the small laugh that had come out as more of a sob. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna go out singing Simon and Garfunkel now, Bobby”.“Always been more of an Eagles fan,” Bobby had said quietly as his eyes closed.“Bobby?” Dean asked, as his voice cracked.Dean had waited for what felt like an eternity before receiving no response. He sat back on his heels, one hand still clasped around Bobby’s. Castiel had dropped his hands from Bobby’s wound and stepped around to the other side, grabbing Bobby’s other hand. Dean could hear him reciting words in Enochian.They gave Bobby a hunter’s funeral, just like he asked. Dean didn’t say a word. Together they tracked the humans who had broken in and shot Bobby (it only took two days to catch up to them), and Dean had let go, carving them up like he was in hell again. Cas never said a word; he just waited outside until Dean was done.When they got home, Dean killed the engine and walked slowly back up to the house. He still hadn’t said a word since Bobby passed. He walked straight to the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He flicked on the shower, removing only his boots before stepping in. Blood coated every inch of his skin and he watched as it flowed down the drain. He’s not sure if he had cried or not, but his eyes stung and burned. It was as if he was wearing someone else’s skin. He let the water flow over him, cleansing him, but he couldn’t feel it.Cas had stepped in behind him, fully clothed as well. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t press Dean to talk to him, but he wrapped his arms around him, placing his hands against his chest. He had let Dean lean back into him and eventually they sank to the floor of the tub. Dean tilted his head back, allowing the water from the shower to fall across his face, drowning out the water trailing down his cheeks from his eyes. He realized he had been crying all along. When he looked down, he saw his hands had been clenched in fists, so he loosened them and leant back against Cas again. He cried loudly that time, allowing it to wrack his body with each sob. He wept for Bobby, he wept for Sam, and he wept for Cas because Cas was now stuck with a shell of a man he is too good to ever leave.When he finally turned towards Castiel, he whispered the only thing he would say for weeks.“I hate you for not being able to save him.”“I know.” Present Day-Aug 2012 Dean wakes from his reverie when he feels Castiel grip his hand tightly and then let go. He turns to look at Cas, his eyes wide. He swallows his guilt and embarrassment over his memory, blinking several times to bring himself back to the present. His eyes travel back towards the lone wheelchair.“This is weird, right?”“Yeah, but stay focused,” Cas says, his voice barely a whisper. Dean watches as his eyes widen in the dim lighting.Dean turns around quickly and curses under his breath. A Croat is on the floor, crawling towards them. This is why he hates this hospital. For some reason half of the Croats are deformed, moving at awkward angles and they move slowly; which should be a good thing but most of them don’t look deranged. They still look too human and their faces haunt him in his sleep. Of course, if they catch you they will still tear you limb from limb, but the mad haze in their eyes is different from the majority of Croats elsewhere. The one on the floor has dark hair, and it moves on its hands like an animal. “Fuck,” he says and reaches for his gun because she’s halfway down the hallway now and that is closer than he’d ever like to be to that thing. Before he can even raise his gun though, Cas shoots her, and Dean is more than a little relieved.“We should leave,” Castiel says, his eyes peering down the hallway. Castiel’s eyes flick around nervously as the floors creak beneath them.“We can’t just leave, Cas. We have a job to do,” Dean says, despite all his reservations. He grabs the bag from his back and walks towards the nurses’ station, peering behind the counter and on a whim, glancing upwards at the ceiling to be sure there isn’t some mutated Croat sitting up there waiting to jump on his face.“Shit, this place gives me the creeps,” he whispers to Cas, “reminds me of one of those X-box games that were even too scary for me to play.”“We really should leave, Dean.”“Cas, we-““You are not focused. We have to leave, now.”“We’re almost done, let’s just grab all the supplies and we can go. I never wanna have to come back here.”“Dean, you don’t understand. I have a very bad feeling about this. We need to leave now.”Something in Cas’ voice makes him scared, and maybe it is the whole place and the wheelchair, but he stops arguing. He thought he was the only one who had felt weird about this, but hearing Cas say it too-it makes him more worried than he’d ever admit. He nods at Cas and begins walking back towards the stairwell, his gun raised, while Cas watches his back.“Fuck, Cas…”“What?”“We forgot to open the window,” Dean says, pointing to the outside where Beckett is blowing into his whistle and people are loading into cars.“We didn’t hear the whistle…” Cas trails off before throwing open the stairwell doors and sprinting forward.“Run!”Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes off after Cas, barely allowing his feet to connect with the ground before jumping down another flight. “My ankles will hate me later,” he thinks wryly but he knows he just wants there to be a later.They reach the first floor without any trouble but when they get to the hospital lobby, Croats are filtering in through the side doors. There’s no one from the camp stationed outside, and most cars are on, waiting to leave. For a moment Dean remembers the kids that rode there with him, and how they need a ride back and it’s stupid but he can’t die here with these Croats and condemn some young kids to die just because he couldn’t keep his head straight after whatever that was with the wheelchair.Like they’d agreed, Dean takes point, running forwards towards the main doors. Cas covers him, shooting any Croats that are following. Again, most of these are slow moving but the occasional fast one shoves through and sprints towards them. Cas puts them down easily, never missing a mark. Dean shoots the two Croats blocking the doorway and his ears are already ringing from all the shots fired indoors.Thankfully they reach the outside and Beckett is still there, guarding their car. Dean’s lungs are burning from running and his head is pounding from the sound of gunshots and a bit from fear as well. He doesn’t miss the glare from Beckett as they jump into their vehicles. Beckett pulls up next to them, rolling his window down quickly.“Follow me out. There’s a massive hoard coming this way, down the route we took to get here. You boys got enough gas to make a longer trip?”Dean glances down at the fuel gauge, thankful that at least that wasn’t going wrong today too. He nods back at Beckett, because he’s not sure he can really talk right now anyway. His eyes flick to the backseat, which he notices is empty.“They were in Beckett’s car,” Cas says next to him, as if he read his mind. Dean exhales as he steps on the gas, following the black CRV ahead.By the time they crawl back to their cabin, they are both thoroughly worn down. Beckett had torn into them about forgetting to open a window on their floor. He’d called them reckless and useless, as well as reminded them that they could have gotten others killed, and all for nothing since they hadn’t even managed to put more than one box of gauze into their supply bag. Dean had listened with his head down, and he almost kicked Cas when he talked back, even if he did have a point when he said it took them much longer to get to the 7th floor when every floor below them had to be cleared first.“Man, that sucked,” he says as he throws himself onto the bed.Castiel nods, removing his shirt quietly and stepping into a pair of fresh boxers. He throws himself onto the bed as well, pushing his face into his pillow.Dean removes his own shirt and shoes, throwing his socks across the room onto the massive pile of dirty clothing. He doesn’t bother brushing his teeth. He wants to sink into the bed and maybe drift off into an easy sleep, even though he knows that won’t be possible. He still sees the image of that Croat crawling on the floor, her dark hair in a curtain around her and her mangled legs dragging behind her. She’d looked up and her gaping mouth had been like something out of a nightmare, and he was no stranger to nightmares but damn.He crawls beneath the covers after Cas, letting Cas wrap himself around him.“That was weird, right?”“Which part?” Castiel asks, nuzzling his face against the back of Dean’s neck.“You know what I’m talking about, Cas.”“I can’t read your mind, Dean. And you should just say what is bothering you rather than force me to say it for you.”“Jeez, no need to be a dick about it,” Dean says as he leans away from Cas slightly.Cas pulls Dean back towards him, kissing him gently on the shoulder. “I’m not trying to be a dick…I just want you to tell me what’s bothering you. Why did you get so distracted there?”Dean turns around to face Cas, slightly surprised. “The wheelchair, Cas! Tell me it didn’t remind you of Bobby.”Cas closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “Well, yes, I did think of Bobby first…”“Exactly!”“I’m not sure what you mean though, Dean…do you think this holds a deeper meaning?”Dean puts a hand over his eyes and rolls on to his back. He can’t really explain what it is he thought. He knows Bobby isn’t back, because they burned his bones and gave him proper burial, and really a wheelchair in a hospital isn’t something out of the ordinary…but. There was just something off, and maybe it was just him and being in that place because he went in there with the wrong attitude, but now he can’t get that hospital out of his mind.“Dean?” Castiel says quietly, questioningly.“I don’t know, Cas. I just felt like there was something weird about it and maybe I’m just nuts because now I keep seeing that wheelchair when I close my eyes, and at least that’s better than that friggin crawling Croat but yah…I don’t know.”“I felt it too,” Cas says quietly, pausing before elaborating. “I just got the feeling that we should leave right away, even before we saw that Croat.”“Maybe it was some kind of warning?”“I don’t know from who…but, I don’t think I want to question it too much. I’m glad we are both fine,” Cas says, pulling Dean towards him in a tight embrace.Dean nods, leaning in to Cas’ touch and closing his eyes. He runs his hands along Cas’ warm back and tries to imagine things far more pleasant that creepy hospitals, wheelchairs, and dead father figures.“Hey, Cas?”“Yeah?”“I’m sorry.”“For what, Dean?”“What I said…after we lost Bobby,” Dean pauses for a moment, because he really doesn’t want to think more about the past but if he doesn’t say it, the guilt will eat him alive. “I never hated you, I was just angry…at everything.”“He was a father to me too, Dean. I was angry as well…you just didn’t see it.”“I know.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- November 2012 Chapter 8: Nothing’s Changed Castiel wakes first, his head resting gently on Dean’s shoulder and one leg swung halfway over Dean’s legs. He tilts his head upwards before turning back into the crook of Dean’s shoulder, burrowing deeper into the warmth. The cold November air seeps through the cracks of their cabin, resting on the tips of their noses. It’s been nearly three months since their “incident” at the Oak Park hospital, and Castiel is still waiting for the hammer to drop on them. Each time they go on a supply run, something seems to go wrong. Maybe it’s just bad luck, bad karma or something but he can’t help but feel as if some axis has been thrown off kilter.He removes his arm from the below beneath Dean’s head and he moves his fingers stiffly, feeling the needle pricks traveling up his arm. He breathes in one last time, his nose in Dean’s hair, before swinging his legs off the bed. His feet hit the cold, worn wood and he shivers slightly. Castiel isn’t sure why they still sleep with their shirts off when the temperature is steadily dropping, but he can’t complain too much; he likes running his hands up and down Dean’s torso, pulling him close both for the necessity of warmth…but comfort too.First he stretches, leaning down to touch his toes and swinging his arms around him, hugging himself. He’s prone to waking up before Dean, maybe a remnant of his former angelic status. It had taken him a long time to learn how to sleep, which seemed silly at the time because sleep is a natural, biological need for humans. He had to learn to be human, which mean he had to learn to sleep. Even now, he finds himself awake at all hours of the night, listening to the crickets outside or the slow even breathing from Dean. Usually he will hold Dean close and lay a hand on Dean’s chest, feeling for his heartbeat and breathing rhythm. Their bodies will naturally fall into the same pattern, which Castiel finds is the best way to soothe himself to sleep.Castiel digs through the wooden dresser looking for a clean shirt to wear. He sighs wearily when he finds only one shirt, one of Dean’s favorites. He glances at the large pile of clothing on the cot and shakes his head. It’s his turn to wash their clothing, and it’s his own fault for letting it get this bad. He quickly digs through the pile, picking up shirts and smelling them or checking for blood stains. Clothing is one commodity that is easy to come by these days. He doesn’t like to think about it too much. The loose shirts made from some organic material…those had belonged to a kind older man who had not made it back from a mission. Some of the shirts Dean preferred to wear, slightly too-small Henley’s and worn button-downs, those were from a young kid who had left with his mom one day and never returned. Maybe they were ok? Castiel liked to think they found somewhere safe to hole up and survive.He presses a green shirt to his nose and finds it acceptable, tugging it on over his head. He pulls out a pair of jeans, turning them over to check for any blood stains. Of course, most clothing was stained but as long as it had been washed before, that was alright. Castiel frowns at the large hole in the knees of his jeans, knowing he’ll be cold before too long. Thankfully they had the day off, having gone on a mission last night, and messed that one up too. He looks back at Dean, his gaze softening. Dean’s brow is furrowed, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Castiel assumes that his dreams have not pleasant, which has been the problem as of late.Dean has been closed off, retreating into himself. Castiel isn’t sure how he’s supposed to help, so he holds Dean at night and he talks about “safe” topics but he has a suspicion that the things that are off-limit to discuss…they are what need to be talked about. When Dean doesn’t know it, Castiel catches him taking out the amulet he used to wear, the one Sam had given him when they were children. Castiel had given it back to Dean shortly after they lost Sam, once it had proven ineffective in helping to find God. Dean never wore it again but he never got rid of it either. Castiel looks back at Dean again, standing and striding over to him, placing a hand on his head. He’d give anything to soothe Dean’s dreams once again, but he settles instead on a warm touch to his head and a soft kiss.He piles their clothing in a large duffle bag and quietly steps outside looking for the washing tent. Hopefully there’d be warm water boiled already that he could sink his hands in while the rest of his body shivered. Castiel grimaces at his light jacket, reminding himself to mention to Dean that they need to lift some warm winter gear from somewhere. There had already been some early snow and thankfully it had melted quickly, but pretty soon it would be December and snow would come in more than a few inches. They need to be prepared.The morning sunlight streaming in wakes Dean from an unwelcome nightmare. He runs his hands down his face and groans, rolling over onto Cas’ side of the bed, opening one eye when he doesn’t feel another body beside him. He closes his eyes for another moment, grasping at the last few strands of his dream. He’d been putting off thinking about it, and especially talking about it, but the restlessness is sinking in and he can’t sleep and when he sits down he fidgets with his hands or his gun…anything within his reach. He wants to find the colt.It wasn’t like they had given up on doing it but…they had kind of found excuses not to look for it. First, he’d been too much of a mess after Stull and he wasn’t going to think about that or he’d never get out of bed again. Then when Cas had well and truly fallen - well they weren’t hunting for a while after that either. It seemed like they would make one step forward and life would push them three steps back again. They had accepted the stand-still. Especially after they lost Bobby, and maybe that was why he can’t shake this; because now that flood-gate has been opened.Dean figures that living is hard enough, but he’s aimless now. They get supplies for the camp, and maybe they save a few families here and there, but mostly it is like a vicious cycle. The stagnation has started to wear on him, irritation and restlessness sinking into his bones. Then there are his dreams, where he is chasing something but he isn’t sure what it is. He runs his hands through his hair and sits up, shaking his head.“It’s too damn early for this shit,” he mutters to himself. “Cas? You in the bathroom?”He listens but doesn’t hear anything. When he turns his head to the side, a small smile grows across his face. Cas is apparently doing the laundry, which of course he had let pile up. With a sudden realization, Dean sprints to the dresser, quickly opening the shirt drawer. He laughs when he notices the one clean shirt left; he could count on Cas to at least be thoughtful most of the time.Dean slips the dark blue shirt over his head, glancing down at the peeling tan letters; “The Beatles”. He runs his fingers down his shirt, remembering when he’d bought it with Cas a few years back when they had to go pick out some clothes to replace Cas’ tattered suit and trenchcoat. This shirt had been Cas’ until it wasn’t anymore because Dean kept stealing it, which was fine since Cas stole Dean’s Led Zeppelin shirt because it said “Houses of the Holy” on it and Cas thought it was an ironic joke if he wore it.He shakes his head laughing slightly and throws on a pair of jeans and a thick coat. Their cabin is freezing so he can only imagine how cold it is outside. Once he’s layered up on socks and stuffed his feet into his boots, he wanders outside to find Cas. Dean figures that with the amount of clothing they have piled up, Cas will be busy for a while.He jogs over to the washing tent, a grin spreading across his face at the sight of Cas. He’s elbow deep in a bucked stuffed with shirts and water is sloshing out the sides. Dean sneaks up behind Cas, gripping his hips tightly for a moment before pulling away. Thankfully no one else is doing laundry, which is probably a good thing for Cas too. Dean tugs at the hem of Castiel’s green shirt, smirking.“I see you’re wearing your favorite shirt. Haven’t seen it in a while.”Cas looks down and smiles softly, “I do like this shirt.”“You aren’t even Irish, Cas…”“How do you know?”“I just know,” Dean says, grinning at the exasperation on Cas’ face. “And I think you like it because you want to be kissed when you wear it,” he says, lowering his voice and leaning into Castiel’s side slightly.Castiel’s cheeks flush, matching his nose which is red from the cold. “Maybe that’s true,” he muses, looking pointedly at Dean and leaning back into Dean’s hip. “I recall you kissing me repeatedly when we bought it.”Before Dean can respond he hears a cough from behind him and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He steps away from Cas, not having noticed that they were standing so close and being so obvious. He can feel the heat traveling from his spine to the tips of his ears as he tries to flash a nonchalant smile at Beckett.“Hey, Beckett. What’s up?”Beckett’s hands are behind his back and he has a solemn look on his face. “I’d like to speak to you for a moment, Dean…alone.”Dean looks nervously at Cas for moment, crossing his arms across his chest. “Here…or?”“No, come back to my cabin. It won’t take long,” he says, flicking his gaze back at Castiel briefly.Beckett doesn’t wait for Dean to respond, just turns around and begins striding across the grounds towards the large cabin at the rear of the campsite. Dean shrugs quickly at Cas before jogging a few steps to catch up to their leader.When he steps into Beckett’s cabin, Dean takes a deep breath. He’s been in here a few times before, sometimes for private briefings and on rare occasions they had shared some whiskey and stories. That was mostly when he’d first arrived, and he hasn’t been in here for a while now. He can’t help feeling as if he is in trouble. Dean’s eyes gaze around the room, taking in the meticulous maps and scatterings of notes pinned around a large corkboard.Beckett hands Dean a glass full of amber liquid and motions for him to take a seat at the table shoved into a corner of the cabin. Dean does as instructed, swirling the whiskey around in his glass. It’s early for a drink but refusing isn’t really an option either; not with Beckett glaring at him.“So, uh…what’s up?” Dean asks, feigning a confident smile.“Well, boy, I wanted to talk to you about taking a bigger leadership role in our small camp here,” he pauses a moment, “god forbid something happens to me, someone’s gotta be able to step up.”Dean’s jaw drops only slightly and he brings his glass to his lips to take a large gulp. This is not what he’d expected to hear. He’d been messing up on simple supply runs and sleeping too late because of nightmares that held him in a stasis between waking and dreaming. He really expected to be yelled at instead, but this is great news. Before he even realizes it, a plan is forming in his head for making finding the colt a camp priority.He flashes a real smile back at Beckett, his heart racing with a small hint of excitement. “I would be honored, sir”.They discuss various strategies for organizing more efficient supply runs, gathering intel on other human camps, and managing camp supplies. By the time they’re done talking, Dean’s head is swimming with new ideas and possibilities. He wants to wait to bring up finding the colt, and formulate a real plan for it, but he’s positive that Beckett would agree. He’s nearly grinning from ear to ear as he stands, slightly unsteady on his feet after several drinks.He takes a few steps towards the door, turning to nod goodbye to Beckett. He wants to find Cas; tell him about their meeting, especially since Cas had looked so worried earlier. As he turns back towards the door, Beckett quickly reaches his arm out, grasping Dean on the shoulder. Dean furrows his brows in confusion, regaining his balance and his eyes focusing on the hard line set on Beckett’s face, replacing his easy smile from earlier.“Listen, Winchester. I got one rule here. I’m only gonna say it once and you do with it what you have to. I don’t want faggots in my camp…I won’t tolerate it.”Dean’s eyes widen and he takes a step back, shrugging Beckett’s hand from his shoulder. For a moment, he is nine again and he can smell the grease and the lingering traces of smoke in the air. He is in one of those run-down diners in Michigan, Sammy is next to him, five years old and picking at the food on his plate. Their dad is across from them, glaring at something behind Dean.He turns around, curious. His eyes settle on a young couple kissing; two men. He cocks his head to the side slightly, wondering why this upsets his dad. When he turns back to look at his dad, he is shocked to see so much anger across his face. John leans forwards towards Dean and points at the men behind him.“That there, it’s unnatural. Goddamn faggots,” John says bitterly before leaning back against the booth. He looks between his boys, before placing one hand on each child and rustling their hair. “I’m lucky I’ve got you two boys…my strong men!”He doesn’t wait for a response; he stands up quickly, grabbing the bill and striding towards the check-out, throwing an angry glare at the couple who had been kissing before.Dean looks down at his plate, folding his hands in his lap, ignoring the unfinished food that he’d probably be hungry for later.“What does that word mean, Dean?”Dean looks over at his younger brother, dark blonde hair falling into his eyes. He lets out a deep breath and turns to check that his father is still busy.“It’s a bad word, Sammy. Don’t ever use it, ok?”“Ok. I promise I won’t,” Sam says as he squeezes Dean’s hand, a small lisp to his words.Dean blinks, a moment passes, and he is squeezing his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms. Every atom in his body wants to punch Beckett, to tell him to never say that to him again. He’s hated that word since he was a kid, watching a young boy get picked on in a school that he only attended for a week. He’s hated that word since his father said it in front of Sam, too young to be exposed to any of that. He’s hated it since Camp Chitaqua when they’d called Cas that, and he’s not sure he can stand to see that happen again.He takes a step towards Beckett, his voice low and strained through gritted teeth, “don’t ever say that word to me again”. He doesn’t wait for a response, storming out of Beckett’s cabin and slamming the door behind him. The liquor in his body has warmed him enough that he has started to sweat and now it runs cold in the winter air, sending shivers down his spine. He doesn’t go to his own cabin, aware of being watched. He won’t give Beckett the satisfaction of seeing him run back to Cas. He presses his fingers to his temple and bites back the memories that keep filtering into his daily life, threatening to cripple him. Bitterly he thinks that maybe Cas was right; Beckett is too much like his father. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 9: Echo Dean wanders aimlessly for a while before the rumbling in his stomach becomes audible and he succumbs to his hunger. Finding the food tent, he ducks in, eyes scanning around for Chuck. He checks his watch, thankful that it is nearly noon. If he’s lucky, he can eat before the rush and maybe he won’t have to make awkward conversation with Chuck either.Of course, Dean’s luck ran out so many years ago. Chuck is the only other person in the tent and his face softens as he breaks into a wide grin when he sees Dean. He quickly hands Dean a bowl of lentil soup and a bunch of crackers. Dean mumbles “thank you,” and tries not to encourage further conversation. It’s not that he really dislikes Chuck, and he knows he’s been unfair about it all, especially considering their history. He’d just rather not remember their history, even if Chuck’s the only other one here who even knows that Cas used to be an angel.“Heya, Dean,” Chuck says, bringing his own food over to the table, sitting down across from Dean.Dean tries not to make a face, because it also freaks him out that Chuck probably knows what all his expressions mean, down to writing them in perfect detail in a book. So he keeps his eyes down, shoveling a spoonful of hot soup into his mouth. He ignores the burning in his throat because at least he won’t be expected to say much if his mouth is full. Instead he settles on a small eyebrow lift to acknowledge Chuck’s presence.“So, how’re you? How’s Cas,” Chuck lowers his voice, “you know, the whole mortal thing?”He tries not to groan, he really does, but he can’t help it. When they’d first arrived at Seven Eagles Camp and saw Chuck here, they’d been ecstatic. Prophet of the lord and all, he wasn’t sure who was more excited about it…him or Cas. They’d questioned him back and forth about everything until their hearts were heavy; Chuck hadn’t received a vision or whatever in a very long time. At least not since the incident at Stull, which Dean wasn’t going to think about right now.“We’re fine, Chuck. How about yourself?”“Well you know, keeping busy! I figured if I made myself useful then I’d be less likely to drink and end up getting myself killed,” he says with a small laugh. His spoon scrapes against his empty bowl as he looks down.A twinge of guilt hits Dean and he looks away from Chuck, his eyes focusing on the flurry of activity around the main gate. He wishes he could be a friend to Chuck, hell, to anyone. Half of the time he’s barely there for Cas, and that guilt alone could probably swallow him up alive. He smiles a half smile at Chuck, trying to be friendly despite how much he’s avoided any interaction with him in the months he’s been here.“Let me know if you want some extra shooting lessons, man. Happy to help,” Dean says before shoveling the last of his soup into his mouth. He shoots one last grin at a Chuck before standing and gathering his stuff. After he’s done washing his dishes he pauses, taking a deep breath. The cold air whips around him and he shivers slightly. He doesn’t want to find Cas, not yet. Days off could sometimes be just as awful as days when he had to run on missions; too much time to think, to argue, to feel. Dean shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. He heads towards the front gate, figuring they always need assistance anyway.The front gate is watched 24/7, by no less than two people. They typically had at least one rookie with two veterans whenever possible but their numbers had been dwindling lately. It was getting rarer to find survivors to bring into the camp, and missions were more dangerous than ever. Dean hops up the make-shift steps to the top of the wall made from stacked and layered debris. He grins, checking his own gun, he sits down next to one of the rookies; Colin.He’s done several overnight watches with Colin, and he is a bright kid. Terrible aim, but he is a good kid. Dean hates seeing a 16-year old holding a shotgun, staying up through the night waiting for any sign of movement; it reminds him too much of his own teen years. Sometimes Dean comes up here to get away, to make himself useful. He doesn’t mind it too much, and there’s a quiet serenity in focusing on only one task and nothing else.“You workin’ on your aim, Colin?”“When I can, man. I’m up here like…every night, or it feels like that. Pretty sure my mom’s gettin’ pissed about it,” Colin says, shrugging his shoulders.Dean nods, pulling out his own gun again from his leg holster. “Did anyone show you how to clean and care for your gun?”Colin rolls his eyes, pulling his knees up to his chin. “What do you think, Dean? Of course not. ..no one’s got time for that for some dumb kid who somehow managed to live through this and only knows how to play computer games and take tests.”“Chill out, dude,” Dean says with a laugh. Looking over at the other person keeping patrol, he grins. “Hey, Scotty! You mind if I show Colin a few things here while you cover the watch?”He waits for a thumbs-up sign in return and hands his gun over to Colin, setting the shotgun to the side. Dean teaches him slowly, going over the important parts several times. A nagging in his mind creeps in, and he pushes away the memories of teaching his younger brother in this same way, so many years ago.Colin learns quickly, and apparently computer games gave him some information on guns because he isn’t as clueless as Dean expected. By the time Dean’s done going through the importance of gun maintenance and shown Colin a few tricks, the sun has started to set. It gets darker earlier now, which no one is too excited about. Dean contemplates offering to take the rest of Colin’s shift when he feels a familiar hand on his shoulder.He looks behind him, his head tilting upwards and eyes squinting in the setting sun. Cas’ green “kiss me I’m Irish” shirt sets an immediate grin on Dean’s face again and he stands up, stretching. He places one hand on Colin’s light blonde hair and ruffles it slightly, ignoring the protests from the young teenager.“I’m headin’ out, kid, keep us safe,” Dean says with a wink at Colin, trailing behind Castiel back to the inside of the camp.“I thought I’d find you there,” Cas says, turning to face Dean, careful not to trip as he walks backwards.“Yeah, well…yeah,” Dean says, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. He knows that’s not any sort of answer but he doesn’t really have one.“I thought you’d come find me, let me know what Beckett wanted,” Cas says, no hint of a smile on his face.Dean quickens his pace, catching up to Cas so that they can walk side by side. He fights the urge to wrap his arm around Castiel’s waist or to grab his hand and hold it in his. In fact, he feels embarrassed for a moment and his eyes scan the campground quickly for any sign of Beckett.“Let’s get inside, ok?” he says, aware of his own paranoia, but also because his anger from earlier is returning.Cas’ lips harden into a straight line and he rolls his eyes, quickening his pace. Dean’s not sure where Cas picked up that human trait, but he certainly doesn’t roll his eyes enough for it to be from him. He follows Castiel, stepping inside their cabin, he sheds his armor; removing his leg holster and gun, the knife tucked into the back of his belt. He takes a deep breathe, running his hands through his hair again and allows himself to take in the familiar smell of home.He takes a step towards Cas, placing one hand on his hip, pretending to not notice the way that Cas hangs back, rather than fall into his touch. Dean pulls back, attempting to mask how much he hates Cas being upset with him. His eyes wander towards the bed and the large pile of clothing on top of it.“Hey, thanks for washing all these, Cas,” he says as he absently picks up a shirt and begins to fold it.“It was my turn,” Castiel responds quietly before making his way to stand behind Dean, wrapping his arms around his waist, burying his head against Dean’s shoulder.“So you want to know what Beckett wanted, right?”“Yes.”Dean smirks and turns to face Cas, resisting the urge to throw Cas down on the bed right now. “You’re just nosy, Cas,” he says before turning back to fold another shirt. He is glad that his back is turned to Cas right now because he knows he’s deliberately pissing Cas off.“Ok ok, well here you fold the pants ‘cus you suck at folding the shirts,” Dean says, throwing a pair of jeans at Cas over his shoulder. He hears some muttering before Cas walks around to the other side of the bed, diligently folding their clothing as requested.Dean takes a deep breath before beginning, because this is a conversation he has avoided all day but he can’t put it off any longer without really getting in a fight with Cas, which is the opposite of what he needs right now.“Well what he wanted was to kind of make me…next in line, I guess? In case anything happens to him and we need someone else to lead,” Dean begins, apprehensive. First of all, he’s not even sure he has what it takes to be that kind of leader and what’s worse is that of course Cas is going to tell him that he is, and it’s hard to accept that kind of praise except that Cas isn’t really the lying type. He pauses and lifts his eyes to meet Cas’, which are slightly clouded over, but a smile is spreading across his face.“That’s good, Dean, right? I think you’d be a great leader, well you are a great leader already.”Dean can feel a blush creeping up onto his cheeks and he looks back down at his hands, messily folding the shirt in a rush. “Well…you gotta say that kind of shit, you’re sleeping with me,” he answers, looking up through his lashes and winking at Cas before dropping his eyes back down to his hands.Castiel laughs, that kind of silent laugh that he has, where the corners of his eyes crinkle and his shoulders shake slightly. Dean wishes he saw it more often, wishes they could be playful more often. He is hit in the face with a shirt and he blinks a few times before looking at Cas.“You’d be our fearless leader, Dean, I’d say that even if we weren’t sleeping together,” Cas says with a smirk, and Dean doesn’t have to wonder where Cas picked up his sarcasm and dry sense of humor…well maybe he always had that sense of humor. He can’t help but relax a little bit more as he folds the shirt Cas threw at him.“So, what did he say that upset you?”There it is, Dean thinks, he doesn’t know why he’s still surprised when Cas reads him like an open book. He places his hands on his hips and shifts his weight from side to side before looking up at Cas.“He said, ‘I won’t tolerate faggots’, or some bullcrap like that and I dunno, I hate that word…so you know, I had to cool off.”Cas tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You say lots of offensive words Dean, what is it about that one?”“I dunno, man! It wasn’t just the word itself but he was saying it about you.”“And you,” Cas mumbles quietly.“Well I don’t like it, ok, Cas? So I told him as much and let’s cross our fingers that we’re not kicked out of here too,” Dean says bitterly.Cas crosses around the bed, dropping the clothing from his hands. He places both hands on Dean’s shoulders, squeezing slightly. “We won’t be, Dean.”Dean nods and falls into Castiel’s touch, allowing Cas to wrap his arms around him and plant kisses on his forehead. If he thinks too much about what Beckett said, or what happened at Camp Chitaqua, he thinks he’ll end up feeling sick because on top of everything else in his life, he has to have his most serious relationship ever (are they even a relationship?) with a former angel who happens to be a male and he’s not sure he even knows how to build up walls to keep others from tearing this down.They finish folding their clothing and put it away quietly, navigating around each other in a familiar ease. Dean finds solace in it, in not needing to fill the air with words. They dress for bed and Dean breathes in the fresh scent as he falls into their bed, closing his eyes as the darkness fills the room around him. He only vaguely realizes that he skipped dinner and he laughs to himself, thinking how Sam would have never believed it was possible. A sharp pain stings his heart and he clutches at the sheets with strained hands.Cas turns to face him, worried etched into each line of his face. He’s already aged since falling; Dean can see it in the new wrinkles on his forehead, caused by the stresses of their lives.“Dean?”“Do you ever feel like we’re just running away from ghosts?”“All the time,” Cas whispers quietly as one hand reaches up to run through Dean’s hair.“If I remember him, it feels like drowning,” Dean says, and he wishes he didn’t sound so pathetic because he’s never been all about poetry but he honestly has no idea how to explain it. The crushing weight of what he’s lost and the fear that one day, all of his memories will pull him down like bricks until he can’t breathe anymore.Cas leans forward, pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead, and pulls back. Dean swears that even in the dark, he can see galaxies in Castiel’s eyes.“Sleep, Dean.”Dean lets Cas pull him closer and for the second time in mere hours, he buries his head into the crook of Castiel’s neck, allowing the familiar touch and smell to calm him and bring him back to the present.“Promise me, Cas, you’ll always pull me out.”“Always.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- December 2012 Chapter 10: Soma Castiel wakes slowly; his limbs sprawled across the bed, roaming around looking for that extra bit of warmth. With a groan, he realizes that Dean probably hasn’t even been to bed yet, or maybe he slept a few hours and got up early again. The December chill has crept into each inch of the cabin, turning his breath into a hazy fog in front of his eyes. Castiel burrows beneath the covers for another moment, rubbing the tip of his cold nose, which hasn’t stopped running for a week now.He reaches for his watch on the nightstand, his fingers stiff and cold. Castiel has tried not to complain, he really has, but he hates being sick. The winter air makes his lips chapped, his nose run, and his hands feel dry. On top of that, he’s lethargic, constantly sneezing, and he decides that this might be the worst part of being human. It’s nearly 7:00am, and he knows that he should already be up and dressed. He sits up, wrapping the covers around him for another moment, shivering. He can’t help but think that it would be a lot easier to sleep if Dean were in bed too, sharing his body heat. Instead, Dean’s been busy with Beckett for the past few weeks; training and being trained, all through the night and into most of the day. Castiel hates it.They’d been skirting around the edges of something; words unsaid. He’s not sure what it is, but he can tell when Dean is keeping a secret. Maybe it’s some remnant of his grace in him, picking up on the finer details, attuning him into things. He’s tried to talk to Dean, to find out why he’s thrown himself into working with Beckett, despite the “incident”, which Dean has more than forgotten obviously. Castiel stands, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. He digs through their dresser for layers of clothing. There had been snow once already, which the camp wasn’t really prepared to deal with. He peers outside his window at the gray sky and small flurries floating through the air. Hopefully none of it sticks otherwise their mission today will be scrapped, Castiel thinks. He puts on a white waffle shirt with a grey shirt over it and then a button-down with a coat. The layers don’t exactly make it easy to move, but at least he won’t be freezing for most of the trip.Strapping his watch on, Castiel stretches quickly, loosening the muscles in his legs and his shoulders before heading outside. He hopes vaguely that Dean will be going with them on this supply run; they have barely seen each other the last few weeks. Castiel has a strong suspicion that this is entirely intentional, maybe from Beckett…or Dean.After he’s eaten a small breakfast, he heads for the group cabin, a few minutes early for their briefing. There’s still no sign of Dean and he shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets, attempting to keep warm. By the time he gets inside, he’s sniffling like crazy and his eyes are watering slightly from the sharp wind. Bitterly he thinks that this might be a good time to relocate to the south, where at least they won’t freeze while fighting Croats and demons (if you were unlucky enough to find some).Castiel closes the door, trying to keep the wind from slamming it shut, and he curses under his breath as he nearly catches his finger on the door.“Hey, watch your fingers, Cas,” a voice says from behind him, a hint of amusement to his tone.Castiel turns around quickly, attempting to mask the large grin that threatens to spread across his face. His spirits fall slightly as he notices how dark the circles are beneath Dean’s eyes, and way he is favoring one foot over the other as he steps towards him.“Dean…”“You still battling that cold?” Dean asks, pressing the back of his hand to Castiel’s forehead briefly before dropping his hand back to his side.Castiel nods, rolling his eyes slightly. “It isn’t the most pleasant experience.”“I could tell Beckett you’re sick, I don’t want you catching pneumonia or some shit, Cas,” Dean says, a small line forming between his eyebrows and his lips drawn tight.“I’m fine, Dean,” Castiel remarks, motioning towards Dean’s leg, “what about you?”“Oh, it’s nothin’, no worries,” Dean says, feigning a smile.Before Castiel can respond, the door opens again, and more members of the camp stream in. Dean moves back, taking his place at the head of the table, laying out a large map. Castiel watches with interest, noting that Beckett still isn’t here. He tries to catch Dean’s eye, but Dean is busy pinning tacks into the map on the old wooden table, riddle with holes already from so many previous supply runs. Castiel looks back at his watch, 7:45am, and Dean promptly clears his voice.Dean is the one who goes over the plans, explaining each point person and who would be running security while the others were inside. Castiel doesn’t mind this kind of supply run as much, particularly if the zone has been previously cleared. They have enough people for 8 cars, and are set to meet at a sporting store in a town about an hour away. They’ve been through there before, so they are hoping it is still relatively cleared. Castiel remembers stories of how they had thought it would be easier to fill a semi-truck bed full of supplies and drive it back to the camp. Thankfully they hadn’t been here for that one. The loud engine sound attracted Croats for nearly 30 miles before the driver noticed and thought to drive back out away from the camp. Since then, they’d stuck to loading small and quiet vehicles in large quantities; more work but safer.When Dean is finished, he looks around at everyone, making sure there are no questions. Castiel feels a surge of pride, because this is something Dean is good at. He’s in his element, and for a moment his eyes sparkle again with purpose. Castiel hangs back, waiting for Dean, as the rest of the camp members file out. They have a few minutes before they leave, and the excitement has somewhat seeped into Castiel’s body as well and he feels a jittery with anticipation. At least they are going to pick up more acceptable winter gear and supplies for the camp, which is a top priority on his list right now.Castiel stands back, waiting until the room is emptied. His hands are still in his pockets, shoved deep to keep warm. He watches as Dean rolls up the map, removing each pin quickly and quietly. Dean doesn’t say a word but Castiel notices the smallest upturn at the corner of his mouth as he packs up. When he finally looks at Castiel, he grins sheepishly.“First run on my own, ya know? A little nervous considering the location…” he says, tugging on the hem of his jacket as he zips it up.Castiel offers his most sincere smile, ignoring the urge to sniffle and cough in front of Dean. “You are doing great, and the shopping district should be fine, we cleared it a couple weeks ago.”They fall into step with one another easily, pairing up as they always do. Castiel is glad that he didn’t have to ask about who he’d partner with, and they slide into their usual roles. Dean goes through the plan again once they are in the car and Castiel listens, correcting minor flaws when he notices them and suggesting better tactics. They do this each time before a mission, which seems to calm them both.The ride isn’t long and they arrive first, leading a small caravan of vehicles. Each group breaks off to sweep the area, checking the parking lot and entrances to the sports shop. Once they’ve all returned, they take turns filling their cars with as much as they can carry. Two groups go in at a time, the rest keeping watch and putting down stray Croats that wander too close (before they can make too much noise). Once half of the cars are loaded, Dean and Castiel enter with a few other people. Dean gives his whistle over to one of the women standing guard at the entrance and gives her a stern reminder to use it the second there’s any sign of more than five Croats.Dean doesn’t follow Castiel immediately, instead checking each group, ensuring they are loading their stuff efficiently. The store is massive, each aisle still stocked with the majority of its original items. Dragging a cart behind him, Dean begins throwing winter clothing in, packing in as many jackets and sweaters as possible. Relaxing slightly, he continues through the large center aisle, clothing racks scattered in groups.He pauses to look at several snow suits, wondering if this would be worth the space this time. Dean runs his fingers over the strong fabric, trying not to laugh when he suddenly imagines Beckett wearing one of these. As he backs up absently, he hits another warm body and he swears under his breath as he turns around. He stops, his words catching in his mouth.“Jesus, Cas,” he says, his eyes traveling up and down Castiel’s body. The image is embarrassingly endearing and he can’t believe that the first thing that pops into his head is “you look cute”. Thankfully he doesn’t say that out loud. Castiel is wearing a black snowsuit, the arm straps hanging down, the zipper only done up to his waist. It doesn’t help that Cas’ hair is an absolute mess and the tip of his nose is still red.“Is this alright?” Cas asks, sniffling slightly, holding his arms out for inspection. “I’ve never had to wear winter clothing before.”Dean smiles and puts his hands on the hanging straps of Castiel’s snowsuit. “Ya, Cas…this is good.”A moment passes and Dean finds himself watching the way Cas’ tongue darts out to wet his chapped lips and he longs to press himself against those lips. He doesn’t mind that Cas is sick right now, but Dean feels a little guilty for bringing Cas when he’s clearly still battling a cold. He looks around, wary of any wandering eyes. Pulling Cas closer by his straps, Dean places a chaste kiss against Castiel’s lips before drawing back quickly.He tells Cas to hurry up, finish filling his cart, and meet him at the front of the store. As Dean stuffs a few more winter essentials into his own cart, a sharp pull at his elbow stops him. He glares as he stops, looking at Risa.“You should be on outside patrol,” he hisses, keeping his voice low.“I had to grab something real quick,” she says, waving a white snowsuit in front of him. Dean’s heart stops for a moment before scowling further.“You got it then, so go.”Risa looks concerned for a moment, unsure of whether to continue. “I saw you…with Cas,” she says finally, narrowing her eyes.“You saw nothing,” he says, his voice suddenly full of malice. Dean can practically hear his heart in his ears and his fists are clenched at his sides.“Hey, I don’t care, ok? I’m just saying…be careful. Beckett hates that shit and you’re his favorite right now…but watch it.”Risa doesn’t wait for his response, jogging quickly back to the front of the store. Dean’s vision swims in front of him and for a moment he feels lightheaded. He doesn’t really trust Risa, but something tells him that she wasn’t lying to him either. “Fuck,” he says, hitting his cart with a clenched hand. He takes a few deep breaths, ignoring the urge to look for Cas.Instead, Dean focuses on his mission, completing it, and getting back to the safety of his cabin. He loads up his car quietly, keeping his eyes open for any Croat movement outside. Once each car is loaded and packed, he locks the doors with a chain and lock, hoping that it won’t be picked through next time when they return. As Castiel settles in the passenger seat, Dean gives him a weak smile.“You’re gonna get way too hot wearing all those layers in the car, Cas,” he says and he starts the car.Cas just shrugs and smiles back. “I’m cold,” he says, pulling a pair of gloves out of his pocket and sliding his hands through them.By the time they return to the camp, the sun is setting and they need to rush to unload each car while there’s still enough light to see by. The group cabin is full of supplies now, all needing to be inventoried and given out the next day. Dean doesn’t envy Chuck’s job at all. The remainder of his duties go by in a blur and he wonders absently if he should report back to Beckett. He shakes his head as he remembers what Risa said, and decides to put it off until tomorrow.He wonders vaguely if he should check on Cas, but there seems to be this divide between them that has grown more expansive with each passing day. He knows he has to tell Cas about the colt, about why he’s been working so hard with Beckett…because maybe Beckett will trust him enough to let him do this. He just doesn’t know how to bring it up, how to bring up the memories that have been haunting him more frequently, making it harder to move on.Dean absently wanders towards Abby’s cabin, wondering if maybe he can get some medicine for Cas’ cold. If the world wasn’t ending and gone to shit, he’d have made some real soup for Cas, with crackers and ginger ale…the kind of thing he used to do for Sammy. He doesn’t even know if they’ve ever picked up any medicine for the small things, but he thinks he can maybe try. Or maybe it’s just the guilt finally eating away at him for how distant he’s been towards Cas.He knocks on Abigail’s door and is quickly greeted with a warm smile. “Hey, haven’t seen you around much,” she says grinning, holding her door open for him to come in.“Yeah, been busy, you know,” he says, looking around her cabin. “I see you got some more supplies…that’s good.”“The last few supply runs have been successful, so I’m thankful for that.”“You wouldn’t happen to have anything for a cold, would you?” Dean asks, rubbing his hands together to get the circulation flowing in them again.“Don’t tell me you’re sick too!” she exclaims, stepping over to the rack holding all the medications.Dean laughs and shakes his head, “No, it’s not for me. Cas has a nasty cold.”Abby turns back around slowly, lifting an eyebrow. “I gave him some Nyquil yesterday, so he better not be out of it yet.”She looks expectantly at Dean for an answer and he opens his mouth, fumbling slightly for words. “I didn’t ask him if he had medicine, I just assumed…so yah, I’m sure he still has tons left.”“Keep an eye on him, Dean,” she says, gently placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder.Dean gives her a confused look, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Ya, I will,” he says again, a small kernel of worry settles itself in his mind. “Well,” he pauses “I should go check on him then,” he says. Abby nods and gives him a small wave as he leaves. He barely looks back as he strides quickly to his cabin.He swings the door open, stepping inside and slamming the door. His eyes come to rest on Castiel who is curled underneath the covers but not quite asleep. Dean doesn’t say a word but his eyes scan their small room, finally settling on the empty bottle of Nyquil on the top of their dresser. He grabs it and stomps over to Cas, flinging the bottle onto the bed.“What the hell is this, Cas?” he yells, his eyes widening with anger.Rather than look embarrassed or upset, Castiel looks calm and collected as he says, “It’s medication, Dean. I took it because I’m sick.”“Don’t play stupid with me. You’ve had this for only a day…there’s no way you should have emptied the whole bottle.”Anger builds inside him and he vaguely wonders if this is how Cas felt watching him drink all those times, drink entire bottles of whiskey after they lost Sam and again after they lost Bobby. He looks at Castiel again, and shockingly realizes that Cas must be on some sort of loopy high from his medication.“I can’t sleep and you’re never here, Dean. I needed it to sleep. So if you don’t mind…” he says, a drowsy look on his face as he pulls the covers closer to him.“Fuck that, Cas! Talk to me, what’s going on?”“Nothing, Dean. In fact, you’re the one avoiding me and keeping secrets. So please, let me sleep. My head hurts.”Dean’s not sure he’s every felt this sort of anger towards Cas before, at least not in a long time. His fists are balled tightly at his sides and it’s taking every ounce of restraint not to punch the wall next to him, or maybe just punch Cas instead.“What do you want to know? Maybe if you stopped moping around and tried to be more useful, then I’d have more time to talk to you! Dammit, Cas.”Castiel looks down at his fingers, pulling the sheets up to his chin and closing his eyes. When he pauses and takes a deep breath, Dean knows what’s coming next. He wishes he hadn’t started this fight because it all boils down to him. When Castiel finally speaks, it comes out quiet, almost a whisper.“I heard you pray to him.”“What?” Dean says, confused.“To Michael.”Realization hits him hard in the chest and Dean unclenches his fists slowly, sagging against the wall. All the mornings and late nights when he’d been struggling to sleep, or they’d lost someone on a mission. He’d started praying to Michael again, begging him to clean this mess up; to fix the world again because he can’t.“Fuck,” Dean says, sliding down the side of the wall, settling on the floor. “What do you want me to say, Cas?”“There’s nothing to say, Dean. I’m useless, as you said yourself. I’m not an angel anymore, I can’t fix any of this for you, and I’m sorry about all of it.”Dean picks himself off the floor slowly, not raising his eyes from the ground. Shame and guilt threaten to consume him and he’s not sure where to begin, so he starts on familiar territory. He removes his jacket, and his several layers of clothing. Next he removes his gun and his leg holster, dropping them on the floor. Reaching across the bed, he grabs the empty Nyquil bottle and throws it across the room, out of sight.Crawling slowly across the bed, Dean settles down parallel to Cas, finally bringing his eyes up to meet his. He takes a deep breath and pulls Castiel closer to him. He knows he’s flawed, in almost every way possible, but he’s not too full of pride that he can’t apologize. This is all on him, it’s what he has always done. Maybe it’s why Sammy left too, all those years ago. Dean let’s those he loves get hurt, and since he’s only got Cas left now, he can’t let this break.“I’m sorry,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s head. He pauses, looking at Cas again.“I know,” Cas says, giving Dean a weak smile.“Look, I’ve umm, I’ve been thinking about something for a while. I know I should have talked to you about it sooner, but I’m talking to you now, ok?” Dean says nervously, his fingers pulling back to rest in his lap.“Ok?”“I want to look for the colt.”Castiel’s eyes widen and he leans back away from Dean again, “Why the hell do you want to do that?”Dean instantly misses the gentle warmth from Cas’ body and the security that came with his proximity. “I can’t just stagnate, Cas! I feel like I’m suffocating if I’m not trying to do something. We’re not living, we’re just surviving…”“I knew this would come back up,” Cas says quietly, leaning against Dean’s shoulder again. “This is what will get us killed,” he pauses and looks up at Dean again, “I don’t know how I know it, but I do.”Dean presses his hand to Castiel’s forehead and feigns a smile. “Sure it’s not your sickness talking, or all that damn Nyquil?”“It’s not.”“Ok, ok, well I promise we’ll be careful,” he looks down at Cas again, “are you in?”Castiel pauses, sniffling slightly and leaning back against the pillow slowly, his eyes drooping.“Yes.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 11: Tomorrow Never Knows The wind howls, rattling the sides of the wooden cabin and Castiel sits upright in bed. He doesn’t need to look over at Dean to know that Dean is fighting a nightmare right now. His body is drenched in sweat and he’s curled into a ball, his eyes moving quickly behind his eyelids. Castiel leans over gently, wrapping an arm around Dean and pulling him tightly to his chest. He waits for Dean’s breathing to even out again before attempting to wake him. If he could use the last bit of grace in him, he would draw the nightmares from Dean’s head and pull them into himself. He can’t stand the helpless feeling of watching him suffer, and Castiel’s sure that this is his punishment.Gently he rolls Dean over to face him, his fingers brushing Dean’s damp hair from his forehead. Dean wakes slowly, rolling his head from side to side as if shaking off the remnants of his dream. His eyes flutter open and Castiel thinks to himself, not for the first time, that Dean is beautiful. Even in the early morning hours with the sun barely up, and the bitterest chill imaginable in the room, Castiel can see the small light of Dean’s soul and it lights up the room.Dean shivers, sliding closer to Castiel beneath the covers, grinning as he snakes his cold fingers up the layers of shirts Castiel is wearing. Castiel hisses and pulls back, feigning an angry stare.“Mornin’” Dean mumbles, burrowing his nose into Castiel’s chest.“Sorry to wake you, you were having a nightmare,” Castiel says, wrapping his arms around Dean again.“S’okay,” he pauses before looking up, “hey, today’s Christmas, did you know?”“I might have known…”Castiel says; a small smile on his face. “Remember last year…before the outbreak?”“Mmhm,” Dean mumbles, pulling Castiel on top of him, seating him in his lap. “We were hunting a shifter and we got banged up pretty bad,” Dean laughs. “Bobby still had that damn tree up for us though when we got back; used that excuse about you experiencing it even though we slept through the whole day.”Castiel leans forward, kissing Dean gently on the lips. Even this simple touch sends his heart racing and his palms sweating despite the temperature. “I liked that tree,” he says, nipping gently at Dean’s throat. “But I don’t have a gift for you again this year, Dean,” he says as he trails kisses down Dean’s body, holding Dean’s hips down firmly into the mattress.“I could think of a few things you could do for me,” Dean says, slightly breathless, as he throws his head back against his pillow and closes his eyes.Castiel can already feel Dean hardening beneath his sweatpants and he smiles to himself. He lifts Dean’s shirt above his head, tossing it eagerly to the floor. Despite the cold air and raging snowstorm outside, their body heat is quickly warming up the space. Castiel shrugs out of his own layers, pressing his chest against Dean’s once again. Closing his eyes, he sucks on the soft skin of Dean’s chest, working his way upwards to his neck again. Dean moans softly, arching slightly upwards against Castiel.Their hips slot together easily in a familiar and comfortable way as they press together, each one holding on for stability; Castiel’s hands gripping Dean’s shoulders and Dean’s fingers leaving indentations on Castiel’s hips. Castiel can feel his own erection pressing annoyingly against his own pants so he slides off Dean’s lap for only a moment, removing his pants at a lightening-speed.He does the same for Dean, yanking his pants down in urgency. It dawns on him for a moment how every cell in his body yearns and aches for Dean, for this intimacy and nearness that might be the closest humans get to experiencing the divine. His heart races in his chest and he licks his dry lips as he settles himself onto Dean’s lap again.Dean smiles, leaning up to run a hand through Castiel’s hair, he tugs on it gently. Castiel leans down and presses his mouth against Dean’s, weaving his tongue in and out as he moves his hips against Dean. Their straining erections rub together, pre-come dripping onto their stomachs messily as they slot their hips against one another. Castiel closes his eyes, moaning loudly, struggling to hold on.He stops, pulling back from Dean for a moment. He pulls open a drawer on the nightstand next to the bed, fumbling around. Once his fingers clasp around the bottle, he smiles back at Dean, holding it up.“The world goes to shit, but we still have lube…what a wonder,” Dean says laughing as he pulls Castiel closer to him again for a deep kiss.Castiel coats his fingers in the cool gel, rubbing it between his hands hoping to warm it up slightly. He presses gently against Dean’s opening, going slowly with one finger. He watches as a red flush creeps across Dean’s chest and neck as he gasps slightly, his fingers curled tightly around the bed sheets below them. Castiel keeps his own body positioned above Dean, kissing him periodically and checking to make sure that he is not hurting him too much.Of course, some part of Dean relishes the slight mix of pain with pleasure and he quickly tells Castiel that he can take more; which Castiel fulfills. They move slowly together, Castiel scissoring his fingers inside Dean, and Dean slowly pumping Castiel’s own cock, squeezing tightly at the base and twisting gently with each stroke.They are tender initially, each stroke gentle and deliberate, but it snowballs into a cascade of hormones and need. Dean loosens his grip on Castiel’s cock as soon as Castiel’s fingers hit that one spot, and he throws his head back, moaning loudly.“Ok, Cas, I’m ready,” he says, placing his hands on Castiel’s strong hips. Castiel fits the condom quickly before proceeding and applying more lube.He moves slowly in, relishing the tightness around his strained dick, and it’s enough to nearly send him over the edge already. Instead he grips Dean’s hips, his fingers pressing dark indents, sure to leave bruises later. He moans as he enters fully, pausing to look at Dean, who nods. He holds himself still for a moment, feeling the pulsing of the blood in his body and as if each part of him is a part of Dean.“Fuck, Cas,” he says breathlessly, pulling Castiel in tighter.Castiel begins to move slowly, pulling out slightly before moving back in. As Dean relaxes and throws his head back against the pillow, his lips parted in a perfect circle, Castiel moves more furiously. As he angles himself slightly upward, he hits Dean’s prostate and he opens his eyes briefly to watch Dean come undone. Dean’s fingers wrap around Castiel’s hips, his eyes flutter open and closed as he bites his lip to keep from screaming. Dean’s own cock is erect and leaking again his stomach.Castiel grabs Dean’s penis, pumping it in motion with his movements. His thumb moves over the slit and slides back down, moistening the rest of Dean’s dick. This is nearly enough to finish Dean, and Castiel moves faster and harder, close to the edge himself.As they tumble, Dean cries out and Castiel throws his head back, thrusting roughly one last time. Dean spills out over his hand and Castiel’s vision goes out for a second as pleasure overtakes him, threading throughout every inch of his body. When he pulls back out carefully from Dean, he smiles widely.“Merry Christmas, Dean.”Dean pulls Cas down for a chaste kiss before pushing him back off again. Castiel laughs, rubbing his stubble against Dean’s stomach as he slides back off Dean. He grabs a towel from the bathroom, wetting it in the cold water basin next to the sink. He wipes himself down quickly before shivering and crawling back into bed to wipe Dean off as well.“I still can’t believe you were a virgin when we met, Cas,” Dean says, shaking his head as he snuggles beneath the covers again. “You’ve got a crazy libido! Which by the way, we won’t be doing that again for a few days,” he says with a wink.Castiel smiles, pulling Dean in tightly against him again as they try to hold on to their elevated body heat from before. In moments like these he almost forgets that outside their window is a snowstorm, and there are zombie-like creatures and demons ruling everything. He can almost forget that sometimes him and Dean are as if they are made for each other, and then other times they have a great divide between them. His clings to Dean, running his hands through his soft hair.“I like doing that with you,” Castiel says, wincing because he knows it sounds incredibly sappy. Sure enough, Dean pokes him in the ribs, raising his eyebrows.Dean changes the subject as he turns his head to face the window and feels the wind batter against their cabin once again. “Of course it’s damn snowing like a blizzard out there and I have midnight watch with Beckett.”Castiel shivers again and Dean pulls away to grab some clothing from the floor. Castiel watches him get dressed; pulling his arms through his multiple layers of shirts. Dean tosses some clothing to Castiel after sniffing it to make sure it is clean enough. It’s probably Dean’s turn to do laundry but in this weather, it’s difficult to get the chance.“How’s everything going with Beckett? Have you talked to him about the colt yet?” Castiel asks carefully, hoping this won’t dampen Dean’s good mood.Dean shrugs as he walks back over to the bed and sitting next to Castiel. “A little but nothing is really solid or planned yet. I think he just wants to get through winter right now.”Castiel looks back outside and he can hear the howling of the wind distantly through the trees. “I don’t blame him.”Dean nods and crawls back underneath the covers, pulling Castiel against him again. “Let’s try to get some sleep, ok? You’re off today and I have midnight watch.”He can’t help agreeing as a deep sleepiness takes root in his bones and a content laziness lulls him to sleep. Castiel allows himself to be held by Dean, letting go of his consciousness, a small and rare smile on his face as he drifts somewhere between his dreams and nightmares. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 12: Little Lion Man As Dean piles on layers of clothing he smiles at Castiel, who is curled up in the bed and reading a book. It’s nearly midnight and luckily the wind has slowed somewhat and snow is no longer falling. They’d eaten indoors today, staying away from some of the contrived holiday festivities which either meant civilian camp members pretending the world wasn’t ending, or everyone else who was drinking.Dean sits on the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots, struggling to bed over with all his layers of clothing. Thankfully they started cutting shifts shorter in the winter months, so he’d only be outside until 4am, but he doesn’t want to freeze for four hours in the meantime.“What are you reading?” he asks as he zippers his coat up and places a hat on his head.Castiel looks at the cover of his book momentarily. “Brave New World.”“You’re reading a dystopian book when we live in one?”“It’s interesting,” Cas says, shrugging his shoulders. “One of the women in the camp had it and lent it to me.”“I’ll give ya that, it’s definitely an interesting book,” Dean says with a grin. “Let me know what you think of the end.”“I will, I should be done with it soon.”“Well don’t stay up too late, Cas. I’ll be back in four hours. We’ve got another supply run early tomorrow.”Castiel nods, opening his book again and giving Dean a small wave goodbye. Dean steps outside; the sharp air immediately freezing the air in his legs and causing his legs to stiffen. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets as he walks towards the camp entrance.Dean leans back as he stifles a yawn, holding onto his shotgun firmly in one hand. He slides his eyes over to where Beckett is standing, a somber look in his eyes. He’s gotten closer to Beckett in the last few weeks, working day in and day out on camp duties together. He can tell when Beckett is hung-over and shouldn’t be messed with; he gets the same distant and cold look in his eye that his father used to get. Right now though, he can’t read him, not like he usually can.“Hey Beckett, something wrong?”Beckett looks sideways for a moment before looking back outside their camp. “This isn’t sharing hour, Dean. Keep your eyes straight.”“Yes, sir,” Dean says, looking forwards again.Nearly another hour passes before either of them says anything again. Sometimes it is quiet watching the camp entrance, especially on the night shifts. Dean doesn’t usually mind the silence, but it bothers him tonight. The cold air whips around them, numbing the tips of their noses and fingers. Dean is startled when Beckett speaks suddenly, his voice deep and sad.“It’s been almost a year you know. Since all of this bullshit started,” he says, gesturing around him.Dean nods politely, indeed having noticed they are nearing January, the one year mark of many deaths. He hates to think of it, to remember. For him though, he mourns the loss of Bobby last March, and he can’t even bring himself to remember May of 2010. He figures time is supposed to make it easier but he hasn’t found that to be true yet.“Who did you lose?” he asks, genuinely curious for the first time, realizing that he knows nothing about Beckett, not really. He knows which gun Beckett prefers, which side he has some hearing loss in (so never talk to him on that side), and he knows that Beckett’s probably lost someone important to him because who hasn’t?Beckett looks down at has hands, setting his gun aside for a moment as he runs his hands through his hair, exhaling loudly. “My wife and my two girls,” he says after a moment.“I’m sorry,” Dean says, keeping his eyes trained forwards on the open path to the camp.“Me too. There was nothing I could do at the time. It’s taken me a while to admit that, but there it is.”Dean looks at Beckett, giving him an encouraging look. He’s never been one to talk about feelings but this is different. Part of him wishes he could have talked to his dad in this way too, found out how he handled losing their mom and everything. In fact, Dean finds himself oddly curious, so he ventures to press Beckett a little more. “How old were they? Your daughters, I mean.”“11 and 13,” Lenn says smiling forlornly, “they were just getting to that teenager stage.” He pulls out a photo from his coat pocket, his blue eyes smiling as he hands it over for Dean to look at. “I came home one day, all of them were turned. I didn’t know it until it was too late. I guess it’s always too late with the Croatoan virus…but I didn’t even know the signs.”Dean looks down at the worn photo, rubbing his fingers gently over the creases and wrinkles across it. Two girls with bright blue eyes and blonde hair are beaming at the camera as they open presents. An older woman, with the same blonde hair is beside them, her eyes on the girls instead of the camera but she has a large smile on her face. Dean clears his throat, trying to keep his eyes from misting over as he hands Beckett back his photo.“You were in Chicago right?”“Yup.”“One of the first places hit. There was no way to be ready for this kind of thing,” Dean says, hoping he sounds reassuring. Of course, he had known what it was. He and Sammy had seen it years before, and maybe if he hadn’t been such a mess he could have warned someone…the government…someone, and maybe people would still have their families. Dean looks down at his hands again before shoving them in his coat pockets again. He thinks about asking Beckett now about the colt, about telling him how maybe they can fix this world again, because he has to fix it, the blame lies with him for all of it. Looking back at Beckett again though, he changes his mind. It would be unfair to do today, not today. Maybe tomorrow; of course that was how he had been about telling Cas too.“Hey, boy, you hear that?” Beckett whispers suddenly, raising his gun and setting the spotlight further back onto the trail entrance.Dean pauses, listening intently. There are crunching footsteps, approaching slowly, accompanied by heavy breathing. His heart stops for a moment; there have never been Croats this close to the camp before! “Shit,” he says under his breath.“Quiet. If there’s a few Croats we gotta take them out quietly in case there are more nearby,” Beckett says, pulling his knife out and pointing at the crossbow.Dean sets down his gun and picks up the crossbow, his numb fingers making it more difficult to hold. His eyes widen as feet shuffle into the beam of the spotlight and soon a whole figure is visible, just an outline. Dean aims, ready to fire an arrow, inhaling and preparing to exhale with his shot.“Please, help,” the figure says, shuffling closer slowly. Dean can make out another figure draped over its back and he drops his weapon immediately.“It’s a kid!” he says to Beckett, his green eyes wide in surprise.“I’m going to wake Abigail; you try talking to her but don’t let her in. She could be contaminated,” Beckett says before leaving, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder.“Yes, sir,” Dean says, his eyes still glued to the young girl who has collapsed to her knees and set down the child she was carrying on her back. He’s been tricked before, so he tries not to feel too much compassion for her right now; for all he knows she’s a demon, or maybe she’s infected and doesn’t even know it yet…in which case she’s screwed either way.“Hey, what’s your name?” he asks, keeping his question impersonal.The young girl, she looks around 15, raises her head and her dark brown eyes meet Dean’s finally. “Carys,” she says, surprising Dean with her accent.“Are you British?” he says, his own question tumbling out of his mouth before he can help it.“Welsh,” she says, not hiding the fact that she is rolling her eyes. “Please, can you let us in?”“Not yet, Carys,” he says, his tone softening as her face falls and she runs a hand through a mess of long red hair. She pulls the small boy off her back and sets him in front of her, waking him quietly. Dean watches with interest as the little boy looks back up at him and then nods at the young girl, sitting down in her lap. They both look up at him expectantly, their eyes wide and their lips a pale blue from the cold. He wrings his hands together nervously, cursing under his breath at the time it is taking to gather the usual crew. They haven’t had as many survivors come to the camp, at least not ones that aren’t already infected. Thankfully the sound of approaching footsteps alerts him to a group being ready to look at Carys and the young boy with her.Carys and her brother, Tristan, are checked thoroughly for any signs of being contaminated. Abby curses the fact that they have nothing but primitive means as she checks over both children. Dean checks to see if they are demons, using the longer methods rather than cutting the children with his knife.Throughout it, Carys talks about how she survived, and another camp she’d been at for a while before it got overrun. She hugs her arms to her chest, shivering as she waits for Abby to finish checking her over. She’s thin, and her blue veins are visible easily beneath her pale skin. Her brother is quieter, speaking only when spoken to and he doesn’t let go of his sister’s jacket.Dean checks his watch as he sees the sun coming up, the gentle rays of sunshine filtering in to the locked cabin. Chuck runs through the camp procedures with Carys and Tristan, pausing to check his dwindling list of civilians for any adults who might take them in.“We’re quite fine on our own. Always have been,” Carys says as she watches him flip through diagrams of cabin locations and their tenants. She runs her hands through her hair, color beginning to appear in her cheeks again and her lips. Chuck looks at Beckett who nods his approval.“Ok, well you guys can come with me. You’re not infected so you’re welcome here. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”Carys hops down from the table she was sitting on, placing her hands on her hips. She looks between Beckett and Dean, deciding eventually to focus her gaze on Beckett. “So what do we do here to pull our weight?”“You’re kids, you’re not doing anything besides helping with the cooking,” Beckett says, looking confused for a moment.“Impossible.”“What do you mean? What were you doing before?” Dean asks incredulously, narrowing his eyes.“Scouting,” she says with a shrug, “kids are the smallest and fastest. We’re more likely to get away and warn the camp if some creeps are nearby.”“Creeps?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrow, “that sounds stupid.”“Your face is stupid,” she responds.“Well, your face…is more stupid,” Dean says, stuttering. He has no idea why he is arguing with a teenager but she breaks out into a large smile and laughs for the first time since arriving. “Ok, Croats or creeps, whatever. We don’t send kids out here, so get used to helping in other ways.”Carys rolls her eyes again and shrugs, “that works for me.” Her brother reaches for her hand, his large brown eyes wide as he looks up at Dean and Carys runs a hand through his dark red hair. They follow Chuck out of the cabin, and everyone else in the room collectively let out large sighs of relief.“Can you believe that?” Abby asks as she shakes her head and packs up her medical supply kit.“That sounded bad the way she put it but we’ve got kids like Colin running patrol too,” Dean says, looking carefully at Beckett, who narrows his eyes.“Watch it, Winchester.”Dean shrugs and begins to follow Abby out of the cabin. “As long as we’re done here, is it cool to get some shut-eye?”Beckett nods, looking as if his mind is a million miles away. “Yeah, sure.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- January 2013 Chapter 13: Lighthouse “Ok, now grip the back-strap with your dominant hand first,” Dean says, showing Carys first and then handing her the gun.“I already know this stuff, Dean,” she says, rolling her eyes and pulling the gun up to aim at the target ahead, dropping her left hand to her side.“Stop, stop,” Dean says, coming up behind her to grab the gun from her hand. “You never put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire and you should be firing the handgun with both hands on it.”Dean hears someone chuckle quietly behind him and he whips around, his hands on his hips. “Do you need something?” he asks, exasperated.Cas holds his hands up apologetically in surrender, “I was just curious about this training you were doing today.”“Uh huh,” Dean says, narrowing his eyes.“Hey, if your boyfriend still doesn’t know how to fire a gun then you can’t get on my case,” Carys says.Dean rolls his eyes and lets out an annoyed puff of air as he looks at Cas for some help. He can’t help but wonder how a teenage girl can be so perceptive, intelligent, strong…and still so damn annoying.Castiel walks up and grabs the gun from Dean’s hand with a wink before stepping in front of Carys and firing three perfect rounds into the target. He smirks and hands the gun back to Carys and walks back towards the camp with a wave before shoving his hands back into his pockets. Dean looks at Carys with a grin, “What can I say, he was a perfect student?”“You’re such a perv,” she says rolling her eyes again but Dean notices that she listens more intently and it thankfully takes half as long to instruct her.Castiel pulls his coat collar up as he crosses the campground, amused by Carys and Dean together. It reminds him of better days, and he’s noticed that Dean relaxes a lot more around people when he is teaching them. Castiel loves to watch him, even when Dean tells him he’s being creepy. He supposes that he’s had so many years of watching history unfold but he’s never been a participant. Even now, he struggles to remember that he has a place in this world, as more than a bystander.He walks to Abby’s cabin, knocking gently on the door. She opens it, her eyes widening in surprise. “Hey, Cas, what’s up?”He looks down at the ground, unsure of how to proceed. “I’ve been getting bad headaches, do you have any more painkillers?” he pauses again, “I’m sorry.”“Already?” she says as she opens the door, inviting him in. “Have you told Dean about this?”“No,” he says sheepishly. “I don’t want to worry him.”“Well I’ll tell you now, he’s gonna be pissed.”“I know.” Castiel looks anywhere but at her, his eyes focusing on a bottle of rum on her dining table. He looks back at her, raising her eyebrows.“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” she says quietly, walking over to a framed photo by her bed. “I get today, just today, to remember them.”Castiel steps beside her, watching as she runs her hand over the photograph. She pulls back away quickly, forcing a laugh.“I’m sorry. And I understand.” Castiel says, wondering if he should try to give her a hug. He steps forward awkwardly before stepping back again and patting her on the arm.“Anyway, sorry,” she says, reaching up to grab a bottle of low-dose painkillers from her supply and marking it down quickly on her sign-out sheet. “Here you go…just don’t take too much, ok?”He nods and smiles. “I will talk to Dean about it. I promise.”Castiel wanders back outside, facing the bitter cold again. His boots crunch in the snow and the wind stings his nose and cheeks. He pulls his hat lower over his ears and his scarf tighter around his neck. He wouldn’t have thought he’d hate the cold this much, but he does. His clothing is constricting and makes him sluggish, and the hours without sunlight make everything more dangerous.As he walks through the camp he observes the different people. The civilians, a few mothers with small children and young boys who will eventually be made to fight too. The camp is somber today, and there are no supply runs. In fact, as he looks around, he notices that it is quieter too. Not that they are ever loud, but even the usual hushed sound of conversation is absent.Castiel’s eyes soften as he notices Dean eating alone at one of the tables by the food tent. He quickens his step, considering wrapping his arms around Dean in a rare display of affection but he stops that train of thought immediately. Instead he slides into the seat across from Dean, his heart warming as Dean gives him a gentle smile.“Hey,” Dean says, knocking his knees against Castiel’s beneath the table.Castiel grins, stealing several crackers from Dean’s plate. “Hello, Dean.”“Get your own food if you’re hungry, man,” Dean says with his mouth full. Castiel just shrugs and continues stealing food from Dean’s plate.“Did Carys get a hang of things after I left?” Castiel asks, a small smirk on his face.“Yes, thank you very much, although I wish the same thing would work with Colin,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.Castiel wants to ask why Dean let Carys refer to him as Dean’s boyfriend but he holds his tongue. He looks around for Beckett, scanning the campground.“You’re good with kids, Dean.”“Yeah, I like them. Even if they can get annoying and stuff, they’re innocent. I wish they could stay like that.”Castiel nods and steals more food from Dean’s plate. He can’t help but wonder if Beckett’s going to start making Carys run patrols and take watch shifts as well but the look on Dean’s face tells him that it might be the case. He decides to change the subject, shifting over to drinking the warm coffee from Dean’s mug instead of eating.“I spoke with Abby today,” Castiel says slowly.“Oh ya?”“She seemed to imply that today was an important date and I’ve noticed the camp seems…somber today. Do you know why, Dean?”“Shit, man. Today’s the one year date from when the virus was released in all the major cities. I bet almost everyone here lost someone.”Castiel looks down at his hands, pushing the cup of coffee back towards Dean. He closes his eyes for a moment and he realizes why he’d never even noticed what month it was when the virus was released that devastated humanity. He had just become one of them. Warm hands wrap around his and Castiel looks up, startled.“Hey, Cas. It’s ok, you know? You had shit going on at that time too.”Castiel nods slowly, lost in his thoughts of the past.That night there’s a small vigil service held by one of the older women at camp, Castiel recalls her name being Karla or Katherine, he’s not sure. She was a minister at a church prior to the apocalypse and she organized a small service. Castiel hadn’t particularly wanted to attend, and neither had Dean, but they felt obligated to at least make an appearance. They had sat in the back and pretended to say prayers with everyone else. Really, Castiel might have found it endearing if he wasn’t so averse to the idea of God and prayer.As the service ends and the children go to sleep, several of the adults hang out the campfire. Some of them talk to one another, some sit quietly, but a lot of them drink. Castiel looks at Dean who is standing to the side of him, cheeks red and flushed from the cold, his breath making a small cloud in front of him as he breathes. Again, Castiel fights the urge to wrap around Dean, to run his hands through his hair and to steal his icy breath with a kiss.Dean catches Castiel watching him and winks, as if he knows exactly what Castiel is thinking. “You wanna stick around here for a bit and then go to bed?” Dean asks suggestively, wagging his eyebrows up and down for good measure.Castiel leans closer to Dean’s ear, lowering his voice in a way that he knows turns Dean on, “I would like that.”Before Dean can respond, Castiel feels an arm thrown around his shoulder and he looks between him and Dean at Abby. Her cheeks are flushed and she has a silly smile on her face that causes her eyes to nearly close. She pulls away from them and pats them each on the cheek with a gloved hand.“You two are adorable, and you should be drinking with me!” she says, holding up her bottle of rum.Castiel rolls his eyes and looks over at Dean, who for once seems to be in agreement. Neither of them will be drinking much. They watch as Abby stumbles towards the campfire, plopping down on one of the logs. She gestures at them to sit by her and they oblige, sharing a worrying glance. Castiel hadn’t realized how fond he had become of her. Maybe it is the way she is open with him and accepting. She always has a smile to give, even when he knows she is hurting too. Even now, his heart aches for her.She is talkative at first, describing new medical techniques she read about in the textbooks someone brought back from a recent supply run. She tells them old stories of when she was a paramedic working the night shift and going to school during the day. Dean laughs often, telling her she reminds him of his brother, which Castiel is surprised to hear. Dean rarely mentions Sam, even though he knows Dean thinks of him often; as does Castiel.As the night drags on, Abby becomes quieter, watching as the campground slowly empties. The smile fades from her face and she clutches her hands to her chest, pulling her feet up as well. Her back is against the log and she curls inwards on herself, muffling her own voice.“I miss them, you know? We grew up together.”Dean looks over at Castiel, shrugging slightly. Castiel remembers back to the photo in Abby’s cabin and he settles down beside Abby on the ground.“The women in the photo at your cabin?” he asks.Abby nods, slowly looking up with a sad smile on her face. “Katarina and Holly…they were my family.”Dean wraps an arm around Abby’s shoulders, pulling her closer to him. Castiel huddles in slightly, unsure of where he should place his own arms, so he settles on wrapping his own arm around Dean’s.“What happened?” Castiel says, silenced quickly by a glare from Dean. “I mean, if you don’t mind. You can talk about it if you want.”“Or if you don’t, that’s ok too, sweetheart,” Dean says.Abby nods; her eyes on the dwindling fire in front of them. The light catches the gentle curves of her face, highlighting her youth. Her brown hair falls around her face messily, strands coming out of the rubber band holding the rest of it back. The fire dances in her light brown eyes as she seems to lose focus on the present. Castiel looks around the nearly empty camp, blown away again by the resilience of humanity.“I lost my parents in a car accident as a kid. That’s why I wanted to become a doctor…but I spent a lot of time in foster care after that,” Abby smiles, running her hand over a bracelet on her arm. “Katarina was my best friend. We grew up in the same foster home.”With a small laugh, Abby leans back and tilts her head at the sky. “We were in college, just community college, nothing fancy, and sharing a place when we met Holly…” Abby looks between Dean and Castiel, her cheeks flushing slightly despite the alcohol already coloring her skin. “Her and Katarina were you like you two…you know,” Abby demonstrates by crossing two fingers.Castiel lifts his eyes to look at Dean who meets his gaze, sharing a small smile. Dean chuckles to himself and beings to make a lewd comment before Abby smacks his leg with a laugh.“I didn’t even know for the longest time. They were tip-toeing around it for a while too but one day it was like they both woke up and admitted that there was something there.” Abby pauses and looks between Dean and Castiel again. “You guys remind me of them.”Dean looks away quickly, shifting back slightly and coughing. “That means you like us then, right?” he says jokingly.Castiel shakes his head slightly, looking down at the ground. His cheeks burn a little at the compliment and the insinuation. His runs his hands through the snow on the ground, crunching it slowly between his gloved fingers.“What happened to them?”Abby sighs, wrapping her arms around herself. “We were looking for this camp when we got ambushed by a few Croats,” Abby stutters slightly, “Holly was turned first and Kat wouldn’t leave her.” She shakes her head, looking down. “I had to watch it as I begged Kat to come with me. I had to kill Holly, and then Kat once Holly turned her too.”She turns, looking at Dean, and Castiel can see tears on her cheeks as she takes another drink of alcohol. “I don’t know why Kat wouldn’t let go, she wouldn’t leave her. I don’t understand it! They left me alone.”Dean wraps her in a hug, his own face drawn and closed. His eyes look tired and sad as he looks at Castiel. Castiel leans over, wrapping his own arms around Abby as well as she sobs quietly into Dean’s shirt. They sit like this for a while, each one lost in thought. Castiel watches the embers from the fire as they dance on the logs, and he catches himself looking at Dean and the way the light casts dark shadows on him in the darkness. When Abby begins to shiver in the cold, Dean helps her to her feet, steadying her. She dries her eyes on her coat sleeve and looks with worn eyes at them both.“Thank you for listening,” she says, one arm still resting against Dean to help her balance.“Anytime,” Dean says as he pats her on the head. “I’m gonna put you to bed, ok? Get some sleep.”Castiel follows them from a short distance behind as Dean walks Abby back to her Cabin. He waits outside, feeling again like a bystander in his own life, but maybe this part isn’t even his story he thinks. He watches as Dean is gentle and caring with Abby, and it warms a piece of his heart to see.He wonders if this was how Dean was when he helped raise Sam, or when Sam and Dean hunted for years before Castiel ever knew them. Of course, he also wonders what Sam would have thought of Dean and Castiel together. Would he have been accepting, like Abby? Castiel can’t imagine it any other way, but her words echo in his head. He doesn’t know what he would do without Dean, and it scares him to relate to Abby’s friends…he wonders if humanity is about love leading you to your death. He has yet to see much evidence to the contrary, and as snow begins to fall gently, he looks up allowing it to fall gently on the tip of his nose, his lips, and to catch in his eyelashes.Castiel grins as he feels Dean step behind him, wrapping his arms around his torso and planting a gentle kiss on the back of his head. “Let’s get inside, before we freeze, ya?” Dean says.With a nod, Castiel obliges, walking next to Dean back to their cabin in silence. They step inside, shedding several of their layers. Dean steps close to Castiel, his fingers brushing the damp strands of hair away from Castiel’s forehead and he smiles softly. Castiel places his hands on Dean’s hips, pulling Dean closer to him.“I know you hate the cold, Cas, but you look great with your eyelashes covered in snow and your cheeks all red,” Dean says with a wink.Castiel chuckles slightly, running his hands through Dean’s hair and pulling at the ends. “I could say the same for you,” he growls, pushing Dean back against their closed door. Castiel presses his lips to Dean’s throat, sucking roughly on his pressure point. He bites down slightly, drawing a low groan from Dean.Dean pushes his hips forward, grinding against Castiel, his fingers raking against Castiel’s back. Castiel grabs both of Dean’s hands, pinning them to the door. He watches as Dean squeezes his eyes shut, his lips parting in pleasure.“Fuck, Cas,” he breathes out heavily.Castiel smirks, pressing his lips to Dean’s ears and nibbling gently as he rolls his hips into Dean’s. Dean squirms beneath him, curse words falling from his lips as he struggles slightly to bend Castiel to his own will. Finally Castiel submits, pressing his mouth to Dean’s in a passionate kiss that has them both struggling for air afterwards as Castiel drops Dean’s hands from against the door and steps back.They stare at each other for a moment, breathing heavily. Dean’s eyes are nearly black and lust-blown in the dim lighting and his lips are slightly swollen already. Castiel’s cock is straining against his pants and after a split second, he begins fumbling with his layers, stripping them off quickly. Dean does the same, beating Castiel to the bed by only a few seconds.Castiel crawls up the bed, shoving Dean back against the headboard and pinning his arms to the side again. Dean groans, thrusting his hips forwards roughly against Castiel. Dean bites down on his lower lip as Castiel releases his hands and starts trailing down his chest, his tongue lingering briefly over his nipples before biting down. Dean cries out slightly, gripping the top of Castiel’s shoulders and rotating his body so that he is now on top of Castiel.He licks his lips and smirks, leaning down to press his lips hotly to Castiel’s. Their mouths wrap eagerly around one another as they fight for dominance, Dean taking the lead briefly before relinquishing it to Castiel. His rakes his nails up and down Castiel’s sides, leaving small red marks. Dean’s hips rotate against Castiel’s and their swollen erections glide against each other as they move. Castiel moans quietly, squeezing the soft flesh around Dean’s hips and arching his back upwards.Dean slides down slowly, pressing Castiel into the mattress as he dips his head lower. He nuzzles his nose along Castiel’s stomach, admiring the taut muscles of his body. Castiel watches Dean, the way his swollen lips graze across his abdomen and then slowly move further down. The room is almost humming with electricity and Castiel can’t help but wonder if that’s some remnant of grace, filling up the space around them. The room is warm and his head feels light as he watches Dean take his cock into his mouth.He sucks gently at first; sliding his tongue over Castiel’s slit and then begins to stroke his penis in a slow motion. His mouth sucks at the head, and eventually further down. Castiel struggles to keep watching as he grasps at the headboard with both hands, gripping it tight. Every ounce of him threatens to let loose as he comes close to the edge just watching Dean work his mouth around his swollen and red cock.Castiel inhales sharply as Dean takes him in further, humming slightly. The vibrations send shivers down his spine and he moans loudly.“Dean, that’s…oh…there”Dean moves his hand faster, moving one hand to his own penis, stroking it several times and throwing his head back as he does so. Castiel reaches up, pulling Dean onto him and thrusting his tongue into Dean’s mouth, tasting the saltiness of himself. Castiel places on hand on Dean’s penis, and begins to pump quickly, sliding his fingers up and down, twisting gently. Dean’s cheeks are red and his usual flush creeps down his chest as he comes close to the edge.Grabbing Castiel’s penis, they work in tandem, each one pushing and pulling the other to their climax. Castiel comes first with a large moan as he sees stars and for a moment stops all movement, instead pressing himself tightly against Dean. As he opens his eyes again, he notices Dean’s penis large and wet against his stomach in a sticky pile, and he grins at Dean, who just shrugs.“You look hot when you come, I couldn’t help it”.“I could say the same for you,” Castiel says, pulling Dean in for another kiss.Once they’ve cleaned up and are back under the covers, fully bundled in layers of winter pajamas, Castiel ventures to discuss his headaches with Dean. As he wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and kisses his hair, he mumbles into Dean’s ear, “I need to tell you something,”.Dean rolls around lazily, his eyelids heavy but his face content. “If you’re gonna say I’m a sex God, then sound more excited,” he says, grinning with his eyes closed.“That too,” Castiel says before pausing, unsure how to continue.“Dean, I’ve been getting headaches again.”Dean’s eyes open again, the familiar crease between his brow reappears. “Shit. For how long, Cas?”“A few weeks.”“Is it bad?”Castiel pauses again. He could lie and say it isn’t unbearable, but Dean would know he’s lying anyway most likely. Yet, he really doesn’t want to bring up old problems and make Dean worry more. “It’s not…unbearable.”“Ok so it’s fucking awful. Awesome,” Dean says, rolling onto his back.Castiel immediately misses the warmth, and reaches out to Dean, inching closer. “It’s fine, Dean. I don’t want you to worry.”“This happened when you first fell, man. It was bad. I just don’t understand it.” Dean looks at Castiel, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You have a theory. What is it?”Castiel sighs, “I don’t know if this is so much a theory as perhaps just…pessimism.”“Ok, and?”Castiel isn’t sure how to describe it, and he could be totally off but the idea frightens him and keeps him up at night. It seems irrational, and most likely his vessel just is more susceptible to headaches, just like it seems to stiffen in the cold months and in the rain. He looks at Dean, the moonlight in the room falls across his pale neck, and he is looking expectantly at him.“I just wonder if maybe I have too much up here,” Castiel says, pointing at his head, “and it’s not able to all stay in a human mind.”Dean nods, understanding effortlessly. “Even though you look in your thirty’s, you’re hundreds of years old,” he runs his hands through his hand and settles his hand on Castiel’s forearm. “Do you think you’re forgetting things?”“Would I know if I was?” Castiel asks.“Good point.”Dean pulls him closer, wrapping his leg around Castiel’s. “Don’t worry too much about it. It’s probably just normal, part-of-being-human, shitty headaches. If you feel like you’re starting to forget crap, come to me and I’ll tell you.”Castiel nods, burrowing his head against Dean’s shoulder and kissing it gently. “Thank you, Dean.”“Oh, and don’t take too many of those painkillers either, Cas.” Dean says as an afterthought, his eyes closing and his words becoming muffled at the end. “Don’t want you addicted”, he says quietly as he drifts into sleep, leaving Castiel to fight his own battle with sleep. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- February 2013 Chapter 14: Helter Skelter A loud knock at the door causes Dean to wake up, his head groggy from a fitful night of sleep. Castiel is out of bed already, dressed. He answers the door, and Dean sits up rubbing his eyes as Beckett storms in the room. The open door brings in a gust of snow flurries as Beckett looks at Dean and Castiel, telling them both to get ready quickly and meet him at the group cabin. Dean doesn’t miss the way his eyes narrow and glaze over again at the sight of the spare cot shoved haphazardly against the wall and covered in junk.“There’s been an incident. Hurry.” He says, slamming the door behind him, leaving behind a wet trail of snow on the cold cabin floor.“Fuck,” Dean says, standing quickly and throwing on his clothing. He looks over at Cas, who just shrugs back at him.“It seems serious,” Castiel says, furrowing his brow and layering his own sweater and jacket over his tee. His hair sticks out in all directions, still damp from his shower.Dean grabs his own coat, barely shoving his feet in his boots as he opens the door, gesturing towards Cas to hurry up. As they walk towards the group cabin, Dean notices that the weather has picked up. The wind knocks them about, and the white flurries kick up in front of their eyes, blurring their vision.“I wish February would end already,” Dean mumbles under his breath as he looks down and watches his boots crunch the snow beneath them. His fingers absently graze over his thigh holster and check for the knife he has tucked into the holster attached to his belt. He looks over and watches as Cas does the same.As they enter the group cabin, Dean’s heart drops. Carys is sitting across from Beckett, her eyes wide with terror as she stares at them. Dean glares at Beckett, his fists balled at his sides. Striding across the room, he pushes Beckett further away.“What the hell, Beckett! You sent her out on a mission? She’s a goddamn child!” he says, his voice straining to become a full out roar.Beckett looks at Dean, his eyes cold. “We don’t have the luxury of not using every able-bodied person, Dean. You know this.”“So what, who did you send her with?”“She went with Risa, Janet…and Colin.”Dean’s heart stops for a moment and he looks around the room quickly. “You better tell me that Colin’s paying a visit to Abby right now.”Beckett looks down at the floor for a moment before gritting his teeth, hissing out a quiet, “No.”“Dammit!”Carys lets out a small sob, and Dean turns to look at her. Castiel moves behind Dean, shuffling his feet against the floor in uncomfortable silence.“I can’t believe you sent rookies out with Risa and Janet,” Dean says eventually, shaking his head. “I assume they are fine, yes?”Beckett nods, rubbing his fingers along the stubble on his jaw. “Dean, this was not meant to be a dangerous mission,” he says finally. “They were only a few miles away.”Realization hits Dean and he hears Cas inhale behind him. They had talked about this of course. The dangerous winter months have made supply runs less frequent, scouting is difficult and ineffective. The last few nights it had been nearly impossible to even see outside the camp to stand watch. Dean runs his hands through his hair, tilting his head from side to side.“Janet and Risa should be back soon with a full report and then we need to decide how to proceed.”Dean pulls out a chair, placing his feet on the tablet and leans back, his head tilting back to look at the ceiling. Cas remains by his side but he doesn’t sit, and Dean notices that his fingers keep running over his gun and his knife. He looks up at Castiel, curious, but notices that his eyes are trained on Carys instead.A few minutes pass in uncomfortable silence as Dean shoots glares at Beckett, who is leaning against the cabin wall with his hands covering his eyes. Dean closes his eyes finally, different plans forming in his mind. He’s not sure they have enough people to risk going out on a large-scale scouting and combat mission. However, in the winter storm, they are essentially sitting ducks, waiting to be attacked. He opens his eyes slowly as he hears a small grunting sound.He jumps to his feet at the same moment as Carys, their eyes meeting briefly. He is gutted for a moment, the wind knocked out of his system as he realizes; she’s infected. His realization is a second too late though, as she lunges forwards at Beckett. Dean looks wildly between them, noticing the Beckett’s weapons are lying on the table instead of on him.Carys, or what used to be her, claws at his skin, grabbing his arms as he tries to fight her off. Dean watches in a daze for a moment as her long red hair flails wildly behind her and the look in her eyes haunts him; the light gone completely out of them and replaced by something he can only describe as hunger. A low growling sound comes from her throat, raw and angry, and it pierces him, waking him up.Dean pulls his gun out, finally mirroring Castiel who has been ready since the start. His eyes dart frantically between Beckett and Carys.“Shoot her, Dean!” Beckett yells, struggling for breath as Carys wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him to the floor.Dean hesitates just a moment and hears the loud crack of a bullet whiz past his ear. He looks at his own gun, the safety still on, and then behind him at Cas. The door flings open, Janet rushing in with her own cheeks still stained with blood and a wild look in her eyes.“She’s infected!” she yells before stopping and taking in the scene before her. She drops to her knees, tears running down her face. “Colin kissed her. Stupid fucking teenagers! He didn’t even know he was infected and he kissed her. I should have known, I should have known,” she says, placing her hands on the ground in front of her.Castiel looks at Dean quickly, placing a hand on his shoulder reassuringly before striding over to Janet, pulling her to her feet. Dean’s heart beats loudly in his ears, matching the ringing from Castiel’s gunshot, and he moves as if in slow-motion. With wide eyes he watches as Cas walks Janet out, averting her eyes from the disaster. Dean turns his head slowly to look at Beckett, who is breathing heavily and still seated on the ground beneath the dead body.“She’s not Carys, not anymore,” Dean tells himself but in death, it doesn’t matter. He’s seen plenty of Croats, killed plenty, but he’s never seen a kid turn.“She was a damn child!” he says, looking at Beckett finally.Beckett stands, rolling the body off him and grabs Dean’s jacket lapels, pulling him close. “He makes you weak. I’ve told you that before.” He spits out before pushing Dean away from him.“I’m glad Castiel at least had the guts to pull the trigger on it, Dean.”Dean clenches his fists at his side, reminding himself to not let his anger take control. He bites the inside of cheek instead of crying out, and mumbles, “Yes, sir.” He feels 18 years old again, taking a verbal lashing from his father, and his blood boils beneath his skin. Part of him almost wishes that Castiel had pulled the trigger too late.Dean hands Beckett his weapons, avoiding eye contact. They work quietly to wrap the body, Dean wincing as he looks at her face again. He wipes his brow, noticing the cold sweat that had broken out over his body and is now clinging to him, making him freeze in the winter air. They carry her body over to the back of the cabin, burying it quietly. Dean doesn’t need to ask why.They normally burn bodies, a well-practiced method by Dean, but they are wound tight with nerves over the recent mission. If there are Croats getting closer to this camp, then they need to be careful, which also means no roaring fires. Dean’s not even sure how Croats survive in this weather, but he curses the fact that they do, and even more that they are still drawn to fire and warmth like normal humans.As Dean finishes placing the last bit of dirt upon her grave, he looks up to find Beckett staring at him.“I’m sorry, son…for what I said before. I’m not saying it ain’t true,” he says pausing, rubbing his hands on his neck where a dark bruise has begun to set in. “I’m just sayin’ that I didn’t need to say it to you like that.”“Ok,” Dean says, his mouth still set in a firm line.“I’m sorry it happened like this.”Dean nods again, unclenching his jaw slightly. He finishes packing the dirt and turns to walk away. “We done here?”“Yeah. I’ll see you back at the group cabin in two hours, Winchester.”Dean has been in the cabin for barely an hour when Castiel bursts in, his eyes wide and his hair a mess as if he has been running his hands through it nervously. The snow outside follows Cas in with a large gust of wind.“The scouting group saw a large hoard of Croats coming, Dean. I don’t know what’s going to happen but we’re all packing up supplies in case of an emergency.”Dean’s jaw drops slightly and his heart stops as he looks around at the cabin that has become a home to him. He doesn’t say anything but begins throwing all their necessary supplies into bags. Castiel grabs his wrists and pulls him in for a tight kiss.“I’ll finish here. Beckett wants you to start lining up the caravan of cars. Risa has everyone else packing now too.”Dean nods, his voice caught in his throat as he runs through scenarios in his mind. Him and Beckett have talked through this and the entire camp has run drills for it; but this seems surreal now. As he steps outside, the snow whips around him in an angry huff, stinging his eyes. Dean doesn’t waste time, running towards the center of the camp where he can hear Beckett barking orders.Screams nearby pierce through the howling of the cold wind and Dean whips his head around, with his fingers on his gun. Beckett grabs Dean’s shoulders, turning him around again. His eyes are wild with worry but a set determination is plastered upon his face. “You need to get everyone loaded in the caravan and out of here,” he says, his eyes flickering around behind Dean’s shoulders and scanning the grounds.“How bad is it?”Beckett pauses before frowning deeply, “much more than we can handle”.Dean hears another scream from deeper within the camp and he looks at Beckett, his eyes narrowed. “What’s going on? How can they be at the rear of the camp?” Dean’s eyes linger on the camp entrance which is busy with activity but is still defended.“The ice…this goddamn winter,” Beckett says bitterly. “I always knew it would happen in winter.”Dean’s eyes widen in horror and he pushes past Beckett, drawing his gun and racing towards the edge of the camp that is nested safely along the lake edge. He nears it and slows, his boots crunching through bloody snow. As he looks out over the frozen water, the sight makes his heart stop. Dozens of Croats are making their way across the ice, some crawling and sliding along, and some of them fall through weak spots in the ice. The majority of them press onwards though, with little difficulty.A grunting noise behind Dean startles him and he turns around just in time to catch a Croat running towards him, it’s eyes wild and fingers grasping like claws. He pulls out his knife, catching it easily in the throat and using the momentum to shove the knife deep into its skull before dropping the lifeless body to the ground. His eyes linger for one more moment along the shore of the lake before he runs quickly back towards the cabins.The camp buzzes with activity and people speaking in hurried but hushed tones. Dean is relieved to see that most of the cam vehicles are packed and the designated drivers are already ushering the civilians into them. Dean pushes through a small group of people, finding his way back towards his tent.Castiel is inside, a pile of bags at his feet as he finishes loading one last bag full of ammunition and weapons. Dean grabs the bags, hoping to hide his own fear and horror. “We need to get this loaded up and get out.”“So we are definitely leaving?” Castiel asks, a sad grimace on his face.“Yeah. I saw them, Cas. They’re coming over across the lake and I don’t want to know how the front gate is looking but I can already hear them.”Cas looks around the cabin one more time before slinging the last bag over his shoulder. Dean does the same; his heart heavy with the knowledge of saying goodbye to yet another place he had considered to be home.“I’ll miss it,” Cas says quietly, walking past Dean slowly. Their fingers graze each other and Dean reaches out, clasping Castiel’s hand in his for just a moment, squeezing it gently.“Me too,” he says.As they load up their car, Dean looks around, counting the vehicles and people. He shakes his head, counting one more time. “We don’t have enough cars, Cas,” he says with a worried frown.Castiel looks around as well, looking down at the ground before responding. Dean’s heart sinks further with the knowledge that Cas has figured out something that Dean hasn’t yet.“I don’t believe everyone plans to leave here,” he says, his eyes avoiding Dean’s.“That’s bullshit,” he says, shoving his last bag into the trunk of the car.“I don’t think there is any other choice,” Cas says sadly.Dean shakes his head, but he knows there is a large hint of truth in what Cas is saying. The last few supplies are loaded; food, weaponry, and winter necessities taking precedence. Chuck flits between each vehicle with a clipboard laden down with papers. The air is a heavy mix of snow and nerves, the civilians tucked safely with loaded cars and waiting to leave. The sound and smell of the Croats is already permeating the camp, drawing worried looks from each person Dean passes.He gives orders when he can, stopping when necessary. He is helping Chuck load the last few supplies into a truck when the flare signal goes off. His eyes go wide as he notices the color; red. Throwing the last box into the truck, Dean runs towards the center of the camp. The cabins he passes are empty and the campground is nearly a graveyard; no signs of life with the exception of the people at the front gate.Beckett meets his eye the moment Dean comes close, and he runs over, his nose red from the snow. The sound of gunshots ring through the camp, only masked by the howling wind and the sound of Croats approaching.“We need to go, Beckett!” Dean yells, straining to be heard.“You take them, Dean. Remember the three check-points, and head for Camp Chitaqua! It’s the only place I know of that might still be around,” Beckett says, his booming voice muffled by the loud gushes of wind.“You’re coming too, we can all leave right now if we hurry,” Dean says, already knowing it is a futile attempt. His eyes glance over towards the camp entrance again; the only way out. He looks back at Beckett who is shaking his head at the ground.“We’re in fucking Helm’s Deep, aren’t we?” Dean says, realizing now the true reality of the situation.“I don’t know what that means, boy, but if you mean we’re backed against a wall…then yah, we ain’t got much choice here.”Dean turns his head to look again at the people standing guard at the gate, firing rounds into the area beyond the camp. He recognizes them all; an older woman who usually only works in the kitchen with Chuck, a young man who recently lost his wife on a mission, and an older man who is drunk the majority of the time but today seems to be the only exception. Dean looks back at Beckett, his mouth set in grim determination.“What’s the plan?”“We’re gonna draw them out; have them follow us down the path towards the old docks on the other side of this camp. We wanna get them as far from the entrance as we can…give you guys a good shot at all getting out.”“What about you?” Dean says, placing a hand on Beckett’s shoulder.“I was never gonna leave this place, Dean,” he says as he pulls out the worn image of his family and shoves it into Dean’s hand. “Don’t forget the things I taught you. You’re gonna be the leader and that means making tough choices…don’t forget that son.”Dean shoves the photo into his coat pocket and pulls Beckett in for a hug. They embrace for a quick moment before the sound of exploding gunfire causes them to pull back. Beckett pats Dean on the back one last time, a small smile on his face.“Take care of yourself, Dean.”“You too,” Dean chokes out, his eyes watering slightly. Beckett doesn’t look back again after he turns away, striding towards the front wall of the gate. Dean runs back towards the line of cars, finding Castiel and filling him in. Together they relay the information to each driver, along with information on the three check-in points. The plan is simple; they all meet at their designated check-in point unless it’s a hotspot and too dangerous, in which case they move on to the next check-in.Dean heads back to his own vehicle, buckling himself in. He prepares to see the blue flare signal from Beckett to indicate that the front gate is clear. He drums his fingers nervously against the steering wheel, cursing Cas for taking so long. Just as he prepares to go find Castiel, there’s a frantic knock on his window.“Abby is missing!” Castiel yells, loud enough for Dean to hear through the glass. Dean’s eyes widen and he flies out of the car, slamming the door behind him.Dean follows Cas, who is a few steps ahead of him, jogging towards Abby’s tent. “Her car is loaded up!” Dean says, the wind numbing his cheeks as he walks. “Where the hell is she?”“I don’t know, Dean, but we need to hurry,” Cas says, pointing his drawn gun at a few approaching Croats.Dean fires quickly, but quickens his pace behind Castiel. They begin to run towards Abby’s cabin, sprinting at the sound of a piercing scream through the howling wind. Several Croats are gathering around Abby’s cabin and they can see her figure moving through her curtain.Cas draws his knife, putting his fingers to his lips. He twirls it expertly in his hands several times, testing out the feel of it with his gloves. He is quick, moving in and killing the two Croats who were pressed against the door. Dean pulls out his own knife, taking out two more approaching Croats. Castiel flings open the door and grabs Abby, throwing her over his shoulder.The camp is being quickly overrun by the Croats who are walking across the ice. The three of them move silently, hoping to not draw more attention to themselves as they run. Castiel puts Abby back down on the ground as they reach a small group of Croats.“Run,” he growls, drawing the attention of the Croat group and moving in. Dean follows suit, his knife flashing wildly in the air as he attacks with the same ferocity as the Croats themselves. A distant pop sounds in the air and Dean catches a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye.“Fuck!” he yells, “we don’t have time for this!”Castiel nods, raising his leg and kicking a Croat back before drawing his own gun and firing quickly. They both sprint towards the cars, throwing themselves in. Dean’s not sure how large of a window of time they have to get out of here, but he knows it isn’t much. Through the snow he can already see the fast movement of approaching bodies as he slams his shifter into the drive position. Through his rearview mirror he spots Abby sitting inside her car, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, and he breathes a sigh of relief.He presses forwards, thankful that at least the last mission had been to retrieve snow tires for the vehicles in case of an emergency. The driveway is covered in light snow but it is easily managed as he drives forward, keeping his eyes forwards for any sign of trouble. As his car passes through the front gate, he looks around for the few people who had volunteered to stay behind as bait.Of course they are gone, running for their lives through the forest and sprinting towards the old boat dock that is likely full of Croats as well. “Running to their deaths,” he says bitterly beneath his breath. Next to him, Dean hears Cas exhale in a sign of relief.“Their plan seems to have worked at least. It wasn’t for nothing.” He says solemnly.Dean doesn’t respond but instead drives forwards, the car jostling over small mounds of uneven snow. He looks in his rearview mirror and is happy to note that each car is following easily as they move quietly through the old camp, passing unseen. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 15: Resistance The caravan drives for hours several hours, making long detours around cities and towns. As they near the first checkpoint, a truck stop somewhere in Iowa, Dean groans loudly. There are overturned cars and several Croats can be seen walking in the distance. He hadn’t expected all their check-points to be safe still; they had chosen them months ago, but the sight it still disappointing. He stops his car for a moment, resting his head against the steering wheel.It’s only a moment of respite, much needed but far too short, and Dean is pulling his car around again to backtrack towards the next check-point. He looks at Cas, who is grimacing at the map in his hands and furrowing his brow in concentration. They’ve been silent so far, each one lost in their own thoughts.“I guess this was to be expected,” Dean says, keeping his eyes straight ahead of him.“I suppose,” Cas responds, running his hands along his legs as he looks down at the map. “We could try the next check-in, but I think we should just continue on to the camp.”Dean turns his head slowly, an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He knows he’s avoiding it, and that delaying is probably not the best option, but he can’t help it. Camp Chitaqua is the last place he wants to return to; not after last time. His fingers grip the steering wheel tightly as he accelerates slightly, continuing on his same path towards another check-in area.“We need to get people fed and checked over for injuries, Cas. We’re stopping first, somewhere, I don’t care where.”“Dean,” Cas says softly.“We don’t even know if Camp Chitaqua is still there! I’m not risking it without stopping first to make sure everyone is fine in case we have to go elsewhere.”Cas nods slowly, but he doesn’t move his eyes from watching Dean. He tilts his head slightly to the side, and Dean expects him to argue but he doesn’t, he simply looks at him as if he is trying to decipher some hidden code.“What?” Dean asks, annoyed.“You can’t avoid going back there. I don’t want to either, but it’s our only option.”“Do you think I don’t know that?” Dean says, glaring back at Cas for a moment. He turns his head towards the road again, sighing loudly. “I just want to be prepared, ok?”From the corner of his eye, Dean sees Castiel nod his head before he leans back and closes his eyes.*They reach the next check-point area easily enough, despite Castiel’s reservations. He watches quietly as Dean stops at each car, describing the plan in detail. Castiel helps Chuck unload food for people while they alternate taking guard around their established perimeter. The parking lot is empty and clear of abandoned cars; a task that had taken three separate trips to accomplish. The wide open view of the area makes it easier to guard, and it’s remote location serves them well for this short stop.As they load back up, Castiel twirls his familiar knife in his hand, an uneasiness settling into his bones. He gestures towards to Dean to wrap it up as he leans against the hood of Risa’s car, a map spread out against it as he points out different locations to her.It happens slowly at first, one Croat, and then two. One of the children in their car starts to cry, and that’s when the trouble really starts. Castiel pulls out his gun and shoots the closest approaching Croat, while Dean shoves his map back into his pocket and sprints towards their car. The rest of the people guarding their location follow suit, mimicking Dean. They save their bullets, firing only when necessary.“Get in your cars, we need to leave. NOW!” Dean instructs, motioning to Risa to lead the convoy out of the area. She nods, and honks her horn two times before pulling out, snow crunching roughly beneath her tires.Dean and Castiel fire more rounds into a small approaching group, leaving only a few to be fought in close range. Castiel sprints in first, moving swiftly and expertly as he swings his blade; years of getting used to moving as a human now, and he’s perfected his technique. Dean follows next, applying brute force as he pulls off a second Croat who attempts to grab Castiel by the back.Castiel doesn’t need to watch Dean to know he’s there, drawing off the focus so that Castiel can move in quickly. Dean is swearing under his breath and Castiel can hear him breathing heavily as they line up, back to back. Castiel’s body is already tired and his own breathing is short and labored.They both look towards their advancing caravan, becoming dots in the distance. “We need to get in the car and clear enough of a path to get through and not be followed,” Castiel says, pulling out his gun and shooting at another advancing group of Croats. Their guttural sounds send shivers down his spine, even now, despite their familiarity. The snow slows them slightly, but not enough.Dean looks at Castiel and nods, blood dripping from his forehead into his eyes and a small cut is visible across his nose. Castiel takes point, grabbing the nearest approaching Croat that is running towards him. He flings it’s body backwards towards Dean who slices upwards, killing it as Castiel kills the next one. The process is quick and efficient as long as they don’t get surrounded.With a shot, Castiel kills the next closest Croat and begins to run back towards their car, across the now empty parking lot. He grabs Dean’s hand, pulling him along behind him. He knows that Dean is slightly injured, and beyond exhausted, and for the millionth time he wishes he could heal him.They run, the snow crunching beneath their boots and wind nipping at their faces. Castiel pushes Dean towards the passenger seat, not waiting for a response. They jump into the car, and their doors are barely closed before they are speeding forwards, as much as they can through the small covering of snow. Their tires grind and fling up snow behind them in a wide trail, and Castiel presses harder on the gas as he drives through a small group of Croats. Beside him, he hears Dean suck in his breathe as the bodies hit the bumper and slide off.It doesn’t take them long to be clear of the area, and Castiel drives onwards in the hopes of catching up with their caravan. They continue under the approaching cover of night and Dean cleans up his own wounds before succumbing to an unwelcomed slumber.Castiel looks at him occasionally, listening to the gentle snores coming from sleeping in an awkward position. He doesn’t like to think of how things will change at the new camp. There are too many random variables. A small part of him hopes it is abandoned; he remembers the camp with a strong bitterness that surprises even himself.They had gone there shortly after the Croatoan virus has first been released. The cities were the first to go, nearly within the first month. They were safe at Bobby’s, at least for the time, but they knew what was out there. They knew that it wasn’t just Croats that they had to watch out for, but demons and every other monster. Of course now, that’s all there is now. Something in the virus caused vampires and ghouls to die. At the time, Dean had called it the “silver lining”.With Bobby, they had gone to Camp Chitaqua, hoping to offer some knowledge and help. They figured if they could set up some camps, along with the other hunters, then humanity could maybe stand a chance. Of course, nothing had gone according to plan. They had been there only a few days, and were told to leave with no other explanation than saying Bobby in his wheelchair was too much of a hindrance to the group.Castiel looks over at Dean again, his injuries looking less severe in the pale moonlight. The lines on his face have smoothed out slightly and his lips are parted as he breathes in an even manner, free of nightmares. Castiel reaches over and runs a hand gently through Dean’s hair. He knows something else happened at that camp, that there’s some reason Dean is so reluctant to return. He only wishes he knew what it was. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 16: Dust in the Wind Dean wakes up to an aching pain in his neck and how lower back, and his face pressed against the window of a moving car. He leans backwards, wiping the remnants of slobber from his face and looks at Castiel, who is hiding a grin.“Mornin’,” Dean says with a yawn. “Thanks for driving, man.”“You were tired and I wasn’t. Don’t worry about it,” Cas responds as he points forwards. “We caught up to everyone else. Risa was driving slow and we pulled over at the last check-point so people could trade drivers and get some sleep for a few hours.”“I slept through all that?!” Dean exclaims.Castiel laughs as Dean smiles for the first time since the previous day’s events. Dean reaches over, and squeezes Cas’ hand before pulling away quickly, averting his eyes.“What’s wrong?” Cas asks, sliding his gaze towards Dean for a moment before looking back at the road again. “We’re almost there, so now would be a pertinent time to tell me why you’re so against going back there.”Dean sighs and looks down at his hands, avoiding making eye contact with Cas. He doesn’t even know why it bothers him so much, besides the obvious fact that they got kicked out because of him, and that Bobby never even knew that. Dean meant to tell him of course, but he just never got around to it.“Remember that guy, Jace, who ran the camp? That asshole?”“Unfortunately.”“I guess he kind of came on to me…” Dean says, pausing to look over at Cas nervously.“And?”“I mean, I told him to fuck off, of course!”“So are you worried he won’t let us join his camp, if it’s still there…” Castiel asks tentatively.“Maybe. I don’t know. I decked him when he said some things, so…ya” Dean runs hands through his hair as he turns his body to face Castiel. He eyes him nervously, trying to read his neutral expression.“Why didn’t you tell Bobby?” Cas asks, “he was torn up about us being told to leave. He thought it was his fault, Dean.”“I know, Cas. You don’t need to remind me. I feel like shit about it every day.” Dean pauses, breathing in heavily. He can’t help as hot tears spring to his eyes as he remembers Bobby. “I didn’t think we’d lose him, ok?”Cas slows the vehicle to a stop and reaches over, placing both hands on the sides of Dean’s face. Dean blinks back tears and his stomach flutters as Cas places a deep kiss on his lips, passionate but gentle; full of need as well as understanding and forgiveness. It leaves a lingering longing on his lips, and Dean pulls Castiel in once more. He can’t help but feel that everything will change soon, and maybe they need this one moment to hold on to before it all slips away.Dean looks out at the other stopped cars around them, people moving as if in slow motion, and he turns back to look at Cas. The sun hangs high in the sky, reflecting her light onto the blinding white snow, and Dean finds himself blinking to see through the light illuminating Castiel. For a moment he looks like an angel again and Dean reaches his fingers up to run his hand along Cas’ unshaven cheek.“We lost a lot of people, Cas.”Castiel nods, his blue eyes clouding over, and the moment is gone. Cas is human again, full of painful scars that won’t ever heal. Dean sighs and leans back in his seat, preparing himself for the battle ahead.“It’s like that song, man. We’re all dust in the wind.”
1051831	Dissonance	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "John Watson, Greg Lestrade", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by Provocatrixxx", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-20T00:00:00", "words": "1,745", "Additional Tags": "Established Relationship, Spanking, Rough Sex, Light BDSM, Biting", "Relationship": "Greg Lestrade/John Watson", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	He can tell it’s been a tough shift for John. The footsteps on the stairs are slower than usual, deliberate and heavy, as though John is physically carrying the weight of the day with him. Greg shifts on the sofa, just enough so that he can see the front door from the corner of his eye. He feigns interest in the news when John’s key turns in the lock, consciously relaxing his shoulders, the picture of nonchalance. John doesn’t like it when people make a fuss of him.“Hi,” he says quietly once John’s hung his coat up on the rack, his shoulders heaving as he takes a deep breath.“Hi,” John says, and his face attempts a smile. It’s more of a grimace, and it slides off his lips quickly, leaving John pale and tired. “Fancy a brew?”“Love one.” Greg smiles warmly at him and turns his attention back to the news, pretending to be fascinated by the negotiations over the tube strikes.He tracks John’s movements out of the corner of his eye, watching him toe his shoes off and pad into the kitchen, barely making a sound. He’s a sneaky bugger when he’s like this, too still and silent by half, and Greg can see the shadow of the soldier peeking through from under his skin.Their kettle’s half shot from overuse, and it takes a good four minutes to boil up enough water for two cups of tea. Greg listens out for the telltale click of the switch going on and times two and a half minutes by the clock on the bottom of the screen. He leaves the news on as he eases himself off the sofa, rolling his weight so as not to make a sound as he moves towards the kitchen.John is leaning his arse up against the counter by the sink, his hands over his face and his spine hunched a little. It’s not wise to creep up on him in the state, and Greg is careful to let his footsteps sound on the tiled floor as he steps into the kitchen. John’s hands drop from his face instantly, and can read the exhaustion clear in his eyes. If John were anyone else, Greg would take him into his arms and murmur reassurances and commiserations. But empty words have no place between them.Instead, Greg crosses the floor swiftly, walking right up to John and putting his hands on the counter either side of his hips, caging John with his body.“You have ten seconds to tell to me to back off,” he says, watching John intently as he counts the seconds off in his head. It’s just enough time for John to tell him to fuck off if he wants to, and Greg watches him bristle and then go calm.“Good,” he says when he reaches zero, and then he leans in and kisses John hard. From here on out, it’s all about momentum, aggression, and Greg licks into John’s mouth, pressing their bodies together and keeping John pinned exactly where he wants him. John gives as good as he gets, arching up into Greg’s kiss, his hands going to Greg’s hips and curling into the belt-loops on his jeans.“I’m going to take you apart,” Greg tells him, nuzzling into the hollow of John’s neck and nipping at his earlobe.”I’m going to strip you down and eat you open and fuck you through the mattress.”“Stop talking about it and get on with it then,” John tells him, and Greg bites down hard on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, leaving a deep red ring hidden just under the neck of his jumper. John breathes out on a groan, hands tightening on Greg’s hips.“Oh, I’ll get on with it,” Greg growls, and then he’s moving out of John’s space, pulling away from John’s hands and standing back, his spine straight and feet slightly apart. John doesn’t just submit to anyone, after all, and he has the kind of iron will that digs its roots into any perceived weakness it finds.John straightens too, but his breathing is fast, and there’s a beautiful flush in his cheeks that brings life back into his face.“Bed,” Greg says, and then turns away, walking back into the sitting room to turn off the TV and the lights. He has no doubt that John will obey him, after all.By the time Greg makes it to the bedroom, John is half naked, his jeans clinging delightfully to his hips and his back washed out gold by the light of the bedside lamp. The scar over his shoulder has faded out to silver with the passing years, and he’s softened out a little around the middle, though Greg’s under no illusion as to which of them is stronger, even now.He presses himself up against John’s back, one hand sliding up to curl loosely around his throat and the other cupping John’s erection through his trousers. John lets out a soft sound at that, tipping his head back slightly and rocking his hips back into Greg’s groin.“I am going to fuck you so hard,” Greg promises, letting go of John’s throat to undo his fly and push the jeans off his hips along with his underwear, leaving John deliciously naked and exposed. “Get on the bed,” he orders, though he can’t help but slide a greedy palm up John’s cock first.John moves smoothly, climbing up on the bed on his hands and knees, resting his weight on his elbows and lifting his arse, presenting it to Greg almost defiantly. It’s a beautiful sight, and Greg’s skin prickles all over as he hurries to undress himself.“Cheeky little slut,” Greg says, and then he’s finally naked and stepping up to the bed. He smacks John hard, just on the undercurve of his arse where it meets his legs, and feels the sting of it in his palm even as John shies forward with a loud moan. “More?”John’s answer is incoherent, but he resettles himself on the bed, arse raised and tempting. Greg smacks him again, catching the edge of the red mark from the first time, and John writhes, his back arching as he throws his head back. He keeps the blows coming, fast and heavy, until John’s arse is red and he’s dropped his head down into his hands, muffling his groans in the pillows.He’s rough as he spreads John’s arse cheeks, and the heat of the skin under his hands goes straight to his cock. This is going to be rough and delicious and over really, really fast.John’s arms give out on him when Greg leans in and presses a wet kiss over his hole. Greg gives him a moment, presses a kiss into the small of his back as John tugs a pillow towards him and rest his chin on it, folding his arms up above his head. He makes quiet little desperate noises as Greg eats him open, though he hisses when Greg digs his blunt nails into the sore flesh of his arse-cheeks.Greg gives him another sharp smack as he pulls away to grab the lube, and John groans, long and self-indulgent, eyes half-closed and lazy as he turns his head to watch Greg. He doesn’t bother with much prep. John’s plenty loose from his tongue, and two fingers slide in easy and slick.“You might want to hold onto something,” Greg says as he pulls his fingers out and pours more lube onto his cock.John’s reply is lost forever to the pillows, but he braces himself on the bed all the same, setting his shoulders square and resting his forearms on the sheets. Greg lets him settle and then grabs him by the hips, dragging him down the bed until his arse is right at the edge and he can lean in and press the tip of his cock against John’s wet and open hole.“Fucking Hell, Greg!” John growls, but then he’s pressing back onto Greg’s cock, taking him in inch by inch, hips rocking slowly as he is filled. Greg has to bite down on his lower lip to keep his focus as he watches his cock sliding into John’s arse, swallowed up until John’s raw arse cheeks are flush against his thighs and John is squirming half with pain and half with desperation.“C’mon!” he growls, and Greg forgets for a moment that he’s in charge. He curls his hands around John hips and presses in even deeper, until John lets out a stream of curses, head dropping low.“Ready?” Greg teases, but he doesn’t bother to wait for a reply. The rhythm he sets is brutal, painful, perfect, each stroke deep and fast until John’s voice is in tatters and he can on pant and clutch at the sheets. He’s gripping John’s hips hard enough to leave bruises, and each piston of his hips brushes over John’s abused arse.The sight of his cock sliding in and out of John is mesmerising, even more so when John’s muscles shake and give out, and he is strung out on the edge of orgasm, held in place by Greg’s hands on his hips. His pants wrack through his body like sobs, and the sound of them tips Greg over the edge, pushing in as deep as he can. His orgasm hits him like a freight-train, exploding up his spine and flooding through his veins.He manages to reach under John, wrapping his fist around John’s cock and pumping fast, fingers slick with John’s pre-come. John barely has a voice with to shout with as he comes, but Greg feels him go tense all over, his thighs shaking as he spills across Greg’s hand and the sheets and his stomach. Greg lets him go then, lets him collapse onto the bed, releasing Greg’s cock as he falls.For a long moment, John lies still where he collapsed, shuddering with aftershocks and shivery gasps for breath. His arse is red and raw, hole puckered and slick with use.Greg crawls up onto the bed beside him, resting a hand between his shoulder blades and waiting for John to turn his head. When he does, his pupils are huge and there’s a lazy smile spread wide on his face.“Feeling better?” Greg asks.“My arse hurts,” John tells him, and Greg laughs. The End
1071128	dont wanna be too late	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Luke Hemmings, Ashton Irwin, Calum Hood", "Fandom": "5 Seconds of Summer (Band)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by c_libretto", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-05T00:00:00", "words": "1,710", "Additional Tags": "University AU", "Relationship": "Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	it’s a little incredulous to think that after almost nineteen years of existing, luke hemmings is still unable to walk on his two feet without tripping on practically nothing. but now here he is, sprawled across the carpeted floor of the library, books he’d cradled so carefully in his arms scattered around him and the folder he’d held under his armpit vomiting out sheets of paper slowly settling down onto the floor like there’s been a huge snowstorm in the room. as luke lands face-first in his fall, there’s a sickening sound of plastic snapping and glass cracking and his mind is a jumble between loud sirens indicating pain and comparably softer, but distinct whispers saying, oh shit shit shit shit shit. he lies on the floor, somewhat defeated, feeling the burn of everyone’s eyes in the room on his back as a deafening silence overtakes the room, all the spotlight on him now. the heat burning his cheeks and an overpowering sense of self-pity prevents him from getting back up, at least until all the attention on him has dissipated. the clatter of feet against the carpeted floor tells him someone is approaching him with a certain amount of urgency. he feels the someone kneel and ask, “are you alright?” luke lifts his head. fuck. “‘m fine,” he mumbles, slowly pushing upwards with his hands, noticing everyone’s attention still so stubbornly fixed upon him. "you sure?" the stranger points towards some undetermined area on his face, "your nose has a scratch now. i could get you a band-aid. also, are you feeling dizzy? that could be a sign of a minor concussion." luke’s hand automatically reaches for the bridge of his nose and sure enough, he could trace a long, thin scar on his skin. half of his vision is blurred, he’s got somewhat of a dizzy feeling in his head, but he hardly thinks it’s got anything to do with a concussion, so he shakes his head in response. "my name’s ashton," the stranger says, and even through luke’s poor vision he could see the row of white teeth on display. he could make out ashton on his knees, picking his books and scattered papers all up one by one, and putting the load of it onto a table before giving out a hand to hoist luke back up on his feet. "c’mon, i’ll get you a band-aid now," ashton then peers closely at luke, "you’ll need a new pair of glasses, too." he slips the glasses off of luke’s face and now luke has to depend strongly on ashton to guide him through the maze of tables and chairs in the library all the way to the front counter. "sit," ashton commands, and luke willingly complies, settling down on the front desk chair, hearing the buzzing sounds of the photocopier just to his right and the students’ hushed chatter going back to its original volume. luke tries not to think too much about the way he’s sitting in the chair or how messed up he probably looks as ashton busies himself with searching around for a pack of band-aids. he’s self-conscious enough when he’s not half-blind and when he’s fully coherent, but in this state he’s just downright panicking deep inside, though he tries not to let it show. after a few minutes of muttered curses, ashton finally peels off one that he’s found, carefully placing it onto luke’s nose. "you want me to get you anything?" "just a 20/20 vision would be great." ashton laughs. luke smiles, though feebly. "i’m lacking in that area too, if you haven’t noticed, but you can give my glasses a try." ashton slips off his own and hands them to luke. luke reluctantly puts them on, knowing that ashton’s thick-rimmed frames would look ridiculous on him. it works at giving him perfect vision, nonetheless. "you have the exact same power as me," luke says, blinking with confusion. "well then," ashton grins, the brightness of it now crystal clear in luke’s eyes, "you can keep those in the meantime. i have my contacts." * ashton had easily caught luke’s eye the first time he’d stepped into the university library after his first week of being on campus, the friendly greeting rolling off his tongue a three-syllable phrase that luke can never respond adequately to, “good morning!” being a mere freshman at this particular university, luke had been under the impression that the library would be more of a quiet place for him to concentrate on his work, versus the chaotic environment in the dorms where there’s always something happening, whether it be his new roommate calum blasting music too loud for his own liking or the disturbing sounds of the next door neighbours doing god-knows-what from behind thin walls. his brain just simply wouldn’t work with that much noise around him, so one saturday afternoon he’d picked up his books, uttered a quick notification to calum before leaving and walked down to the library, past bustling students on their way to their respective locations. what he didn’t expect was the six feet tall, curly-haired equivalent of trouble to distract him so much, up to the point where the whole purpose of him going to the library was basically defeated. as hard as he tried to concentrate on the numbers on the pages, the pen in his hand furiously scribbling out equations and statistical numerals, his senses still found it hard to block out the sounds of ashton’s infectious laugh from behind the literature book shelf. even so, he did manage to finish up his work eventually, so the library soon became his favourite haunt as the months passed. luke had never been the true master of subtlety, which was probably why out of all the times he’d stolen a glance from the top of his book at the counter up ahead, ashton had caught him in all of them, smiling back coyly. he also wasn’t big on making the first move in any sort of human interaction, so despite all the obvious signs that it was completely fine for him to do so, he never had the guts to actually strike up a conversation. and that was how it had gone on, little stares and occasional secret smiles in between chapters about chemical bonds - day after day after day after day. calum knew much of this, of course, raising the issue after weeks of being curious about luke’s frequent visits to the library when he wasn’t sleeping or at class. "so have you talked to him yet?" "uh. no." "what? why?" luke shrugged. "listen, do you like this guy or not?" "he has a name, you know. ashton?" "yeah, i know that. it’s mad creepy that you’d know his name when he doesn’t know yours." luke feigned a hurt expression, though by now, he’d pretty much gotten used to calum’s brutally honest verbal jabs. “he has a nametag on every time, can’t blame me for noticing.” calum ignored his defensive statement. “so do you?” "of course i do. i wouldn’t be telling you all this if i didn’t." "then fuckin’ do something about it!" it’s safe to say that luke hadn’t taken that piece of advice (if you could even consider that advice) seriously, given that he’d never attempted to do anything about it even after that, still content to continue with the routine of shy glances and sneaky looks. he was comfortable remaining anonymous to ashton, looking on from afar as the library assistant had animated conversations with the rest of the student body, completely confident in his own skin. well, until now. * luke keeps ashton’s glasses for a week. it is only on saturday, seven days after his accident in the library, that he actually finds time in his tight schedule to visit the nearest optic centre for a new pair of his own. although he doesn’t admit it, he’s starting to get used to having ashton’s glasses on him, like a reminder of the fact that he actually owns one of ashton’s possessions, albeit only temporarily. but of course, he keeps in mind the fact that ashton is technically still a stranger to him, so right after getting a pair of new glasses for himself, he heads straight to the library. as luke hears the usual greeting and catches sight of ashton with his usual dimpled smile, he finds another reason why he wouldn’t want to give up the pair he’s holding in his hand. "you look better without glasses." ashton looks surprised, his hazel eyes wide and doe-like, the small flecks of colours luke’s never noticed before more obvious now. he recovers quickly enough, smiling in response. "you look better with my glasses on." luke laughs and shakes his head, ignoring the butterflies doing the vigorous rendition of cha-cha-cha in the pit of his stomach. “these are pretty expensive, though.” he gestures to his new ones, “wouldn’t want to waste them.” "damn. should’ve told you earlier," ashton says. there’s a moment of silence as he takes his black-rimmed glasses from luke’s hand. "by the way, i don’t know your name…?" "luke. luke hemmings." "luke," ashton says it with relish, and luke thinks it sounds a hundred times better in his voice. "um, i was thinking," luke blurts. calum had better be proud of him for this. "if you would want to, like, have a drink or something? later? whenever you’re done?" ashton smiles again, and luke’s not sure how he’s still able to produce words when he’s looking into those warm brown eyes. “sure. i finish at six.” luke nods, exiting the library with the urge to break out into a ridiculous jig in celebration, now that he’s got a story to tell calum when he gets back to their room after his next class (which he doubts he’ll be able to concentrate on today). it’s the beginning of something he’d never thought would actually happen in a million years, given that the right opportunity had never presented itself before but now he’s seized it, earned himself an unexpected chance to be more than that anonymous kid exchanging glances with the boy at the counter. and to think it all starts with a pair of broken glasses.
1016326	Neat	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Cecil (Welcome to Night Vale), Carlos's Team of Scientists, Intern(s), Old Woman Josie, Erika (Welcome to Night Vale)", "Fandom": "Welcome to Night Vale", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by messyfeathers", "chapters": "12/12", "completed": "2013-11-05", "published": "2013-10-24T00:00:00", "words": "34,313", "Additional Tags": "Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Cecil is Mostly Human, Pre-Relationship, Cute Dorks Falling In Love", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Carlos/Cecil (Welcome to Night Vale), Carlos/OC (briefly)", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	"We're definitely lost." Carlos said as he used a flashlight to locate their car's location on the fold-out map. "Andie, how did you even get off the highway, you had one job!" He turned the map upside down in an attempt to pin down the last known mileage marker they had passed. "Do you want to drive?" Andrea asked rhetorically as she took a sip from her oversized foam fountain drink. "No," Carlos laughed, creasing the map back into some semblance of its original shape. "Then I suggest you shut your mouth," she teased, reaching across and taking the map from his hands, tossing it into the back seat. "It's really all your fault after all, Mr. I Don't Have A Smartphone." Carlos rolled his eyes dramatically and turned to look at the dark, flat desert outside the windows of the little station wagon. He and Andrea, his best friend since their freshman year of college, were in the middle of a cross-country road trip to his sister's wedding. The road trip was also jointly a bucket list item they were crossing off in celebration of Andrea's graduation with her masters in microbiology. Four years of long days researching and long nights in the practical application laboratory had earned them the much-needed vacation. Though now they were lost somewhere in Arizona with not a single headlight or taillight in sight. "We really are lost though, Andie." Carlos sighed. "We were supposed to be in Phoenix two hours ago. Brandon is gonna wonder why I haven't called from the hotel." He pulled out his cell phone in what he knew was a futile attempt. The outdated, cracked phone display was still black. "Seriously, Carlos, how were you even able to break a Nokia, they're practically tanks!" Carlos gave an empty laugh. "I guess I just have a way of breaking things." He pressed a few buttons on the phone in frustration before slipping it back into the pocket of his denim jacket. Andrea allowed her eyes to flicker from the road to glance over at him carefully. "How are things with you two anyway?" "Hm?" Carlos replied distractedly. "You and Brandon. I mean, it's your sister's wedding, and I'm flattered that you chose to get lost in the middle of nowhere with me, but shouldn't he be your plus one?" Carlos shrugged. "So, how are things?" she pressed. "They're great," Carlos replied too quickly. "I can always tell when you're bullshitting me," Andrea retorted dryly. "Things are, they're good," Carlos said a little less brightly. "We're just going through some stuff right now." "Oh yeah?" Andrea replied a little more gently. "How so?" "I dunno, we just never see each other. I mean, it's not bad, it's comfortable. We're comfortable. Just. I get home from the lab, make myself dinner, work on my paper, then he gets home just around the time I'm getting tired." Andrea nodded understandingly. "It's okay though, I mean he'll usually be getting to bed while I'm still reading so it's not like we don't talk. You know, about our days and how things are going." Carlos smiled a little wider. "On Saturday nights we still have movie night every week." "Mhm, and when was the last time you got laid?" Andrea asked wryly. Carlos felt his face flush. "You know, not every relationship has to just be about sex, Andie," he mumbled. "Only people who aren't getting any use that excuse." "I mean it though, I just like to appreciate the time we do get to spend together, even if we're just sitting together reading. It's the company that I like," he explained. "Mhm. How long? Two weeks? A month? ...Two months?" "Andie-" Carlos interrupted. "Two months?! Damn, boy, I would be kicking him to the curb." "We're just busy, it's just been a crazy few months. We're both in grad school, working full time, he's got his boards to study for, and I'm formulating my dissertation hypothesis and research plan. It's just been a bit chaotic lately. It's all going to change once we get through this. Everything will be different again." There was silence for a minute as Andie selected her next words carefully. "Carlos-" she began, but his attention was entirely focused on the sky. "Andie, did you see that?" "Did I see what?" Andrea craned over her steering wheel to peer up at the seemingly endless stretch of stars. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except the silvery moon seemed to be looming strangely close. She assumed it was simply a trick of the flat expanse and the lack of any comparable objects in the distance. "Nothing, I must just be tired." Carlos removed his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed at his eyes. He switched on the radio and scanned until he found a clear station. Country music, of course, which was certainly not his preference, but he needed something to help him stay awake. The clock read 11:43. He couldn't help glancing frequently up at the sky where he could have sworn he just saw a flickering light. "You can sleep if you want, we're bound to find a town along this highway somewhere. I'll wake you up if I get tired, I promise,” Andrea offered. Carlos shook his head, but did lean against the window. His eyes felt heavy. Just as his eyelids began to flutter closed, he saw the strange light again - a bright flicker followed by a streaking flash. He would have thought it was a meteor if it hadn't been so slow and low to the ground. "You saw that right?" Carlos asked, suddenly wired by curiosity. Andrea glanced at him sideways. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she gazed carefully up at the sky. "There!" Carlos pointed suddenly as a bright violet light spiraled across the sky in front of the car. Andrea swore under her breath, pulling the car over roughly to the shoulder and climbing out. The light flickered momentarily, but did not disappear. Instead it continued to spiral around for a few minutes more. Carlos and Andrea spun around, transfixed by the stunning light. Just as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished, leaving no trace of its existence. They waited for a long time in the dry desert air, searching the skies for so much as a flicker, but the light didn't reappear. After a while, both scientists reluctantly climbed back into the station wagon, at a loss to explain the strange phenomenon they had just witnessed. They continued along the dark road, glancing frequently up at the stars. Eventually they passed a highway sign along the side of the road. "Route 800?" Andrea asked in confusion. "Where are we?" "Did you take any turns off the highway?" Carlos asked, turning down the radio that was quickly deteriorating into static. "No, not that I recall." A mile marker sign read 'Night Vale - 22 miles, Desert Bluffs - 39 miles.' "I wonder if we should stop and get gas. Maybe ask for directions,” she suggested, shooting a nervous glance at the fuel meter. "Sounds like the setup for a horror movie. If we stop we won't survive," Carlos mumbled as he attempted again to smooth out the map he had crawled into the back seat to retrieve. After a few minutes he crumpled it and tossed it into the back again with a frustrated sigh. "Eh what the hell, better than being stranded in a desert," he finally conceded as a few distant lights flickered into focus on the horizon. As the lights grew brighter, shapes began to form in the featureless desert. A large hangar rose up on one side of the road, marking what seemed to be the edge of town. Several small businesses lined the highway, their windows dark and parking lots empty. Finally they found a Chevron station that still had an open sign flickering in the window. The stillness of the town seemed eerie, even for - Carlos checked the clock - 11:52. It seemed like much longer than nine minutes had passed since they were watching the strange light streak across the sky, but Carlos assumed it was just the tiredness of a long day on the road. "Horror movie," he whispered ominously as he and Andrea both peeked through the windshield at the dingy convenience store, large moths flittering around the ramshackle door. "Rock, paper, scissors," Andrea suggested, equally hesitant to leave the safety of the locked car. They faced off, Carlos choosing paper and Andrea choosing rock. They each had their own theory on why paper winning over rock was invalid and contestable, but Carlos wasn't going to fight it right now. He nestled down into the passenger seat with a grin. "If you die, I call your Tarantino collection," he teased. Andrea flipped him the bird before she began to pump the fuel and headed into the convenience store to ask for directions back to the highway. Carlos reached for the radio to search for a clearer station, but was pleasantly surprised to hear the static had faded and the music was playing again. It didn't sound quite so much like country anymore either, so he turned up the volume and leaned back in his seat, his eyes still wandering towards the sky. The song ended and a deep, melodic voice came over the radio, announcing the continuation of a news story about a freak accident at a shopping mall. Carlos sighed at the realization that he had only traded country music for some radio talk show. He was about to switch the station, when he heard the announcer mention something about 'life in our little burg of Night Vale.' If the news was local, then possibly someone would have called in about the strange meteor-like lights in the desert only a few miles away. He turned up the broadcast, listening carefully for several minutes as the announcer read off a list of disjointed, seemingly random words. The list ended, and the voice got excited. “Listeners, this just in! The immense surge of gravity that has surrounded the water fountain down on Stanton Street - you know, the one across from the Chevron station - has finally lifted! This will of course be a huge relief to those younger Night Vale residents who have been unable for some time to stand on their toes or even lift their heads to drink from the refreshing, cool spring of the water fountain. Now, there is a bit of a downside, in that there is now no gravity whatsoever surrounding the water fountain at all, but as long as you hold on tight, getting that cool, refreshing drink should be a breeze!" It finally dawned on Carlos that the radio show was not actually news at all, but rather some sort of news parody, probably run by some college kids with a strange sense of humor and way too much time on their hands. As he leaned forward to switch off the radio, he caught another glimpse of purple flashing across the sky. He was immediately out of the car and tripping towards the middle of the empty street to get a better look away from the fluorescence of the Chevron station. There were two glowing lights now, glimmering like embers as they arced through the starry sky in a wide circle. Carlos blinked once, twice, three times, even removing his glasses and replacing them to be sure it wasn't a trick of the light. The lights continued to spiral around him as he stood mesmerized in the middle of the highway. A sudden, chilling wind passed through him moving impossibly fast and shoving him roughly down to his knees with a shiver. As he pushed himself back up to his feet, he caught a glimpse of what looked like the red glow of taillights as they vanished into the distance, not quite far enough away. His mind raced with half-formed thoughts as he tried to figure out what was happening to him. The lights were still spiraling above him, gaining momentum. Adrenaline began to course through him as a slew of alien movie sequences flashed through his mind in quick succession. It was silly to assume that lights in the sky were automatically otherworldly, he knew, but something about the night was unsettling him deeply. He glanced back at the Chevron station where the station wagon sat unchanged by the strange phenomenon in the sky and the gust of cold wind on the road. A sudden strange idea occurred to him. The radio announcer had said the water fountain was across the street from the Chevron station. Carlos scanned the dark sidewalk, punctuated only by the occasional street light. There, in one of the pools of dim light he could make out the shape of a small water fountain. He glanced both ways at the street and took a tentative step, half expecting to be knocked down again. Nothing happened, so he quickened his pace towards the sidewalk, stopping when he reached the curb. No gravity. That's what the broadcast had said. It was probably nothing, he told himself, but what if… He reached out a hand, realizing with odd amusement that he was shaking. The tips of his fingers were just approaching the water fountain when he heard his name called from behind. "Carlos, what are you doing?" Andrea called as she jogged across the road. Carlos glanced up at the sky, but the purple lights were mysteriously gone again, disappearing into the dark canopy of midnight. He looked back at Andrea, who had slowed to a stop in the middle of the nearest lane of traffic. "What are you doing?" she repeated, out of breath. He was about to reply when he caught a glimpse of dim headlights flickering to life mere feet from Andrea. "Look out!" he yelled, reaching out to yank her out of harm's way. She tumbled to the concrete, only nearly avoiding being struck by the blur of silver that raced past. Carlos watched as the wavering taillights again disappeared far too close to be possible. "What the hell?" Andrea asked as she brushed flecks of rubble from her arms. "I didn't even see him, I swear," she said with a shiver. "I almost got hit too." Carlos offered, for the first time realizing that one of his knees was bleeding through his jeans. "They come out of nowhere and just…" he trailed off realizing just how idiotic the words sounded. "Disappear." He turned back to the drinking fountain that stood harmlessly three feet away. He was loath to approach it, equal parts afraid of something happening and nothing happening at all. "What are you doing?" Andrea asked again as she hugged herself tightly. She was shaking slightly too, Carlos noticed. "I picked up a radio transmission, they said there was something about the water fountain," Carlos explained as he took a tentative step across the sidewalk. "They said it was some sort of gravitational anomaly." "A water fountain?" Andrea asked in confusion, glancing nervously around at the dark street. Carlos reached out, mere inches away now. He closed his eyes and took one last step. Nothing. He felt nothing. It had been some stupid joke after all, he thought. "C-Carlos, what's going on?" Andrea asked in a worried voice. He opened his eyes and looked at her, but she was his height now, not a few inches taller as she always had been. Her hand was clasped over her mouth, her eyes wide. He glanced down and realized he was drifting upwards, slowly, but steadily. The first feeling that registered was panic. Hold on tight, the voice on the radio had said. To what? He scrambled to reach hold of something until Andrea was finally able to break her trance and reach out for his hand. She tugged him sideways and he stumbled out of the strange weightless zone and back to normality. They wordlessly stared at the water fountain until Andrea finally whispered "I think I'd like to get out of here." Carlos would have liked to investigate, ask why, but something told him there wouldn't be a good answer, not immediately. Hand-in-hand they ran as fast as they could across the road and back to the warmth and safety of the little station wagon. Neither spoke until the lights of Night Vale were fading in the rear-view mirrors. Andrea let out a nervous laugh and breathed deeply. "That guy at the convenience store had spent a little too long watching the Twilight Zone. He kept asking me if I had a valid phantom traveler permit. Said this highway required one, but when I told him we were lost trying to find the interstate, he said he wouldn't turn me in for it." She looked over at Carlos for some sort of reaction, but he seemed lost in thought. "Weird town, huh?" she asked. He glanced in the rear view mirror at the last glimmer of light disappearing into the night. "There's something about it…" he said finally. "I'd like to come back here. Figure out what's going on. The lights and the gravity and…" a strange smile crossed his face. "I was looking for a hypothesis that hadn't been tested, my own ‘Vasquez Theory.’" Andrea eyed him quizzically. "Andie, I think I may have just discovered my dissertation topic." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- It had been a long two years since Carlos had gotten lost somewhere in the desert in Arizona. Two years and countless late nights of writing and refining and theorizing until he had produced his masterpiece, his crowning achievement - his dissertation. He read the title again, syllable by syllable, the words not even sounding real after so many careful spelling checks. This was it, the final step. All that was left was to submit the dissertation to the university board. If his was the hypothesis they selected for the research opportunity, he would receive a hefty grant and finally be able to achieve his dream - he would discover the unknown, expand scientific horizons, and just maybe leave some sort of mark in history so the world would know he was here. After wavering for several minutes just staring at the email, he finally clicked send and quickly closed the laptop. He glanced over at his partner who sat beside him on the sofa sipping the last dregs from a bottle of beer. Carlos hadn't told him about the opportunity yet, nor that he had applied, too afraid that speaking the words aloud would jinx the chances of his dream becoming a reality. His heart was racing, his nerves all on edge with anticipation. There was a story unfolding on the television screen - it was movie night after all - but he felt too restless and twitchy to pay much attention. He glanced back over at Brandon, who was typing away absently at his own laptop. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if Brandon even noticed how excited he was, or even really noticed him at all. It was a silly thought - after all, the two had been a couple for six years now. This was how they spent their time together, sitting next to each other, both absorbed in their own work. It was comfortable, and it was routine. Puppy love was for teenagers. This was the steady glow of normality, Carlos reminded himself. But he still couldn't help himself from indulgently pulling his feet up and resting his head on Brandon's broad shoulder. "Everything okay, babe?" Brandon asked without glancing away from his computer screen. "Mm," Carlos replied, trying to decide if he would be more comfortable without his glasses. His attempts to re-adjust position a few times were proving futile. He peeked at Brandon's computer screen to see about 6 different internet windows open at once. It never really occurred to him to worry too much about Brandon or his activities online. It could be porn or plane tickets for all Carlos knew, but he never bothered to care, since they'd had a relatively happy, stable relationship for such a long time. Status quo was the key to contentment. It was partially why he was finding it hard to tell his partner about his decision to apply for the grant. On the slim off-chance that the board would even read his paper on the anomalies he had experienced in Night Vale, and then choose to fund his expedition out of all the dozens of submissions, there was a good chance he would be leaving for a temporary assignment to a desert thousands of miles away from their Chicago apartment and the law firm where Brandon worked. It would mean a drastic shift in the status quo, and he wasn't good with shifting. Finally, he gave up trying to find a comfortable position and reached across for the empty bottle on the coffee table, planting a casual kiss on Brandon's cheek in the process. "I'm gonna get something to eat, you want anything?" he offered. Brandon shook his head, so Carlos escaped to the kitchen to collect his thoughts. He decided to stall by making a bowl of popcorn. As he watched the numbers count down on the microwave, he tried to think through all the possible scenarios. Maybe Brandon would be willing to take a leave of absence from the firm for a few months. He was a corporate partner after all, since his father and grandfather owned the whole company. Maybe he'd open up his own branch in Phoenix and Carlos could commute for partial weeks at a time to a research station actually in Night Vale. Or maybe…maybe Brandon would say no to the entire idea. In which case Carlos, too, would say no and thank you to the board and...and what? The microwave beeped, indicating that time was up to hypothesize imaginary outcomes. He wandered back into the living room and placed the bowl on the coffee table, plopping down onto the sofa with a little sigh. "Hey, Brandon, I was- I have something to tell you," he said in a rush, reaching for the remote and pausing whatever action movie neither one of them had actually been watching. Brandon looked at him expectantly. "It's um. It's good, don't worry." He smiled to himself a little. "Remember a few years back when I went to Arizona with Andie and we found that town?" "Night Vale, right?" Brandon offered, having heard the story retold in every possible form. "Yeah, Night Vale. I worked it into my dissertation because it fit in pretty closely with my thesis on the correlation of time and gravitational pull. I mean, I was there for one night and really only part of that night and even I felt the anomaly in both," Carlos enthused, excitement coursing through his voice. Brandon nodded. "Anyway, the university foundation is giving away a research grant. It's a really great opportunity, I mean, they'll fund a six-month hands-on expedition, and they'll provide equipment and you can even choose your accompanying team. It's really great, and I," he blushed slightly. "I submitted my dissertation." He looked up shyly, grinning ear-to-ear. "Babe, that's great," Brandon replied, reaching for Carlos's hand and giving it a squeeze. "Thanks, I mean, there's a lot of competition for it. Some people have been researching things for years, and they have solid findings and factual evidence to support their hypotheses, so they're probably not going to actually pick mine," he stuttered. "But I actually went for it, and I'm really excited at the chance that someone will at least read my dissertation and maybe care what I have to say." "I'm proud of you." Brandon said with a smile. Carlos beamed. He could vividly remember the last time someone had said those words to him; his grandmother had told him so on the day he had been accepted into grad school over four years ago. He was so pleased with the reaction that he impulsively leaned over and gave Brandon a peck on the lips. "But, don't be too broken up if you don't make it." Brandon added quietly. Carlos's smile faltered slightly but he shook his head as he sat back down. "No, I know. It's a slim shot." "You're brilliant, you really are." Brandon quickly amended, giving Carlos's hand another squeeze. "Just, science is a tough field and sometimes brilliance isn't enough. And if it doesn't work out, and you just keep on as faculty at the university, well, you'd still be good enough for me." He leaned over and gave Carlos a kiss on the cheek before resuming his typing. Carlos forced on a smile and resumed the movie. At least it hadn't gone badly. And good enough was sufficient, it was status quo. It was contentment, he told himself. Being good enough really is good enough. -- It was the first day of snow in the city. Brandon wasn't much for traditions, but one of very few that they still kept was the first Snow Day. They couldn't remember the date they had actually met, only that it had been the first snowfall of the winter. Carlos, fresh out of college, had landed an internship at a research laboratory which was great, but internships don't pay bills, so he had taken a job as a barista at Starbucks to afford rent and save a little extra for the school bills now that he was just starting grad school. Brandon had walked in, tall and broad-shouldered with snowflakes buried in his tousled brown hair, and ordered whatever the barista thought was warmest with a wink. Carlos had made him a peppermint latte with extra whipped cream and on a whim signed the drink holder with his name and phone number. Brandon had taken the coffee, wandered into the corner and promptly called the number, asking when Carlos would get off work. He waited a full 40 minutes until Carlos had clocked out and then they had wandered up and down the narrow downtown avenues in the snow until they couldn't feel their toes. Brandon had invited him back to his apartment and feeling alive and strangely impulsive, Carlos had agreed. As soon as they got upstairs though, it became evident that Brandon had been in the cold a little too long as he began sneezing uncontrollably. He nearly died of embarrassment, but Carlos had just laughed, made him sit down on the sofa, and made hot cocoa and a can of chicken soup, and they had sat and watched cheesy romance movies. They fell in love quickly, and it wasn't long before they had begun to split rent on their own apartment together. Almost everything had changed in the years since, but they always called in sick the first day of snow to make chicken soup and hot cocoa and watch movies in their sweatpants. It was the first snowfall of the year and Carlos happily called into work with his annual bout of bronchitis. Brandon had a big meeting at the firm that morning, but promised to be home by lunch. Carlos pulled on an oversized hoodie and sweatpants and curled up on the couch in anticipation, glad they’d out ruled computers for the day this year. Minutes stretched into hours until Carlos checked his watch. 4:33. He flopped down over the armrest with an aggravated sigh. He'd given up science for this, for this one day to shirk responsibility and be blissfully happy. Somewhere amidst the disappointment, he fell asleep and only woke up to the sound of the front door opening. He sat up with a bolt, already apologizing for falling asleep, to see Brandon walking through the door with a middle-aged couple in tow. Carlos just sat there, a little stunned, his hair disheveled and his glasses cocked to one side, sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder. The look on Brandon's face was a mixture of shock and disappointment. "Mr. and Mrs. Cathcart, this is my-" he paused slightly "partner Carlos." Carlos forced a quick smile. He was bad at meeting new people on a good day, much less having just woken up in his sweatpants on the sofa. "Nice to meet you," he said, adjusting his glasses and blushing furiously. He raked a hand through his tangled dark curls, hurriedly shoving blankets into the basket next to the sofa in a fluster. Squeezing awkwardly past the couple, he leaned up to whisper in Brandon's ear "can I see you for a minute?" under the guise of a kiss. "Would you excuse us for a moment?" Brandon offered politely. "Please make yourselves at home." Carlos led him down the narrow hallway into the bedroom in the back of the apartment. "What in the hell, Carlos?" Brandon hissed. "Could you have given me some warning? I dunno, maybe called or something?" Brandon ignored his questions, frowning in disapproval as he tugged at one Carlos’s off-kilter curls. "I thought we had decided it was about time you got a trim. And what are you even wearing?" Carlos looked down at his clothing, and realized with a strange emptiness that Brandon had apparently completely forgotten this year. "It’s nothing, I took a personal day," he muttered. "The Cathcarts are a very wealthy couple, we're trying to convince them to plan their estate with the firm, so I need you to pull yourself together and get dinner on while I sweet-talk them." Brandon turned and left the bedroom, obviously not noticing the disappointment evident on his partner's face. Carlos did his best, tossing together an assortment of things from the refrigerator and praying it turned into an actual, decent meal. His hair was still strangely unkempt from his impromptu nap, and he couldn't seem to tame it despite his best attempts. He'd slipped into the first sweater he could find, and a pair of khakis that he was fairly sure had been most recently washed. With a deep breath and a forced smile, he brought the best bottle of wine in the kitchen to the table. The crystal glasses tinkled as he carefully arranged them, trying his best to look interested as they discussed the fascinating world of estate planning. "What do you do?" Mrs. Cathcart asked politely to Carlos as he poured her a glass of wine. "I'm a nuclear physics research developer at the University." The look on her face was familiar to him. It was the look he always received that let him know his job description went way over the listener's head. "I'm a scientist," he clarified. She nodded with a smile. He poured a glass for Mr. Cathcart easily, stepping around the table to stand behind Brandon. "Have you made any great discoveries lately?" Mr. Cathcart asked good-naturedly. Carlos always jumped at the few and far-between chances to gush about his theory on gravitational fluctuation. No sooner had he opened his mouth to respond, but Brandon reached down and squeezed his wrist with a jerk beneath the table. Carlos winced as the bottle slipped from his other hand and crashed to the floor in a puddle of deep red. Embarrassed, Carlos wrenched his arm free and hurried back to the kitchen to get a dishcloth. He could hear Brandon's booming voice in the dining room. "Carlos is more of a theoretical scientist. He doesn't make actual discoveries. It's all just ideas and best guesses and scribbled notes on every visible surface. You should see the office!" There was a ripple of polite laughter around the table. Carlos was content to hide away in the kitchen and clean up while Brandon entertained the guests after supper with some complicated joke that the scientist had never found funny. Socializing itself had never been particularly appealing to him, which was another reason why he spent much of his life burying himself in science. Equations and theories didn’t require him to find the right words without stuttering and they certainly didn’t make derisive, pointed remarks under the guise of small talk. He politely excused himself for the evening after finishing the dishes, blaming an early morning the next day even though he wasn’t needed at the university the next morning until nearly 11. He crawled into bed, and lay there for a long time staring at the faintly patterned beige wallpaper, thinking about the second law of thermodynamics. The scientific part of him interpreted it to mean that the world was slowly decaying into an increasing state of entropic disorder. The rest of him interpreted it simply as the changing of things that comes with time. Weather changed and places changed and people changed. Some days he wondered if he'd ever again see the man with the flecks of snow in his hair and the booming laugh, the one who used to hold his hand under the table at stressful family gatherings and who had encouraged him to keep going when his dissertation was rejected for the sixth time in as many months. Brandon had changed; it had been unnoticeable at first or maybe Carlos had simply refused to notice it. The change seemed obvious now as his eyes focused on the purple ring blossoming around his wrist. It wasn't the first bruise Brandon had given him, and it probably wouldn't be the last. He'd never breathe a word of it of course, not even to Andrea. In her opinion he was just a bit clumsy, clumsy enough to break a Nokia and trip over a coffee table in the dark to gain a black eye. The lab coat was helpful in hiding the rest. "I love him,” Carlos whispered to the empty stretch of beige that stared blankly back at him. The words were half a reminder, half to convince himself. He heard the front door close, knew Brandon would wander into the kitchen to wash the coffee mugs, knew he'd find the cup of cocoa and bowl of soup left out on the counter. Some time later the bedroom door opened quietly. He felt the mattress shift as Brandon sat down on the other side of the bed, but he closed his eyes tightly pretending to be asleep. "I'm so sorry." Brandon whispered, planting a kiss on the top of Carlos's head before leaving to get ready for bed. Carlos kept his eyes pressed tightly shut and forced his mind to a blank. -- His hands were shaking as Carlos opened the letter. The university emblem bloomed across the top of the paper inside. Six long months had passed in anxious waiting for the letter that would decide his fate as a researcher, and here it was in his hands, smooth and plain and completely ordinary to anyone else in the world. His eyes quickly scanned the document, stopping to re-read key words in complete disbelief. Twelve months of full funding, support for a research team of 15, and the latest equipment on the market. The words he kept re-reading were the closing statement. ‘If results warrant, extensions in 6- 12- and 18-month segments may qualify. We look forward to working together!’ Finally, finally he was going to make something of himself, maybe even change the world somehow. His hands were still shaking with excitement as he immediately began to dial Brandon's work line from memory. He stopped himself as his finger hovered over the dial button. Brandon. What in the world would he say about this? He'd be proud surely, and hopefully he had at least considered once or twice over the last six months that Carlos could possibly be chosen. Either way, news this big required a fancy dinner, some sort of celebration. It was too important for a phone call. Carlos called Andrea instead, who had been counting down days with him, marking them off on her classroom calendar with large red x's. "Did you open it?" were her first excited words. "Hello to you too," Carlos teased. "Shut up and tell me if you're moving to Arizona!" she retorted with a laugh. Carlos smiled and rubbed his face with his hand. "Well I guess, since they're funding me." Andrea squealed, her voice jumping an octave. "OH MY GOD, did I not tell you you were brilliant?" her voice was so high pitched that he held the phone away from his ear for a moment. "I knew they would choose you, they had to, it was the only logical choice!" she gushed. Carlos just laughed. "How do you feel?" "I feel relieved, that's for sure," he sighed. "Excited. I'm going to Arizona, Andie! The preparations all start as soon as I accept, and they want my answer by next Monday." She squealed again, almost more excited than he was. "If I go, you'll come with me right? I get to pick my team, and I want you to be on it." "I sure as hell am coming with you, and I'm just going to let you believe you had a choice in the matter." Carlos laughed. "Have you told Brandon yet?" Andrea asked after a moment. "Not yet. I'm not sure what he'll say." "Listen, Carlos." she began in her well-practiced cautionary mom-voice. "I know you two have been together for a while, and I envy that kind of stability, I really do. But don't give up your dreams just because you're comfortable." "Andie, I love him," Carlos sighed, not wanting to dampen the excitement of the moment with logic. "I'm not going to actually go unless it's what we want." "Okay, okay," she allowed. "But just remember that there's a plural 'you' and what 'you' want, and there's a singular you and what you want. Just try to consider both, okay?" Carlos bit his lip and tried to push the idea from his mind. "Okay." "Call me tomorrow and let me know how things go." Carlos didn't call tomorrow, or the next day. In fact, he didn't call Andrea at all that week, because he still couldn't figure out how to broach the subject with Brandon. Time was running out to answer, so that Friday night he decided it was time to have the uncomfortable discussion. He carefully adjusted the silverware on the table, making sure it was perfect. It was incredibly unprofessional for Carlos to take two personal days in the same month, but he broke his rule specifically to clean up and make sure everything in the entire house was perfect, including the scallop ceviche that he had carefully prepared from scratch from his grandmother’s recipe. Brandon unlocked the door and trudged in, scraping the snow flurries from his shoes at the doormat. "Carlos?" he called as he set his briefcase down on the desk and hung his wool coat in the closet. "I'm in the kitchen!" Carlos hollered back, slipping off his oven mitts and smoothing down the front of his best green dress shirt. He wanted everything to be perfect. Brandon wandered in and sat down at the little dining room table with a heavy sigh. "Long day?" Carlos asked as he gave Brandon a quick kiss hello. "Long day," Brandon agreed. "Tell me all about it, I'm just finishing up dinner," Carlos said as he hurried back into the adjoining kitchen to pour the microwave vegetables into a glass dish. Just because he could cook a few Mexican dishes his grandmother had taught him didn't necessarily mean he was a good cook. "That Peterson estate case that we were handling was contested. Apparently they think the guy wrote a secret will. If you ask me the old widow has seen one too many suspense movies, but she's convinced." Brandon shook his head. "It's ridiculous either way since the guy owned a tiny house and a few acres out between a Purdue plant and a trailer park. Not exactly a millionaire." Carlos smiled to himself. Brandon always complained about the strange people he came into contact with at work, but Carlos suspected that he secretly enjoyed the variety. He ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair, remembering that he had been meaning to get it cut for a while now, before shrugging and taking the dishes to the table. He sat down opposite Brandon, half-expecting a comment about the fact that they were actually eating dinner together and it wasn't even from a box. Brandon didn't seem to notice – not the candle in the middle of the table or the quiet music in the background – or if he did, he just didn't mention. Carlos told himself it was okay, because things like that were just what you did when you love someone. No recognition means that they already know, so in a strange way it was a mission accomplished. His stomach tightened as he stared down at his scallops. In a final attempt to stall, he took a sip of wine and coughed trying to swallow. The conversation wasn't even started yet, and he was already choking. He took a deep breath and sputtered "H-have you given any more thought to that research opportunity I told you about a few months ago?" Brandon's expression was hazy for a moment as he tried to recall. "The one in Night Vale." "A little,” Brandon replied as he took another bite. Carlos watched the flicker of the candle. "What have you thought about it?" he asked haltingly. Brandon shrugged. "I don't know, I mean, I'm glad you went for it I guess. It took courage to put yourself out there like that." "I mean, have you thought about what would happen if I actually got it?" Carlos asked gently. Brandon set down his fork with a sigh. "Carlos, look, I try to be supportive - I really do. But, I just don't think it's in the cards. Hope is great, but there's a thin line between hope and false hope." Brandon's hazel eyes locked on his. "I think holding on to this is false hope." "But if I did," Carlos continued, dropping his gaze back to the candle. Words were beginning to slip away from his reach. "If I had to go there for a few months to study, would you come with me?" "Listen," Brandon said, the frustration clipping at his words. "I love you, but, well, you're not the next Einstein. You're good at what you do, but you're not exceptional from other people who are good at what they do." The words stung, and Carlos bit down on his lip sharply. "There's no shame in being average, in just being you. If you keep trying for impossible things, you're only going to fall short. It's better to settle for something you're good at than to find out you're not as special as you thought." The words were spoken with a definite finality, but Carlos pressed one last time. "You're not answering my question." Brandon slammed a hand down on the table, causing Carlos to flinch involuntarily. "You're so stupidly fixated on some pipe dream, Carlos. People respect you because you're pretty damn smart, but you need to let this Night Vale crap go. If you keep talking about glowing lights in the sky and ghost cars and zero gravity, you're gonna lose that respect and people will start to think you're crazy, and how do you think that will make me look?" Regret crossed his face the moment the words had left his mouth. "Do you think I'm crazy?" Carlos asked quietly, surprised by the steadiness in his own voice. "Carlos, babe-" Brandon tried to reach across the table for his hand, but he slid it out of the man's reach. "Do you think I'm crazy?" he repeated slowly. Brandon sighed. "I think you were tired that night. I think it had been a long day and it was late, and I think you saw a meteor shower. You and Andie both admitted you were spooked and felt like it was the first scene in a horror movie, and I think you thought you saw things that weren't there." The tears were threatening the fringes of his vision again, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to force them back. "You said you believed in me," he whispered. "I do believe in you." Brandon sighed. "I just don't think you saw what you think you saw. I mean it was the middle of the desert and you may have had a few drinks, I don't know-" "Oh my god," Carlos laughed in frustration, pushing his chair back from the table and standing up. "I was not drunk, Brandon, I've been sober for four years now." "Babe, I wouldn’t be mad if you were-" Brandon tried to offer, but Carlos cut him off. "So you're not coming with me then." Brandon looked confused for a moment, glancing down at the table and the candle and how nice Carlos looked, finally piecing it all together. His mouth hung open limply at the realization. Carlos nodded to himself before reaching for his coat, grabbing the keys, and wordlessly leaving the apartment. Andrea found Carlos sitting in his favorite place in the city, the bench at the end of the boardwalk. The snowflakes were swirling down, the cold air revealing every chilled breath, but he didn't seem to notice or care. She sat down beside him. "It went badly then?" she ventured. "You could say that. He thinks I made up Night Vale. He even said people will think I'm crazy for studying it." Carlos shook his head. "You have to admit it's hard to believe. We didn't even believe it at first," she reminded him gently, for the first time sounding genuinely upset to be right. "It wasn't just that. It was everything else he said. All the 'I love you, but's and the way he looks at me sometimes like he’s ashamed of me when he introduces me to people, and how all he cares about is how my choices will reflect on him. I guess I thought it was love when he would tell me I couldn't do things. I thought he was protecting me because he wanted to keep me safe," Carlos trailed off. He looked over at her, not caring if she saw how red and puffy his eyes were. "He wasn't always like this. He never used to be. We used to do spontaneous things and actually care about each other." A sad smile crept across his face as he looked back out over the layers of freezing water. "I guess nothing lasts forever. Not even love." "Don't say that," she comforted. "Just because Brandon is a dick doesn't mean all guys are. You just have to find the right guy." "I don't think I believe in the right guy, Andie. Soulmates. It's just a lie we choose to believe to defend our self-esteem against all the crap we take from people who our brains recognize have genetic potential." "Cynic." Andie nudged him, eliciting a fraction of a smile. "I'm making the right choice though?" "Absolutely." She wrapped her arms around him they way she always used to when he was stressing over exams in college. It still made him feel better like it had then too. "The next few weeks you’ll be so busy getting everything together, it won’t really matter where you sleep at night. Besides I’ve been trying to get you to see my new place for months now.” Carlos shook his head, unconvinced. “I know it’s rough, but all the time apart will help you sort things out. A few months away will clear your mind so you can come to an informed decision on how to move forward. Plus,” she added in a singsong voice as she rocked him back and forth hypnotically. “What happens in Night Vale, stays in Night Vale." He laughed at that. "I think I just want to work on my research in Night Vale. I've had enough romance for a good long while. I'm actually looking forward to a break." -- The next morning found him sitting at the table staring down a cup of untouched coffee. The few old suitcases stuffed with his belongings were already stacked by the door. His mind was made up; he only needed to tell Brandon. The man wandered out with a yawn, surprised to see Carlos so put-together so early. There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence, before Brandon asked, "Is breakfast ready?" Carlos was sure his voice was going to shake, but he steadied his resolve. "No, Brandon. I'm not making you breakfast today." He took a deep breath. "Or tomorrow. Or the day after that." Brandon eyed him warily. "I don't understand…" "I'm going to Night Vale, Brandon." His voice was firm and unwavering despite the fact his stomach felt on the brink of losing the piece of toast he’d choked down earlier. "Babe, I thought we talked about this," Brandon began to protest. Carlos stood up and walked deliberately over to his partner, silencing him with one last kiss. "I love you," he said quietly. "But I have to do this for me now. This is my shot, my chance to be more than just status quo.” "Carlos, I'm sorry for the way things have been. We can work this out, we can talk about things, just don't-" he ran his fingers through the scientist's dark curls the way he always used to. "please don't leave me." "I'm not leaving you, I'm not even moving out. I'm just going to be gone for a while, long enough that we can both decide how we feel. All my stuff will still be here, so I'll have to come back either way. It's just a breather." Carlos let go, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his denim jacket. He pulled his pack filled with books up onto his shoulder and turned towards the door. "You could stay," Brandon pleaded quietly. "We're doing fine, aren't we?" Carlos turned back once more and smiled sadly. "I'll see you when I get back." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Carlos's first day in Night Vale was as much of a blur as the past month had been. Between packing and planning and staying at Andrea's and the very long drive down in his pickup, truck bed loaded with boxes of equipment and his personal belongings; sleep fell by the wayside entirely. It was only now as he leaned his head on the window in the passenger seat of Andrea's station wagon as they drove back to the lab after a late dinner at McDonald's that Carlos finally closed his eyes and drank in the fact that he was finally really here. All morning he and his newly assembled team of scientists had unloaded box upon box into the poorly-ventilated warehouse. He had negotiated the rent with the slightly scary Italian man who owned the pizza joint next door based on the belief that the laboratory would be fully furnished and ready for use. Apparently the concept translated loosely into there being five long metal tables, a few leaning wooden stools lining the walls, and nothing more. Thankfully the built-in apartment above had been better stocked, enough at least for his temporary purposes. After lunch he had called a press conference and given a short speech in an attempt to create some sort of rapport with the town. The townspeople and reporters in the audience had seemed strangely mistrustful and borderline catatonic at some points. After a few stumbled sentences, he had awkwardly wrapped up the brief address and been paraded through a line of people whose names he couldn't recall. At the time, he had tried to associate facts with faces to better cement them in his mind; Carlos tried to remember them again now that it had been a few hours, but he soon gave up with a yawn as they drove slowly through the quaint little darkening streets towards the lab. Andrea had already programmed in the radio station they had found on their first visit in the event of any further strange announcements. As they drove, they listened to the same smooth baritone reporter ramble on about helicopters. It was soothing, and he was just beginning to drift off when he suddenly heard his name spoken in dulcet tones. One eye opened curiously. Andrea spun the volume knob up a few bars. The voice paraphrased his press conference speech, making it sound much smoother and less awkward than it had really been. The announcer then began to describe Carlos in strange reverence before quite matter-of-factly stating: "He grinned, and everything about him was perfect, and I fell in love instantly." Both eyes shot open then as Carlos sat up straight. He tried to match a name to the voice, suddenly aware he had heard it already today. Cecil - the name clicked into place. The last name was still a little unclear, but Carlos had taken note of the name Cecil and that voice. Carlos tried to think back to what he had even said to the man beyond 'Hello, it's nice to meet you.' Hardly a basis for love. Hardly a basis for anything. The thought occurred to him that maybe the man was being facetious, for some reason offended by his presence in the city. As he reached over and switched off the radio, he made a mental note to avoid Cecil either way. Andrea glanced at him, a mischievous smile on her face. The car turned unexpectedly at the next corner. "Where are we going?" Carlos asked hesitantly, already knowing the answer. "To meet your new boyfriend," Andrea replied smugly. "What did I tell you before we left? What happens in Night Vale-" "-stays in Night Vale," Carlos finished with a groan. "Andie, turn around. I'm not going to go to that radio station." He slumped in the passenger seat, crossing his arms dejectedly. "Oh come on, just go meet the guy at least. Just go say hi. Just one little word." Andrea slowed as they reached the parking lot of the Night Vale Community Radio station. She had been in town a few days before Carlos had arrived and apparently knew enough side streets to already be taking short cuts. "I already met him today at the press conference," Carlos muttered, sinking lower in his seat as they parked. "Then you know what they say. Two conversations is grounds for a Facebook request," Andrea said in the same singsong voice she always teased him with. She reached into the back seat and retrieved a handheld Geiger counter. "Just pretend you're researching something." Carlos shook his head stubbornly. "I'm not going into that station." "Okay. I'll rock, paper, scissors you for it," Andrea suggested. "Loser has to go poke around the station." Carlos eyed her suspiciously, sizing up the competition before agreeing. He decided at the last second on scissors, assuming she would go for the eternally debatable paper. Instead she pulled rock. He slumped back into the seat. "You can't even contest that win - rock beats the crap out of scissors every time," she said with a sly giggle. Her smile faded as she watched him for a moment. "If you really want me to take you home, I will." "A deal is a deal," Carlos sighed, still unmoving. "Come on, live a little," she said, nudging his shoulder and tossing him the Geiger counter. He wandered into the radio station, not exactly sure what to expect. Through the glassed-in entrance, there was a broad hallway lined on both sides with office doors. At the end of the hall he could see a bank of cubicles glowing with the ethereal light of computer screensavers. In either direction there were slightly narrower halls that turned sharp corners. The lights were dim, almost too dim for him to actually see anything, and the whole building felt eerily abandoned. He stood awkwardly in the doorway for several minutes trying to decide on a direction. Just as he was about to give up and return to the car, a face appeared at the end of the hallway to the left. It was a young woman, Carlos estimated in her early 20s, with bouncing blond curls and a bright, cheery grin. "Can I help you?" she bubbled as she approached, clipboard in hand. "Um. I'm just testing for…materials." Carlos stumbled, holding up the device in his hand. On-the-spot excuses had never been his strong point. Recognition suddenly dawned on her face. "You're Carlos, you're that new scientist everybody's talking about!" She held out a hand. "I'm Meg. I'm kind of the station intern," she said with a proud little shrug as he shook her hand. "It's only my second day, but so far it's been the most exciting two days of my life!" Carlos tried to think of an appropriate response, but ended up just smiling. "Right, right," Meg the Intern shook her head quickly. "Have you tested the recording booth yet?" "Not yet-" Carlos began, hoping to explain that he didn't really need to, but she spun around quickly. "Great! It's right this way, just follow me." Carlos did as instructed, following her down a dark, shadowy hallway lined with utility closets and a break room. Several of the doors had large red x's painted across them, but Carlos didn't figure Meg would know why if it was only her second day. The hallway ended at a door that stood ajar. The small room beyond was filled with computer screens, metal shelves loaded with thick binders, and scraps of paper tacked to pinboards and littering the floor. One wall was almost entirely taken up by a large tinted window and another narrow door. Peeking through the window, he could just make out a desk covered in small glowing lights and a shadowy figure seated at it. "You can go on in," Meg nodded towards the door. Carlos shook his head vehemently. "Oh, don't worry, we just cut to the weather segment. It'll be a few minutes before we're live on air again," she reassured as she opened the door and practically shoved him through, closing it behind him. He stumbled awkwardly, regaining his balance. The figure at the desk glanced up from a messy stack of papers at the commotion. Recognition suddenly clicked in Carlos's mind as he again matched the name with the voice and now the owner’s pale angular face. He remembered Cecil now, all spindly limbs and horn rimmed glasses and platinum blond hair so perfectly coifed it looked to be a single solid object. He also remembered that he had indeed said nothing but 'Hello, it's nice to meet you,' in their brief exchange. Cecil slipped off the studio headphones that he had been wearing, allowing them to hang comfortably around his neck before he ran a hand along the solid wave of his hair. "Hello again!" the radio host offered with a smile. His voice was smooth and rich, and seemed to fill the air just as much off the radio as it did during the broadcast. Carlos again wasn't sure how to respond, so he just offered a nod and a tight-lipped smile. Cecil blinked and dropped his gaze back down to his papers, a twitchy smile flickering on and off across his face until he covered his mouth with his hand. Carlos realized with a sudden flush that he was staring. Chiding himself for his lack of manners, he quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out the Geiger counter, running it along a wall. "Already doing science then?" Cecil asked as he leaned in his chair to watch. Carlos stuttered. "I'm um. Yes. Testing. We're testing for materials." He was grateful to be facing the wall and not the strange radio announcer. It was rapidly becoming apparent that the man hadn't been facetious in his commentary on Carlos. Even worse, Cecil seemed to truly be twitterpated. Carlos shook his head and moved along to the next wall, the one directly behind the chair in which Cecil sat. He reached the device as far up as he could along the wall, which was an embarrassingly short distance, but nothing happened. Of course nothing would happen. This was a radio station not a nuclear weapons base. His mind was already formulating an excuse and a quick escape when suddenly the Geiger counter began to beep. He froze and tried to repeat the motion. Silence, then a single beep. Reaching back to the wall with an actual purpose this time, he began to feel along it slowly, waiting for another sound. It was hard to shake the impression that Cecil was watching him. "You gave quite the speech today. It was so…" Cecil breathed deeply. "Inspiring," he exhaled. Carlos glanced back at Cecil, flashing another tight smile before resuming his work. He really wasn't trying to be rude, but something about being alone with Cecil was unsettling and left him feeling strangely exposed. He instinctively tugged at the collar of his lab coat before continuing his investigation. "I'm very glad you're here you know," Cecil said easily after a pause. Carlos swallowed as he slid the device along the baseboard. He tried to decide if he should mention that he had heard the first half of the broadcast or not. Eventually he concluded that pretending he hadn't heard Cecil’s declaration of love was probably the better option. "Oh?" the scientist squeaked. The device refused to read again, so he tried the next wall, which had a small window to the outside built in. Carlos paused to look out at the barren desert that unfolded like a blank canvas as far as he could see. The moonlight streaming in seemed to be the only major source of light in the whole booth. "Mhm. Just last week I said to myself, I said, 'Cecil, you know what Night Vale needs is a bit more science.' And then this morning I woke up and there you were moving all those fascinating boxes and machines into the lab next to Big Rico's." Carlos was admittedly only paying half of his attention to what Cecil was even saying. The man's voice was just so soothing, and the counter had begun beeping a little more frequently on this wall. He still couldn't seem to find a pattern in the frequency. The levels seemed irregular and…moving somehow. "Lots of people around town are worried you're going to change everything," Cecil continued. Carlos sighed and smacked the device against his palm. The readings were seemingly random. "I'll try not to," he mumbled distractedly as he checked the settings on the reader. "Oh, on the contrary, Carlos," the scientist froze when Cecil said his name. There was something about the way the sounds rolled off his tongue as if they were complex, the way he carefully constructed all two syllables as if he was afraid of one of them getting lost along the way. "Everything is going to change. I can feel it." Carlos was still for a long moment before he shook off the comment and continued along the last long wall. It was the wall directly across from Cecil's desk, and now he could definitely feel eyes watching him closely. The Geiger counter made no sound as he slid it gingerly against the wall. With a sigh, he took a step back. Suddenly the device began beeping shrilly. A tentative step forward silenced the device and confirmed his suspicions. Carlos shut his eyes tightly. The closer to Cecil's desk, the more the device bleated. He fought with himself for a moment. Curiosity eventually won out over discomfort, and he spun around. "Can I scan your desk?" he blurted quickly. Cecil's smile brightened and he nodded enthusiastically. Carlos cautiously approached the metal desk, careful to touch neither the equipment nor the man sitting uncomfortably close. The detector began to chirp feverishly as he slid it along the smooth metal. With a dry swallow, the realization began to sink in. Carlos shot a nervous glance at Cecil. The man seemed completely unfazed as he sat motionless, the pale moonlight casting shadows across his luminous smile. "You know, the weather segment is going to end any minute now. Would you mind staying for an impromptu interview? I'm sure if you said a few words on air, oh Night Vale would be just as enchanted with you as, well…" he trailed off unexpectedly, his strange-colored eyes suddenly glued to the half-empty coffee mug staining a perfect chestnut ring in his stack of papers. The chirping grew in intensity, the dial spinning faster as Carlos held the counter close to Cecil's microphone. He shook his head quickly, taking a frightened step back. Cecil's expression grew concerned, then apologetic. "I'm sorry, I just thought-" "You need to leave immediately," Carlos interjected suddenly. This much radiation was unsafe - unheard of, even. He pressed himself against the wall, feeling his way to the door in the strange semi-darkness. "You need to evacuate the building as quickly as possible." Cecil shook his head with a puzzled smile. "I'm in the middle of a broadcast, I can't just leave." Carlos just stared at him for a moment more before he finally found the doorknob. "Evacuate as quickly as possible," he repeated, opening the door and slipping through it. He stumbled down the dark hallways, peeking in the few open doors to see if he could warn Meg the Intern on his way out. The halls were still strangely deserted, though a thick smoke seemed to be…oozing from the main hallway. As he hurried toward the glass doors, he did a quick check on his vitals. His pulse was racing, but it could have been the running or the entire encounter with Cecil. Too many variables for a conclusive result. He felt a little dizzy, but he had been able to find his way to the doors, so he wasn't disoriented or noticeably confused. There was no detectable nausea, no sudden exhaustion, no blood dripping from any orifices. As far as he could tell, he hadn't just absorbed the 27 gray of radiation his Geiger counter had indicated. He quickly threw open the station wagon door and slid inside, sinking into the passenger seat in a relative daze. Andrea asked several times before he finally heard the question. "Carlos, are you alright?" He managed a slight nod. "What happened in there?" She was worried, he could tell by her pursed lips and furrowed brow. Her brown eyes suddenly widened. "He didn't try to hurt you or anything, did he?" She was unbuckling her seat belt, presumably prepared to retrieve the crow bar in the trunk as a weapon. "No, god no," he finally sputtered once he caught his breath. "He's a little weird and slightly creepy, but I think he actually meant those things he said about me." He rubbed at his bleary eyes beneath his glasses as she started the old car and backed out of the parking lot. "I was pretending to be busy in the studio, and the counter picked up a reading that was absolutely off the charts. It was coming from Cecil's mic. It doesn't make sense how anyone could sit near it and not be immediately affected." He shook his head and peeked up out of habit at the dark, starry sky. "Were you affected?" Andrea asked, removing a hand from the wheel to turn Carlos to face her. She took her eyes momentarily off the road to methodically look him over - checking his pupil size, reaching for his wrist to count out his heart rate. "Not that I can tell," he sighed. "I feel fine for now anyway." "Set an alarm for two hours and check again. Sometimes symptoms take a while to surface," she advised. It wasn't like he needed advice when it came to radiation; he was a physicist after all. But unwarranted advice and frequent vital checks and strangely cold, observant reactions came with the territory of being a scientist and nearly all your friends also being scientists. "I know you may be dying, and I don't mean to be abrupt," she added. "But don't you think it's a little exciting that you've only been here one day and already you've found enough radiation to potentially wipe out a small village?" She sighed contentedly as the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of the lonely streetlamp that cast a dismal glow against the corrugated metal of his new home. "Things are going to change, Carlos. There's something in the air, can't you feel it?" Carlos eyed her curiously as he climbed out of the car. People seemed to be saying that to him a lot lately. As he fumbled with the unfamiliar keys in the eerie maroon glow of the streetlamp, all he felt was the strange and unnerving sensation that he was being watched. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- From the outside, Night Vale seemed like just another small town in the deserts of Arizona. The streets were swept with sand, the mom-and-pop businesses dated, the community close-tied. Beneath the surface however, things were very far from normal, and it didn’t take long for Carlos to come to three very basic realizations about the sleepy desert town he had naively relocated to. The first realization was that he had severely underestimated the town’s scientific incongruity. He had been so proud of himself for his dissertation theory on gravitational and temporal shifts from his one night stand with the lights in the sky. Within twenty-four hours of arriving in town, it had become painfully apparent that he had only glimpsed a fraction of the anomalies in Night Vale. There were massive earthquakes that nobody could feel, houses that didn’t really exist, portals through time itself, and a cloud that glowed and shifted against the wind leaving animal carcasses in its wake. At first Carlos had been slightly disturbed by the town’s seemingly senseless abandonment of the laws of physics. Uncertainty quickly gave way to curiosity however, and one by one the machines they had set up in the laboratory hummed to life with experiments and carefully planned tests. Night Vale was home to a seemingly endless armada of mysteries, but Carlos was determined that with careful observation and experimentation science would prevail as science always did. He was sure he could force even the strange little town in the desert into his organized lists of numbers and equations and diagrams. It just might take an extension or two on the grant. As the months wore on, the nights grew longer and the conclusions less and less logical. The first day of October was the day simple arithmetic ceased to properly function. It was also the first day that Carlos genuinely doubted his work. Science had always been the constant in his life. It had been the one part of his world that never changed, never shifted, never collapsed. Science was the one thing he was confident that he could understand. The first day of October was the first day that Carlos was afraid of Night Vale. - The second truth he realized was that the feeling he was being watched wasn’t necessarily simply a feeling. When the first note was slipped under the door informing him his behavior was being observed, he didn’t take it seriously. Cecil had mentioned in their first brief encounter that the locals were distrustful of change, so Carlos thought nothing of what he assumed was an anonymous prank and tossed the note and the next few that followed into the bin beside his desk. Concern didn’t set in until the letters began to slide under the door regularly, one-by-one every night. Some of them were fairly harmless, simply informing him that his socks didn’t match or requesting that he turn up the music when he was in the shower. Progressively they grew more threatening. The first time Carlos was arrested by the Sheriff’s Secret Police was for a misdemeanor. It was nearly midnight on a Saturday night when he was forcibly removed from his apartment and taken into custody for failing to fulfill his mandatory weekly pizza requirement at Big Rico’s next door. It took some coaxing to assure the Secret Police that it was an honest mistake. Since it was only his third week in town, they were willing to let him off with a warning and a literal slap on the wrist instead of the standard punishment of three months’ incarceration at the abandoned mine shaft. The second time Carlos was arrested was on the more serious charge of possession, for which the retribution was the loss of one extremity. He had tried his best to be careful, but when the police unexpectedly invaded the laboratory during work hours for a raid and found the writing utensils he hadn’t known were illegal, they took him into custody yet again. This time he had no excuses to avoid the punishment, though they had assured him he would be able to choose the extremity. As they drove into the desert towards an unknown location in an unmarked white van, a terrifying distancing calm had settled over Carlos who sat staring at his hands from different angles to determine which one he liked less. That was before the van halted abruptly, the door opened, and he was released from his brief confinement. The officer apologized profusely, stating that an anonymous benefactor had vouched for the scientist’s innocence and paid the levies to clear the arrest from his record. Which is what brought Carlos to the third realization. - Cecil was watching him almost as closely as the Secret Police were. As he had with Night Vale itself, Carlos had severely underestimated the radio host. What he assumed would simply be just another fleeting fancy had escalated to a slight stalker-like fascination that now bore all the signs of full-on infatuation. Whatever his personal opinions on Cecil’s feelings, Carlos had to admit that it was comforting to know that even in the bizarre, unfamiliar desert, someone was looking out for him. However it still left him with an entirely new set of problems. Namely, Carlos was vastly unprepared to deal with Cecil’s adoration. He never knew how to react when Cecil would approach him guardedly in public asking ridiculously basic science questions, or when he would babble on the radio show and tell the whole town about Carlos’s haircuts. He especially didn’t know how to react when he woke up one morning to little red dots covering all of his outdoor belongings: one on the new car he had bought when his pickup had mysteriously combusted, one on the streetlight that glowed maroon through the night, one on the recycle bin that frequently made gulping sounds, a little organized row of dots along the corrugated metal panels of the siding, and one last dot on the front door attached to a note. It had a phone number, Cecil’s name, and the words ‘call anytime’ followed by what was either a very large period or a very small heart - all, curiously, written carefully in blue ink. Carlos did what he could to keep the situation at bay. He always kept their conversations to an absolute minimum of words, and was sure to never be the one to initiate contact. He never acknowledged the fact that he heard the things Cecil said about him when he listened to the radio show late at night in the empty lab. And he never called. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Several months into his stay in Night Vale, Carlos had begun to leave the radio on as background noise in the laboratory during the day. NVCR had mostly static, but every once in a while there would be a citywide announcement or even one of Cecil’s weekly afternoon shows. While Cecil had an evening show on a regular 3-nights-a-week schedule, his afternoon specials would be scattered at random onto one day per week and usually focused more singularly on current events. It was one such afternoon, and Carlos was taking a peek through Andrea’s microscope at a bacterial sample she had carefully preserved from the dead armadillos that had rained from the Glow Cloud. There was a strange quiet in the lab that had been steadily growing louder every day. Carlos knew why and refused to acknowledge the apathetic expressions on his team’s faces and their lack of interest in the running studies. He also refused to acknowledge the empty chair where Jake had sat the previous week. Showing up late was becoming routine with the team, but now one of them had decided to not show up at all. “Please remain calm,” Cecil’s flowing voice commanded through the radio on Carlos’s desk. The scientist looked up from the microscope to listen to the announcement. Cecil was rambling on about street cleaning in a voice that sounded legitimately afraid. “Street Cleaners focus on heat and movement, and so the best strategy is to be dead already.” Carlos glanced around at the long rows of safety glasses looking up at him expectantly. He had personally selected all fifteen scientists on his team from the brightest and best he had known in grad school, and a few specialists that had come highly recommended by the National Science Institute. In the seven months that had passed since they had arrived in Night Vale, the team had become a dysfunctional family of sorts. After their first miserable week during which the confusing and potentially dangerous nature of their new job had become fully apparent, Carlos had offered anyone who wanted to return home the opportunity to leave without any judgment or mark on their résumés. To each scientist’s credit, not a single one accepted the offer. Since then they had learned to look out for each other in the strange nonsensical town, while doing what research they could under Carlos’s careful guidance. He led the team to the best of his ability, and to his pride, he hadn’t lost a single scientist yet which seemed impressive given the town’s outrageously high death rate. He wasn’t about to let whatever cleaned the streets of Night Vale tarnish his record. “Arnst, try to get ahold of Jake. Make sure he’s just at home.” Carlos commanded. Arnst, a slightly balding chemist in his early forties nodded and pulled out his cell phone. Carlos counted heads like a middle school teacher on a field trip, coming up one short. Bethenny, a brilliant geologist and one of the youngest on the team, still hadn’t returned from gathering rock samples out at the abandoned missile silo. “Can someone get in touch with Bethenny?” Carlos asked. Linda, another physicist with rapidly graying hair and a timid demeanor, raised her hand. “Call her, tell her to find whatever shelter she can.” “Jake says he’s in the basement of Jerry’s Tacos playing a high stakes game of poker with the black angel and the city clerk,” Arnst announced as he clicked shut his phone. “Says they’re only playing for eternal damnation, and that we shouldn’t worry for him.” Carlos gave a quick nod of acknowledgment, not stopping to care about how ridiculously normal the explanation seemed by now. He still had one ear tuned to Cecil’s scattered broadcast; the host was mentioning off-handedly that even the City Council had evacuated. If City Council had evacuated, Carlos decided it was time he and his team did the same. “Alright, everybody please take careful note of where you are in your projects. Shut off any hood fans and heat lamps, place your writing utensils in the locker, and make your way to quarantine room G in an orderly fashion,” Carlos ordered calmly. The lab became a buzz of activity as burners were switched off, notebooks flipped closed, and the few sticks of blackened charcoal that he had spent an entire weekend sharpening to use in place of pencils were carefully stashed in the locker cabinet he’d installed along the wall as a result of the municipal raid. Linda still hadn’t seemed to get ahold of Bethenny out at the missile silo. Carlos held up the end of the line as they proceeded single file into the narrow sloping hallway that led to a labyrinth of subterranean quarantine rooms. He and his scientists used the winding tunnels of windowless rooms for storage and lockup and as temporary shelter during Night Vale’s frequent and unpredictable bouts of inclement weather. They collectively agreed to not discuss what the rooms may have been used for by the previous tenants. Another careful headcount confirmed that all thirteen of his teammates were present before he shut off the lab’s main breaker. The lights went out momentarily before backup lights installed in the quarantine hall flickered on. Carlos closed the sealed door to the hallway and entered the pass code lock. All his life he’d been told he erred on the side of caution, but here in Night Vale he was positive his caution was the only reason he was still even alive. The scientists huddled into a mess of lab coats in the hallway as if suddenly forgetting where to go. “Room G,” Carlos reminded them. The group filed into the room, but Carlos didn’t close the door just yet. The dank quarantine rooms had no source of light, and he was unwilling to cut off the dim glow from the hallway until absolutely necessary. Bethenny’s name flashed across the screen as his phone rang. “Bethenny, are you safe?” Carlos asked immediately. “I’m in the old hangar by missile silo,” Bethenny whispered urgently. “I was outside and I heard them coming, and I hid in here. But, Carlos, there’s no door. They’re right outside and there’s nothing stopping them from coming in.” She inhaled a squeaky gasp, attempting to muffle the sound with her hand. “Bethenny, I need you to try to slow your pulse. Whatever they are, they can sense any excess heat. Focus on breathing slowly.” Carlos kept his voice low and steady, knowing the last thing she needed to hear was the panic that had settled in his stomach creep into his voice as well. “Carlos, I’m scared,” she whispered shakily. Carlos buried his face briefly in one of his hands. He should have never sent her out alone. He should have known better. This was Night Vale after all, and people who went places alone rarely ever came back. “It’s going to be okay,” he lied, because he never knew if anything here was ever actually okay anymore, but saying any differently would be neither helpful, nor wise at the moment. “I’m so sorry. Focus on breathing, they’ll be gone soon.” “Alright,” Bethenny replied, her voice hoarse and trembling. There was a sharp intake of breath, a faint squeal, and a sound Carlos couldn’t place before the line went silent. He called her name several times before his phone dropped the call. Thirteen pairs of eyes peered at him expectantly from the dark quarantine room. A loud wailing noise echoed down from somewhere up above. The street cleaners were here. Carlos swung the heavy metal door shut, plunging the room into total darkness, and slumped down against it in resignation. The small quarters were filled with the sound of rapid breathing and the flicker of pale blueish light as faces were half-lit by cell phone screens. Carlos guessed everyone was attempting to text loved ones as they so frequently had cause to do in Night Vale. It was a useless gesture since he had quickly come to the realization that messages sent outside the desert rarely, if ever, actually went through. Contact with the outside world was impossible as far as he could tell. During the first few months of his residence in town, before he gave up trying to keep in touch with his family, he had received a few responses, but they had been nothing but garbled strings of letters that made no sense. One had even been in a mixture of Egyptian hieroglyphics and ancient cuneiform. He guessed it probably had something to do with the email being from an international sender. Of course, Carlos said nothing to discourage his scientists from trying. False hope was still hope after all. Anyway, they had probably figured it out for themselves by now. They may have one-by-one gradually begun to give up on the value of science and the existence of knowable facts since arriving in Night Vale, but none of them were stupid. His own phone vibrated in his pocket. He slipped it out and switched on the display to see a text message from Cecil. While it was true that he had kept the note with Cecil’s number, he had still never actually used it. He didn’t exactly want to encourage the strange man whose inexplicable adoration for him seemed to dance along - and sometimes leap brazenly across - the line between flatteringly ardent and alarmingly creepy. The scientist didn’t even really want to know how Cecil had gotten his number. The text simply read ‘If you aren’t already dead, then I hope you’re somewhere safe.’ Carlos stared at the screen until he caught Andrea watching him. Flustered, he switched it off quickly and tucked it back in his pocket. “At least you have someone who cares,” she said quietly as she slid down to sit next to Carlos. “I could die down here, and not a single person outside this room would care, or even probably know.” There wasn’t any self-pity in her tone. Andrea had never been much for false modesty or self-pity, just pure honesty. “I’d care,” Carlos offered, nudging her shoulder. “You’re in this room,” she replied, her wry smile faintly visible through the dark. Their conversation was cut short by a horrible, ear-splitting screech from above. It sounded like long claws dragging across the corrugated metal siding of the laboratory’s exterior. Carlos realized with a slight shudder that that was probably exactly what it was – some hideously distorted creature with long, twisted talons that for some insane reason kept the streets of Night Vale clean. Andrea switched on the small portable radio that she had thought to snatch from Carlos’s desk in their hasty evacuation. Setting the volume low, she set it on the floor between them so they could hear the updates on the situation outside. Apparently even the radio station had moved its broadcast team to a remote bunker judging by the muffled quality of Cecil’s voice and the fact that he announced he was now in a bunker. Carlos didn’t feel quite so unjustified; hiding in an underground holding cell didn’t seem like an overreaction anymore if Night Vale natives were doing it as well. Somewhere in the distance a siren wailed faintly, but the horrible screeching sound had gradually passed. The group sat quietly, listening to the weather, which that particular day seemed strangely fitting since it seemed to be about people being trapped and killed. Or maybe it was metaphorically singing about love. Carlos couldn’t tell. The weather always gave him an odd feeling; some days it seemed random and unpredictable, but other days it felt eerily directed towards him. He always shook it off with a reminder that he should quit listening to Cecil’s evening broadcasts when he worked late in the lab after everyone else went home. Soon enough the weather ended and Cecil’s voice returned, sounding noticeably shaken, but warm and resonant as always. The radio host was announcing that the danger had passed, that it was all over. Carlos switched off the radio, not wanting to hear the rest of Cecil’s celebratory soliloquy on how they all survived. Carlos didn’t want to hear it when they hadn’t survived, not all of them. “Linda, try to get ahold of Bethenny again,” Carlos said as he pushed himself to his feet. “Andrea,” he always used her full name when addressing her in front of the other scientists, “keep everyone in here until I can confirm that the coast is clear.” She grabbed his shoulder as he swung the door open and stepped out into the disorienting dim glow of the hall. “Carlos,” Andrea’s voice was all seriousness, which was a notable change from her usual sarcastic drawl. “I meant what I said about Cecil.” Carlos glanced past her, afraid the others would overhear their conversation. They all seemed too absorbed in hugging each other in relief and sending more useless, but probably cathartic, texts to assure loved ones that they were once again safe. “I know he’s a little persistent and slightly infatuated, but he seems to genuinely care about you. Don’t take that kind of concern for granted.” She let go of his lab coat as he nodded. Carlos wandered out to the street, looking for any signs of change. There were no claw marks on the outside of the warehouse or pools of blood or anything at all to signify that something horrifying had passed only brief minutes ago. The street looked, in fact, very clean. Not entirely sure why, he found himself walking in the direction of Mission Grove. When he arrived at the corner of the park, he was met with a scene exactly as Cecil had described on the radio. A group of townspeople, a few hooded figures, and what appeared to be one of the Sheriff’s Secret Police judging by the throwing stars strapped to his back and the cape and the leopard-camo jeggings, stood huddled in the center of the park staring up at the sky. On the fringe of the gathering was Cecil himself, white-blond hair sticking out at disheveled angles, the back of his vest and shirt rumpled and partially untucked from his cuffed jeans. The radio bunker must have been more of a crowded crawlspace. As if feeling the scientist’s eyes on him, Cecil spun around suddenly. Relief washed over his angular features as he took several measured steps in Carlos’s direction. “You’re alright,” he breathed as he looked Carlos over quickly. “I was worried, I didn’t know if you would hear the announcement. Not everybody listens to public radio you see,” Cecil explained as he tucked his arms in close to himself. Carlos was always surprised at how normal Cecil sounded in person. His voice was still deep and mesmerizing, but it lacked the tone of grandiloquence. The scientist simply nodded in reply, not sure why exactly he had come to the park. “I lost someone,” he admitted after a long silence. The words shook him even as he spoke them. This was why he had come, he realized. He wanted to tell Cecil. He didn’t want the radio host’s comfort or pity, he just wanted him to know. “Her name was Bethenny. She applied to come to Night Vale with me as a part of her preliminary dissertation research. She wasn’t even two years out of college.” The words rushed unbidden. “I sent her out to the missile silo by herself to collect some rock samples. She was so scared when she called me.” His breath gave out at the end of the sentence, and he dropped his gaze to a persistent patch of grass that had forced its way between two squares of the sidewalk beneath his worn-out shoes. “It’s not your fault,” Cecil said quietly. Carlos looked up to see the softened expression on the man’s face. “People are lost here every day. This town takes more of us than we like to recognize.” It was strange to hear the honesty in Cecil’s voice. Usually he brushed off the wanton death and destruction as just another morbidly interesting story to tell to the fearful masses huddled around their radio sets. Carlos didn’t know exactly how to proceed, so he let the silence hang between them until he could formulate the fragile question he didn’t really want to hear the answer to. “What will I find out at the missile silo?” he asked warily. Cecil was thoughtful for a moment before dropping his gaze and pushing the frames of his glasses up on his nose with a sigh. “It will be very clean,” he replied finally. The answer shouldn’t have surprised Carlos, nor should it have seemed so much more devastating than he was expecting. But it did. He shuddered slightly. Cecil continued to stare at the ground for a moment more, his strangely pale eyes glazed over and his mouth moving ever so slightly and incredibly quickly as if he were silently reciting a list to himself. Carlos was about to ask if the man was alright when his gaze flickered back up to look curiously into the scientist’s face. The ghost of a smile played at Cecil’s lips as he reached out and rested his palm lightly on the sleeve of Carlos’s lab coat. Carlos looked down in surprise at the unbidden touch, shocked by the strange cooling sensation he felt even through his lab coat that seemed to emanate from Cecil’s skin. “Just because you lose something doesn’t mean you’ll never find it again,” he said quickly, offering a half smile. Carlos stared blankly at him, sure now more than ever that Cecil was definitely not quite normal. The man removed his hand, but the strange tingling sensation remained a few moments more. Carlos took a leery step back, mumbling something about needing to give the all clear to his team. As he turned to leave, Cecil said something so softly he almost missed it entirely. “I’m glad you’re alive, Carlos. This world would be quite miserable without you.” He was used to having Cecil gush like a schoolgirl about him on the radio, but he was again struck by the sudden vulnerability in the man’s voice. There was an empty silence as the scientists filed out of the quarantine room and back into the lab. As Carlos had feared, they had been entirely unable to reach Bethenny. He let everyone go home early, not even bothering to restore power to the lab. Andrea gave him a tight hug before promising to accompany him to the missile silo first thing in the morning. Carlos simply nodded numbly and locked up the door, switched off the radio - which had been playing a single sustained note for the past hour - and climbed the metal spiral staircase that led to his small upstairs apartment. It came as no surprise to him the next morning that Linda, Joshua, and Randall didn’t show up for work. After the previous day's ordeal, it seemed that the town had finally begun to take its toll on the team. They each had left him a carefully worded, falsely-cheerful message on his phone informing him that they just didn’t see the point in trying to unravel root causes or decipher molecular structures when Night Vale just never made any sense. As Carlos swallowed four ibuprofen tablets with the dregs of his second cup of coffee, a steady knock came at the small front door of the laboratory. He opened the door to find Old Woman Josie beaming up at him, all wrinkles and cloying floral perfume. “Can I help you?” he offered cordially. Of all the strange people in Night Vale, Josie was one of his favorites, probably because she reminded him so much of his own grandmother back home. “I believe you lost something,” she replied, jerking her head to the side. Carlos leaned out of the doorframe to take a peek. Bethenny, her coat pristine, her dark hair in a tight bun, took a careful step forward. Without thinking, Carlos pulled her into a hug. “We thought we lost you,” Carlos said as he pulled away and looked carefully into her eyes. No pupil dilation, no obvious trauma. He reached for her wrist, counting out a steady pulse. The routine was not strictly an affirmation of life - though affirmations of life were a precious thing in a place like Night Vale. It was more the scientists’ strange way of connecting, of assuring themselves and each other that even in the dangerously twisted little town everything was, for the time being, okay. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bethenny laughed brightly. “I was out at the missile silo one minute, the next I was at Josie’s house eating split pea soup and watching reruns of Bonanza,” she explained. “Erika found her all alone out there,” Josie added with a disapproving look at Carlos. “You should know better than sending a pretty young thing like her out by herself.” “Josie,” Bethenny chided. “She’s right, I shouldn’t have let you go out there alone.” Carlos gave her one more quick hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” He sighed and turned to Josie. “Thank you for taking care of her.” The old woman grunted, and nodded toward some unseen visage to her left. “Don’t thank me, it was Erika who found her. I just made the soup.” Carlos looked at the completely transparent patch of air that he assumed must be one of Josie’s angels. “Um. Thanks, Erika,” he stuttered to the air. The action seemed to appease Josie whose face crinkled into a wide grin. “We’ll let you two be on your way to do whatever it is you scientists do,” the old woman chortled. “Bye, Josie! Bye, Erika! Thanks again!” Bethenny called as Carlos led her inside and closed the door behind her. The lab erupted in excited chatter as all at once the scientists jumped up to hug the friend they all thought was lost. As Carlos watched his unconventional little family of scientists, he couldn’t help but think of Cecil’s words the previous evening. ‘Just because you lose something doesn’t mean you’ll never find it again.’ The thought drifted into his mind that maybe this was what Cecil had meant, that somehow the man had known about Bethenny and the supposed angel who had come to her rescue. How could he though when he had been trapped in some underground bunker the whole time just like the rest of them? Carlos’s mind wandered to the strange color of Cecil’s eyes and the inexplicable sensation of his touch. With a shake of his head, he forced himself to stop thinking, choosing for the time being to ignore the shiver that raced down his spine. Today was a day to celebrate that they had, indeed, all survived to see the sun once more. Cecil was a mystery for another day entirely. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “Say something,” Carlos muttered as he switched off the seismometer. Andrea slammed the door of the equipment locker. “What do you want me to say?” Her voice was cold and biting as she turned to face him. “That was harsh, Carlos. Ten years we’ve been friends, and I’ve never heard you so out of line.” “You think I was wrong to give them the choice?” Carlos crossed his arms defensively in preparation for the coming argument. It wasn’t often that the two fought, but when they did it was almost always guaranteed to evolve into a rough shouting match. “I think you were wrong to turn it into some twisted goddamn ultimatum, yes. It’s no surprise they all just walked right out.” “All I told them was if they were going to ignore the entire basis of our research, they needed to find other employment. We came here to find answers and apparently that’s no longer a priority. Which begs the question, what are we even still doing here?” He gestured around the lab with a rhetorical shrug. “Some of us stay because hard as it is to believe, we actually like it here,” Andrea snapped. “Just because you can’t fit something into your little box of logic and equations doesn’t mean it’s not worth spending time on.” She paused and took a breath. “Carlos, I know your life’s been rough, and I know you like things to be even and structured and sensible, but sometimes it’s okay for things to not make sense.” Andrea let out a strained little laugh. “Hell, I wish the whole world made a little less sense. I mean, isn’t it amazing to believe in something impossible, and realize that just because you believe in it, it can actually exist?” “I believe in things I understand,” Carlos retorted, his voice raised to combat the shrieking that drifted through the walls of the laboratory from the edge of town. It had begun a few nights ago, a horrible wailing that had unfortunately become a nightly event. Andrea covered and uncovered her face with her hands, letting out another frustrated little sound. “You don’t get it, Carlos. You just don’t understand.” Her head dropped momentarily before she looked back up at him. “I really wish you did.” Regretfully, she slipped out of her lab coat and set it on the empty end of one of the exam tables. Carlos stared at the jacket as if it were venomous. “I’m sorry,” she shouted over the disembodied screeching. As an afterthought and to avoid further shouting, she quickly stepped around the table and hugged Carlos tightly. “I know you’re not sleeping, and you’re hardly eating, and it feels like hell,” she paused to offer a small, understanding smile, “but it’s all going to make sense one of these days. And after that everything will be different, I promise.” Carlos just watched helplessly as his best friend, his last actual tie to the sanity of the outside world, walked out the door and left him entirely alone in a laboratory full of useless science. In the absence of any other clear direction, he eventually decided to at least attempt sleeping even though the sun had only just slipped below the horizon. The thin walls of his apartment were negligibly better at blocking out the shrieking, so he simply lay on the lumpy little mattress in the clothes he had been too drained to change out of and wished for sleep. As was becoming the norm, sleep seemed to evade the scientist quite effectively for a long time. He hesitated to check his watch, knowing that although it kept perfect time everywhere else in the world, here in Night Vale it would read preposterously incongruent times. One morbidly curious glance reassured the theory as the watch claimed it was 3:28 in the afternoon. Carlos rolled onto his back with a sigh and tried to clear his mind. It wasn’t that he was thinking too deeply about any one thing in particular; on the contrary his thoughts had an increasingly frequent habit of dissolving into nonsense until his head began to throb. It didn’t help that the still air in the little apartment was stifling. He rolled back onto his side and stared blankly at the radio on his bedside table. It kept supposed Night Vale time, so he used it as an alarm clock. Despite his emphatic assertions to the contrary, he also had been using it lately to fall asleep. Whether or not he was willing to admit it even to himself, Carlos liked the smooth tones of Cecil’s voice. Even on the nights when the radio host was ranting about people who disagreed with his conspiracy theories or prattling on about the dangers of public libraries, Carlos found it soothing to lie down and close his eyes and just listen. Some nights it helped him sleep. Other nights it at least drowned out the shrieking enough that he could focus his thoughts into steady coherence. That night as he impulsively switched on the radio, Cecil seemed to be talking about a small group of polar bears migrating through town that had been turned away from local businesses on the basis that they were in violation of the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ policy. Carlos closed his eyes and tried again to clear his mind. This time it worked a little better, at least well enough that he could focus his thoughts onto a single subject. Over and over his mind kept replaying Andrea’s odd argument. She had made it sound like there was some great secret that if he could only discover it, the whole town would suddenly become logical and ordinary. She had said impossible things existed if you chose to believe in them. Carlos thought quite a lot of things were impossible. Unfortunately in the eleven months he had lived in Night Vale, he had also discovered quite a lot of those impossible things really existed. He had discovered that cats can float and forests can absorb carbon life forms and five-headed dragons can apparently run for public office, though he had never actually seen the supposed candidate and could never tell if people were talking about a literal five-headed dragon or just speaking in metaphors. Carlos went down the list of things he still believed were impossible. The list was alarmingly short. In fact, at that moment he could only think of three absolutely impossible concepts - snow, ever leaving the desert, and love. The first one he knew was simply a reaction to the smothering desert heat. Somewhere in the world, even now, there was snow. Snow was not at all impossible; in fact, it was highly likely. Leaving the desert also, Carlos knew, was entirely possible. He had left once since arriving in Night Vale, right at the end of his first month, just to get to Phoenix for a few days so he could pick up the last shipment of instruments from the university and call his grandmother on her birthday. Now that he considered it, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t left again since. It seemed a simple enough escape from the oppressive strangeness to just drive across the city limits and keep driving until the world made sense again. Deep down, something inside him was afraid the world outside had disappeared in the months since he had left. He was afraid if he drove past the city limit sign he would just keep driving until he would end up right back where he had started. So leaving the desert was unlikely, but not impossible. That left love. His eyes flitted involuntarily to the dark outline of the radio on the dresser. If everything else impossible seemed to exist in Night Vale, then why not love? Cecil claimed to love him after all. Carlos had started calling him sometimes, just occasionally, to ask about strange aspects of town that locals would probably have more experience with. A few times they had even met for coffee, though he had made the professional nature of their visits as clear as he possibly could. In the end, he found he actually enjoyed Cecil’s company, even if the man sometimes said the most absurd things or just stared at him with that same strange flickering smile like he was struggling to contain some splendid secret. Carlos didn’t love Cecil. Love was still impossible as far as he was concerned, but it would be inaccurate to claim he was indifferent to the radio host. He was intrigued by him, sure. Fond of his mellifluous voice, of his eyes that seemed to shift colors with alarming frequency, of the strange way he was able to convince anyone that even the most inconsequential topics were somehow incredibly significant. Carlos sighed. Maybe he was just fond of Cecil in general. Even his thoughts had recently begun to wander to the radio host during the day; some nights he had been impatient for the lab to grow empty so he could turn up the radio while he cleaned up. But it wasn’t love. For impossible things to be real, even in Night Vale, you had to believe in them. And Carlos did not believe in love. At least that was what he told himself as he finally fell asleep listening to Cecil discuss polar bear tourism on the radio. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Carlos sat on the edge of the bed in his dingy, sticky bedroom staring down at the phone in his hand. He wiped absently at his brow and blinked away the yawn he was too tired to exhale. Cecil’s number was all dialed in; he only had to press the call button, though the action seemed far more complicated than it should be. Tonight was the Leonids, at least in the rest of the world. Maybe not in topsy-turvy Night Vale where nothing at all made sense. He reasoned that the information could be of some use to Cecil, at least as a filler for the show in the slim chance there was no major cataclysm to announce today. The truth was, Carlos wasn’t doing all that well. Between not sleeping and losing every single one of his scientists to the strange insanity of the dreadful town, it had been a long three weeks alone in the laboratory. Every trace of familiarity and every ounce of comfort had slipped through his fingers; and even with all his strangeness, Cecil seemed to be the most anchored, adjusted part of Carlos’s new life in the boiling, endless desert. Carlos knew Cecil wouldn’t be bothered by a call from him. Probably pleased, in fact. He’d probably even enjoy sitting quietly and listening to all the rambling thoughts Carlos couldn’t connect, would maybe even try to help him piece together some semblance of reason. Convinced by his illogical streak, Carlos pressed dial. As usual, precisely two rings later Cecil’s bright voice bubbled through the receiver. “Carlos!” The scientist could tell Cecil was smiling his strange secret-keeping smile again. “I’m so glad you called me! How are you this lovely afternoon?” “Fine,” Carlos lied. “You?” “Splendid. Quite splendid, especially now that I’m talking to you.” After all his months in Night Vale and conversations with Cecil, Carlos still hadn’t fully adjusted to being so persistently and openly admired. As a result, he never knew how to respond to the radio host’s irrational adoration. He slipped off the wire frames of his glasses and rubbed at his eyes to ease his growing headache. If Cecil felt the awkward silence at all, he didn’t mention it, just breathed quietly on the other end of the line. “Um, so,” Carlos stuttered. He’d been oddly transfixed by Cecil’s steady breathing and was struggling to formulate a sentence that wouldn’t come out backwards. “Tonight are the Leonids. Falling stars. Meteor shower,” he clarified. The scientist wasn’t sure how astronomically savvy Cecil was, but he assumed not very since the man apparently refused to believe in the basic existence of the moon. “Oh my. Are they going to make impact here in Night Vale?” Cecil asked with a touch of wonder and curiosity. Not concern, because being afraid of a meteoric collision would make sense, and this was Night Vale and nothing here made sense. “No. They’ll just be shooting across the sky. I just thought if you wanted to inform people for…” Carlos suddenly felt stupid. There had been no actual, good reason for calling. He had just wanted the comfort of someone to talk to besides himself. Cecil must have been able to tell, because his response was pleasant and cordial. “That sounds wonderful! Thank you for your suggestion. I will definitely inform my listeners not to miss one of nature’s great light shows.” “Alright,” Carlos finally mumbled, not knowing what else to say. He wanted very badly to tell Cecil about everything – the loneliness, the sleepless nights, the waking nightmares of being adrift on a dreadfully endless ocean of hot sand, and the increasingly common fantasies of cool hands caressing his temples to ease the headaches and a smooth sonorous voice to soothe his restless mind into sleep. Cecil inhaled quietly, probably to regretfully inform him that his break was nearly over, but Carlos cut him off first. “They’ll peak around 11:00 if my calculations hold up. I’ll probably be out at the sand wastes because that should be far enough from town to see the stars clearly.” There was another brief pause; he was unsure of a smooth transition, but tried his best anyway. “Your show ends around 10:30, so if you aren’t too tired after, there are a few things I’ve wanted to talk to you about.” “Oh, how lovely! 11:00 at the sand wastes. Yes, I’ll definitely be there.” Carlos could hear the excitement dancing just beneath Cecil’s carefully measured voice. “I’ll…see you there then,” he finished awkwardly. “I look forward to it. Have a splendid afternoon, Carlos,” Cecil said genially before ending the call. Carlos stared back down at the phone in his hands, too tired to think about the implications of the plans they had just made. -- At precisely 10:56 Carlos lay flat on his back on the sand, watching the myriad of strange stars as they arranged themselves into unfamiliar constellations. If he closed his eyes he could imagine himself suspended somewhere up among them, weightless and free. After a few minutes of fabricated peace, he sighed and opened his eyes again to the darkened desert and Cecil watching him from a careful distance. He sat up with a start. “I’m sorry I startled you,” the radio host said sheepishly. “No, you’re,” Carlos waved a hand. “You’re fine. I was just trying to find a good position for viewing the stars.” “Ah, yes, the sand makes an accommodating mattress. I find however that I’m scrubbing it off for days,” Cecil said conversationally. “That’s why I prefer-“ he slung a hideously pink pack from his shoulder and removed a bundle, “to use a blanket,” he finished as he spread a large, cheery gingham blanket onto the sand. He crouched to his knees to smooth it out to the corners and proceeded to stretch himself into a sitting position in a fashion equal parts gangly and graceful. Cecil motioned for Carlos to sit next to him on the empty half. The scientist cautiously seated himself, careful to keep a space between them like he always did. As he sat, Cecil leaned himself back on his elbows with a contented sigh. “When I was a kid I used to sneak out here after curfew to stargaze on long summer nights,” he reminisced quietly. “I think I still recall most of the constellations.” He chanced a peek over at Carlos who had returned to lying down, arms crossed behind his head. “You wouldn’t happen to want to see a few, would you?” Carlos glanced up at emerald eyes, semi-luminescent in the darkness, and that cheshire grin he saw so frequently in his half-awake world of hazy early morning dreams. Unable to find his voice, the scientist simply nodded. Cecil leaned carefully closer, still preserving the few inches between them that Carlos suddenly wanted very desperately to close. Cecil pointed a slender finger toward an unusually bright star. “That is Alidros, the anchor star. The cluster around her,” he drew a small circle in the night sky, “is called the Flower Crown of the Goddess.” To Carlos that sounded supremely fabricated, but Cecil announced it with such surety that the scientist tried to imagine the shapes into existence. “This one,” Cecil continued, reaching across Carlos to a line of three smaller stars near the horizon, “is the collar of Candita, the dog who is a safe distance away from the dog park.” The mixture of Cecil’s silky voice, his close proximity, and the faint scent of mahogany elicited a dizzy smile from Carlos. For the first time in several long months, he felt like laughing – at the ridiculousness of Cecil and the stars and the whole sweltering desert full of ridiculous things. Taking Carlos’s smile as encouragement, Cecil rolled back onto his own half of the blanket, sat up, and reached into the offensively pink pack once more to produce a thermos and two small plastic cups. “Tea?” Carlos hadn’t realized how parched he was, and nodded eagerly, sitting up to balance the cup. He took a gulp and immediately began coughing as the liquid scalded the inside of his mouth. “Oh dear, Carlos, I’m so sorry. I should have warned you it was probably still pretty hot.” Cecil concernedly set down his own cup and reached across the gingham blanket as if to steady Carlos, until he seemingly remembered himself and quickly dropped his hand. “Are you alright?” Carlos’s cough had deteriorated into a tight, frustrated laugh. The brief moment of comfort had passed, and as he sat sipping hot tea in the middle of a scorching desert with a man who he wasn’t even entirely sure was human wearing a hunter orange cardigan so bright it nearly glowed in the dark, he was overwhelmed with the same smothering exasperation that was slowly consuming the remainder of his sanity. “No,” he choked out. “No, Cecil, I’m not alright. Nothing in this whole goddamn town is ever alright.” The weeks of frustration began to pour out of Carlos in a long stream of hoarse words. “The books are carnivorous, the sun rises in the wrong direction, my closet tries to bite me whenever I open it, my calculator sprouted wings last week, every logical outcome I test for comes out wrong, even basic mathematics has stopped working, and I’m the only one who finds it even slightly strange. You all-“ Cecil’s eyes flickered momentarily to the gingham blanket at the dissociation, “just accept it as normal, and maybe it is for you, but even my research team has one-by-one just given up or given in and now I’ve lost them to the insanity of this place. I’m the only one still trying, the only one who still cares about why we even came here, the only one who still asks why or how, who still believes there have to be explanations for any of this and it’s lonely, Cecil.” His voice cracked slightly. He looked over at Cecil whose eyes had gone a dark, shadowy indigo – calm and quiet. “It’s so lonely having nobody to talk to. Some nights I feel like I’m losing my mind. And as if I couldn’t sleep already, every night there’s that horrible shrieking from the edge of town. So I turn on the radio and close my eyes and try to hold on to reality as best I can.” He exhaled heavily with a shake of his head as the words ran out. “Maybe you’re looking too close,” Cecil said so softly that it caused Carlos to meet those strangely drawing eyes. “Maybe you need to take a breath, a step back. Maybe you don’t actually need the whys and the hows. Maybe,” he leaned up onto his knees and reached out again, this time hesitating only briefly before resting a gentle hand on Carlos’s shoulder. The scientist fought to hide the involuntary tremor Cecil’s touch sent through him. “Maybe why and how are questions we were never meant to know the answers to, Carlos.” Cecil’s voice was quiet and laced with sincerity, that same strange contrast the scientist had noticed only a handful of times. “All we can do is experience and observe and accept that some things in life are simply unknowable.” Carlos removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose to slow another oncoming migraine. Sleep deprivation was taking its painful toll. “I just don’t understand, I don’t know,” he admitted, defeated. Cecil removed his hand and gingerly tilted Carlos’s chin up to face him. Even slightly out of focus, Carlos could see the concern crossing Cecil’s pale, angular face. The touch of his fingertips as they pressed against both of Carlos’s temples was cool and soft - an oasis in the gritty, sultry desert night. It was even more refreshing than he had so frequently imagined it would be. His eyes involuntarily fluttered closed, and he wondered briefly if he would open them to the dingy floral wallpaper of his bedroom. Instead, he opened them to pools of softly luminescent crystalline blue. For a moment he forgot the desert and the nonsensical city whose lights loomed on the periphery of his vision and even the constant throbbing in his head. He forgot everything but those dazzling eyes so filled with worry, but still so striking in their clarity. “How long has it been since you slept?” Cecil asked soothingly. “Three days. Maybe four. I can’t remember,” Carlos admitted. “It all just blurs together.” “Why don’t you come sleep at my place tonight?” His pale blue eyes widened as soon as the words left his lips. Carlos’s drooping eyelids shot open, and Cecil’s hands dropped instantly to his sides before he awkwardly tucked them beneath his elbows. “Of course, I’d take the sofa,” he quickly stumbled as red flushed his cheeks. He took a slow breath and looked directly at Carlos as he carefully enunciated. “It’s farther from the howling on the edge of town, and I just did the linens yesterday so everything smells like fabric softener.” -- Carlos was glad for the offer of a room that didn’t have a mysterious, oozing red stain that throbbed along the wall. Even though he wasn’t sure what he expected the Voice of Night Vale’s home to be exactly, he was still surprised when Cecil led him up the steps to a high-end townhouse with strange patches of magenta ivy crawling up the brick exterior. Apparently community radio paid better than government-funded research. “Now, I have to warn you,” Cecil said as he inserted a key into the first of four locks on the ornate turquoise door. “It’s a bit of a mess.” He smiled shyly before crouching down to the bottom lock and whispering a word in a language Carlos had never heard. There was a soft click, and Cecil pushed the door inwards, motioning for Carlos to enter first. If Cecil considered this a mess, Carlos silently swore to never let the man see his lab. The living room was spotless from the intricate molding on the vaulted ceiling to the subtle pale lavender stripes on the walls, to the polished birch floors. The furniture and décor was chic, though minimal. The only evidence that anyone even lived there was an open copy of the now-blank Daily Journal on the coffee table and a small blurry photo of a dog in a frame on the wall. Cecil finished clicking all the bolts back into place again. “I’m so glad I upgraded to the expanded model when I bought this place,” he beamed with a pleased little glance around the room as he removed his cardigan and hung it in a closet Carlos hadn’t even noticed was there. The dimensions of the house didn’t add up right to the exterior, but he was far too tired to ask or even care why. “Can I get you anything to eat or drink? I have some leftover veal cutlets, gluten-free digestion crackers, coffee, kumquat juice..” he trailed off. “Hm?” Carlos had completely zoned out, missing the extensive menu entirely. Cecil’s eyes softened and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again instead. For a moment he just stood there before shaking his head quickly as if remembering his manners. “My room is on the left. I don’t know what will fit, but there are some clothes in the dresser if you want to get rid of all the sand. Just leave yours outside the door and I’ll take care of them. The bathroom’s the first door on the right so you can get washed up.” Cecil pointed directions down the hallway in an attempt to be accommodating. Carlos found himself just staring at the radio host, his blond hair catching in the light and seeming almost as strangely iridescent as his eyes. His long-sleeved mint green button down and coordinating striped tie both still seemed pristine, Carlos noted, despite the fact it was nearly midnight and they had spent the last half hour lying on a blanket in the sand. He wondered briefly if the man could truly be cold enough to wear long sleeves and a cardigan in the middle of a desert, but quickly realized that Cecil had asked him another question that he had again missed entirely. “I’m sorry,” Carlos ran a flustered hand through his messy hair. Cecil just smiled warmly and repeated the question. “If you’re not lactose-intolerant, I have just the thing for when you’re finished, if you’d like?” “No, I’m- I mean.” Carlos shook his head. “Yeah, thanks.” The words stumbled terribly, but Cecil’s smile just flickered softly at the corners before he turned towards the archway that led to what Carlos assumed was the kitchen. It may have been partially due to the exhaustion, but Carlos was thrilled with Cecil’s shower. The water – or what seemed like water, only an electric green and slightly thicker than water – fell from the ceiling like a cool rain, cleansing and calm. Carlos eyed the rainbow of bottles before selecting a deep red that smelled faintly like raspberry. The thought flittered across his mind that he was currently completely exposed in the house of a person he hardly knew, who had eyes that changed colors and who had declared passionate love for him multiple times on public radio. But something felt safe here. Safe from the peering eyes that Carlos felt watching him every day, safe from the haunting screams that echoed through the dilapidated walls of his apartment every night, safe maybe even from the strangeness that weighed heavy like a presence around Night Vale. Beneath one of the double sinks, he found a towel and used it to dry off. A peek out into the hallway confirmed that the coast was clear, and also that his gritty clothes had already disappeared. Silently chiding himself for forgetting to keep his underclothes, he crept across the hall into Cecil’s bedroom and shut the door. The entire room glowed with a pale blueish light, and looked slightly more lived-in than the rest of Cecil’s house. There were photo frames and stacks of papers on a short side table, and a cube-shaped clock that read 12:47 in numbers that spiraled in and out of focus. A tall dresser stood against the wall opposite the low bed. In the top drawer he found a row of neatly-folded boxers, a few white v-necks, and a spectrum of carefully matched socks. Carlos blushed and almost shut the drawer before remembering his own clothes were currently being laundered. After a silent argument with himself, he quickly snatched out the first pair of boxers he found – light pink and patterned with small red fish. Something about that didn’t surprise him much. He wasn’t sure which was the most embarrassing part of the situation – knowing exactly what Cecil’s underwear looked like, knowing he had to wear them, or knowing that Cecil was also fully aware of the situation. Flustered, he slipped them on; of course they were a little too big on him. He expected as much, since even though Cecil was willowy and slender, Carlos was a good three inches shorter than the statistical average and small-built at that. He dug through the drawer of shirts with a sigh until he found the smallest one, a gray tee bearing the Night Vale Community Radio logo and multicolored splatters he hoped were paint. In one of the drawers he managed to find some workout sweatpants with a drawstring that helped with the boxer problem considerably. He yawned as he tousled his hair, willing it to dry. Now that he was inside a building that actually had air conditioning, he was slightly chilled. It was a welcome feeling, but almost as uncomfortable as the heat. He opened the tall closet door to a vast array of button-downs and vests and bowties and ponchos and fuzzy sportcoats with coordinating plaid pants that felt slippery to the touch. Somewhere behind the small collection of kilts at the very back, Carlos found a burgundy zip hoodie that bore the slogan ‘My significantly older friend went to 1793 and all I got was this fabulously soft jacket.’ With a shrug, he slipped it on and zipped it. The sleeves were obscenely long; he wondered if they were even long on Cecil’s lanky frame. The headache that had been allayed by the shower had begun to creep its way back, and Carlos wanted nothing more than to lie down. Specifically, to lie down next to a cool body whose fingers would wind their way into his hair and who would maybe just talk quietly until he fell asleep to the sound of that voice… but he had lingered so long in the shower, reluctant to leave the calming water, that he was sure Cecil was asleep by now. Just as he was about to climb into the bed, there came a soft knock at the door. Slipping on his glasses, he opened the door to find Cecil wearing an unnervingly yellow pajama set. Cecil’s lips parted as his eyes glanced down and back up, taking in the sight of Carlos wearing his old clothes. His cheeks flushed a soft pink as he stammered, “I-I um, I made you this.” He offered a glass filled with what Carlos assumed was warm milk. “There’s honey in it and a bit of valerian root to help you stay asleep – also a bit of foxglove to ward off possession. There’s been some of that in the complex next door. Better safe than undead, I always say.” Cecil chuckled nervously as he adjusted his already-level horn rim glasses and ran a hand through his already-smooth blond hair. “Thanks,” Carlos yawned. “Oh, I almost forgot the bed. May I?” Cecil asked politely. Carlos stepped aside and allowed the man into his own room, which for some reason struck him as humorous. He took a sip of the strange drink, hoping whatever Cecil said he had put in the milk was really safe to consume. “It’s a good bed,” Cecil rambled on cheerily, “only you have to smooth it out carefully. Very particular. Otherwise it can get a little feisty, will kick you right out on to the floor.” Carlos sipped the last of the strange milk while he watched Cecil smooth rhythmic circles onto the pinstripe bedspread, fluff the pillows, and slip something red and faintly glowing under the bed frame. “All set,” he finished with a nod, turning back to Carlos to retrieve the empty glass from his hands. “If you need anything, I’ll be right down the hall in the living room.” I need you, Carlos thought. He wanted to ask Cecil to stay, to make the headache go away like he had out at the sand wastes. He wanted to ask Cecil to climb in with him and wrap him close to keep what was left of his sanity intact, to hold him together. But somehow, he knew he couldn’t ask or wasn’t allowed to; even though he also knew Cecil would stay if he did ask. Cecil would do anything he asked. But instead Carlos let the moment pass without saying a word. Instead he climbed into the bed alone, and Cecil shut out the light, transforming himself into a silhouette framed in the doorway. “Goodnight, dear Carlos,” he said as he closed the door. Carlos listened carefully, but was thankful to hear mostly silence, and only very little shrieking in the distance. Through the tall window, he watched the moon trace a lonely path through the sky until, in the strange safety of Cecil’s protection, he drifted off into a deep sleep. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- In a foggy dream, Cecil was sitting on the side of Carlos’s bed, busily scrawling away on a scrap of what looked like colorful wrapping paper. It had to be a dream, because he was using a pen, the first one Carlos had seen in weeks due to the reinstatement of the municipal ban. Cecil looked up suddenly, his amber eyes warm like honey in the late morning sunlight. His smile was vibrant as he reached over and ran his fingers through dark, messy curls, tucking them behind Carlos’s ear. Cecil looked impossibly perfect in the morning light. “You’re dreaming,” he murmured. Carlos continued to watch in fascination as dexterous fingers folded the wrapping paper into a paper fortune like the ones all the girls used to make in middle school. A few quiet moments later, content with the result, Cecil turned back to Carlos, leaned in close and whispered, “Close your eyes, beautiful, wonderful Carlos.” The scientist smiled widely as Cecil gently kissed the side of his forehead exactly where thinking always hurt the worst. In the same smooth motion, he set the fortune on the bedside table and rose to leave. He paused in the doorway to whisper a word that sounded like ‘raspberry.’ “Hm?” Carlos yawned. “Nothing,” Cecil replied, one corner of his mouth tilting into a shy smile before he closed the door softly behind him. -- Carlos awoke with a thud as the bed spat him onto the floor. Between the blue glow in the room and the lack of sunlight outside, he was a bit disoriented. The swirling numbers on the wall clock read 1:38. Outside the window it was raining, but Carlos didn’t want to know what it was raining, so he pushed himself to his feet and pulled the tall ivory curtains closed quickly. With a contented stretch, he looked around the room. Sheer curiosity got the better of him, and he wandered over to the bedside table. Sure enough, there sat the little paper fortune, neatly folded in bright paper patterned with reindeer and snowflakes. Self-consciously, his right hand traced along his forehead where Cecil’s lips must have also really been. A warm shiver passed through him and he couldn’t help smiling as he unfolded the fortune. Good morning, Carlos!I hope you slept well. I apologize for leaving so early to work. I would have called in sick, but just last week Station Management sent out a memo stating that all sick day requests must be accompanied by physical proof of severe maiming , death, or the H1N1 virus which they are attempting to keep from spreading as badly as it did last year. There is decaf coffee in the pot and a lovely avocado gazpacho in the fridge. Make yourself at home! If you’re gone by the time I get back, call me and let me know you’re alright. Cecil Carlos carefully folded the note and was about to tuck it into his pocket when he remembered that his pocket wasn’t actually his pocket. He glanced around and caught sight of his plaid shirt and khakis all freshly laundered and folded in a neat pile on the dresser. He held them up to his nose. They smelled wonderful, like jasmine and lavender. Tentatively, he held up the floppy sleeve of the burgundy hoodie he still wore and inhaled for comparison. It smelled like teakwood and Cecil. He decided a few more minutes of guilty pleasure wouldn’t hurt. After all, Cecil never had to know. Carlos wandered out through the pristine open dining room. The kitchen was compact, but quaintly charming. It took a while of poking through the cupboards until he finally found a mug that wasn’t filled with holes or adorned with a truly preposterous number of handles. It was small and the chipping paint depicted a horrifyingly grisly image of Little Red Riding Hood with a bloody axe above the slogan ‘Fairytale Land – the actual happiest place on earth! - 1984’, but again Carlos just shrugged and lifted the still-warm coffee pot. The liquid inside was thicker than coffee should be, but he took a sip and it tasted alright; he tried not to think too much about what was actually in it. He noticed that the sun was shining on this side of the house, so he leaned against the counter by the window and sipped his coffee slowly. It was astounding how much a good night of sleep could do for one’s outlook. He felt more normal and at ease than he had in the almost-twelve months since arriving in town. After he finished a second mug of the coffee-like substance, Carlos found himself wandering to the living room window, curious to see if it was still raining on this side of the house. Viscous pools of a brownish liquid and the occasional soggy donut freckled the cobblestone street. Carlos watched as Old Woman Josie ambled along the sidewalk, mouth stuffed with saturated pastries. She spotted him in the window and shot him a wink accompanied by a friendly wave. Waving back amiably, he peered to the opposite curb where he had parked his car last night behind Cecil’s coupe. He realized with a shock that the entire opposite side of the street was different than it had been the night before. The previous night he had parked in a long line of parked cars and noticed as he stepped around and onto the sidewalk that there was a lovely little gated park with a fountain that seemed to flow in impossible directions. Now as he blinked, he was stunned to see a row of slightly obsolescent houses abutting a completely empty curb. His head was already beginning to spin again as he realized that he wasn’t safe from Night Vale after all, not even here in the oasis of Cecil’s seemingly normal townhouse. His stomach grumbled a complaint, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in longer than he could recall. He shivered and hugged his arms to his body. How Cecil could exist in such perpetual cold and yet still feel the need to wear layers out into the sunbaked desert, Carlos couldn’t understand. Hurrying to the kitchen, he set his mug in the sink and scrounged through cupboards until he found what appeared to be some sort of berry muffin. He smelled it to make sure it was still good and decided to take it with him back to Cecil’s bedroom where he could at least bundle in the blankets to warm up a bit. On the way he was met with even more reminders he hadn’t noticed the previous night of just how off things were, even within the fragile normality he felt around Cecil. The photo frames on the dresser contained nothing but blurry, out-of-focus shots of scenery as if the people or focal objects in the foreground had been removed. The wall the bed was situated against seemed strangely permeable, Carlos discovered, as he misjudged the distance to the light switch and accidentally slipped his hand straight through. Even the pale blueish glow didn’t seem to originate from any particular light source as much as it simply existed in the room. Carlos let out a frustrated grunt as he climbed back into the bed, flopping down against a pillow and pulling the blanket up over his head as if it would somehow block out the fact that the world had once again ceased to make any sense. -- The sound of knocking on the door woke the scientist from a restless dream. He sat up with a bolt, unaware he had even fallen asleep. His glasses were cocked to one side, his hair matted where it had been unceremoniously squished against the bed frame. The unexpected nap had left him dreadfully disoriented. The sun seemed to be in the wrong side of the sky, and the clock on the wall read 7:23, though he had learned not to trust clocks most of the time. “Carlos?” Cecil asked quietly. “Are you awake?” Carlos glanced down, realizing with sudden horror that he was still wearing Cecil’s clothes. He swore under his breath. “Just a second,” he replied, hastily tugging the blankets up on the bed, which growled at him in response. He ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it and adjusted his glasses before opening the door. Cecil smiled at him cheerily, not seeming to notice just how much of a mess Carlos was at the moment. “Good morning,” Cecil announced brightly. Carlos’s eyes widened, and Cecil’s smile vanished. “I didn’t wake you did I? I know you’re tired, I was going to let you sleep, but then I saw you’d been up for coffee and-“ his smooth voice stuttered, which sounded unusual, though adorable. He sighed quickly. “Do you want pancakes?” Carlos shut his eyes, feeling his cheeks flush at the realization. “I’m sorry, Cecil,” he apologized, covering his face with a hand. “I feel terrible. I didn’t intend to fall asleep again, and now I’ve overstayed and put you on the couch two nights running.” Cecil laughed unexpectedly, dropping his head and allowing his shoulders to shake slightly. “It’s not really morning, Carlos. You’ve only been here one day.” He grinned, cocking his head to one side and biting his lower lip adoringly. “But it’s 7, and you just offered me pancakes,” Carlos explained weakly. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I just didn’t want you to miss it.” Carlos was sure he was blushing as he stared at the floor intently. “I’m glad you stayed, though,” Cecil offered after a moment. “My car disappeared. I think the whole street disappeared,” Carlos mumbled. Cecil let out a breathy sigh. “I forgot - it’s Tuesday, isn’t it? It always seems to come one day too early in the week. All the same, I’m glad you’re still here.” Carlos glanced up at that, offering a semblance of a smile. “Anyway, pancakes?” Cecil asked again, clasping his hands behind his back. “Alright, just let me get dressed,” the scientist replied. Cecil nodded and bounced off to the kitchen. Carlos quickly dressed back in his own clothing, grateful to be wearing sleeves that didn’t dangle awkwardly past his fingertips. He left Cecil’s clothes outside the door and wandered out to the kitchen where he found the radio host mixing up a thick batter in a plastic dish. “I hope you don’t mind it’s made with rice flour. They started selling it a few weeks ago down at the Ralph’s and I can’t quite say I’ve gotten used to using it, though I’ve perfected a few recipes here and there. Do you like cardamom in your pancakes?” Carlos shrugged. “You will,” Cecil assured him, reaching down and producing a frying pan. He placed it on an open burner and turned to pull two plates from the cupboard next to the fridge. Carlos wondered if Cecil cooked often, but he felt somehow strange asking the man personal questions. “Thanks,” he said finally as he leaned against the countertop next to the stove. Cecil looked up at him curiously, as if he didn’t understand what he could have possibly done to merit gratitude. “For letting me stay here, for the clothes, and for making these,” the scientist nodded towards the batter shape Cecil was drawing in the pan using the tip of a spoon. Cecil just shrugged off the comment, but Carlos could tell the man was smiling slightly even as he focused intently on his edible art project. In a single graceful motion, he flipped the shape, which Carlos now realized was an angelfish, and began tracing a new shape in the opposite side of the pan. Cecil looked flawlessly composed as usual in a sweater vest of sky blue. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows however, revealing intricately twisted indigo tattoos that crept most of the way to his wrists. Carlos hadn’t taken Cecil to be the tattoo type; suddenly the cardigans and long sleeves made slightly more sense. Some of the shapes appeared to be tentacles that reminded Carlos vaguely of the HP Lovecraft novels he used to read for every book report in the fifth grade. He wanted to ask when Cecil had gotten the tattoos, if they had any significance, how far up his arms they went, maybe even spread across his shoulders… The scientist let out an amused snort at the growing list of personal questions he refused to ask. “How are you feeling today? Any better?” Cecil asked, looking away from his creations only long enough to flash a bright smile. Carlos nodded, his eyes still strangely drawn to watching Cecil’s slender hands carefully work away at the pancakes. There was something mesmerizing about the way he moved, as if every simple motion had some grander meaning. “It’s amazing how much a good night of sleep can change your outlook,” Cecil agreed, flipping another shape – an iguana – onto the plate. They were quiet for a long time. Carlos was content to watch Cecil work as giraffe after squirrel after octopus were flipped out onto the growing menagerie of pancakes. He was just flipping a perfectly browned soaring falcon to its second side when he finally spoke again, his voice shifting slightly into a more serious tone. “Have you thought any more about what I told you last night?” He asked the question without looking away from the pan. Carlos studied his face carefully, not exactly sure what he meant. Cecil glanced over at him before turning his attention back to the pancake, prodding at the edge with a spatula. “Can I ask you something?” “Sure,” Carlos replied. “When you say you lost your scientists to insanity, what do you mean? Do you mean you physically lost them? Or that you found them wandering in the desert driven mad and incoherent?” Cecil’s tone was neither condescending nor sardonic, simply curious. “Neither, I guess,” Carlos admitted, crossing his arms defensively across his chest out of habit. “I guess what I meant is that there are basic tenets that we in the scientific field hold to. Beliefs. For example: the belief that everything is explainable. That there is a fact behind every mystery.” He stared as Cecil carefully laid the falcon on the top of the pancake stack. “Night Vale started to get to them though. Almost half of them stopped showing up one-by-one. The rest just quit looking, quit trying. I would have them file reports on their findings, and when prompted for causes, they would simply write ‘Because it just is.’ And when asked for a description of processes or methods, they would answer ‘It doesn’t actually matter.’” Cecil carefully divided the pancakes between the two plates, first setting the iguana with the hawk and angelfish and then hesitating and swapping it with the squirrel. He handed the hawk plate to Carlos and led him to the rectangular dining room table. “Is that such a bad thing?” he asked, seating Carlos at the end and scooting his own chair closer to the corner. “Well, yes,” Carlos answered simply. “We’re here to find answers. It’s a very bad thing to give up on the entire purpose of our research. I told them as much one day, and I told them anyone who didn’t see the point in trying to discover solid answers was free to leave. What was left of my team walked out the door that day.” He poked at the angelfish with the tip of his fork. “Now it’s just me and a strange breathing that emanates from my apartment.” Cecil nodded understandingly as he swallowed a bite of the iguana. “How do you know you’re not wrong?” he asked nonchalantly as he separated one of the iguanas legs carefully from the body. “What?” Carlos was slightly offended by the question even though he didn’t fully understand it. “How do you know you’re not wrong?” Cecil repeated simply, adding a smile to soften the question. It wasn’t much help, aside from seeming very out of place. “Maybe they didn’t give up. Maybe they just…stopped asking the wrong questions,” Cecil shrugged. “The questions aren’t wrong, Cecil. Questioning things, the need to know, pure curiosity – it’s the very framework of science itself,” Carlos explained as simply as he could. He knew Cecil wasn’t purposefully being unkind, so he tried his best to be patient. “Alright, but if you keep asking the wrong questions, you’re going to kill yourself one of these days,” Cecil cautioned with a shake of his head. “I’m fairly certain you can’t die of frustration,” Carlos commented dryly. Cecil sighed and set his fork down, staring at the table for a moment. “Carlos, have you ever heard the story of curiosity and the cat?” he asked finally. “Curiosity killed the cat,” Carlos replied flatly. After all he’d been through, he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture on the merits of caution and the safety of going through life ignorantly blissful. “Carlos,” Cecil said peevishly, crinkling his forehead in disapproval. “You spoiled the ending.” He huffed. “And anyway curiosity did not kill the cat, not immediately. The cat was first abducted by secret police, a bag was placed over its head, and it was then tortured and interrogated for information it may or may not have actually known before it was placed against a brick wall and executed by firing squad.” Cecil dramatically sliced the head off the giraffe-shaped pancake as he finished the story. Carlos stared down wide-eyed at his untouched stack of pancakes, suddenly very thankful none of them were cats. Cecil sighed again, looking back up at Carlos with more patience. “If you keep asking the wrong questions, you’re going to kill yourself,” he repeated gently, carefully emphasizing each word. Carlos nodded, suddenly slightly frightened by the intensity in Cecil’s vermilion eyes. “Besides, like I said last night, some things we’re not able to know. And some things you shouldn’t question because knowing doesn’t matter. You’ll only drive yourself crazy trying to find out reasons why, when all along all you were meant to do was merely acknowledge that it happened.” It was startling how quickly Cecil seemed to slip from his terrifyingly foreboding radio persona back into the effervescently charming, quirky man who folded paper fortunes and wore ugly sweaters. “So what are the right questions then?” Carlos asked, his voice sounding scratchy and hoarse. Cecil’s strangely worded warning had shaken him slightly, and he found himself feeling almost as afraid of knowing as he already was of not knowing. Cecil thought for a moment, pushing the last bite of the giraffe around his plate. “The right question is ‘What do you believe?’” His eyes were unblinking, pale lavender and remarkably clear as he waited for a response. Carlos looked away, feeling oddly exposed. “What do I believe?” he repeated with a short laugh. “I don’t believe half the things I see every day.” He squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the ever-present sense of insanity that crept at the edges of his consciousness. “Maybe you should,” Cecil replied quietly. Carlos shook his head. “How?” He looked back up at Cecil, already beginning to feel the crushing sensation of drowning that had accompanied his every waking moment the past few weeks. Cecil reached out a hand and rested it on Carlos’s unconscious white-knuckled death grip on his fork. The muscles relaxed immediately at the soothing touch, allowing the fork to clatter softly to the tabletop. “Give me one evening, and I’ll show you. Do you trust me?” Carlos nodded because he did trust Cecil, despite every logical nerve in his body telling him not to. Cecil nodded too, rolling down his sleeves and buttoning the cuffs. “Finish your pancakes, I’ll walk you to your car.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “So where are we exactly?” Carlos asked as he allowed Cecil to position him carefully in the middle of a sandy patch just off the highway. Cecil was very particular in his placement, tugging the sleeve of Carlos’s jacket to move him one inch to the right, then taking a step back and shaking his head, tugging him back to the left again. Carlos couldn’t see why it mattered that much, since there was nothing out there at all except the occasional sprig of sagebrush and a few cacti further out. “This is the imaginary zone,” Cecil said, carefully pulling Carlos one step forward before leaning back and nodding in approval. He didn’t seem to think further explanation was required. “What is an imaginary zone?” Carlos pressed, not satisfied with Cecil’s answer. “Well,” the host drawled as he searched for a suitable explanation. “Nobody quite knows,” he admitted finally. “They’re patches of existence in Night Vale that for some reason or another were never fully shaped. Some people say they were mistakes made back when the desert was created that City Council later tried to undo. But they could only erase the mistake, leaving unusable creative energy.” Carlos just stared blankly at him. He knew he should be more open to believing in things by now, especially since Cecil had cut his broadcast dangerously short specifically to bring him here afterwards. Cecil caught the shift in his demeanor. “Carlos,” he said the word with a bit of a purr. “Carlos, Carlos.” The scientist wondered if Cecil was stalling until he found the right words, or if he just liked saying his name. “Do you trust me?” he asked again, tilting his head slightly to one side. “Yes,” Carlos said finally. A smile played across Cecil’s lips. “Good. Close your eyes.” Carlos did as he was told, but he still felt Cecil’s hands reach carefully around him from behind and cover his eyes. He seemed to actually radiate the strange cool sensation that starkly contrasted the scientist’s warm breath against his palms. Everything was contrast with Cecil, Carlos was beginning to realize. The radio host leaned in close, his voice lilting and hypnotic. “Where would you like to be? A forest, a canyon, an ocean – anywhere you like.” Carlos struggled to think of somewhere he’d like to be; he found it hard to remember anything at all before the endlessness of the desert. “Where were you happiest?” Cecil prompted after a pause. Carlos thought back to his seventh birthday when his grandmother had taken him to the pier over the lake. It had been the first time he’d ever seen a ferris wheel, and he had been terrified of the height at first, but still remembered the day fondly. “A boardwalk,” he replied finally. “Wonderful,” Cecil continued, his smile seeping into his voice. “Right now, you’re standing on a boardwalk. Beneath the wooden planks, water is lapping in rhythmic little waves. All around you are lights, glowing warm in the darkening evening. Do you see the lights?” Carlos shook his head. He couldn’t see anything, his eyes were closed. “Carlos,” Cecil continued patiently, “to see the lights, you have to believe they’re really there.” “Cecil, there’s nothing here,” Carlos sighed in exasperation. “Do you trust me to tell you the truth?” Cecil asked quietly. “Do you believe that I would never lie to you?” Carlos hesitated a moment, then nodded slowly. “You really are surrounded by glowing lights. They line the boardwalk and the food carts and the midway behind you. Do you see the lights now, Carlos?” Carlos thought for a long moment. In this strange, terrifying world where he trusted nothing - least of all his own senses - he somehow knew deep down that he trusted Cecil. And maybe if Cecil said there were lights, just maybe somehow there really were. He took a breath and tried to envision rough wood beneath his feet and an even row of bright lights lining the walkway. He pictured a midway of games and vendor stands of carnival food behind him. Finally he nodded. “I think I can see them,” he said slowly. He could feel Cecil let out an excited breath against the back of his neck, making his hair stand slightly on edge. “Good, good. And the carousel, can you hear the music of the calliope?” Carlos listened, but heard nothing. “Listen, Carlos. Really, really listen.” Carlos focused on the mental image of a carousel, tried to hear it playing until…his mouth went slack as his eyes shot open momentarily. Cecil’s hands still darkened the world around him, but he could hear the garish music drifting lazily through the still air. “I hear it.” The stunned words dropped from his mouth. Cecil let out a small, bright laugh. “One last question, my dear Carlos.” Cecil dropped his hands and leaned in teasingly close to the scientist’s ear. “Do you believe?” Carlos opened his eyes and stumbled backward in shock. There it was, exactly as he had pictured. He knelt to the boardwalk, disbelieving its existence. Tentative fingers traced along the rough wooden planks. It felt real. Slowly he rose to his feet, examining his hand, turning it this way and that and watching the dim light create shadows and flickers as it played across his skin. He turned quickly, looking for Cecil who had already wandered a short distance down the boardwalk. “Come on, then!” Cecil called over his shoulder, flashing an excited grin. Carlos hurried to catch up, still craning his head to take in the row of buildings all trimmed in gaudy colors and bright, flashing lights. He hadn’t imagined such detail into the scene, and he wondered if possibly the detail had been Cecil’s work or if maybe all the imaginary zone required was a basic idea and automatically filled in the rest. “Mm, the churro stand smells wonderful, don’t you think?” Cecil added as Carlos fell in step beside him. “I don’t smell…anything…” Carlos trailed off, realizing mid-sentence that he did indeed smell something and it was in fact wonderful. “Yes you do,” Cecil said with a wink. “I’ll spot you one, if you like.” He led Carlos over to a little unmanned food cart. Now that Carlos looked around, the entire midway seemed to be unmanned. “Cecil, why are there no people here?” he asked curiously, glancing around to confirm the suspicion. “The mind cannot create a face on its own,” Cecil replied as he flipped open his wallet and removed a few bills. “The imagination works only with faces it sees in passing. And I think pulling in real people to an imaginary zone could get a bit chaotic and probably slightly dangerous.” He slid the bills across the counter and reached into the little glass box, pulling out two churros. “If this place is imaginary, why did you just pay real money?” Carlos asked as he accepted the pastry. It was really the least important question on his mind at the moment, but something about the action seemed so strangely confusing that he couldn’t help but ask. Cecil shook his head, an amused smile on his lips. “Sweet, adorable, Carlos. True character is measured by your behavior when you are alone in an imaginary world of your own creation.” He nodded matter-of-factly and turned to continue ambling down the boardwalk. Carlos remained frozen, staring in confusion at his churro. His mouth kept opening to ask a question, but his mind couldn’t settle on just one. Finally he sifted through the muddle and found the question which seemed the most pressing at the moment. “Cecil, is any of this real?” he asked with a frustrated little sound. “Taste it and see for yourself!” Cecil called back, his mouth full. Carlos took a careful bite. It tasted like cinnamon and sugar and grease, exactly as it should. It felt real enough as he chewed and swallowed. Realizing he had fallen behind again, he jogged to catch up to Cecil’s leisurely pace. “But, Cecil, how is this even possible, how could any of this be real?” he ran a hand through his hair, trying to comprehend the sights and smells and tastes that every sense was assuring him truly existed. “You’re asking questions again,” Cecil reminded as he folded the leftover wrapper of his churro and slipped it into the back pocket of his pinstripe pants. “What have I spent all evening trying to tell you?” “To stop asking unknowable questions,” Carlos mumbled. Cecil looked over at him expectantly. “And to just appreciate existing,” he paraphrased. “Isn’t observation part of science?” Cecil asked, stopping and turning to face him. “Part of science,” Carlos emphasized. “The other part is explanation.” “Well, explanation, as we have discussed, isn’t exactly a very possible thing here in Night Vale. But observation is. So observe. Observe and study and take it all in.” Cecil gestured to the lights of the boardwalk all around them. “Write down what you find, write every detail so you never forget. Share it with your research team, compare all the things you observe. But don’t question why those things happen; don’t ask how they’re possible. Just-“ he reached out, resting his hands on Carlos’s shoulders, his violet eyes sparkling. “Just observe.” Carlos nodded numbly, for the first time almost beginning to understand what Cecil had been trying to say. It was a shift to be sure. Carlos had loved answers all his life. Facts were truth, and the truth was safety and surety even when people and feelings were unstable and couldn’t be trusted. To never truly know the answers meant to live perpetually on the brink between losing and being lost. But maybe Cecil was right. Maybe Night Vale really was different, and maybe here not knowing was the best way to stay safe. Definitely the best way to stay sane. Cecil’s lips tilted in a mischievous half smile and for a moment, Carlos thought the man might kiss him, but instead he let his hands fall back to his sides, turned, and wandered on down the boardwalk. Carlos kept up better this time, falling into rhythm next to him. As they walked along in silence, the carousel’s music being the only sound, a sudden thought leapt into Carlos’s mind. “Cecil, is this a date?” he blurted unexpectedly. He had been so focused on the scientific aspect of the outing that he hadn’t exactly considered the possibility that he had completely misread Cecil’s intentions until that very moment. Cecil stopped mid-stride and looked at him suddenly. “No,” the radio host assured quickly. “I mean, not that this wouldn’t make for a lovely date.” He flashed a careful smile. “But, no. I brought you here simply to show you that not everything unexplainable is inherently bad. Night Vale can be truly wonderful sometimes.” Carlos nodded, relieved. It wasn’t that he would have minded going on a date with Cecil. Hell, he had almost asked the man to climb into bed with him less than 24 hours ago. But now was neither the time nor the place for romance. There were still too many questions that needed answering before he even considered the possibility of love. One of the questions happened to be if love even existed, but he was still procrastinating testing that hypothesis again. “So now that I finally believe, what do we do now?” Carlos asked with a shrug. Cecil laughed and shook his head, crossing his arms. “Yet another question,” he teased good-naturedly. “Well, I brought you here so you could learn to experience rather than explain, so I suppose we should experience!” Carlos smiled slightly. For not being a date, it sounded rather like a date, but after all the stress he’d been under for the past few months, he figured one night couldn’t really hurt. Besides, he told himself, if all he was going to do was observe, it was his scientific duty to observe as thoroughly as possible. “Shall we start at the midway?” he asked, nodding towards the row of stalls each advertising its own probably rigged game. The first one they ducked into was a simple ring toss. A rectangle of glass bottles stood a few feet behind the counter, and an array of large stuffed creatures lined the walls. Carlos dug in his pockets for change, but Cecil smoothly tossed two quarters on the counter. He leaned over and pulled out two sets of six wooden rings, sliding one down to Carlos. Hand-eye coordination was a bit like words for Carlos - unnatural and bulky and thankfully not a major part of being a scientist. He was fine enough at precise actions like measuring grams of sifted powders into flasks or delicately adjusting slides beneath a microscope, but games and sports were not his calling. One-by-one he tossed each ring, missing each time by embarrassing margins. Cecil hooked two of his rings, and helped himself to his allotted tickets as a reward. Carlos sighed and glanced over the rim of his glasses at the prizes hung in even rows along the wall. None of them caught his eye except a large orange creature that seemed to be some sort of goldfish crossed with a panda. Being almost thirty years old and the proud holder of a PhD, he wasn’t interested in stuffed animals normally. This one however kept blinking at him and cooing softly, wriggling its nose. He just wanted a better look – for science. “Hey, Cecil, if I climbed onto the counter, do you think I could reach that-“ he didn’t know the proper name for the animal and didn’t want to offend it by calling it something incorrect, so he just pointed. “That one?” Cecil clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Don’t be silly, Carlos. I think we both have more integrity than that. If you want a stuffed animal, you can have my tickets, but I think we should win it fair and square.” Carlos laughed, and realized it had been a very long time since he had actually laughed – not out of frustration. “Come on, let’s find something I’m better at.” He pulled Cecil by the shirt sleeve down a few booths to a target shooting stand. “This?” Cecil asked in surprise. “You’re better at this?” Carlos shrugged innocently. “I might be.” He felt a wave of guilt as Cecil slipped two quarters across the counter again. Cecil noticed his expression and gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it, it was my idea to come out here after all.” He pushed up the edges of his sleeves, revealing those strange tattoos again, though this time they seemed more geometric and primal. Maybe tattoos in Night Vale were unstable and ever-changing like so many other facets of daily life, or maybe it was just yet another anomaly unique to the strange radio host. Cecil leaned over the realistic-looking rifle, carefully adjusting the sights. Carlos wondered if gun safety was something all Night Vale residents were forced to learn. He knew there was an NRA chapter and it seemed unusual enough that it might just be true. As if reading his mind Cecil added, “We learn how to shoot in the eighth grade. When we move up to high school we’re each given our own mandatory firearm.” He fired his three shots slowly and methodically, each one hitting the ring just around the center dot. Both accurate and precise, Carlos noted. He added the observation to the growing list of facts he was beginning to learn about Cecil. Carlos leaned casually over his own gun, adjusting it much more rapidly and firing his shots in quick succession. Each one hit the center mark exactly, causing a bell to ring below the counter. Cecil stared at him, violet eyes wide. “What? I grew up on the bad side of Chicago, I had to learn a few things along the way.” Carlos grinned, leaning over the counter and tearing off a strip of tickets. Some part of him enjoyed surprising Cecil, who never seemed surprised by anything. “Ooh! Ski-ball!” Cecil suddenly chimed, sounding exactly like Carlos assumed he had as a little kid. “Carlos, can we play?” Carlos nodded, and Cecil ran ahead, slipping a quarter in two adjacent stalls. Carlos was alright at ski-ball. He threw the first couple balls, landing them somewhere near the middle. The last one hit the bottom, finishing out his score right around average. He glanced at Cecil’s score which was at least triple his own. Cecil expertly tossed his last ball, landing it directly in the center. It wasn’t a perfect score but it was close. A sudden idea formed in Carlos’s mind as he watched Cecil lean casually against the machine, waiting for it to issue his hard-earned tickets. Cecil with his glossy, pale hair that never seemed to move even though the tattoos he tried so hard to hide seemed to move quite a bit. Cecil with his curious habits and his mesmerizing voice. Carlos was a little surprised at how quickly his mind formulated scenarios to get close to the man, but they had decided it wasn’t a date, so he shrugged away his hesitation and cleared his throat. “Do you have another quarter?” he asked casually. Cecil flipped him a coin, and he caught it with uncharacteristic ease and slipped it into the machine. “Now show me how you did that,” Carlos nodded towards the score still blinking across Cecil’s machine. Cecil did a terrible job of hiding the flash of excitement that crossed his face. “Okay,” he began, leaning close to Carlos without actually touching him. “So you just take the ball and you pull it back with momentum,” he demonstrated the smooth motion, “and follow through by shifting your weight to the front a little.” “Like this then?” Carlos did a poor imitation, purposely bending his elbow slightly. “Here, may I?” Cecil asked, carefully stepping behind Carlos. A flush of red crept to the scientist’s face as his plan succeeded more smoothly than he expected. Cecil gingerly rested his chin on the scientist’s shoulder, tentatively slipping his slender fingers over Carlos’s hand. Carlos tried to focus even though Cecil’s proximity was dizzying. Cecil smoothly guided his hand back and then shifted forward, tapping his wrist when it was time to let go of the ball. It rolled along and landed perfectly in the top-scoring cup. “There, now you’ve got it,” Cecil said proudly, as he began to let go. “Accuracy doesn’t necessarily correlate positively with precision,” Carlos sputtered quickly, glancing over at Cecil whose face was only inches from his own. For another moment, he wondered if Cecil was about to kiss him, so he quickly looked back down, reaching for the next ball. “Alright then,” Cecil said quietly, reaching back and placing his hand over the scientist’s once more. They tossed ball after ball until the machine dinged with a perfect score. Cecil bounced up and down on the balls of his feet like a little kid as the machine spat out a seemingly endless stream of tickets. “We make a pretty good team,” Carlos noted, nudging Cecil’s arm and hoping the light from the machine was dim enough to hide the deep red flush to his cheeks. As the night wore on they found themselves riding the carousel multiple times in succession at Cecil’s suggestion. They took turns changing mounts from pegacorns to shapeless amoebas to an invisible object that Carlos didn’t trust until Cecil rode it first to prove it was actually really there. “Where to next?” Cecil asked dizzily as they stumbled away from the carousel, Carlos dragging his oversized, blinking stuffed creature behind them. It’s all for science he reminded himself, choosing to ignore the fact that he hadn’t smiled this much for years even prior to moving to Night Vale. “How about the ferris wheel?” Carlos suggested. “I’m not sure there is a ferris wheel here..” Cecil began hesitantly. “Oh, I believe there is,” Carlos said mischievously, pointing to the large wheel that he had just imagined into existence. Night Vale’s brand of logic was proving to be far more fun than he had bargained for. “Well,” Cecil said with a whistle. “So there is!” They loaded the strange fish-creature into its own car for safety reasons and climbed into the next one together. Cecil pointed out a few major Night Vale landmarks including the Ralph’s (not the dog park near it, Carlos noticed) and the station where he worked with its blinking light that kept watch over the town through the night. They spent a long moment of comfortable silence watching the lights glimmering above Radon Canyon before Carlos thought to ask what the bright glow far out on the horizon was. “We don’t speak of those lights,” Cecil replied abruptly. Carlos nodded, assuming it was just another one of the unspoken rules of Night Vale. Cecil shifted uncomfortably for a moment before admitting, “that’s Desert Bluffs.” Carlos didn’t understand the hostility that Cecil bore towards the town, but was amused by the way his nose always wrinkled when talking about the place. “One last place we haven’t observed yet,” Carlos said as they jumped out of the rapidly spinning ferris wheel, leaving the fish-creature to gurgle happily in its car for another spin. They ambled up the boardwalk, wandering into the hall of mirrors. They both began to laugh at the contortions and color and species changes their reflections underwent. One mirror even turned them both into distorted renditions of Rick Astley. At the last mirror, Carlos looked unreasonably tall and lean and Cecil was perfectly round. “Souvenir?” Carlos slid his phone out of his pocket. “Smile, Cecil!” he said as he flashed the photo. Later he would discover that Cecil’s eyes had a strange tapetum-like reaction to camera flash and that they had turned out almost entirely white in the photo, but at the time he just allowed Cecil to lead him through the dark tunnel and back out onto the boardwalk. It had been the best night Carlos could recall in a long time, even if he still wasn’t quite sure he believed any of it had actually happened. He tried not to let it matter as Cecil led him back towards the highway, the entire way recounting a story of the time he was arrested for looking identical to visiting royalty. Doubt winning out over contentment, Carlos glanced back only once. Disappointment welled in the pit of his stomach as his suspicions were confirmed; it had all been nothing more than a hallucination or a mirage of some sort. Believing in things hadn’t made them real. There was nothing real out there at all - only darkness punctuated by sprigs of sagebrush and a few cacti further out. Cecil was wrong. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Carlos had tried to be more tolerant of Night Vale in the week that followed his and Cecil’s expedition to the imaginary zone, but hard as he tried he couldn’t seem to grasp the idea of simply accepting the world around him without question. Instead the questions ate away at him with renewed fervor; the sleepless nights grew longer; the thoughts slipped further towards madness. The deeper he attempted to dig into Night Vale, the more confounding the twisted little town seemed to become until one day as he tried to save it, it tried to claim him. The first thought that crossed the scientist’s mind was that his pulse was very loud. Extremely loud. Too loud. His eyes fluttered open to a dizzy out-of-focus mess of panicked faces. There were hands touching him, pinning him to the floor, crushing his ribcage. The next thought that crossed his mind was that dying didn’t hurt as badly as he expected. Somewhere on the fringe of his consciousness he knew at least one - maybe two - ribs were fractured. Breathing seemed to make the faces above him even more panicked and cause the warm leaking sensation surrounding him to spread. So Carlos closed his eyes and held his breath as best he could and let his mind wander off somewhere safe and dry and far away so that he could die pleasantly. He didn’t know how long passed until the pain brought him back around. By his estimation it could have been hours - days even, but the same panicked faces surrounded him when he finally opened his eyes. In the mere minutes or moments that must have transpired, the whole world had shifted. There was fire shooting through his chest and down his right arm, which were both in the process of being bandaged by Teddy Williams, the slightly deranged owner of the Desert Rose Bowling Alley & Arcade Fun Complex. Carlos prayed to the deity he didn’t actually believe in for Teddy Williams to be slightly more in touch with reality than his previous actions seemed to indicate. For better or for worse, the world was coming back into what focus it could, given the scientist had lost his glasses somewhere in the scuffle. It was tilting however. And not simply literally, though the world also seemed to be literally tilting at the edges of Carlos’s vision due to the loss of blood. Everything else about the world also seemed to be spinning, adjusting, realigning itself precisely 180 degrees from where it belonged. He pushed away the excruciating pain that had begun to pulsate through his entire body; he pushed away the concerned, hushed voices until they became a dull murmur; he pushed away everything and focused on the strange new angled tilt of reality that was clicking into place. That is to say - Carlos the scientist finally understood. It had taken a whole year and nearly dying to do so, but suddenly he understood everything. All the scientific explanations and experiments and orderly rows of letters and numbers he had trusted in all his life were so pointless, when all along it had been so simple. Carlos understood that the questions he had asked for so long really had been wrong after all. He understood that the world was so much bigger and stranger than his books had always told him. He understood that all he would ever know with certainty from this point forward was what his curiosity could show him. The pain had begun to throb again; the worried sounds had begun to grow louder, but this time he heard a familiar voice amidst the murmur. Somewhere there was a radio playing, as there always seemed to be in Night Vale, and somewhere Cecil was saying his name. There was something wrong with his voice - it was broken, fractured like the rib that Teddy Williams had just set back into place with an agonizing stab of pain. Cecil was crying, and it was the only thing Carlos cared about. And suddenly, he understood that too. It was where he had gone. As life was slipping away from him in a puddle blooming crimson around his body, he had closed his eyes and let his mind wander. In those quiet moments, he found himself lost in lavender eyes that sparkled iridescent with the reflection of fictitious constellations, in a shy smile that flickered like the flame of a candle, and a musical little laugh that seemed oddly higher pitched than the words that surrounded it. His final moments hadn’t been a montage of his life or a list of all his regrets or a dark tunnel with a bright light. They had been Cecil. “I’m fine,” Carlos told the people hovering over him; his voice was shaking. “I can walk,” he assured an objecting Teddy Williams; the floor was reeling beneath every step. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered now that he finally understood everything Cecil had tried to warn him, to tell him, to show him - and just shy of too late. The drive to Arby’s was painful and difficult, but the moment he saw Cecil across the parking lot, the pain didn’t matter anymore either. Their conversation was quiet and words were few, but that too seemed vastly unimportant, because Carlos was beginning to learn that words weren’t always necessary with Cecil. Somehow so much of the time, he just knew. So Carlos sat there next to him on the hood of his car, one arm bandaged and still slightly bleeding, and they watched the lights for several tranquil minutes while he tried to piece together this new brand of logic. It was letting go, and he had never been good at letting go - not of his mother after she passed away when he was young, not of the bitterness when his heart had been broken by happy endings gone wrong, and now not of the unwavering trust he had put in reality for all his life. But as he looked over at the man content to sit quietly next to him, Carlos knew that for the first time he would have something steady to hold on to. So he reached out and placed a careful hand on Cecil’s knee - a tether to this first and most basic fact in his strange new comprehension of reality. Almost instinctively, Cecil readjusted to gently rest his head on the scientist’s good shoulder. And that was how they stayed for a long time. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The Sunday morning following the attack at the Desert Rose Bowling Alley & Arcade Fun Complex, Carlos found himself walking quite accidentally, or possibly not so accidentally, down Cecil’s street. He recognized the little fountain that existed when it wasn’t Tuesday and the magenta ivy crawling along the brick exterior of the even little row of townhouses. Outside the ornate turquoise door, he paused for a brief moment to consider his reasons for the visit. Cecil hadn’t spoken to him since the evening they had spent at the Arby’s. The weather had ended and he had returned to the station to finish his broadcast, and Carlos had gone back to his own little apartment and collapsed on the bed and let life around him spiral into its new focus. Now one week later the whole world had changed. Carlos had changed. And that, he decided, was precisely why he was standing on the steps outside Cecil’s door. If anyone should know about the scientist’s perception shift, it should be the one who had jump started it in the first place. Cecil was all smiles when he opened the door. “I was wondering when you’d stop by,” he said easily as he shut the door behind the scientist. “I was just about to get breakfast going.” “You knew I’d be here?” Carlos asked distractedly as he took in Cecil’s home for the second time. Like the rest of Night Vale, it was so imperceptibly different than it had been before his accident. The colors seemed a little brighter, the light a little softer, the air a little more breathable. “I was hoping,” Cecil admitted as he wound his way through the little dining room and into the kitchen. Carlos lingered a few steps behind, taking in details he hadn’t noticed before - a potted flowering plant that appeared to have teeth the color of cotton candy, a small framed photograph of a slightly younger Cecil and Josie in matching florescent green guayaberas, a mason jar filled with ballpoint pens and broken pencils and even a crayon or two. “How have you been feeling?” Cecil asked, snatching the scientist’s attention back to the kitchen. “Better,” Carlos replied as he absently traced along the path of the crescent scar that was surprisingly painless for his having only graduated from wearing the sling the previous day. Everything was so similar in the little kitchen as the last time they had been in the exact same places doing the exact same things, but it felt so vastly different. There was a strange sense of freedom as he watched Cecil work away at mixing up rice flour and sugar in a little dish. Even though he was still technically nothing more than a guest in an acquaintance’s home, Carlos had a vague feeling that he was there on some unspoken invitation this time. “Sleeping better too?” Cecil asked as he shuffled through a large drawer of small glass jars. “Sleeping more anyway.” Carlos leaned against the counter and folded his arms thoughtfully. “I keep having this one strange dream about-” “The sting ray invasion, yeah,” Cecil finished as he held up one of the jars for closer inspection. “I think it’s some sort of coded propaganda for the new aquarium wing in the Children’s Museum. Shared dreams are by far the most obnoxious form of advertisement if you ask me.” Carlos just shook his head with a resigned little smile. Of course Night Vale would have some way of controlling dreams. “Do you like nutmeg in your pancakes?” Cecil offered, unscrewing the lid of the little jar. The scientist shrugged. “You will.” Carlos observed the steady, practiced motions as Cecil stirred at the batter. His tattoos were showing again, this time tendrils that curled and drifted like smoke into billowing shapes. The same strange liberating feeling seemed to tilt the scale in his curiosity’s favor. “When did you get those?” he asked, nodding towards the indigo patterns. Cecil stopped mixing and glanced down as if only realizing now that he had tattoos creeping down his arms. “Oh, you know, here and there,” he shrugged before resuming his stirring. “Do they have meaning?” Carlos pressed, not satisfied with the vague reply. Cecil gave him a strangely perplexed look. “Of course they have meaning, Carlos. Everything has a meaning.” Cecil set the bowl carefully on the countertop and reached around for a pan, tugging discreetly at his sleeves as he did so until they covered the patterns across his skin. “Well I like them,” Carlos added quietly. Cecil looked at him curiously again, as if trying to decide if he was being sarcastic. “Thank you,” he said finally, pushing his sleeves back up with a hesitant smile. “So do you cook often?” Carlos asked to change the subject. “Pancakes excluded from discussion,” he added with a grin. Cecil laughed. “I’m not a chef or anything, but I can hold my own I suppose. You can only eat at restaurants so much before it gets a bit dull after a while.” “I’m not much for restaurants either,” Carlos agreed. “I don’t like eating alone. It can just get depressing.” “Oh, I never eat alone.” Cecil spun around the small space and retrieved a relatively normal mug from one of the overhead cabinets. “You know the Secret Police are legally obligated to accompany you, right?” Carlos shook his head. “Oh, absolutely. You see, most people are under 24-hour assigned surveillance. If you’re ever by yourself somewhere, you can talk to them and they’re legally obligated to join you and listen. It’s the only truly enjoyable way to spend evenings alone if you ask me,” Cecil babbled on as he filled the mug with the same strange coffee-like substance and handed it to the scientist. “You should try it sometime.” Carlos got the distinct impression as Cecil’s fingers lingered an extra moment on the mug to trace ever so softly against his as he accepted it that he wouldn’t be spending evenings alone much longer. Cecil cleared his throat with a little cough and turned back to the butter melting in his frying pan. “What about you, can you cook?” “The microwave is my secret weapon,” Carlos admitted between sips of coffee. “Well can you make pancakes?” Not liking the direction the conversation was headed, Carlos crossed his arms tighter across his chest and shook his head. “Not like yours.” “They don’t have to be like mine,” Cecil assured him, tugging the sleeve of the scientists’s lab coat towards the stovetop. “I just want to see what you can do.” Cecil propped an elbow on the counter and rested his chin against his palm to watch the proceedings. Carlos was not entirely inept at cooking, but he hadn’t done much of it since his own little kitchen was the source of the strange breathing sounds in his apartment. He tried to remember how his grandmother used to make pancakes on the weekends. She always started by drawing a smiling face in the pan and letting it brown. His attempt to do the same did not go as smoothly. “What’s that?” Cecil asked quietly as he tilted his head curiously to one side. “A cyclops,” Carlos mumbled as he poured a small ring of batter around the one-eyed creature he had accidentally created. “They prefer the term ‘monocular being.’ Cyclops is a bit offensive,” Cecil corrected gently. “You should probably flip that.” Carlos poked at the edge to find it was already stuck to the pan. With some effort he scraped it enough to flip. The blackened monocular flapjack grinned up at Carlos tauntingly. “You can try again, it’s alright.” Cecil reassured. Carlos scraped the pancake onto a plate and poured another one without a face this time. “So last time you were here you mentioned there’s a breathing sound in your apartment. What is it like?” Carlos shrugged. “It’s not really all that loud. More just eerie I’d say. Sometimes it hisses a bit. It seems to only come from one room.” The next pancake flipped with more ease. “Sounds like a poltergeist. You know, I’ve been taking some defensive dark arts evening classes up at the community college. I’m top of my class in exorcisms if you’d like me to give it a shot this afternoon,” Cecil offered. “That would be great, but-” the scientist’s response was cut short by the acrid smell of smoke. He swore under his breath and tried to pry the second failed attempt from the pan. Cecil just laughed again. “You might want to take over before I set off your fire alarms,” Carlos said in a fluster as he abandoned the pan entirely. “Fire alarms?” Cecil asked as he casually took over the rescuing of breakfast. “Why would I need an alarm in case of fire? Flash flood alarms, sure, but a fire alarm?” Carlos shook his head. “I’ll never adjust to this place,” he muttered as he went back to crossing his arms and watching Cecil do the cooking. “On the contrary, I think you’re doing rather wonderfully in comparison to the last time you were here,” Cecil smiled. “Speaking of adjusting, have you talked to any of your scientists since-” his voice stumbled again, catching slightly on the words. “Since the incident?” “I’ve talked to all of them actually. Well, the ones that are still here. Three went home a few months ago, and our archaeologist Tom he...” The scientist’s eyes lowered to the pale slats of the wood floor for a long moment before he cleared his throat. “Most of the others were offered jobs up at the college. Apparently all their new supervisor does is yell at them in Portuguese so all but one were eager to come back to work for me on the condition I stop asking them for explanations they don’t have.” “So science will continue as normal?” Cecil asked with a grin as he flipped a stack of flawless smiling pancakes out onto a plate. “I wouldn’t say normal, but it will go on,” Carlos chuckled. “Actually that’s what I came here to tell you. I’m leaving for Phoenix in-” he checked his watch, which read 3:49 AM. “Actually I should probably leave right about now. I’m catching a 6:30 flight home.” Cecil abruptly ceased his fidgeting with the coffee pot, sloshing a bit of the brown liquid onto his burgundy shirt. “I’ll be back,” Carlos amended quickly. “I just have to work on getting my grant renewed. Twelve months went by fast, and now I need to somehow come up with something to present so I can keep my funding.” “Are you going by yourself? I can give you a ride to Phoenix if you need it,” Cecil offered as he dug out a plastic container to send with Carlos. “Actually I’m taking my whole team with me. Except Jake who swears he’s soulbound to one of the hooded figures now and can’t leave the city limits.” “That's rough,” Cecil commented as he sorted through the stack of flapjacks for the most evenly browned specimens. “That’s just Jake. Anyway, it shouldn’t take more than a week or two. I might need a few extra days just to sort out a few personal matters.” Cecil glanced up at him, eyes a curious mint green. “Personal matters?” Carlos was thoughtful for a moment as he tried to find the best words. “I guess I just left home with the doors open, y’know? I didn’t end things the way I should have. If you can believe it, I used to be scared of changing the status quo.” Cecil laughed again in his musical little way. “I just need to get my past put away and close the doors behind me before I can think about a future,” the scientist added. He risked a cautious glance over at Cecil who had taken to leaning against the counter next to him. The radio host was smiling his cheshire grin at the floor, his face slightly more flushed than usual. “Okay,” Cecil finally said quietly, handing the tupperware of flapjacks to Carlos. A strange nervous silence settled between them like two teenagers unsure how to end a first date. Carlos pushed his haphazardly-taped glasses up on his nose in a fidgety habit he had almost forgotten he had. “I’ll call you when I get back,” he stuttered as he stepped towards the entryway to the dining room. “I look forward to it, Carlos.” Cecil’s voice still carefully purred the syllables to his name in a strange adoration that made the scientist smile. His smile didn’t falter during the entire drive to Phoenix as Andrea played country music obnoxiously loud in her little station wagon, or even as he was singled out by airport security for the strange radiation levels in his luggage that set off the detectors. He had been through hell and back in the past year, but if that’s what it had taken for him to end up with a half-dozen smiling pancakes in his carry-on and a new text message from a peculiar radio host on his cell phone, then following the mysterious lights in the desert all those years ago had been more than worth it. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Cecil didn’t notice the shadows absorbing the town on the drive home. He didn’t notice he had forgotten to lock his front door behind him as he discarded his keys on the side table in a slapdash fashion. He didn’t even notice that his flannel pajamas didn’t match, because Cecil was far too busy spinning circles in his bedroom and clutching a pillow to his face to muffle his incoherent, high-pitched squeaking. After several minutes he came to a dead stop and dropped the pillow to the floor. “He kissed me,” Cecil whispered to himself. The words felt strangely alive as he spoke them. “He kissed me,” he announced to his empty room before he buried his face in his hands to hide the vibrant violet blush in his cheeks. “Carlos kissed me,” Cecil sighed as he hugged his arms to himself and spun in another dizzy little circle. It was late, but he was too excited to be tired. He was distantly aware that his eyes were most likely flickering through an entire rainbow by now and that beneath his horribly clashing pajamas the ink across his skin was wriggling so frantically that it tickled, but he couldn’t help himself. The news was practically bursting out of him, begging for an audience. He wanted to shout it out the window so all the quiet little town could hear. Acting on that exact whim, he crossed to the window and opened it easily. On second thought, shouting it to the night would be useless since the void would probably absorb all the words before anyone at all could hear them anyway. Cecil settled for hissing at one of the bushes beneath the windowpane. “Psst, Belinda.” The bush was quiet for a moment until one of the leaves twitched. “What is it, Cecil?” the secret police officer within the shrubbery sighed. Cecil brightened as he flopped backwards over the windowpane, dangling his mess of ivory hair upside down in the warm evening breeze. “Carlos kissed me tonight.” “Did he now,” Belinda replied in a monotone. “Yep, he kissed me,” Cecil confirmed. “Right there in my car, leaned right over and kissed me. It was so wonderful and gentle and it tasted a little bit like spearmint chapstick-” “Yes we know, Cecil,” Belinda muttered impatiently. “We were surveilling the entire date.” Cecil shot a dirty look at the shrub. “We both agree that the bit at Gino’s was especially sweet,” the bush on the opposite end of the window mollified. Cecil’s smile reappeared. “Is that you, Everett? Good to hear you’re back to working nights again.” Cecil folded his arms lazily behind his head as he gazed up at the spattering of intrepid stars that danced bravely across the void. “I was a little nervous at first, I mean, he seemed so distracted. But then he took off his glasses to clean them during dinner and his eyes - oh his eyes. They’re like melted chocolate with a touch of honey mixed in. I just wanted to drown in them, Everett.” “His eyes are very brown,” Everett agreed, visibly shifting uncomfortably within his covert burrow. “Cecil, it’s past curfew,” Belinda interrupted harshly. “What? I’m inside,” Cecil intoned frowardly, though he did readjust himself to a sitting position on the windowsill so his entire body was technically within the confines of his house. “Don’t be jealous just because you don’t have a perfect scientist who kisses you goodnight,” he added with a smug little smirk. The greenery sighed audibly. Cecil shifted restlessly for a few quiet minutes - first resting his chin on one knee, then leaning back against the windowframe, and settling for dangling both legs outside the window in the slight summer breeze. Finally the questions again became too much to hold inside. “Hey, Everett, did you see the part where we did science together? That was so...neat,” Cecil sighed dreamily. “It was very neat,” Everett agreed awkwardly. “Look, it’s getting late, Cecil, why don’t you get some sleep? Maybe you can tell your radio show all about the date tomorrow night,” the secret police officer politely suggested. “That’s a fantastic idea!” Cecil bubbled. “I’m surprised I didn’t think of that!” “Great. Now go to bed,” Belinda droned in her same monotone. “Goodnight, Cecil,” Everett offered more kindly. “Goodnight,” Cecil murmured to the bushes as they went back to covert surveillance and he went back to sitting, knees tucked to his chin on the windowsill. His eyes had settled on a delighted amethyst, his tattoos swirled into contented little spirals as euphoria slowly drifted its way into a more placid form of bliss. He would go to bed, but first he allowed himself a few more minutes to watch the night sky sparkle with the flickering light of dying stars and the glistening moon hanging low overhead. For just one night he chose to believe it wasn’t a projection sponsored by a malicious government agency. His perfect, beautiful Carlos had kissed him. Tonight, anything was possible. -- Carlos closed the door to his lab quickly and leaned against it, eyes squinted shut tight in embarrassment. “‘Self-reliant’ - really?!” he muttered to himself. “Date went well then?” Andrea asked. Carlos’s eyes shot open to what should have been his empty laboratory, but was instead filled with the hum of electrical machinery and ten inquisitive scientists. “I thought you all went home at 5,” he stuttered, slipping out of his weekend-casual lab coat and back into his considerably less-spiffy everyday lab coat. “New job, new hours,” Bethenny shrugged as she held a thermometer in a beaker of florescent blue liquid. “Besides, a town filling with shadows and you think we’d stay home?” “We’ve got things mostly covered here if you weren’t quite done...” Andrea nodded suggestively towards the door. Carlos ignored her and walked through the aisle of tables, peering over his team’s work. “Unless you wanted to invite him back in here, in which case we can totally get out of your way,” Jake chimed as he retrieved a slightly luminescent version of the blue liquid from a vortex mixer. “Not that it’s anyone’s business, but I think a first date is a bit early for that,” Carlos quipped as he stopped to retrieve one of Arnst’s equations scribbled across several sheets of paper and pinned to the corkboard. “Tell me you at least kissed him,” Andrea added as he approached her microscope where she had managed to pin down a small shadowy patch between two glass slides. “Okay,” Carlos interjected. “You’ve all done a great job so far, I think I can figure the rest out from here.” Several of the scientists shared knowing glances and covert little grins as they filed out of the laboratory. Once he was sure he was alone, Carlos allowed himself a little moment to properly analyze the results of the evening’s events. Ever since he had gotten back to Night Vale, the hazy glow of a potential romance with Cecil had faded into the solid fact that they were about to test the dubious hypothesis on the existence of love all over again. This terrifying realization gave the scientist jittery butterflies and apparently rendered him more or less mute around Cecil, except to say ridiculous things. “‘Oh, thinking’s just what scientists do!’” he mimicked in a falsetto as he double-checked the notes on the glowing cyan antidote. “Yes, Carlos, because scientists are socially awkward idiots apparently capable of little else,” he mumbled to himself. “‘I’ve been thinking about you,’ ‘I’ve been thinking you should roll up your sleeves a little farther because tattoos are kinda sexy,’ literally a hundred possible variations to that sentence and just - ‘I’ve been thinking’?” He sighed and leaned back in the chair, swirling the beaker in one hand. The blue glowed vibrantly with the slight movement. All calculations seemed to point to it being the most effective antidote to the strange shadow plague. “At least you kissed him,” Carlos whispered more to himself than to the phosphorescent liquid. He was proud of himself for that much; the rest of the date may have gone less smoothly than planned, but at least he had worked up the nerve to kiss the disappointment right out of Cecil’s expression at the end. And then he ran away and hid. With a groan he snatched up the liquid and headed for the door. The best course of action to assure the easiest spread would be to pour it into the town’s water reservoir down at the treatment facility. Carlos tried to remind himself as he overthought every detail of the date for the nth time that first dates were always a little awkward. “Really though the best part was the tree, I mean, why not just make up fake scientific tests because that makes perfect sense for a first date!” he muttered as he fumbled with the key to lock up the lab behind him. “He thought it was neat,” said the recycling bin. Carlos nearly jumped backwards at the completely unanticipated reply. The recycling bin was known for gurgling, but never for speaking. “Um, excuse me?” he very politely asked the recycling bin. Another voice piped up from behind the base of the streetlamp. “The science on the tree. Our sources confirm he was heard describing the event as ‘neat.’” The streetlamp was what clicked the fact into place in his mind that these must be the secret police that Cecil assured him were legally obligated to keep him company while they spied on all aspects of his personal life. He wondered vaguely if they were the same officers who had arrested him before, but it wasn’t the most pressing question presently on his mind. “‘Neat’?” Carlos repeated. “That’s the actual word he used?” There was a quiet mumble and a brief pause before the voice from the recycling bin spoke again. “Sources confirm that the word was accompanied by a breathy sigh. Also that he was spinning circles in his bedroom and telling inanimate objects that you had kissed him.” A smile immediately slipped its way across the scientist’s face. Of course Cecil would tell inanimate objects. In place of a captive radio audience, he was probably known to say quite a lot of things to his household décor. “Thank you,” Carlos said, stepping backwards towards his car. “There is a curfew in effect,” one of the secret police reminded him. “I know, I just need to get to the water reservoir. I have the antidote to save the city from the shadow problem.” He held up the still-slightly-luminescent liquid. “In that case, carry on,” the lamppost replied cordially. “Goodnight,” Carlos stuttered, taking slightly quicker steps towards the car. “Goodnight!” both officers replied in a disturbing unison. He waited until he was a few blocks away to allow himself to think about what the secret police had told him. His car was stopped at the traffic light that glowed burnt umber - the signal for an indefinite pause. His fingers were drumming a rhythm on the steering wheel as his mind drifted to picturing Cecil in some ridiculous shade of pajamas wandering around his bedroom babbling on in his adorably antiquated vocabulary. “Neat,” Carlos repeated quietly. He buried his face in his hands and muffled a laugh. The umber light still hadn’t changed after several quiet minutes, so he peeked up beyond it at the sky that everyone in Night Vale was so insistent was void. All he could see were the glimmering stars and the moon that seemed exceptionally close that particular night. As he watched the night sky so brilliantly alive with light, Carlos allowed himself to postulate that something impossible might be about to happen. For just one night, he chose to believe that maybe love was real after all.
1069459	e Imagine Castiel e	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Dean Winchester, Castiel", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by taylorwrites", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-04T00:00:00", "words": "528", "Additional Tags": "Destiel - Freeform, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean - Freeform, DeanCas - Freeform, cas - Freeform, castiel - Freeform, cass - Freeform, Lazarus Rising, 4x01, dean and cas - Freeform, peridition, SOLDIER - Freeform, angel - Freeform, Profound Bond", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "DeanCas, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Castiel, Destiel", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Supernatural, destiel - Fandom", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Imagine Castiel the angel.Imagine Castiel the warrior, the soldier, one of heaven's most divine.Castiel, atop the Christmas tree. The angel every other angel wished they could be. One of God's most treasured, cherished soldiers. The angel that was trusted to pull Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword, straight from the pit. The jealousy from all of the other angels, the ruffling of feathers as this beam of light strode right past them to do his duty. For no reason, at the time, other than that God commanded it. Castiel, fearlessly fulfilling his commands from God, not knowing exactly why, but going forth and raising Dean from hell.Imagine Castiel doing just that.He does not take his time. He pushes forth with a vengeance, with blind obedience as he trekked past demons and Lucifer's prisoners to rescue this lone human being. And then he reaches him. And the sight, Dean Winchester with his bloodied flesh and hooks slicing into skin... it is enough to make the soldier shudder. Castiel, the angel who was always flawed, the angel who had a problem involving far too much heart, pities the creature before him. Dean Winchester, you see, is beautiful. Castiel has always been obsessed with human beings and their design, but knowing that God has made this one special, makes Castiel infinitely more intrigued. He does not know Dean Winchester, but there is something about him that makes his touches tender.He walks around the battered shell of a man--a vessel, truly, as ironic as that sounds--with his fingers trailing over skin with touches as light and gentle as the proud feathers one can imagine on his back. He takes his time now, just to study the fine curve of his neck and the muscles in his back. His arms, too, bulge with days spent wielding knives and slamming his fists into objects harder than steel. A hunter. A weapon. Finally, he comes full circle, standing before the broken man. Raises his chin in his hand and looks into green eyes that see right through him, that won't remember this moment. "Come with me, righteous man." Perhaps he doesn't say it aloud, but it's there, the title being given freely to this creature. His hand ignites a searing grip on his shoulder, and as he raises him from perdition, he never takes his gaze away. He takes his time rebuilding the body, going over it in perfect detail. He dips his fingers in color and sprinkles them across Dean's cheek bones, creating freckles as carelessly as God created the stars in the sky. Fits his knees back together. Removes the open wounds and sores, erases scars from years before the hellhounds got to him. And speaking of them, he assures that ever mark of their teeth is raised, is smoothed out, fits perfectly with the rest of his skin. And then he rests this newly made man, this beautiful creation, in his coffin in the ground. It takes time for Castiel to work up the energy to leave him there, but when he does, you can hear him shout--"Dean Winchester is saved."--clear as a bell.
1096907	Missing	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Erwin Smith", "Fandom": "Shingeki no Kyojin \| Attack on Titan", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by orphan_account", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-23T00:00:00", "words": "1,326", "Additional Tags": "Angst, Blood, spoilers for chapter 49, Trauma, Feels, all the feels, eruri - Freeform, Eruri Week", "Relationship": "Levi/Erwin Smith", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Eruri Week 2013", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Levi was not afraid of blood. By now it was almost part of his job description, whether it landed in gouts on his blades and cloak from a titan kill or stuck deep in the crevices of his fingernails providing a final moment of comfort to a dying comrade (the corporal scrubbed his hands raw after returning from those missions, though it felt as if the stains left a much deeper mark). However, many long years doing the dirty work for humanity had not prepared him for the return of the latest Scouting Legion expedition and Erwin Smith's unmoving body in a horse-drawn cart, wrapped tightly in a blood-soaked cloak. For the first time in his memory, Levi felt scared.Through the hours of grueling meetings and debriefings after their return (I guess he named me as his successor, Levi thought dimly), the corporal struggled to push down the welling panic growing in the pit of his stomach. Erwin had been rushed to the nearest medical unit upon their arrival, a fresh recruit promising Levi in a cheerily empty voice that the commander would be receiving the best possible care. "Would you bet your life on it?" Levi asked sourly. The recruit swallowed noisily and made a hasty escape.After what felt like the third day of meetings and no reports on Erwin's condition, the stress finally got to Levi. He excused himself as politely as he could and bolted from the room, moving as fast as he could towards the hospital wing and cursing his injured leg every time it sent a new spasm of pain radiating up his body.A few curt remarks and an instance of rank-pulling quickly revealed Erwin's location on the third floor of the building. Levi hobbled up the stairs single-mindedly, not even bothering to acknowledge the staff volunteering the information. A pair of guards awaited him at the end of the hallway, the final barrier between him and Erwin, and after snarling at them with all the menace he possessed to move the fuck out of the way, he was finally granted access to the room.Levi slammed and bolted the door behind him, briefly resting his head on the rough-hewn wood. He was not going to be disturbed.Steeling himself, he turned to face Erwin.It was not immediately apparent from his positioning on the bed that anything was wrong. He was unnaturally pale, hair hanging limply over his forehead, but otherwise appeared normal. That changed instantly when Levi walked to the other side of the bed. The missing arm stuck out like a deviant-type titan, blood staining the bandages and the bed linens a deep scarlet.They left without cleaning this up? Levi thought angrily, pulling up a stool to the side of Erwin's bed. Fucking amateurs.Thankfully, the doctors at least had the foresight to leave a fresh set of dressings on the side table, which Levi wasted no time unwrapping and setting off to the side. He carefully peeled the soiled bandages off Erwin's arm (stump, he corrected, eyes shifting downward) and began inspecting the damage. The cut looked clean, almost suspiciously so. Injuries inflicted by titans tended to be rough-edged and asymmetrical, much like the creatures themselves, yet this one seemed to have a strange kind of surgical precision. Levi wouldn't have been surprised if Erwin had cut himself free, and he was glad to think that the man valued his life over an intact body. The flat wound had since been rounded down, allowing the surgeons to graft it shut with flaps of skin. Angry black stitches stood out against Erwin's pale complex, searing into Levi's skull.The area around the stitches was still saturated with blood and plasma, so Levi immediately got to work cleaning it with a nearby bottle of antiseptic liquid, making sure not to linger over the sutures. Pleased with the sterile surface, he began to reach for the fresh bandages, but something gave him pause. Out of instinct, he reached for Erwin's hand, but his own hand only met with the quilt. His mouth fell open in delayed shock, hand traveling up the ghost length of Erwin's arm until his fingers brushed the dismaying texture of skin and thickly stiffened silk.He stroked the arm delicately and fought the sudden violent urge to vomit. Levi kicked himself back from the bedside, flipping the stool over in his haste. He fell to the floor with his back against the windowsill, forearm flying to his mouth as he tried to force down the bile and the scream rising in his throat. He doesn't have a fucking arm. His eyes squeezed shut as he bit down on skin to shove back the building flood of tears. He could have died. And I wasn't by his side. A rush of images flooded unbidden into Levi's head: Erwin crashing on the 3D maneuver gear, Erwin's illegible left-handed scrawl, Erwin's cup of tea shattering on the floor, tremors overtaking his natural sense of calm. He groaned and clasped his hands to the side of his head, wishing he could push the thoughts out with physical force, but instead they began to take a sickening personal turn — he saw Erwin struggling to button Levi's shirt in the morning, fingers tenuously running up and down the smaller man's chest in quiet frustration, Erwin pinning Levi to the bed but unable to sustain his weight, Erwin's arm wrapping around Levi and holding him close, but not close enough, never close enough for as long as he lived……if he lived, and didn't succumb to infection or blood loss overnight. As invincible as Erwin always seemed, in the end he was only human – he might very well meet the end of most injured soldiers who survived the trip home, their only consolation the chance to die in a comfortable bed. I wish I had more time. In a daze, Levi stood from the floor, picking up the overturned stool and placing it gently back by the bedside. He took the fresh dressings in hand, wrapping the stump of Erwin's arm mechanically, and when he had secured the last fastening, he finally allowed himself to break down into the stifling silence of the mattress, fears and doubts swirling and suffocating in the still of the night. He soon fell into a dreamless sleep, head pillowed on his arms and Erwin's name on his lips.Levi awoke just before the dawn. For a few blissful moments he lay in silence, foggy mind delaying the memories of the previous day, but when he wet his lips and came away with the tang of salt, reality crushed in around him. The corporal slowly raised himself from the bed, wiping the sleep and dried tears from his eyes. Erwin still slumbered, peaceful and stoic, but in the few hours respite some of the color had returned to his cheeks, reviving his gaunt cheekbones from their deathly pallor.Levi immediately reached up and felt for a pulse, shoulders slumping in relief when his fingers counted a strengthened beat. He smiled softly, a thumb running idly over Erwin's jaw.What a pathetic piece of shit I am, getting all torn up over you, he grimaced. I've always told you I don't deal well with emotion, Erwin. His fingers led a reverent trail across the commander's lips, then across his forehead to sweep his bangs back into place.Levi stood from the stool, stretching out the tension in his arms and back, and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Erwin's forehead."I'm gonna have to go clean up after the mess you've made, so you're not allowed to die until I'm back and you can properly kiss my ass," he murmured, cupping the side of Erwin's face. With pain in his chest and a drag to his step, Levi reluctantly left Erwin's bedside, stepping out into the corridor and hardening his heart once more.
1097857	Lullaby	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Spock, Nyota Uhura", "Fandom": "Star Trek", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by DealingDearie", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-23T00:00:00", "words": "582", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Spock/Nyota Uhura", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	In all of the years he'd been with her, Spock had seen the many sides of Nyota, the small peeks into her life that collected to form certain ideas in his mind, the countless times she'd surprised him with her exceptional ways, and after all of those moments spent at her side, he could finally say that he knew her, thoroughly and entirely.He knew the exact pitch of her voice when she was stressed, memorized the comfort of her touch and the lines upon her skin, and could trace the marks on her body with his eyes closed. He was aware of her far more than he'd ever been aware of himself, and yet he could still be taken by surprise. After the birth of their daughter, she'd acted in a way he'd never seen, careful of handing their baby off to others and wary of how they cradled her in their arms, as if they could not be trusted to do so properly. She had kept vigil at their child's side, ever watchful, fatigue marring her features from the lack of adequate sleep, even though he'd tried time and time again to coax her into a fitful slumber.Only when Nyota was alone with him did she ever let her exhaustion show, and it seemed to melt away whenever the baby needed attention. The maternal instinct was strong, and Spock realized that there was something he didn't know, after all, about his wife. After months of discovering new details, he realized that there was quite a bit that he didn't know, and so he set out to truly explore her. The routine he adopted was centered around her-watching her, following her, tracing her interactions and expressions, anything to understand more about this new way of hers, this motherly alteration.And so, that was why Spock was watching her through the doorway, her lithe form softly padding across the lush carpet of the nursery room to where their girl was nestled in her crib. Nyota picked her up, gently murmuring endearments in her tiny, pointed ear, her long fingers cupping her head as she held the baby against her shoulder. She swayed back and forth, the movement starting in her hips and branching out from there, and he felt the sudden and inexplicable urge to smile.This was his. His wife, his child, his family. His life was laid out before him in plain sight, such beauty wrapped within two people. He took a deep breath to quell the emotion that came to him and chose to watch her for a while longer, eyes following every curl of his daughter's fingers, every lift of Nyota's smile.And then she began to sing.It was a startling development, the silent atmosphere broken by the lilting notes of her voice, but a welcome one nonetheless, for it made his heart pound with both surprise and admiration. It was melodically soothing, the soft rise and fall, and he leaned against the doorframe, sighing to himself with contentment.She rocked their child back and forth, safe within the confines of her warm, strong hold, and he knew that the notes drifting from her lips would soon become their child's lullaby, her heavy eyelids already falling closed.Secretly, he hoped that she would never stop singing, and the corners of his lips turned up just a fraction, eyes wide and enamored with the slow, hypnotic movement of her lips as she sang those lasting, calming words.
1049051	Berserkr	{ "Archive Warning": "Graphic Depictions Of Violence", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Frigga (Marvel), Odin (Marvel), Mjolnir", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by ImpulsivelyFicced", "chapters": "2/?", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-17T00:00:00", "words": "2,556", "Additional Tags": "berserkr!Thor, AU, War, Angst, Not Fluff, Loki has more hope than is probably wise, Thor is heavily medicated by magic, reversed positions except not, Brothers, Implied Incest, implied romantic feelings, Loki has faith, Thor isn't really Thor, Mjolnir - Freeform, Mjölnir might not be the best judge of character, except she kind of is", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Loki/Thor, Loki/Thor (implied), Loki & Thor", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Thor (Movies), Thor (Comics), Thor - All Media Types", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Berserkr !Thor Beloved Prince!Loki Loki remembers when they were children and Thor had tackled Lord Bornir to the ground and broken his nose for calling Loki a runt. ‘Really,” he thinks, ‘we should have foreseen what would happen.’They don’t know what made Thor lose control, he’d been one of their father’s best warriors because of his amazing control over the Berserkr Rage, but lose control he did. Loki knows their father laments the loss of his younger son, and Loki hates himself for thinking that maybe, maybe, he only misses Thor for the valuable tool he made in battle and not for the lost child himself. He tries not to think like that, but the thoughts sneak up on him anyway.They found Thor in the square of the small village, clothes and hair soaked with blood and face streaked with it like gruesome war paint. It had taken twenty warriors and all of Loki’s knowledge of his brother’s pressure points and the magic of the hammer to bring him down. And that was what scared Loki the most about what had happened, if he was being honest. Even after Thor had committed such atrocities, for not even children had been spared his rage, Mjölnir still served him. Loki wondered if the spells were flawed, the magic that choose only the worthy faulty. And yet, it also gave Loki hope that his brother was still his brother…somehow.Loki visited Thor’s cell a lot more than anyone would ever know, even Thor. For he never visited as himself, it had been forbidden by their father. Sometimes he was a guard, another of the dozen faceless men that guarded his brother. Other times a cat, agile and immune to magic, slipping around and between the wards placed around Thor’s cage to curl up on one corner of the cell. Sometimes Thor would pet him, or allow the black creature to curl up by his legs, and Loki has had to run to his room to hide his tears on more than one occasion.Loki misses his brother, and still believes in him where even their mother has given up on her angry young child, so when the war comes and they lose warriors and land at great cost he has just enough shameless hope that his first thought is for his big brother. Asgardian justice is swift and final, a retrial almost impossible after sentencing, especially when the perpetrator showed no remorse as Thor had, but Loki knows that Thor has changed. ‘He must have.’ He thinks as he begins to plant the seeds of an idea in their father’s head. When Odin, grim faced and stiff-jawed, emerges from his study with his decree Loki is there to step forward and pledge to take responsibility for him.“All transgressions he commits will be charged against you as well.” Odin warns him harshly as Loki bows before him, fist clenched and arm crossed to his other shoulder. Frigga looks on with worried eyes, but does not step forward to stop him.“I know, and I will accept any consequence. You said it yourself father; this is a chance we must take in order to save all the Nine.” Loki swears, smile hidden by the dark curtain of his hair and his bowed head.Odin sighs, but grants Loki his blessing and hands him the keys to Thor’s prison as well as a set of manacles laced with magic that would keep Thor controlled.Loki’s steps do not falter as he walks down endless staircases towards the bowels of the palace, past thieves and murderers, illegal or dangerous magic users and tax avoiders, down deep into the place where only the most dangerous of prisoners are kept. Thor’s cell was brightly lit, giving him no place to hide, but it was by far the most comfortable of all the cells. Thor was a prince, after all.He did not seem to notice Loki at first, and Loki was glad of it. He had not thought of anything to say to Thor, trusting in his silver tongue to give him the right words when he needed them, and he wanted a chance to look at his brother through his own eyes before being distracted by words and bargains and explanations.Eventually though, Loki could not linger in the shadows for a minute longer and stepped forward. “Thor,” he began, before immediately stepping back in fear and horror. Thor roared and ran at Loki with one of the four chairs in the cell, seemingly oblivious to the clear wall between them, and Loki feared for a moment that it would not hold him. But before Thor was even close enough to swing the chair, he was blown back and landed with a crash, the broken pieces of the chair strewn around him. Loki ran forward, worry at war with the fear in his stomach and making him feel as though he’d swallowed snake’s venom, his hands meeting the cold glass and pressing on it hard.“Thor!” Loki shouts, and that seemed to rouse Thor again. He looked up, but Loki was surprised to see that the anger that had sparked his brother’s eyes just a moment ago was gone, replaced by something almost…drowsy.“Loki!” He mumbles, surprise fighting through the haze for a moment as he took in his younger brother. “What a pleasant surprise… I did not expect to ever see you again.” A sickly sweet smile tugged at Thor’s lips, but that only served to make the venom in Loki’s stomach slosh unpleasantly. This was not his brother.“Yes Thor, I am here…” Loki said, almost more to himself than to Thor.“Why? Surely father,” and here the anger almost overtook Thor again, but a sharp scent hit Loki’s nose and a glaze fell over Thor’s eyes again. “has forbidden you from coming here.”Loki found himself telling the truth. “Yes, he did. But he gave me special permission today. Please Thor, the universe is in danger, and I fear that we will not be able to save it without you.” He bit his lip, worried that he had given too much away, but Thor only tilted his head to the side like a curious animal. It would have been sweet, innocent even, an echo of a time Loki had long thought lost, if not for Thor’s glazed over eyes turning his beloved brother into a marionette.His eyes drifted to the manacles in Loki’s hands, and Thor held out his hands. “Show me.”XXXThe hilltop is windy and their hair twists through the air like flames as the brother’s climb. They don’t talk, but noise accompanies them anyway: crashes and explosions from the battle raging on the other side of the slope and the clink of Thor’s chains. Loki is nervous and jittery, a scared animal next to Thor’s almost catatonic stillness of being. He has been that way since Loki closed the manacles around Thor’s wrists, neck, and ankles, and it pulls at Loki until he is almost willing to rip them off just to see Thor’s rage. At least then his brother would be acting like his brother.They reach the crest of the hill fairly quickly and Loki pauses there, letting Thor survey the scene that is already branded into his mind. Fires burn where magic has left scars against the earth and armor glints in the muted sun. Hundreds, thousands maybe, are fighting there, the strange beings that threaten the balance of the universe thick where forces from Asgard, Alfheim, Vanaheim, Nidavellir, and even a small group of Jotun that had turned up unannounced a few days ago, are spread thin.Thor breaths deeply, and a spark of awareness lights the edges of his eyes. ‘It’s the gore,’ Loki’s mind tells him, ‘He smells spilled blood and torn flesh and it lights a fire within him. Norns help us I may doom us all with my foolish hope.’“Well?” Loki asks, voice harsh and sharp as the wind wicks the words away. “Will you aid us?”Thor turns to him before answering and smiles, a smile so genuine that it almost reaches his eyes and for a moment Loki recognizes his brother again. Thor holds out his hand and says his first words since the prison."Give me Mjölnir, and I am yours to command.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Chapter 2 There are not many controlled environments on a battlefield, not even long-controlled territory is really safe. Not with so pernicious and volatile an enemy. But they cannot go back to Asgard, there just isn’t time. So they set up a tent on the far edge of their current camp, almost within the no-man’s land they’ve been fighting over for far too long. Loki had balked at the tent, “If Thor loses control in there while we’re inside it will be like setting a match to resin soaked logs!” But he’d been largely ignored because while no one else much fancied the idea of what they were doing, they liked the idea of doing it in full view of the enemy even less. They also positioned Thor so he was facing the enemy lines, “just in case”, and it made Loki want to scream. He hated warfare. Loki retrieved Mjölnir himself, withdrawing the ornate box the dwarves had gifted the mighty hammer in all those years ago from his private trunk that had been set up just outside the tent. Although the hammer had never chosen him, there was a kind of Wilde respect between them. Loki knew enough of the magic forged in the runes to recognize the importance behind the dull shine the weapon had taken on after Odin put it into his keeping, and he had taken to talking to it, as he remembered Thor doing. “I am taking you to him.” Loki whispered as he pushed through the flaps of the tent, and the box fairly buzzed in his hands. Warriors lined the curve of the tent, some of their strongest and least Death fearing glaring hot and hard at the lone figure standing before them. He had once been a dear friend to them all. ‘And perhaps,’ Loki considered, ‘that is why they are so fearful of him now. He is a warning, a look into their possible future should they ever lose control as he did.’ Thor’s old friends, the Lady Sif and Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun, had not been invited, but Loki knew they would be standing, pensive and tense, on the edge of the camp, eyes trained on the tent. Although Loki had wanted this to be as private as possible, only his mother’s intervention had prevented Loki from dismissing the guard all together, he suddenly wanted Sif and the Warriors Three there. If Thor saw them, he might be able to regain control easier. Just like Loki hoped would happen if his brother saw him. He shook his head. It was too late now. Thor’s eyes were riveted on the box in Loki’s hands, and he saw the wards around his brother’s manacled wrists spark with strain. Loki was not sure they would hold if he delayed any longer to send for the others. At least Thor’s eyes seemed clearer now, with no spark of the uncontrollable anger and blood lust. Thor simply yearned for his weapon, as Loki yearned for his magic. Loki walked closer, until he could see the blue of his brother’s eyes, but stopped just short of where Thor could actually reach for him. It heartened him when Thor did not try to reach for him anyway as an animal would, only watched. “Thor!” Loki said, voice sharp as a needlepoint, and Thor looked up at him. For a moment, he looked just like the old Thor, as though Loki had just snapped at him for trying to distract Loki away from his books with soft lips and gentle touches. Loki wanted to reach out, cup Thor’s face, and kiss the inquisitive expression away. But it was not Thor. Loki was reminded of this fact quite viciously when the sharp tang of flaring magic hit his senses and Thor’s eyes glazed over once more. This was not his Thor. Not right now. Not yet. But Thor was looking at him now and not the box, so Loki lifted the intricately carved lid and offered Mjölnir, now shining brightly in the candlelight, to his brother. Thor seized upon the handle almost immediately, but did little more than run his fingers over the worn-to-his-hand grip, caressing the metal and leather with almost a Lover’s touch. For a moment, Loki feared Thor would not be able to lift the hammer and that his brother had truly been lost. But, almost as soon as the thought entered Loki’s head, Thor pulled the hammer free of its soft cushion and swung it through the air, roaring triumphantly. A lot of things happened all at the same time then. And though it seemed to him to last and eternity, Loki knew the whole thing had only really taken a few minutes at most. Loki saw the lightning crackle down Thor’s arm and over the thick head of the hammer, shattering the manacles as if they were made of silk, but the scene did not register fully. It was as though Loki was viewing the whole thing through a great glass window. Sound seemed to come from a long way off. That was, until someone seized him around the middle and began to pull him away from the Storm with Skin that was his big brother. Loki howled and screamed as the tent was torn asunder and cool air rushed to cool their faces. (And it would be hours later when they examined the tent and realized it had actually been Loki’s magic, let flowing by his emotions, that had ripped the seams apart and sent the thick hides fluttering down like handkerchiefs.) “Let me go! Let me go that is my brother!” Loki screamed, clawing at the bare skin and sinewy muscle holding him back as Thor sent bolts careening out of his hammer and into the quickly gathering clouds. Finally, after Loki employed his teeth and shards of magic to his task, he was flung away to catch himself against the ground and push back towards Thor. “Thor! Thor stop!” Loki flung himself onto Thor’s forearm, hoping to bring the deadly weapon that he had delivered into his brother’s hand down with all his weight, when he was suddenly lifted again, this time towards Thor. With a shock, Loki realized Thor was laughing, and had been laughing all the while. “Loki! Oh Loki, my most belovéd brother!” And then Loki was being hugged as Thor sent one last bolt into the sky before bringing Mjölnir down, safe as it had been in Loki’s trunk, so he could wrap both arms around the younger. When Loki managed to pull back from the embrace, though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to just let it be, the look in Thor’s eyes was one of nothing but elation and peace. The blue was unmarred by storm of magic haze or berserkr trance; he was just a man reunited with his weapon, his brother, and his lover.
1055543	Late Nights and Lonely	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Roy Harper, Kaldur'ahm", "Fandom": "Young Justice", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by Stormchild", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-23T00:00:00", "words": "1,757", "Additional Tags": "Phone Sex, Fingering, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation", "Relationship": "Roy Harper/Kaldur'ahm", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	”What’re you wearing?”When Kaldur’s communicator went off, he assumed it meant one of his team needed help. Most of them were on a mission for Batman. If they were calling him, it must have been serious.What he did not expect was to hear Roy’s voice, hot and breathy. It sent a shiver down his spine. "Roy?""Uh-huh.""Are you not on a mission?""We’re settling in for the night. I’m very alone right now. You didn’t answer my question."Kadur flicked a tongue over his lips. "Roy, this is hardly appropriate."Roy shuffled on the bed. It had taken a lot of rough coaxing to get M’gann to drop the psychic link on his end. It hadn’t been easy to justify it to his under-age teammates, and somehow the truth didn’t seem like a good idea."It’s been weeks since we’ve been together, Kaldur. I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m so horny," he sighed.And all of a sudden, so was Kaldur. His fingers twitched towards the front of his pants. Roy’s words made his crotch feel so warm."Roy…"There was an edge of warning to his voice. Kaldur could never predict Roy when it came to this. It’s what made sex with Roy so exciting. He could go from wanting nothing more than to go down on Kaldur to wanting to be in full bondage, complete with blindfold and gag, and spanked until his ass was as red as his hair."I just finished taking a shower," Roy purred. "I’m still wet all over. You wanna’ know what I’m wearing?"Roy could hear Kaldur swallowing. A slow smirk spread across his lips at the sound of Kaldur’s voice wavering."What are you wearing?""A towel. And those black briefs you like. You know which ones I’m talking about? Those tight ones that make my ass and cock look great."Kadur wanted to mention that everything makes Roy’s ass and cock look great. If he closed his eyes, he could picture it. He licked his lips, imagining the taste of Roy’s cock, the weight of it on his tongue. He rubbed a hand over the bulge in his pants."I do like those briefs," he admitted."So what’re you wearing, Kal?""Sweatpants and a t-shirt." He paused. "The one you made me wear to that concert you dragged me to."Roy’s breath hitched. A year ago, he’d talked Kaldur into going on a roadtrip with him to a Rammstein concert. And of course he couldn’t let Kaldur go dressed the way he usually did, he had to wear a Rammstein shirt. Kaldur had kept it only because it was comfortable to sleep in (and he liked the way Roy reacted whenever he wore it)."That shirt looks good on you.""I know. You like it."The confidence in Kaldur’s voice had Roy shivering."I like you better naked, you know.""I know," Kaldur smiled. "Would you like me to strip for you?""God… I always want you to strip for me. I wanna’ see that ass of yours."Roy heard Kaldur shift. He assumed Kaldur was slipping his clothes off, but Kaldur didn’t say anything."You first," the Atlantean said. "I want you to take that underwear off, and to get on your hands and knees. Can you do that for me, Roy?"Roy moaned, did as he was told. He raised his ass up into the air, as if presenting it to Kaldur as a gift. One hand reached between his legs to stroke over his twitching hole while he supported himself with the other."Roy, don’t touch," Kaldur said, as if he knew exactly where Roy’s hand was.He revelled in the sound of Roy’s breathy whimper. He could hear Roy’s hands planting firmly on the mattress, the dull, muffled thud of flesh coming down on fabric."Have you done as I asked, Roy?""Yeah. Come on, I don’t have all night. I have to meet back up with the team soon. Can you please just fuck me already?"Hearing Roy’s voice dripping with need right in his ear sent a shiver down Kaldur’s spine. He pulled his clothes off, making sure Roy could hear him. He shifted to his knees. In the back of his mind, he could picture Roy’s ass inches away from his cock. He knew exactly how Roy looked when he was on his hands and knees. And as much as Kaldur would have loved to tease and draw this out, he didn’t want any of the team to walk in on this. Plus, he was hot and horny. Roy was right, it had been weeks. He didn’t indulge much, it wasn’t in him. It was something Roy always had to coax him to do. From eating more than one pizza between the two of them, to having a few drinks and letting loose, to stroking a hand up and down his own cock until he came all over himself. Roy promised himself that when he got home he would make sure Kaldur gave himself some proper attention. But right now, he was horny and needy and all he wanted to do was cum."Are you hard, Roy?""Yeah. I’m so hard, Kal. I’ve been hard forever. Can I please touch myself? Please?""Mm… Of course, αγάπη μου. Are you wet?”Roy’s fingers rubbed over the head of his cock. He moaned, shivering."I’m so wet. My cock is so wet for you, Kal. Oh, God, I’m hard…"Roy buried his face in the sheets to muffle his moans. He pulled his hand away and straightened up only long enough to grab a condom from his wallet - just because he and Kaldur were exclusive didn’t mean he couldn’t be prepared - and roll it onto his hard shaft. Easier to clean up."Touch your hole, Roy. If you want my cock, you need loosen up. I want you to use your precum as lubricant. I know how wet you get.""I- Kal, I already put a condom on. Can I- Is spit okay?"Kaldur leaned back on his ankles and curled his fingers around his cock. When Roy asked for, well, anything, it never failed to make Kaldur’s cock twitch. "That will suffice. Hurry, now. You said yourself, you don’t have much time. And I know how horny you are. Your sweet hole must be so sensitive. I haven’t touched you in weeks. Have you been touching yourself?"Roy moaned. While Kaldur spoke, he licked and sucked his fingers until they were wet, dripping with saliva. He wasted no time in rubbing his hole, pushing the first past the twitching muscle. He was so turned on. His muscles were hot, relaxed, needy for any penetration. "Yeah," Roy moaned. "Fucked myself on a v-vibrator before I came on this mission. Wasn’t as good as your cock, though."Kaldur smirked and rolled his hips up into his hand."Of course it wasn’t. Are you making yourself feel good right now?""No. Kal, you’re making me feel good. Your cock… oh…"A second finger joined the first and soon, two became three. Roy rocked his hips back, pretending that those fingers was Kaldur’s dick.On the other side of the world, Kaldur was rocking his hips into his hand and imagining that hand was Roy’s ass."You’re so tight," he moaned. "I can’t last when you’re hot and tight like this."Roy whimpered, his free hand curling in the sheets."Kal… harder. Come on. Fuck me harder.""As you wish."Kaldur picked up the pace of his hips. Though Roy couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t not do as his lover asked. The slide of his hand on his cock made an obscene sound."Oh, God… It feels so good…"Roy shifted, driving his fingers even deeper into himself. His teeth clenched together to cover his moan. His abdominal muscles twitched with each breathy moan and his thighs quivered."Do you like this, Roy? Are you enjoying yourself? Do I feel good inside you?""Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Ah. You’re gonna’ make me cum. You’re gonna’ make me cum, Kal."Kaldur pumped his shaft in long, steady strokes. He counted each breath, inhaling and exhaling at regular intervals. Closing his eyes, he pictured the freckles between Roy’s shoulder blades. He was sure he’d kissed every one of those freckles at least once. He could practically taste them. "Are you close?""Yeah. Can I cum? Can I cum, baby? Please?""Yes. Yes, cum for me."And Roy lost it. His hand worked furiously over the bright red head through the condom, right at the most sensitive spot. He bit down on the sheets, but Kaldur still heard the sharp cry as Roy came. Fingers pulled out, rubbing over sensitive nerves. He kept cumming, spurt after spurt filling the condom until he was spent. He listened with half-lidded eyes to the sounds Kaldur was making on the other end of the communicator. The tell-tale hitch in breath, followed by a low moan of Roy’s name and something in Atlantean had Roy licking his lips and he almost wished he had it in him to cum again.He could hear Kadur’s even breathing in his ear. Rolling over onto his side, he pulled the condom off and tied it at the end before tossing it into the trash. He didn’t miss. "Kal? You still there?""I am here, my love.""Mm. I love it when you call me that. You’re so damn sappy under that fishy exterior."Kaldur have a short chuckle."I have missed you, Roy. When will you be returning?""I missed you too, Kal. I… I can’t say for sure. I promise I’ll tell you all about it when I come home.""And when you come home, you will come see me?""First thing I do, babe."Roy rolled onto his stomach, pulling the sheets up around himself."Kaldur?""Yes, love?""Can you just… talk until I fall asleep? It’s too quiet around here."Kaldur smiled. This wasn’t an unusual request, not even after sex. He cleaned up with the water on the coffee table while flipping to the flagged page in his book. It was in Atlantean, but so long as it wasn’t silence Roy didn’t care which language he was spoken to in. (Roy fell asleep not long after and wakes up earlier than he had all mission. He pretends he doesn’t see Conner eyeing him, but Artemis has a knowing grin and he realizes that he never secured his line.)
1048380	Need You Now	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester", "Fandom": "Supernatural", "Language": "ไทย", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Sarren18293", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-17T00:00:00", "words": "7,320", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	ตีหนึ่งห้านาทีแล้ว...แซม วินเชสเตอร์นั่งมองนาฬิกาเรือนโตติดฝาผนังในบาร์เล็กๆแห่งหนึ่งแถบชานเมือง ขวดเบียร์สองสามขวดกองอยู่ตรงหน้า เขากำลังชั่งใจอยู่ว่าจะสั่งขวดต่อไปมาดื่มให้หัวทิ่มกันไปข้าง หรือจะพอแค่นี้แล้วเดินบากหน้ากลับไปดูซะหน่อยว่าตอนนี้ดีน พี่ชายของเขานอนหลับไปแล้วหรือยัง ทั้งที่เมื่อสักครู่เขาเพิ่งจะตะโกนใส่หน้าอีกฝ่ายไปว่าจะไม่ยุ่งไม่สนใจกันอีกอยู่หยกๆตั้งแต่พ่อหายไปพวกเขาสองคนก็ต้องมาเกาะติดด้วยกันแบบนี้ตลอด สองพี่น้องที่ไม่ได้เจอหน้ากันมาหลายปี ไม่แปลกที่จะมีบางอย่างต่อกันไม่ติดจนเป็นสาเหตุให้ทะเลาะเบาะแว้งกันบ้าง การจิกกัดเล็กๆน้อยๆหรือขึ้นเสียงใส่กันนิดๆหน่อยๆเป็นกิจวัตรที่สองพี่น้องวินเชสเตอร์ทำกันเป็นประจำอยู่แล้ว เพียงแต่ครั้งนี้มันรุนแรงยิ่งกว่าทุกที Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor แซมล้วงมือถือออกมาจากกระเป๋า กดลิสต์รายชื่อมาที่คำว่า ‘Dean’ แล้วมองมันเหมือนกับจะให้ทะลุไปถึงเจ้าของชื่อ ปกติถึงจะพูดจายียวนกวนประสาทไปบ้าง แต่ดีนก็มักจะเป็นคนที่โทรหาด้วยความเป็นห่วงหรือเอ่ยปากแบบเลียบๆเคียงๆเพื่อคุยกับเขาก่อน ทว่าครั้งนี้เป็นครั้งแรกที่ดีนไม่แม้แต่จะติดต่อมา มันทำให้แซมเริ่มเป็นกังวลด้วยสิทธิพิเศษของคำว่าน้องชาย หลายครั้งที่แซมเอาแต่ใจในแบบโง่ๆ คิดถึงแต่เรื่องที่ตัวเองต้องการ และไม่สนใจใยดีความรู้สึกของดีนว่าจะคิดยังไง ครั้งนึงเขาเคยทิ้งดีนและหนีมามีชีวิตเป็นของตัวเอง จนเมื่อดีนมาขอความช่วยเหลือเรื่องที่พ่อหายตัวไปเขาก็ยังมีทีท่าไม่ใส่ใจ แต่ดีนก็ไม่เคย...ไม่สิ ต้องพูดว่าแทบไม่เคยโทษเขาเลยสักครั้ง แต่เขาก็ยังคงถืออภิสิทธิ์ของความเป็นน้องชายนั่นทำร้ายจิตใจดีนเรื่อยมาแซมจ้องมองชื่อในมือถืออยู่อีกสักพัก ขณะที่นิ้วค้างอยู่บนปุ่ม Call แต่ไม่นานเขาก็ละมือจากมัน แซมพับหน้าจอมือถือและโยนมันลงบนโต๊ะ จากนั้นจึงถอนใจด้วยความหงุดหงิด ด้วยทิฐิที่มีอยู่ในตัวทำให้เขาไม่อยากเป็นฝ่ายโทรไปก่อน แต่ว่า... Reachin for the phone cause I can't fight it anymore แซมคว้ามือถือมาไว้ในมืออีกครั้ง เปิดฝาพับมันออกอย่างทุลักทุเลเพราะความรีบร้อน ไม่นานเขาก็มาหยุดลงที่ชื่อๆเดิม แม้จะยังลังเลแต่แซมก็ตัดสินใจกดปุ่ม Call ลงไป เฝ้ารอด้วยทั้งความหวังและความว้าวุ่นใจ ขณะที่เสียงสัญญาณของโทรศัพท์ดังขึ้นติดต่อกัน And I wonder if I ever crossed your mind For me it happens all the time นัยน์ตาสีเขียวเลื่อนกลับไปมองที่นาฬิกาที่ผนังอีกครั้ง ระหว่างที่เขาเคาะนิ้วลงบนโต๊ะเพื่อลดความตื่นเต้นในใจ เข็มของนาฬิกาบอกเวลาตีหนึ่งสิบห้า และในตอนนี้ แซมคิดว่าเขาต้องการดีนยิ่งกว่าอะไรทั้งนั้น It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now ‘ช่างหัวมันสิ!’ แซมคิดขณะที่รอให้อีกฝ่ายรับสายซะที ที่ลั่นวาจาว่าจะไม่เป็นฝ่ายโทรไปหรืออะไรก็ช่าง เขาจำไม่ได้แล้วด้วยซ้ำว่าสาเหตุที่ทะเลาะกันก่อนหน้ามันเรื่องอะไร เขารู้แค่ว่าเขาคิดถึงดีน อยากได้ยินเสียง เพราะงั้นเรื่องอื่นก็ช่างหัวมันไปก่อนเถอะ Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now And I don't know how I can do without I just need you now สัญญาณตัดไปที่บริการฝากข้อความ...แซมเลื่อนมือถือออกจากหู จ้องหน้าจอเปล่าๆแล้วพูดกับตัวเอง“I just need you now...” ++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ตีหนึ่งห้านาทีแล้วงั้นเหรอ...ดีนคิดขณะที่มองนาฬิกาเก่าแบบที่น่าจะเอาไปขึ้นทะเบียนเป็นวัตถุโบราณที่ควรค่าแก่การเก็บรักษาส่งเสียงดังติ๊กๆภายในห้องพักของโรงแรมราคาถูก เขาทรุดตัวนั่งบนเก้าอี้ไม้ผุๆตัวที่ตั้งตรงอยู่หน้าบานประตูพอดิบพอดี นัยน์ตาสีเขียวอดไม่ได้ที่จะชำเลืองมองมันอยู่เป็นระยะๆ ขณะที่มือก็คลึงแก้วเหล้าในมือเล่น Another shot of whiskey can't stop looking at the door Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before ดีนรู้สึกผิดอยู่นิดหน่อย ย้ำว่าแค่นิดหน่อยจริงๆ การทะเลาะกันครั้งนี้เป็นอะไรที่เลยเถิดใหญ่โตกว่าที่เขาคิดไปเยอะ แต่ดีนก็แน่ใจว่าคราวนี้เขาไม่ใช่คนผิด ทุกครั้งที่ทะเลาะกันถ้าดีนรู้ตัวว่าเขาทำไม่ถูกเขาก็ไม่ลังเลเลยที่จะพูดขอโทษในทันที แม้ว่านั่นจะเป็นการก้มหัวให้กับน้องชายที่อายุห่างกันถึงสี่ปีก็ตาม แต่ช่วงหลังหลายครั้งที่แซมเป็นคนตั้งต้นหาเรื่องก่อน และก็ถือดีในความคิดของตนไม่ยอมเอ่ยปากขอโทษ ทำเหมือนกับน้องน้อยไม่รู้จักโตที่คอยแต่จะให้พี่ชายอย่างเขาตามมาง้อเอาใจ หากเป็นเมื่อตอนเด็กๆเขาอาจจะทำ แต่ตอนนี้เขาอายุยี่สิบหกแล้ว ส่วนแซมก็ยี่สิบสอง มันเลยวัยที่จะมาทำตัวเป็นเด็กๆกันแล้วในเมื่อพวกเขามีสิ่งที่ต้องรับผิดชอบ มีภาระที่ต้องทำแต่แซมก็คือแซมอยู่วันยังค่ำ ดีนรู้ข้อนั้นดี เขารู้ว่าแซมเป็นเจ้าน้องชายจอมเอาแต่ใจและเรียกร้องขนาดไหน มันเป็นความผิดของเขาด้วยส่วนหนึ่งที่เลี้ยงน้องมาให้กลายเป็นแบบนั้น บางทีเขาน่าจะทำใจแข็งซะบ้าง ปล่อยให้อีกฝ่ายได้คิดอะไรๆสักหน่อยก็น่าจะดี ทั้งที่คิดแบบนั้นแต่สายตาของเขากลับมองแต่มือถือที่วางทิ้งไว้บนโต๊ะราวกับกำลังรอคอยการติดต่อจากใครบางคนอยู่ไม่มีผิดเขาไม่อยากจะคิดแบบนี้ แต่ก็ปฏิเสธไม่ได้ว่าตอนนี้ตัวเองเป็นห่วงน้องจนแทบบ้า ทั้งชีวิตของดีน วินเชสเตอร์นอกจากเรื่องเดินทางไปปราบสิ่งต่างๆทั่วทุกรัฐ ทั้งภูตผีปีศาจหรือตัวประหลาดชนิดไหนๆ อีกสิ่งหนึ่งที่มีค่าที่สุดสำหรับเขาก็คือน้องชาย นับแต่วันที่แม่ตายชีวิตของดีนมีไว้เพื่อแซม เขาสัญญากับตัวเองไว้แล้วว่าจะปกป้องแซม ทำทุกอย่างเพื่อแซม และมีชีวิตอยู่เพื่อแซม แม้ว่าแซมจะเป็นไอ้น้องชายงี่เง่าที่ไม่รู้จักโตเสียทีก็ตาม And I wonder if I ever crossed your mind For me it happens all the time ดีนเหลือบมองนาฬิกาอีกครั้ง ตอนนี้ตีหนึ่งสิบห้าแล้ว และแซมก็ยังไม่กลับมา ปกติการแยกตัวออกไปค้างคนเดียวมักจะเป็นเขาที่ชอบคั่วสาวจนเป็นกิจวัตรประจำวัน แต่น้องเขาไม่ใช่แบบนั้น ดีนตัดสินใจหยิบมือถือขึ้นมาไล่รายชื่อไปที่คำว่า ‘Sam’ แล้วกดโทรออก ตอนนี้เขาชักจะห่วงขึ้นมาหน่อยๆแล้วว่าน้องเขาอาจถูกตัวอะไรจับไปหรือเปล่าแต่ที่สำคัญก็คือ... ดีนคิดขณะที่นั่งฟังเสียงสัญญาณมือถือรอการตอบรับจากอีกปลายสาย เขาคิดถึงแซม หลังจากที่ทุกวันต้องอยู่ด้วยกัน นอนห้องเดียวกัน พูดคุยกัน ในตอนนี้ ตอนที่เขาอยู่ในห้องเก่าๆโทรมๆนี่โดยไม่มีแซม เขาบรรยายความรู้สึกไม่ถูก แต่ที่แน่ๆก็คือเขาแน่ใจว่าเขาไม่ชอบความรู้สึกแบบนี้เอาซะเลย It's a quarter after one, I'm little drunk and I need you now Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now ไม่สำคัญแล้วว่าก่อนหน้านี้พวกเขาจะทะเลาะกันเรื่องอะไร หรือใครจะเป็นฝ่ายถูกหรือผิด สำคัญแค่ตอนนี้เขาอยากเห็นใบหน้าของเจ้าน้องชายจอมอวดดี กับรอยยิ้มแบบรู้ทันในเวลาที่เขาทำหรือพูดอะไรพลาดไป อยากเห็นใบหน้าเวลาอ่อนอกอ่อนใจของแซม ดีนยิ้มเมื่อถึงตรงนี้ เขาค่อนข้างจะแน่ใจเลยล่ะว่าแซมต้องเคยคิดว่าเขาเป็นพวกใช้กำลังในการคิดมากกว่าใช้สมองแน่ And I don't know how I can do without I just need you now สัญญาณตัดไปที่บริการฝากข้อความ...ดีนวางมือถือลงบนโต๊ะตามเดิม“I need you now...” ++++++++++++++++++++++++++ แซมบึ่งกลับห้องแทบจะทันทีหลังจากที่โทรไปแล้วดีนไม่รับสาย ใจหนึ่งก็เป็นห่วงว่าจะเกิดอะไรขึ้น ส่วนอีกใจก็กลัวว่าดีนแค่อาจจะยังโกรธอยู่ถึงได้ไม่สนใจจะรับโทรศัพท์เขา น้องเล็กแต่ตัวดันใหญ่สุดของบ้านวินเชสเตอร์เริ่มคิดหาคำแก้ตัวดีๆที่พอจะทำให้พี่เขาหายโกรธและให้อภัยเขาตามเดิมได้ แต่เมื่อเปิดประตูเข้ามาสิ่งที่พบคือร่างกำยำของพี่ชายที่นอนอยู่บนเก้าอี้หน้าประตู เท้าทั้งสองข้างพาดไว้บนโต๊ะชนิดที่ถ้าเจ้าของโรงแรมมาเห็นคงจะได้โดนเรียกค่าเสียหายกันอานแน่ๆ เพราะรองเท้าของดีนมันสกปรกน้อยซะเมื่อไหร่ อันที่จริงแซมไม่แน่ใจว่าครั้งสุดท้ายที่พี่เขาเอารองเท้าไปซักนี่มันปีไหนด้วยซ้ำแซมขยับเข้าไปใกล้ๆร่างที่หลับอุตุไม่รู้เรื่องรู้ราวอีกนิด ซึ่งพอดีกับที่ดีนลืมตาขึ้นมามองเห็นเขา ทั้งสองคนจ้องตากันอยู่พักหนึ่ง ก่อนที่แซมจะเป็นฝ่ายเดินเข้าหาก่อน แซมค่อยๆโน้มตัวลงจูบอีกฝ่ายช้าๆ ทั้งที่เขาดื่มเบียร์มาแต่กลับรู้สึกได้ถึงรสชาติของแอลกฮอลล์จากดีนมากกว่าตัวเองเสียอีกดีนเอื้อมมือทั้งสองไปเกาะแผ่นหลังที่ใหญ่กว่าเขาตั้งแต่เมื่อไหร่ก็ไม่รู้ไว้ จากนั้นจึงดึงเสื้อเชิ้ตของแซมที่ติดกระดุมอยู่ไม่กี่เม็ดออกทางหัวรวดเดียว เช่นเดียวกับที่มือของแซมกำลังสาละวนอยู่กับเข็มขัดกางเกงของเขา จากหางตา ดีนสังเกตเห็นแซมเขวี้ยงมันทิ้งไปแถวๆมุมห้องก่อนที่จะก้มตัวลงมาจูบเขาอีกครั้ง อีกครั้ง แล้วก็อีกครั้งความรักเฉกเช่นความรักของชายหนุ่มหญิงสาวระหว่างพี่น้องเป็นบาป คนที่ตามล่าและฆ่าพวกภูตผีมาเกือบทั้งชีวิตอย่างเขารู้ดี แต่ว่า... Guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothin at all แต่ว่า...เสียงครางแผ่วเบาดังออกมาจากลำคอยามเมื่อมือสากกร้านจากการจับอาวุธมาตลอดทั้งชีวิตเข้ากอบกุมส่วนที่อ่อนไหว แซมหรี่ตาหอบหายใจมองพี่ชายด้วยสายตาตื่นตะลึง สำหรับเขาดีนเป็นคนที่อยู่สูงเกินเอื้อมมาตลอด ดูสะอาดแล้วก็บริสุทธิ์แม้จะนอนกับผู้หญิงมาแล้วนับไม่ถ้วน นี่เป็นครั้งแรกที่เขาเห็นอีกฝ่ายในด้านนี้ ด้านของตัณหากามารมณ์ ช่างดูน่าหลงใหลจนไม่อาจถอนตัวได้ แซมไม่แปลกใจอีกแล้วว่าทำไมผู้หญิงมากหน้าหลายตาถึงได้ยอมพลีกายทอดร่างให้พี่ของเขาอย่างง่ายดาย เพียงแค่ได้เห็นใบหน้าเช่นที่เขาเห็นอยู่ในตอนนี้ก็เพียงพอแล้วดีนกดมือลงบนบ่าแรงขึ้นเมื่อรู้สึกได้ว่ามีบางอย่างรุกล้ำเข้ามาภายในร่างกาย ทั้งอึดอัด ทั้งเจ็บปวด แต่ก็รู้สึกดีเกินกว่าจะยุติได้ บางทีความรู้สึกที่พวกเขามีให้กันก็คงเป็นแบบนี้ พี่ชายคนโตของบ้านวินเชสเตอร์คิดขณะตอบรับสัมผัสของน้องชายด้วยการโอบกอดให้แน่นขึ้น แม้การกระทำที่ส่งผ่านมาจะรุนแรงจาบจ้วง แต่ดีนก็ยังคงยอมรับทุกสิ่งทุกอย่างของแซมเพราะไม่ว่าจะที่ผ่านมา หรือต่อจากนี้ไป ดีน วินเชสเตอร์ก็จะโอบอุ้มทุกสิ่งทุกอย่างของแซม วินเชสเตอร์เช่นนี้ตลอดไป And I don't know how I can do without I just need you now....I just need you now END
1087465	Taming the Succubus	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/F", "Characters": "Bo Dennis, Lauren Lewis, Evony Fleurette Marquise, Kenzi, Original Characters, Nadia", "Fandom": "Lost Girl", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by SwordDraconis113", "chapters": "1/?", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-18T00:00:00", "words": "1,236", "Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe - Historical, bodice ripper, as in hot women tearing corsets (and/or bodices) to get to the hot sex, there will be, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, Love Triangle, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, And So Much More", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Bo/Lauren, Lauren/Evony, past Lauren/Lachlan", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	My Dear Lauren, I regret to inform you that Lady Marquise has requested the services of a strange rogue. I apologize as regardless of my best efforts, I have not been able to find their name nor catch even the barest glimpse of them, but henceforth they will searching your estate for any evidence of your late-husband’s murder, as well as for any ties that could incarcerate your self. A fate that I must admit, terrifies me greatly. I do believe this stranger will arriver under the guise of a simple traveller and that their instructions are to find any incriminating evidence that could have both your estate and wealth taken and repossessed into Lady Marquise’s care, as you well know, she is the last of the Blackwood line since Lord Blackwood’s unfortunate death. I implore that you find your home fit to this stranger’s eyes, as they have a reputation of vigilance and victory, both of which may or may not find such things you have long since forgotten and/or hidden from yourself. You must understand, this stranger has never failed in their contracts. Neither wealth nor violence has deterred them from their path, but the unfortunate opposing as occurred from such actions. Please, I ask you treat them kindly, seduce them if necessary, anything that may help you to stray their path and keep you safe from Lady Marquise greed. If she is told of what happened, I fear you will far so far that even I will be unable to help. Please, Lauren. Please oh please find a way to deter this villain from your path. Yours truly, Nadia Lauren ripped the letter, discarding all evidence into the lit fireplace. “It’s a shame the courier did not pass your horse, Miss Dennis. I would have preferred to be aware of your arrival. Perhaps then you would have received a warmer welcome.” “Do you often discard letters in such a matter?” Lauren’s eyes flickered to the stranger’s. She was a common rogue dressed up, nothing more. Her long dark hair was pinned from her face, her attire was dark, tailored and masculine, but she was nothing Lauren hadn’t seen before. Peculiar, yes, but unique she certainly was not. Her arrival had been a surprise, with Miss Dennis stating her appearance was nothing short of an acquaintance Lady Marquise had sent to keep her comfort in mourning. If it weren’t for the letter explaining such circumstance, she would have been truly exposed. The courier, being delayed a few short hours, missed not only preparing Lady Blackwood for a guest, but also gave doubt to Lauren being its first reader, but if Miss Dennis doubted her belief in the ‘acquaintance’ story, she didn’t dare show it. However, it seemed that if Lauren rushed around now, making sure all things locked away were also hidden from sight, then the stranger’s suspicious would rise. It was truly unfortunate, and bloody annoying. Taking a breath, she turned in the parlor and picked up her tea. The drink was cooler than she’d like, and far too sweet, but she was of a much too busy mind to care about such things. How was she to distract Miss Dennis from Lady Marquise’s contract if she is to be a woman rather than a masculine counterpart, regardless of the attire. “The letter implies you to be a man. I admit, I am surprised.” “That I’m a woman?” Bo asked. “That the person had been so vague about your reasons here. Why are you here, Miss Dennis? Lady Marquise’s kindness, though appreciated, would not be extended so lately after my husband’s death.” Bo smiled, sharp and nothing short of predatorily. But the effected remained passive, becoming only another characteristic Lauren stored in her mind to better understand the rogue. “It was an unfortunate incident that I was overseas.” “And she did not think to send another acquaintance?” “I can not speak for Lady Marquise, but I can for myself. Is my company not to your liking, Lady Blackwood?” “I find it curious, nothing more.” Setting down the tea, she smiled and sat down across from Miss Dennis, adjusting the mourning black skirts accordingly. The dark eyes flicking low on her neckline did not go unnoticed as she smiled sweetly at the stranger. Perhaps Nadia had been aware of the gender after all. “How long are you permitted to stay?” “As long as is necessary, my lady.” “Ah. You are such a sweet one, are you not? Lady Blackwood will do for now. When our acquaintance is met, Lauren will be sufficient.” “Is our acquaintance not met, Lady Blackwood?” Her name on Bo’s tongue was like biting into a tart sweet. Somehow, she’d managed to roll her voice over the words. Cutting her eyes away, Lauren brought the tea to her lips again, hiding her smile. “No, Miss Dennis. I believe we hardly know each other.” “I see. Perhaps that is not so terrible.” “Indeed.” A time passed, very briefly, before Lauren tilted her head just-so. “You mentioned being overseas, Miss Dennis.” “I did.” Lauren’s eyes sharpened, though she resisted giving the woman an impetuous look to the avoided question. “To where did you visit?” “India.” Lauren hummed, uninterested. Her own husband had visited India only a few years prior. Perhaps much had changed, but she had no interest in further asking questions to such a person. “Miss Dennis, if you would be so kind, I will show you to your room so you may unpack.” Rising, she didn’t wait before stepping from the parlor into the hallway. She could hear the rogue’s heavy steps behind her, stepping where her own clicked. “Down those stairs, to your left will be where dinner is served,” she directed. “Over here is the garden, feel free to walk about in the shown areas. I would suggest you keep away from the greenhouse.” Bo looked out the grande windows, down to where the greenhouse was situated in the far corner, hidden behind a great oak tree. “What have you hidden there?” she asked. Lauren chuckled, opening a bedroom door, “nothing you need to worry about. For your safety, I request you leave it alone. Perhaps sometime I will show you why.” She smiled sweetly, looking over the sparsely decorated guest room. “The library is of course, open to you, though I ask you not to touch the far right.” “May I ask why?” Bo’s eyes were looking from the trunk at the end of the bed, to the light on the bedside table, and finally to the painting hung over the bed, depicting hills and a small house at night. Lauren’s feet stepped away from the woman, “They are my husband’s,” she said. “I would prefer them to remain untouched until I have a chance to read through them.” She smiled then, looking to Bo. “If you have any questions, myself or a servant will be happy to help. I will inform them to treat you as I would Lady Marquise.” Bo smiled, half-laughing at the statement, “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.” “If you’re half the woman she is, perhaps both,” Lauren nodded, then stepped into the hall. “I will see you this evening for dinner, Miss Dennis. I look forward to hearing about your intentions to help me in mourning.” With that, before Bo could turn back and reply, she left.
1015416	on edge	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/F", "Characters": "Diana Matheson, Melissa Tancredi, Erin McLeod", "Fandom": "Women's Soccer RPF", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by orphan_account", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-23T00:00:00", "words": "1,079", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Diana Matheson/Melissa Tancredi", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The pros to being in camp in Canada, as opposed to anywhere else, Diana quickly remembers, is that everyone is a lot more relaxed. Well, except for Melissa Tancredi. Who, Diana thinks, has taken it upon herself to keep everyone on edge - even when they have a free day tomorrow. This ultimately leads to Erin yelling at Tanc across the dining area at lunch, something to do with missing stuff. Of course, Tanc only smirks in response. Diana remembers seeing Tanc’s smirk when she found out they were rooming together this camp and doesn’t feel so calm. Tanc hasn’t done anything to Diana in the past few days but Diana knows she’d be wrong to let her guard down. She’ll probably find silly string in her bed tonight at least, Diana thinks. She knows Tanc can’t resist picking on her; something to do with her height and the fact that Diana has never really fought back. Still, Diana can’t ignore the tension building between them. It’s been a while since the Olympics but she knows Tanc hasn’t forgotten. Diana’s about to open the door to her room to go to bed when she hears singing. More specifically, she hears Tanc singing. She frowns as she presses hear ear against the door and vaguely recognises the song. “Next thing you know, shorty got low, low, low, low, low...” Diana scoffs before swiping the keycard and swinging open the door expecting to see her roommate dancing around. Only Tanc isn’t in the dimly lit bedroom. She frowns and walks towards the bathroom. “Hey Tanc”, she calls out, “what’re you d-“ the bathroom door swinging open cuts her off and she’s met with Tanc trying really hard to look normal, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips and Diana just knows she’s up to something. “Hey tiny”, Tanc says too loudly, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t call me that.” Diana snaps. “What’ve you done?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, short stuff.” “Quit it-,” she pushes Tanc out of the way and looks around their average sized en suite, “-you’re a bad liar.” Diana isn’t sure what exactly she’s looking for so gives up and walks back into the room only to see Tanc pulling her shirt off. She gulps and averts her eyes but that doesn’t stop the memory of mapping out Tanc’s body from rushing back into her mind. “You look a little red there,” Diana fumbles with the zip on her tracksuit top, “you all right?” “Yeah- uh-,” Diana coughs, throwing the top on the dresser, “-just hot, is all.” “Sure thing.” Tanc draws out. Diana scoffs before retreating to the bathroom and swinging the door shut. She hears Tanc moving around in the room as she goes about her normal routine. It’s only when she’s picking up her toothbrush that she realises what’s missing. Tanc’s hidden the toothpaste. It’s so immature and pathetic but she’s so sure of it and Erin’s accusation at lunch suddenly makes sense. Diana rolls her eyes and starts looking around the bathroom again. She’s about to give up when she sees it in the corner of her eye - on top of the shelf above the mirror. “Who the hell puts a shelf there,” Diana huffs, realising that there’s no way she’ll be able to reach it. “Fuck.” She’s tempted to try jumping but even then she doubts she’ll do more than push it farther back on the shelf. She sighs in resignation as she picks up Tanc’s bottle of Listerine and takes a small swig. She hates the stuff – it’s too strong and makes her eyes water - but she counts to ten before spitting and angrily rinsing several times until the taste in her mouth is bearable. She’s pissed off as she pulls open the door, ready to yell at her roommate, but is stunned when she finds Tanc already standing outside the door. “Sup, tiny,” Tanc smiles sweetly. “Fuck off.” Diana pushes past her, but barely makes it two steps before Tanc reaches out and grabs her arm. “Hey! Take it easy small-” Diana loses all self-control and within seconds has Tanc pinned against the wall next to the bathroom. “I’m serious.” Tanc outright laughs at her and tries to shrug her off but Diana is stronger than she remembers and the laugh dies in her throat as Diana presses her body against Tanc’s, keeping her arms stuck at her side. “Jeez, okay-” Tanc struggles, “-It was a joke, back off.” “Oh!-,” Diana laughs lowly, pressing harder into Tanc, “-I’ve to back off?” “Dee, it was a joke,” Tanc manages to free an arm and grabs hold of Diana’s hip. Diana glances down at the hand on her body then looks back up at Tanc, only to find Tanc looking at her lips. She self-consciously pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and hears – and feels – Tanc inhale. “Dee-,” Tanc whispers, her gaze flicking between Diana’s eyes and lips, “-come on.” “Don’t,” Diana swallows, letting go and stepping away only to have Tanc follow her, grabbing hold of both her hips. She stumbles as Tanc keeps walking them backwards, until the bed is against the back of her legs and then Tanc is cupping her jaw. “Mel-” She’s cut off by Tanc tilting her chin up, and leaning down to kiss her soundly. Diana’s spurred into action. She’s not thinking clearly when she grabs handfuls of Tanc’s shirt and pulls her closer. Only the height difference between them doesn’t help and she can feel Tanc pulling back, so instinct takes over and she sits down, effectively drawing Tanc on top of her. Then it’s a blur of Tanc effortlessly shuffling them up the bed before Diana’s feels her shoulders hit the pillows and she gasps. Without thinking, she’s wrapping her arms around Tanc’s body and making room to accommodate her between her legs. She’s relying on muscle memory and instinct and is starting to relax when Tanc pulls back and laughs, “minty fresh.” Diana’s jaw clenches before she’s flipping them over and biting down on Tanc’s collarbone, eliciting a hiss from the woman underneath her. “Shut. Up.” Tanc only whimpers in response. -------------------- Tanc makes the mistake of wearing a low cut t-shirt to breakfast the next morning, something which does nothing to cover the bruises Diana left, and Erin doesn’t miss the opportunity for a little payback. “Hey Mel-,” she grins, pointing to her shoulder, “-you walk into door again?”
1077621	Breathing	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade", "Fandom": "Sherlock (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by GypsyDanger", "chapters": "5/?", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-10T00:00:00", "words": "2,199", "Additional Tags": "Post The Great Game, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, First Time, First Kiss", "Relationship": "Sherlock Holmes/John Watson", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The silence in 221 B was stifling. While silence on any given day might have been a God send; depending on whether Sherlock was in the mood to abuse his violin; today it was torture.After returning home the previous night following the anti-climactic showdown with Moriarty at the pool; neither man had been capable of doing anything other than retreating to his own room, to drown in their individual thoughts, worries and fears.John now sat frozen in his usual chair, staring across at Sherlock who was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest in his typical dressing robe and pajamas. The ex-army doctor could easily identify a ‘mind palace’ session at this point in sharing Sherlock’s life, but unlike past sessions, this one concerned the doctor.While John Watson had been staunchly heterosexual throughout his life, not to say that he had a problem with homosexuals mind you, Harry was gay after all, and that had never bothered him. Still, it hadn’t been until the previous night that John Hamish Watson had realized that the most important person in his life was another man.It had taken most of John’s enviable self-control not to have approached Sherlock the previous night and…what? Held him? Kissed him? John wasn’t sure. That same impulse was once again firing within John’s mind, and he was this time, powerless to stop it.The smaller man stood carefully from his chair, and approached Sherlock in slow, but steady steps, hesitating but a breath before placing a gentle hand against Sherlock’s face. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- For a moment it looked as though Sherlock would remain ensconced within the mysterious confines of his own mind. But then there was a minute shift and the consulting detective’s face inclined itself into John’s appendage. And now what? Truly, it had seemed like a monumental act in the doctor’s mind, but the simple act of touching the other man had not yielded the worldly answers he had thought it should.John exhaled shakily, licked dry and chapped lips and started to try and form words, when the familiar rumbling velvet, also identifiable as Sherlock’s voice made itself known; “Do try not to embarrass us both by speaking at this moment. No doubt in that funny little brain of yours, you wish to explain to me how the fear and trauma of one James Moriarty has led you to some childish revelation about my place in your life. Let us skip the explanations, and platitudes for the time being, and spare us both the doubtless tedious and dull attempts that would drive us both into an intellectual graveyard”. Dark blue eyes narrowed. Well that had certainly broken the ice! “Listen you great git! Like it, or not something has changed between us, and it’s not something we should ignore!” “Why ever not, dear John? We have been getting along quite well, without the messy sentimentality and physical cravings normal dullards experience. You and I have no need for anything so primitive. We exist as friends and intellectual colleagues, who greatly appreciate each others company, and have no wish to diverge from one another's presence”. “Truly?” John asked with a raised eyebrow, “Then what was that display at the pool? Simple appreciation, for a simple colleague, that led you to threaten the one person who could challenge your great mind?” Sherlock went from sitting to standing so fast John nearly fainted with vertigo, but for the piercing blue/green/silver gaze searing into his own eyes, “I do not need Moriarty to challenge me. Yes, he was a worthy distraction for a time, but one that swiftly outlived its usefulness. A point that I was making to him, by threatening his life, as he threatened mine. Do not read so much into this dear, sweet Dr. Watson, for I assure you, that you will be quite disappointed when I do not share your emotional response toward a death threat!” A challenge hung openly in the air, in the 4 or so inches between their faces. John could look away, concede Sherlock's point and endeavor to return to life as usual at 221B. Or,He could mount his own attack, and fight for greater depth to their relationship than might be possible. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Truly an impressive attack for John’s point of view to the situation would have been forthcoming, if Sherlock had not decided that the conversation had reached its death, and stormed off to his bedroom. The great git had not even waited for a ‘by your leave’ either; perhaps that’s what irritated John the most about his roommate, he was so inconsiderate! So rude, and messy, and impossible, and irritating, and brilliant, and talented, and beautiful, and sexy, and whaaaaaaa-. John shook his own head with such force as to endanger himself with whiplash at that last bit. He had been listing off the things that were ‘wrong’ with the sociopath, not what made him oh so enchanting, dammit! The veteran turned to glance down the hall toward Sherlock’s room, and momentarily considered following him, and had even taken a step forward to follow when his phone beeped Don’t Follow Him-MH. Captain Watson mentally fell on the floor with a shout, God DAMN those two! Sherlock for being bloody impossible, and Mycroft for knowing everything, and rubbing peoples noses in it! Damn them both he was going to throw out his phone, he was going to stop caring, he was going to stop pining; Sherlock didn’t want him after all. John’s phone beeped, He Wants You. And Don’t Throw Out Your Phone It Would Be…Inconvenient-MH God Damn those two. Then what should I do about it, if you’re so knowledgeable? John’s phone beeped, Well Leave Him To Stew About It For A While, Obviously. Let Him Make The First Move. Honestly Watson, What ‘Does’ My Brother See In You?-MH Bloody Git, John thought. John’s phone beeped, Don’t Call People Names Behind Their Backs John, It’s Extremely Rude-MH “Arrrrrrrrghhhh!!!!” Watson exclaimed before doing what he always did when he was upset with Sherlock…clean the bloody apartment, of said Detective’s mess. Why? Because he was a God Damned Housewife, obviously. Oh how the mighty Army Captains had fallen. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Sherlock’s phone beeped, Moping Again, Brother?-MH Blue/Green/Silver eyes rolled a full 360 degrees, before Sherlock answered back Haven’t you something better to do, you bloated twit? Go running perhaps…off of a cliff ideally. I assure you no one will miss you-SH The detective returned to his mind palace, John’s reaction to the meeting with Moriarty puzzled the genius, and even more shocking was Sherlock’s reaction to John’s reaction. It seemed that in response to a highly dangerous situation that involved both of them John responded by forming a stronger attachment to Sherlock; an attachment that to John equaled attraction. How puzzling, he would have to run further tests. Sherlock’s phone beeped, So Aggressive Little Brother, My, My Mummy Would Not Be Pleased. And John ‘DOES’ Love You Brother. It Just Took An Extra Push For Him To Discover It. Though Why He Loves ‘You’ I Will Never Understand-MH Sherlock scowled, Whyever would you think John loves me. Not that it is any of your concern in the first place, but I am willing to humor you. I am always interested in understanding new, if preposterous ways of thinking-SH John did not love him, it was just too outlandish even for the emotional army doctor, no…the simple fact of the matter was that John responded to a stressful situation by latching onto the only other person to share it with him. Perfectly normal response, and Sherlock would not even blame John for thinking he loved him; it was a normal if idiotic response to those of lesser intelligence. Sherlock’s phone beeped, He Stayed-MH Those two words made Sherlock’s blood freeze, and almost unwillingly his mind was thrown into its palace, dragged down the corridors to the room designated for John Hamish Watson. The room was a plain, but calming Doctor’s office with clipboards of Patient Records that outlined every interaction directly or indirectly involving John Watson in Sherlock’s life. It was true, damn Mycroft to the lowest depths of Hell; if such a thing as Heaven and Hell existed, to which Sherlock had his doubts. John had stayed with him, longer than any other person not amongst his family members had. No matter what Sherlock inflicted upon the compassionate Doctor, the smaller man with the deep ocean blue eyes, ash blonde hair, psychosomatic limp, and PTSD induced nightmares had stayed. The doctor had from the beginning made Sherlock feel…appreciated. But oh how utterly infuriating John H. Watson could be! So emotional! So illogical, and slow; not completely, and in fact John was smarter and faster than most, but still slow, and plain, and hesitant; at times timid. And brave, and noble, and handsome, and…the best man Sherlock had ever known. Oh… Oh no… Emotions it seemed were a new form of extremely contagious viral infections; more testing was needed. Sherlock’s phone beeped You Love Him-MH. He loved John. Damn Mycroft! Damn him! ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- So then the most obvious question became, what to do with the revelation that not only did he, Sherlock Holmes possess sentiment (what was the world coming to?), but that he loved Dr. John Hamish Watson? There was of course, no irrefutable proof that John loved him back, except for his rotund brother, who had an annoying track record of meddling in Sherlock’s life. Not exactly the proof that Sherlock was willing to rely on to make a decision regarding his next course of action. This situation would obviously require extensive testing, and experimentation. Only after he had exhausted all testing would, and could Sherlock even begin to entertain the idea of admitting his…feelings, for John. So the raven haired man steepled his hands under his chin and delved into his mind palace to begin setting up the laboratory that would be necessary to house his experiments and tests regarding John Watson’s inner most feelings him. Sherlock’s phone beeped. Do Try to Be Careful Dear Baby Brother…You May Find That Dear Dr. Watson Might Not Appreciate Being Experimented On. Would Not Want to Run Him Off Would We? –MH Sherlock growled before mentally reducing the experiments he would perform to three, as he calculated that John’s patience and temperament would only permit so many tests before they would be having a domestic. How tedious. Sherlock’s phone beeped. Domestic Indeed, Brother Mine. –MH Sherlock snatched his phone up and quickly, and angrily tapped out a response, Please keep your rather unfortunate hawkish nose out of my personal affairs! And if you insist upon interfering in my personal life again, I shall be delighted to tell Lestrade that you have four body guards following him at all times. My, my, brother mine, for one who is so disgusted by sentiment you are displaying rather a lot of it, wouldn’t you say? -SH Sherlock’s phone beeped, Oh Please, Gregory Lestrade is an Important Asset to the Government. It Only Makes Sense to Protect Him. –MH Sherlock snorted, ‘Important Asset to the Government’?! Gregory Lestrade is a mere NSY DI. There are plenty of men and women who would be able to take his position and become just another name on your payroll ledger! Admit it brother, you are protecting him for personal reasons –SH When no immediate response followed Sherlock’s text, the detective could not help but preen a bit at the victory. Truly, now that the raven haired genius thought it over properly he should tell Lestrade anyway. It ‘would’ be great fun to see Mycroft try to explain himself to an angry DI. Sherlock’s phone beeped. I Shall Admit to No Such Thing. And You Would Do Well Not to Cross ‘Me’ Brother. I Am Not Nearly as Patient or Forgiving as Poor, Ignorant Dr. Watson –MH Oh yes, telling Lestrade about his protection detail was certainly a necessity if the very threat of doing so sent his brother into a fit of conniptions. Across London Greg Lestrade was interrupted while interviewing the victim of a domestic by a beep from his phone. I did not realize Detective Inspectors had fan clubs. 2:00, 12:00, 9:00. Car two streets over –SH Greg stared in bewilderment at his phone before carefully glancing in the directions given, and sure enough there were two armed men and one armed woman at his 2, 12 and 9 o’clock. And if Lestrade had any question about who had sent them, the make and model of a very familiar black town car two streets over answered it. Gregory Lestrade was already livid when his phone beeped again. Please send my regards to Mycroft when you see him –SH ‘Send his regards’, indeed. For Sherlock to know the locations of Lestrade’s ‘fan club’ members, he would have had to have noticed them a while back, and kept it to himself. Damn the Holmes Brothers. Damn them both. 221 B Baker Street. Sherlock’s phone beeped. Challenge Duly Noted, and Accepted. The Game, As You Would Say, Is On-MH
1016255	Vanilla In Lace	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Gabriel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Balthazar (Supernatural)", "Fandom": "Supernatural", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by VioletHyena", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-24T00:00:00", "words": "6,718", "Additional Tags": "Lingerie, men in lingerie, Established Relationship, Established Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Bottom!Sam, top!Gabriel, vanilla!Sam, insecure!Sam, Stiletto Heels, Crossdressing, Balthazar is an ass", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“Gabriel?” Sam said awkwardly as he stood in the living room of Gabriel's apartment. He had a key that could magically teleport him to Gabriel's abode and had finished his ghost case with Dean a couple hours ago. So, reasonably he wanted to unwind with his lover. Sam was used to Gabriel's fake, cookie-cutter women running around. Only recently did they start running around with more clothes on; which eased Sam's mind. But the person in the kitchen was a bit different; specifically because the person was a Sam-clone. In black leather. “Sam,” Gabriel greeted from his reclined position on the couch with a smile. He waved Sam to join him but Sam stared a moment at his own clone, who gave him a blinking, sexy-eyed glance; not unlike Gabriel's usual fake-women. It disturbed Sam a bit as he walked over to Gabriel but did not join Gabriel on the couch. “Make it go away,” Sam said, waving to the clone, who was mixing chocolate ice cream and soda into an extra sweet swill. Gabriel's smile fell slightly at the corners. “What? You don't like?” Gabriel lifted his arms in a shrug. The clone walked over with the tall glass and Sam nearly choked when he realized the Sam-double walked naturally in thigh high stiletto boots along with the form fitting bustier and thong; of all things. “I don't like,” Sam said through gritted teeth and Gabriel took his drink and sighed as the Sam-double disappeared in a poof of dramatic smoke. “I thought you wouldn't mind because it was you,” Gabriel muttered into his drink. “I mind, thanks.” Sam finally sat next to Gabriel, nose wrinkled. “What in the world did you put me in?” “Just something sexy,” Gabriel said and Sam frowned. “That was not sexy,” Sam said. “That was women's lingerie.” “What? I wanted to see what it looked like.” Gabriel shrugged and slid an arm around Sam's waist. Sam was feeling a bit bitter towards the owner of the arm, but he dealt with it. “I mean you said no to the idea.” “And just because I say no doesn't mean I want to see it on a clone of me,” Sam said firmly. “I'm not one of your women that you can dress up in your weird fetishes.” “It is kinky and it's not like I put it on you directly.” Gabriel withdrew his arm intelligently from around Sam. “You put it on my image.” Sam muttered bitterly, folding his arms. “Yes, well... I did.” Gabriel shrugged helplessly. “It looks sexy on you. What do you want me to say?” “Just don't,” Sam stated. Gabriel sighed and his head rolled back on the couch. It wasn't the first time Gabriel brought up the subject, but Sam couldn't help feeling uncomfortable and remember all the times his father and Dean called him a girl over something he did. He wasn't going prove them right by dressing the part. “I don't see why you're so obsessed with getting me into women's clothing.” “One, it's lingerie,” Gabriel said with slight flare. “Two, it shows off your fine, fine body.” Sam's frown deepened and Gabriel sighed. “Yes, fine. You and your rhetorical questions. You know you still haven't given me any sugar since you walked in.” Gabriel upturned his head, lips puckered, but Sam didn't quite feel like bestowing any favors on Gabriel at the moment. “Is that how you see me?” Sam asked and Gabriel frowned since he didn't receive his kiss. “Your sex object?” Gabriel's eyebrow slowly rose. “Where did that come from?” Gabriel sounded genuinely confused. “You make a clone me and dress it up like that; what am I supposed to think?” Sam asked. “I made a double simply because I wanted to see you in something risqué,” Gabriel said. “Because you are a bit...” Gabriel paused and seemed to rethink his words. “I'm what?” Sam pressed on, because Gabriel already started. Though Gabriel was smart enough to know when he was on thin ice. He treaded lightly. “It's nothing bad,” Gabriel defended quickly. “I just wanted to see on a double because I know you're more vanilla.” Sam blinked, surprised. No, shocked. Even hurt. “Are you saying I'm... boring?” “No, not boring,” Gabriel said right away, both hands going up in defense. “Vanilla as in, you know, conventional, non-kinky vanilla. It's not boring, believe me.” Sam didn't feel any better after the explanation as he gazed at the chocolate drink in Gabriel's hand. “You've never been a vanilla person.” Sam murmured dejectedly. Gabriel glanced at the drink and it faded pretty quickly after Sam pointed it out. “Sam, you know I didn't mean it like that.” Gabriel took and squeezed Sam's hand. Sam stayed quiet. He didn't think sex was boring. Then again, Gabriel had probably done everything and more in the time he'd been on earth, so what did Sam know? “Sam.” Gabriel took Sam's face in his hands and pulled him down so he was looking at the archangel. Gabriel's golden stare was firm. “Babe, I love you. You know that.” “Yes,” Sam murmured softly. “And you are anything but boring in bed,” Gabriel assured him. “Believe me, I know. Kinky or not.” Sam felt like he was just saying that to make him feel better. The soft kiss Gabriel gave him said otherwise, but the fear was still there. “You're sure?” Sam asked slowly. “Of course I'm sure.” Gabriel gave him a warm smile and ran a lock of Sam's hair between his fingers. “You're my Saminx.” Even Gabriel's pet names didn't leave him more confident. Gabriel gave him a warmer, deeper kiss. “I could prove it, if you like.” Sam swallowed nervously. “No, it's fine,” Sam said quickly, settling in on the couch more. “I just want to relax. It was a long hunt. We could watch a movie.” Gabriel nodded after a moment and snapped his fingers, a large flat screen appearing on the wall. He kissed Sam's brow, which only made guilt flare up in Sam's gut. “Pick any movie you like.” Gabriel offered. Sam picked Taxi Driver, mostly because he knew Gabriel liked it. He didn't often turn down Gabriel's advances because he liked having sex after hunts. But Sam wasn't sure if he was giving Gabriel what he liked anymore. - In Gabriel's defense, he was extraordinarily romantic for a couple weeks after the misunderstanding. Sam was a little surprised that Gabriel brought flowers and chocolates when he visited. Admittedly they had fallen into a bit of a rut as far as dating went. The endless cycle that went: from hunting, to Gabriel's, having sex, spending the night and then back to hunting when either Winchester found a new case. Perhaps that was why Gabriel had been so intent on doing something new and kinky. Gabriel hadn't brought it up again. Sam didn't even see Gabriel's fake women around serving them drinks or food. Sam was glad about that, because in general, Sam always felt a deep, bitter resentment towards Gabriel's conjured people. They were only there for Gabriel's enjoyment and always had an air of naturally ingrained lust for his attention. It felt like borderline cheating when ever Sam saw them saunter around. It didn't help when Gabriel's eyes would wander. Gabriel always denied sleeping with them since his and Sam's formal decision to be a couple; but Sam hated not knowing if Gabriel got bored one night and decided to use them to entertain himself. So, as nice as roses, candlelight, and making love was, Sam couldn't get the thought of the Sam-double wearing skimpy lingerie out of his head. He always figured in the back of his mind that Gabriel was into more unconventional sex. But it never came up before recently. It never came up because either the world was in trouble or Sam and Dean had been trying to not die. But they'd had a bit of a reprieve over the past few months. No apocalypse, no leviathans, and even Crowley and his demons seemed to be on good behavior. So maybe he was... vanilla. He certainly didn't have a food kink like Dean. Oh, yes, Sam had witnessed enough of Dean, Castiel, and their sexual escapades in the bunker. Sam didn't even want to think about the time he walked in on them with a large tub of whipped cream. And in Sam's defense, he had only been walking through the kitchen; and it was not what he wanted to see before coffee. It was like they couldn't wait 2 minutes to get back to Dean's room where they had a lock on the door. Sam couldn't define himself as risqué; aggressive at times, but kinks were not something he thought of. The lingerie wasn't necessarily a turn off, but Gabriel wanting it on SAM seemed... more than deviant. More than risqué. It seemed sort of wrong. Especially if someone (i.e. Dean) found out. Sam would never live it down. Dean was already terrible with the girl jokes. He didn't need lingerie jokes added to the list. But Sam didn't want Gabriel to think he was boring. If Gabriel got bored with him, what could he do to get the archangel to stay? Or stop Gabriel from going somewhere else to entertain himself? Sam didn't want that. But he didn't exactly know where to start. Sure he consulted the internet, but when it came to actually BUYING something, he just couldn't. He didn't want anything kinky coming through the mail, Dean somehow stumbling upon it, and assuming Sam was into anything strange. After all, it was Gabriel's kink, not his. And second of all, Sam was a large/tall individual and nothing really looked like it came in his size. After every 10 minutes of searching, Sam felt the need to clear the history, bury himself in his pillow and just pretend he'd never seen himself in that bustier. Sam knew Dean was into kinks, but there was no way -even with threat of going back to Hell- that Sam would ask his brother about lingerie. Nor would he ever ask Castiel. He didn't feel comfortable talking to Gabriel about it either, not when Gabriel was being attentive romantically. He didn't want Gabriel to just agree to do all the work. It always left Sam with that awkward sense of being one of his conjured people. If Sam was going to prove that he was not vanilla, he had to do it on his own. So for a long while, Sam was stuck in an unknowing limbo. It passed through his mind several times, but nothing clicked. At least, nothing clicked until he remembered another, possibly even more hedonistic angel than Gabriel. Sam gathered the angel summoning ritual ingredients and set it up outside the bunker; in the safety of an abandoned house. Minutes later, an annoyed looking Balthazar popped up on the uneven couch that was in the barren living room area. “What ever happened to dropping a line and seeing if I'm busy?” Balthazar asked wistfully. “You never gave us your number,” Sam said, puzzled, and Balthazar threw his hands up in the air. “Because I don't want to be bothered by you Winchesters,” Balthazar snapped heatedly. “I was BUSY with several dancing girls in Las Vegas. Not to mention the gigolo was well on his way as well.” Sam would never classify Balthazar as kinky. Slutty, yes. Subtle, no. “I need your help.” Sam said and Balthazar stood, groaning in a frustrated way. “I don't care.” Balthazar braced his fists on his hips haughtily. “Just because you need help doesn't mean you get to summon me from a perfectly good orgy. What did you do, break the world again? Having a piss-fit with your brother? Did you fall and break something? Get a booboo you can't kiss yourself?” Sam sighed, bracing his fingers against his temples. “I don't have anyone else to ask.” Sam knew Balthazar was very hard to motivate. Even more so when he was angry. “It's not world saving related. I...” Sam's skin warmed on his face as he said it, “I need some help with Gabriel.” “And I need a yacht with an uninterrupted orgy until I nearly pass out, but you don't see me crying to you Winchesters about it? Nooooo.” Balthazar turned away from Sam, arms folded and he looked ready to fly away. Sam paused, a little startled with his own daring. “Well... Gabriel might be able to do that for you. He is an archangel.” Balthazar's back straightened and he went still. Sam just hoped Balthazar would take the bait. “I am dating him you know, and he can do pretty much anything. I could talk to him about a boat. He can give you just about anyone you like on top of it.” Balthazar slowly turned, eying Sam with a simmering look of disdain. “I'm listening,” Balthazar said simply. “First, this is a secret,” Sam stressed. “No one is allowed to know about it.” Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Fine, big secret, what ever you want to call it.” “Especially Dean,” Sam clarified. “Spit it out, Sam.” Sam took a deep breath. It wasn't easy, he was telling one of the douche-iest angels about his bedroom problems. “Gabriel said I'm... vanilla and I want to show him that I'm not.” Balthazar gave him a confused look for a brief moment before, as expected, he broke out laughing. Sam looked to the ceiling and sighed. After a good bout of Balthazar holding his sides, dancing about the room, and landing on the couch, he took in a sharp breath and looked at Sam from laying on the cushions. “Big ol' Sam Winchester is a bit dull in the sack?” Balthazar stretched his arms above his head languidly and Sam's face was burning with the humiliation that he put up with. “Why is Gabriel keeping you around then?” “I brought you here to help but if you're just going to laugh at me you can leave.” Sam folded his arms stiffly, hating Balthazar with about as much passion as the burning sun. Balthazar let out a good humored laugh and rolled up into a sitting position, “Your plight delights me and with the added bonus of that yacht you mentioned, I'll help you not be Snores-ville in bed.” Sam hoped he wasn't getting in over his head. “If all goes well, I don't think Gabriel will have a problem with giving you what you want,” Sam said. “But you really have to shut your trap, and KEEP it shut.” Balthazar thought about it and then nodded. “Fine. What are you looking at? A little bondage? A little whip and chain action? You seem like you're be an amazing S&M participant.” Sam felt all the heat in his face suddenly drain away. “No, no, nothing like that,” Sam said hastily. “Gabriel was... thinking about putting me...” He couldn't quite look at Balthazar as he spoke because he suspected another round of laughing would start up. “In a corset and garters... and stilettos...” And Balthazar did start another round of violent giggling at Sam's expense. Sam childishly wanted to KICK Balthazar for it. “Can you help or NOT?” “Oh of COURSE I'll help you.” Balthazar stool again, clapping his hands together and rubbing them vigorously. “But that doesn't mean I'm not going to laugh at the funny bits. I am curious, because I heard the internet can ship things to your little bunker.” “... I can't find anything that might fit.” Sam muttered. Balthazar chuckled and shook his head. “My, my, what a predicament,” Balthazar said and placed his hands in his pockets. “I guess I'm playing lingerie store helper today. What are you looking for?” Sam found himself nervously picking at his nails and he straightened them at his sides. “I'm... not exactly sure what would be good.” Sam admitted and Balthazar raised his brow at Sam. “You ARE quite vanilla,” Balthazar said and Sam glared at Balthazar for needling the point. Balthazar looked Sam up and down and nodded. “I suppose I can find SOMEthing that doesn't look hideous or comical on you.” “Yeah, that would help,” Sam said, really not wanting to look like an awkward drag queen that Gabriel would just laugh at. “Please stay away from anything BDSM related.” “You're no fun,” Balthazar grumbled and held his chin in thought. “Fine. Give me a day, I have something in mind.” Balthazar pointed an accusing finger at Sam. “And shave your bloody legs while you're waiting. Stockings are not flattering with wads of sasquatch hair.” Balthazar was gone in a blink and Sam let out a heavy breath. “I can't believe I'm doing this,” He muttered. Though what he really couldn't believe was that he was trusting this with Balthazar. - Sam made some sort of excuse for Dean about where he was going but luckily Dean was thoroughly distracted by Castiel to really worry about what he was doing. Balthazar showed up with several shopping bags at the empty house exactly 24 hours later and Sam had to stare for a moment. “You bought all of these?” Sam asked, shyly peeking into one of the decorative paper bags. “I didn't buy anything.” Balthazar set everything upon the spacious floor. “I pilfered it.” “Of course you did,” Sam grumbled lowly. “I actually found things that might fit your fat arse, so no complaining.” Balthazar childishly tossed a ball of pink satin, that hit Sam in the chest. Sam unwittingly caught it and dropped it when he realized it was a bra. “Oh god, I feel like such a pervert.” Sam groaned and felt bad for the people who'd made the clothes only to have it stolen by an angelic thief. “I'm not waiting around all day for you to get over your existential crisis.” Balthazar put several bags into Sam's arms and pushed him into the nearest room with a door; with little effort on Balthazar's part. Sam stood stock still in the room for several moments after the door closed. He took a deep breath. Why was he doing this again? Oh yes, so Gabriel wouldn't think he was boring in bed. Why did Gabriel have to have such strange tastes? Sam finally, bravely, pulled out the first item, and then the next. He muttered several “Oh my God” and “Really?” phrases through out the process. Balthazar didn't buy variety but several sets in different sizes. Very large sizes. Balthazar had settled on one outfit and it was very... angel-esque; which Sam was not expecting. The corset top was white and slit down the middle, only laced together with yellow ribbon. Sewn decorations of gold were woven into the hem and cotton in lined patterns. Braided white and gold spaghetti straps strung over his neck to help pull the top taunt against his skin. It curved to his body every which way he moved, giving a definition to his chest and emphasizing the curve at his waist. Garter suspenders hung from the bottom and the stockings that he was given were opaque white. The underwear... Balthazar had given him several styles and Sam could not, would not, wear a thong. The boy shorts were lace, but they were far more comfortable than anything else. But they were bright cherry red, which had to be some hidden joke on Balthazar's part. Balthazar knocked loudly on the bedroom door. “It's been 20 minutes. How long does it take you to change?” “I've never WORN something like this before,” Sam snapped back, his face a dark red that contrasted sharply with the white. “You couldn't find anything less... white?” “You're vanilla, remember?” Balthazar said with a laugh in his tone. Sam glared at the door and he hated the irony. “Let me see.” “No,” Sam huffed and started to pull at the strings to remove the top. “I have to see the whole ensemble. There are shoes for you to try on out here.” Sam groaned and tightened the ribbon again. “If you take a picture, I will hunt you down and stab you.” Sam opened the door and Balthazar had a tumbler half full of a dark spirit in hand. He looked amused, and then somewhat impressed. “You actually don't look half bad, Sam,” Balthazar offered. “Bite me,” Sam said, irritated. Balthazar presented Sam with the last bag, a pair of large high heeled shoes. Sam sighed and used the couch to sit and put them on. They were stilettos, black strapped with 4 pairs of golden wings on the front, running from toe to ankle. Sam would have been more impressed if he wasn't the one wearing them. They were actually very nice looking. Balthazar snapped his fingers and gestured for Sam to stand. “Let's see you walk, Cinderella.” “I can't possibly WALK in these,” Sam protested. Balthazar did not take no for an answer. He set his drink down and took Sam's wrists. He lifted Sam from the safety of sitting and Sam stumbled, being very unfamiliar with supporting all of himself on his toes. He was also 4 inches taller than normal, which all felt very off balancing. “The walk is half appeal.” Balthazar said and released Sam, taking back up his drink. He made a walking motion with his fingers. “You're a big boy now, so walk little Sam. Walk.” “You're enjoying yourself way too much.” Sam glared at Balthazar and took stiff steps on the wooden floor. “Everything is here to be enjoyed.” Balthazar grinned like the asshole he was. “Your legs are too stiff.” “Shut your hole before I shut it for you.” Sam really wished he'd brought the holy oil so he could deep fry Balthazar's wings. After the test walk, Balthazar tossed a small bag in Sam's lap as he sat on the couch. His calves were strained like he never expected them to be. Sam warily opened the bag and brought out a thick ribbon of lace that had clasps on either end. “It's a choker,” Balthazar explained. “Gives some attention to the neck.” Sam sighed, mentally exhausted from this outfit and Balthazar's snide comments. He let the choker rest in his lap. “I don't know if I can do this,” Sam muttered. “You act as though it's the worst thing in the world,” Balthazar grumbled and folded his arms. “Honestly if you hate it so much, don't do it.” Sam paused and glanced up at Balthazar, who took a sip from his glass. “Well you're having a good laugh at it,” Sam sulked. “Because it's so damn funny from where I'm standing,” Balthazar scoffed. “A full grown man worrying about what some meaningless clothes could do to his fragile ego.” Balthazar rolled his eyes as Sam blinked up at him. “Who cares if they're lingerie? The only difference between them and running around in a jock strap is that these look much better and practically scream sex. If you hate it so much, don't do it. Sex is supposed to be fun for all involved parties. And if Gabriel can't deal with a vanilla slice, dump him.” Sam fiddled with his hands. He was probably going crazy because Balthazar was making some sort of actual sense. It actually made Balthazar seem like a decent person for a moment. “It's not bad...” Sam said quietly, because they weren't so bad on his skin. They were actually -embarrassingly- comfortable. Except for the shoes. Sam would take a pair of boots over heels any day. “But I've never done this before. I'm not.... kinky. And if Dean ever saw this, I'd never live this down.” Balthazar sighed. “Yes, you and your socio-masculine images.” Balthazar waved off the issues. “Regardless, I expect my yacht and I've been making a list for my orgy.” Sam sighed; and there went Balthazar's decent-person moment. “I'll talk to him about it,” Sam promised. “You better. And you have to let me know, ASAP.” Balthazar said and was gone a moment later. Sam paused, because he still didn't have a phone number for the asshole. He supposed he'd just have to summon him again. Preferably at an inopportune moment. Sam looked down at the lace collar and his belly tightened nervously. He still didn't know if he could do it or not. - Sam gathered his courage the next day. He rented a motel room since he still wanted to surprise Gabriel. He changed there in the small bathroom. He put on the red lace underwear and nervously ran his hand over it. He'd been thinking a lot about Balthazar said, about doing this only if he didn't hate it. Sam wasn't sure if he liked it yet and he hoped that maybe Gabriel would help him decide. He wasn't doing this for himself after all; he was doing it for Gabriel. The white stockings hugged his muscular legs and rested mid thigh, contrasting his tan skin. The corset top formed to him like the day before and the garter clips were fastened to the stockings. Then Sam begrudgingly put on the shoes again. He hadn't even been aware that they made high heeled shoes in his size. Finally he stood and put on the choker that looked more like a delicate tattoo on his skin. He took a deep breath in the mirror and let it out. He slowly walked to the motel door and made sure it was locked; and dead bolted; and that the chain was set in place. He sat on the full sized bed and held his phone in his hand. He took a deep breath and let it out before he typed a quick text of the address, room number, as well as a request for Gabriel to come ASAP. Too late to turn back now, Sam thought meekly and hoped Gabriel didn't just laugh at him like Balthazar had. That would probably be worst case scenario. Sam didn't have to dwell on too many of those scenarios long though because Gabriel appeared in in front of the door in his normal clothes. His gold eyes only took one sweep of the room before they landed on Sam; and stayed there. Sam's face heated as he watched Gabriel's eyes widen, a long silence stretching in the room. “Um... surprise?” Sam's voice was much meeker than he wished it to be. Gabriel opened his mouth and looked like he wanted to speak, but only a strange exhale left his mouth. Sam smiled a little because, if nothing else, it was worth all the trouble to make Gabriel -Silver Tongue, Loki- go speechless. Sam's hands clasped on his knees and he shrugged at Gabriel. “Do you like?” “Do I like?” Gabriel seemed to find his voice as he took a step closer, his eyes flickering all over Sam, from his toes to his eyes, they never sat in one place for long. “What's not to like?” Sam shrugged and Gabriel's hands were doing strange motions, as though hesitant to touch as he drew closer. “I didn't think you'd ever... This is real, right?” Funny, the archangel that could make entire worlds from nothing was asking what was real. “Yeah...” Sam squeezed his fingers in one hand. “I thought you might like it.” “I love it.” A grin found its way to Gabriel's mouth and his eyes glowed with excitement. He took Sam's hands and eased him to his feet. “Let me see.” Sam swallowed and maneuvered on the heels so he stayed steady. Gabriel's eyes drank him in, even as Gabriel had to take a step back to take all of him in. Gabriel spoke with great awe, “Do you have any clue how sexy you are?” Sam's face burned with heat. He liked surprising Gabriel if he got those reactions from him. “Can you walk in those?” “No, not very well,” Sam admitted. “I've never worn heels before this.” “Damn...” Gabriel made it sound more like admiration rather than a curse. Gabriel's hand finally settled on Sam's hip, where the lace panties and corset top met. Gabriel didn't seem to mind that he had to crane his neck further to look up and Sam rested his hands on Gabriel's shoulders as Sam leaned down to finally greet him with a kiss. “You are the sexiest thing ever.” Sam smiled. “I still feel incredibly awkward.” Gabriel's hand squeezed his hip and slid up the soft cotton fabric over Sam's side. Then down, over the lace and nylon stocking. It felt better with Gabriel warming them with his touch. “Did you do this just for me?” Gabriel asked curiously. “Yes.” Sam nodded a little, leaning against Gabriel for more support than the shoes. Gabriel could handle his weight easily as an archangel. “I don't want you thinking I'm vanilla.” “It really bothered you that much?” Gabriel frowned. “I told you I didn't mean you were boring.” “I know,” Sam lied, because it had still bothered him that he wasn't adventurous. It still made normal sex sound boring; even though it never was for Sam. “I... still hate it when you stare at your fake-people more than me.” “I've been good.” Gabriel's hands wandered, fingers stroking the various fabrics and spots that made Sam's groin fill with heat. “I guess.” Sam muttered. He knew it was unlikely that Gabriel would stop cold turkey with conjuring people, because he was an archangel, and he had the powers. Sometimes it made for really good times. But others, it was just annoying. “And I love you much, much more.” Gabriel kissed over Sam's heart and Sam smiled despite himself. “You look fantastic.” “It's not too much?” Sam asked, because he certainly felt like it was over the top. “No way.” Gabriel smiled cheekily. He took Sam's hand and pulled back a step, making a swirling motion with his finger. “I wanna see the whole thing.” Sam slowly turned on one toe, staying balanced and their hands broke for a moment for Sam to complete the simple circle. “Very, very sexy.” Gabriel grinned before he pulled Sam close again his hands clasped Sam's hips. Then the hands slid down, squeezing Sam's thigh where the stockings started. Sam brushed his fingers through Gabriel's hair and kissed him, relieved that Gabriel was enjoying the outfit. Gabriel's hands explored greedily, feeling up every inch of fabric before going back for seconds. Sam had been expecting the lingerie to come off immediately after Gabriel's arrival, but even though Gabriel tugged at some of the hemming and lacing, he did not remove anything. Gabriel lifted Sam by his thighs as they kissed heatedly and Sam's arms tightened around the archangel's neck as he was lowered onto his back on the soft bed. Sam was relieved to be off his feet and Gabriel slid between his legs. Their lips broke contact as Gabriel's mouth felt their way down Sam's chest and a couple fingers grazed the lace around Sam's neck. Sam breathed heavily, already half aroused by Gabriel's fondling. Lips made a pathway down the center of the corset where only ribbon was between Gabriel and flesh. Sam's stomach tightened as Gabriel reached the end of the corset to the lacy, non-opaque panties. Gabriel's mouth lingered and his fingers traced the hem line that showed under the corset. “Turn over,” Gabriel said, his golden stare flickering up to Sam. Sam let out an excited breath and turned over. He was on his belly when Gabriel rested his hand on Sam's back and did not allow him to get to his hands and knees. “Just like that.” Sam relaxed into the mattress when he felt Gabriel's mouth on his bare shoulder and a hand took in every curve that the corset emblazoned. Warm hands tugged lightly at the corset top and make their way down, over Sam's panties and then the flash of flesh before the stockings. Gabriel took his time, making mesmerizing circles in the nylon, which was a soothing, yet an arousing feeling as it continued. Gabriel even took his time admiring the shoes, Sam could feel his fingers touching the golden wings. “See something you like?” Sam waved his free leg around and bumped it against Gabriel's arm. “Everything, I like.” Gabriel focused back on Sam's body, leaving a kiss on Sam's spine and Sam sighed as Gabriel squeezed his his butt. If this was kinky, Sam could get used to the pampering he was receiving. Finally, after Gabriel was done exploring to his heart's content, Sam felt the corners of the lace panties being tugged down his legs. Gabriel must have used a bit of grace to make the fabric phase through the garter straps, because they were tossed further onto the bed where Sam could see they were still intact. Then he felt a kiss on his butt cheek and Sam sunk further into the mattress with a moan as Gabriel's tongue bathed his hole with attention. Sam's fingers gripped the sheets and buried his nose into them. His legs spread open naturally for more and the hands squeezed his thighs, restraining him from lifting his butt into the air like he wanted to. Sam whimpered softly and crooned into the sheets. “Fuck, Gabriel...” Sam moaned and Gabriel pulled back, giving his cheek a finally kiss before he got a surprise tap on the other. “Roll over, Saminx.” Gabriel said and it took a little more effort this time for Sam to roll over, but he did. Gabriel grinned at him and Sam gazed up at the still dressed archangel. He couldn't have THAT. Sam swiftly started unbuttoning the shirt and Gabriel unzipped his jeans. Once they were discarded, Sam was amused to find that Gabriel's red boxers had landed near his laced boy shorts. Gabriel settled between his legs, which curled around the archangel's waist. Sam leaned back on the bed and was not surprised when Gabriel snapped his fingers for lubrication and protection. Gabriel stretched him lazily with his fingers, taking more time that Sam really wanted him to at that point. Gabriel tugged at one of the crossed ribbon intersections of the corset as he watched and the whole piece gave Sam a squeeze, which was more exhilarating when Gabriel was teasing his insides with a few fingers. “Mm, do it already,” Sam groaned impatiently. “I'm just admiring the view.” Gabriel pulled his fingers free and his knees slid under Sam's thighs. Sam gripped Gabriel's knees as Gabriel slid home, accompanied with a groan from Sam. Gabriel filled him just right. Gabriel leaned down and snagged a kiss as his hands ran over the taunt cotton. “And the view is so good,” Gabriel said with a low purr. Sam knitted his fingers into Gabriel's silky hair, drawing him closer. “Less talk, more action.” Sam whispered against his lips. Gabriel hummed, delighted to oblige before Sam felt the rocking of their bodies. Sam gripped him tight, the familiar girth sliding in and out of him. He panted heavily near Gabriel's ear, at least until Gabriel pulled back and his golden eyes flickered over Sam's body. Sam's grip returned to the sheets above his head and he held them tight, finding somewhere to anchor himself so he could move back against the thrusts. “Mm, yes, you are extra tight tonight,” Gabriel murmured. Hands were firmly clasped on Sam's hips, pulling him easily into a quick rhythm, leaving Sam very little chance to tell him to knock off the sex talk. “Something about you in stockings just get's me all fired up. Shows off how sexy your legs are.” He dragged Sam's leg from his waist to over his shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze and it pressed tight against him. The move also changed the angle if the thrusting, causing Sam to moan deeper. “Fuck, Gabriel.” Sam heaved a breath, mind fuzzy with pleasure. “Harder.” The thrusts became more rapid and Sam's eyes closed, wanton moans leaving him sporadically. Sam twisted his hands in the sheets, voice getting higher the closer he got. His skin was flushed with heat. One last searing kiss from Gabriel was enough to pull Sam over the edge. He groaned loudly as he came, body quaking from the force of it. Gabriel was only a few thrusts after him, burying himself deep in Sam. Sam panted heavily and curled onto his side. He tugged at the top of the corset, feeling somewhat confined after the swell of heat left him a little more than damp just about everywhere. Gabriel spooned up behind Sam, wrapping his arms around Sam's ribs. He hummed, contently in Sam's ear. “You're amazing,” Gabriel murmured. Sam smiled tiredly, welcoming the feeling of Gabriel warming his back. “Not vanilla?” Sam asked. “Not vanilla,” Gabriel agreed. A wandering hand began playing with the bottom of the corset top, letting it slide between his fingers. Sam sighed, his legs entangling with the others behind him. The wandering hand then found purchase on Sam's hip, stroking one of the lines of gold with his thumb. It was nice and soothing, but also distracting enough to keep Sam away from a post sex nap. “You're really into the whole dress up thing, aren't you?” Sam asked. “Mm, while you're sexy on your own, the clothes sort of magnify it by a hundred.” Gabriel said, a twinge of satisfaction in his voice. Sam felt a kiss on his neck and a smile against his skin for a brief moment. “You would also look great in silk.” “Silk?” Sam was pretty sure silk was not a sexy fabric. “It's aesthetic; and it feels good.” Gabriel moved and soon the red lace panties were dangled in front of Sam's face; the one's he'd worn for all of fifteen minutes. “Like lace.” They were draped over Sam's bare hip before Gabriel nudged his foot with Sam's. “And I've never been a foot guy, but those shoes are borderline fetish.” “Is it because they have little wings?” Sam raised his brows, glancing over his shoulder. Gabriel shrugged, dragging his leg up the back of Sam's, again, over the stockings. “Maybe.” Sam smiled, letting out a content breath. “I might not be opposed to doing this again.” Gabriel looked at him with a large glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “But you have to keep it a secret. No snide remarks to Dean or any of your mean jokes or never again.” Sam could easily see Gabriel making crude jokes about Sam wearing garters while Dean was around, which would only mortify him and confuse Dean. “Our little secret, promise,” Gabriel said eagerly and his fingers walked up Sam's chest before he snuck a kiss from his lips. “I mean it,” Sam murmured firmly. “So do I,” Gabriel promised silkily. “I have a long list of things I'd like to see you in.” Sam wasn't so easy to trust but it was really the best he could get from Gabriel. Sam was quiet a moment, still feeling Gabriel's greedy hand. “I um... I had some help getting these,” Sam said and Gabriel looked at him curiously. “And?” “Well... I sort of promised Balthazar you'd give him a yacht. And an uninterrupted orgy.” Sam tapped his fingers together and his face heated up. Gabriel's brows lifted high and he looked agitated, perhaps because another angel had been dealing Sam intimate clothing. “I just needed help finding things to surprise you. I'm not exactly... normal sized.” Gabriel thought about it and he relaxed, but an arm wrapped around Sam's waist possessively, which made Sam a little appreciative. Gabriel didn't often have a reason to be possessive. “I suppose I can loan him a orgy,” Gabriel muttered and a small smile returned to his face and gestured to Sam's outfit. “I mean, if he did help get you into this.” Sam smiled, but he did remember all of Balthazar's snide remarks. “Feel free to throw in any tricks you like, he was sort of an asshole about it,” Sam encouraged. A proper trickster grin slid into place and Gabriel took Sam's hand, kissing his knuckles. “My pleasure.” Gabriel assured him and Sam settled in comfortably with his lover, feeling more at ease than he had in weeks.
1085219	And This Is The End	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/F", "Characters": "Homulilly, Akemi Homura, Kaname Madoka, Kriemhild Gretchen", "Fandom": "Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika \| Puella Magi Madoka Magica", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Measured", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-16T00:00:00", "words": "308", "Additional Tags": "Hurt/Comfort", "Relationship": "Akemi Homura/Kaname Madoka", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Fic Promptly", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The roar came, and a red shock burst through the world. Like the big bang in reverse, the world unmade. Trees burned for seconds, rock and metal and rubble split apart, until everything she had ever known in the life of a girl named Homura Akemi was gone.What was left of Homura, now Homulily watched as the last of every being, human and witch were turned to ash and dust. Kriemhild Gretchen worked with the fury of an avenging god, destroying not just all the pain and sadness of the world, but everything else as well. The wound was cauterized, the universe blank of life except for them.There was nothing left of the world they once knew, of blue skies and studies and hopes and dreams. But she had lost that long ago, long before Kriemhild Gretchen unwove it. The universe was encapsulated, a globe of remaining stars held in Kriemhild Gretchen's hands.Somehow, she had been spared. Timeless, she was between destruction, past the witch-god's rage.Kriemhild Gretchen, once Madoka turned to her. Behind the mask, there was a hint of the girl she had traveled lifetimes through when she had been Homura. The only infinite memory left in the spiral of chaos that was left of her.Folds of dress and time wrapped about Kriemhild Gretchen as she took the witch-god girl into her arms. That one wish, refined down to dust still remained. Save Madoka. Even lost to herself, she could not escape her life's meaning. The roars began to cease to something like tears, a keening sound for the lost. She wrapped Kriemhild Gretchen in time and stars. On her lips was the voiceless last memories of two girls holding hands and waiting for the last breath together in the water.Even as all life around them was destroyed, they lived on.
1039050	Ill Never Mention Your	{ "Archive Warning": null, "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Ruud van Nistelrooy, Rio Ferdinand, Edwin van der Sar, Giovanni van Bronckhorst", "Fandom": "Football RPF", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by akathecentimetre", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-10T00:00:00", "words": "6,417", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Ruud van Nistelrooy/Edwin van der Sar, Rio Ferdinand/Edwin van der Sar", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply", "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	(A/N: In this fic Edwin is 34; Ruud is 28; Rio is 26.) * On September 17th, 1944, Ruud van Nistelrooy didn’t go to work on the railways near Amsterdam, because the Allies were coming, and everyone he worked with had been told to stay away, to hamper the German defense. A week later, the Allies weren’t going to go any further, and in the dead of night, he ran from his house to the nearest church, thinking wildly of some old-fashioned notion of sanctuary. “You,” the Father said to him several days later, as he distributed food among the several men taking shelter in the cramped quarters he ostensibly lived in behind the chapel. “You know how to keep a secret?” Except it wasn’t really a question the way he asked it, and Ruud knew that, given the circumstances, it wasn’t a good idea for him to say no as he followed Gio out. The small, quick man was far too good at his job and far too good at nonchalantly hiding random runaways from the patrols that went stomping or driving past every few hours to be disobeyed. He bore the proof of his activity, too, having had to stay inside for several days himself with his face blackened and bruised. Ruud hadn’t dared to ask him what had happened. “You’re a railway worker, yes? Good. I need someone good with their hands. And getting you away from here will help you – you’re a bit of a hulk to go about day by day, when they’re rounding up labor all the time,” Gio said, with a tight smile. “Will you?” “Will I what?” “Go into hiding. Do some work for the LO. We’ll make sure you’re as well-supplied as we can manage.” (1) Which was how Ruud had ended up traipsing through the night, following a priest he didn’t know if he could trust, looking for a man codenamed the Ice Rabbit. Ijskonijn. Honestly. What sort of a name was that? * “We’ll leave food as often as we can,” Gio was whispering as they crept along the canals of the Jordaan. “During the day, most often. It’s best if you move around at night, if at all. You’ll get forged papers soon, and eventually you might be moved elsewhere. Het ijskonijn’s a bit of a strange one, but he knows what he’s doing. You might be able to help him, he’s got a lot on his plate.” He must have noticed Ruud’s skeptical look, because he laughed, bright and sarcastic. “Relax. We’ve been doing this for four years.” The hiding place was a garden shed in the back of a canal-facing house, not visible from the street, as one had to be admitted to the cramped yard through a doubly-locked wooden fence, and then the shed was unobtrusive enough, with dark, shabby windows and no signs of life. It was big enough for a man to take a few long paces in all directions, but not much more than that. A few sharp taps at the door was answered by a few furtive ones back, and when Gio had replied with a few more the door swung open, but the room beyond was still totally dark – Ruud could only slowly make out the shape of a mattress on the floor, and then a man, taller than him, a packet of cigarettes in his long-fingered, pale hands. “You’re joking.” “No, I’m really not,” Gio said with a smirk, taking the bag he had carried with him off of his shoulder and unloading several things out of it onto the floor – a few packets of cigarettes, a hard loaf of bread, some cheese and glass bottles of weak beer. “I’ve got a good feeling about him.” “The last one nearly got us both arrested. You know I can’t have anyone near here, not now.” “Too bad,” the priest said, picking up his lightened load. “If he’s too much trouble, put a sign that says ‘COLLABORATOR’ on his back, and shoot him. It’s no concern of mine anymore, I’ve got enough to do.” (2) The Ijskonijn laughed. “What happened to your face? You were already ugly, you didn’t need to make it worse.” “My wife would disagree with you,” Gio said dryly as he hauled his bag further onto his shoulder and made ready to leave. “I got roughed up for wearing a carnation. On the Prince’s birthday.” (3) “Idiot,” the man said, his voice low and serious. “Don’t get yourself noticed for banalities.” There was a pause, and then he spoke again, although it sounded grudging. “Stay safe.” Gio snorted. “Here,” he said, slipping what looked like a wallet into the Ijskonijn’s hand. “More from Van Tuyl. For paper and ink.” “The NSF is busy these days,” (4) the man said with a smirk, peering through what looked like a large wad of cash – certainly more than Ruud had seen in months – before he put it in his pocket. “You should be grateful for it.” “Did I ever say I wasn’t?” Gio grinned, shook his head, and left the two of them alone, shutting the door firmly behind him – with the dawn coming on there was just enough light coming in through the rotting roof that he could make out his new protector’s (was that the right word, anyway?) form. He was even taller than Ruud, and thinner, his mop of hair tousled and grimy with what looked like soot. In the sudden silence after Gio’s departure, he pulled a package of cigarettes from his other pocket, lit one with the last match in the accompanying matchbook, and breathed in a long lungful of smoke. “I’m Edwin. You?” “Ruud.” “Right.” Edwin nodded, sticking the cigarette in a corner of his long mouth, and then tilted his head. “C’mon then. I’ll show you downstairs.” The mattress was shoved away to reveal a trapdoor, made of the same rotting wood, and underneath, a pale glow. Edwin disappeared into the hazy light, and Ruud fumbled down after him, feeling his way along damp earthen walls until his feet were off of the crooked steps and on a soggy floor. It was, if the hyperbole could be borne, a bit of an Aladdin’s cave. A radio sat on a rickety table in one corner, complete with headphones and an aerial that vibrated slightly under the movement of their feet, sticking up through the wooden ceiling to get closer to the unobstructed air outside; its power cable, too, snaked away to an unknown source, probably in a neighboring house. A little pile of identity cards sat on top of it, all with the same grubby little picture of what Ruud assumed was Edwin – next to them, lying perpendicular to the wall, two rifles and three pistols. In another corner, a beast of a printing press, its innards ripped open on one side so it could be modified to work on hand-cranked power. Stacks of paper and type, things tacked onto the dirt wall, broadsheets and pamphlets that Ruud recognized from the few illegal ones that had been passed among the men back at the church. Photographs of men clipped from newspapers, one labeled “GERRIT VAN DER VEEN” (5) in a loopy hand; everything was illuminated by a sputtering paraffin lamp. And in the third corner – “Shut the door,” Edwin said, still smoking. “But quietly. We don’t want to wake our guest.” Ruud stared. The soldier – or rather airman – was lying on a stretcher, his dirty boots still on, most of his uniform covered by a thin blanket, a veritable mass of bandages piled under his lower back. His skeletal, dark face was pinched and drawn, his breathing labored. “English,” Edwin said, tapping ashes from his cigarette as though he was commenting on the weather. “He was shot down a few days ago. It looks like there’s shrapnel in his spine, so I doubt he’ll walk again.” Ruud blinked and looked at Edwin instead, open-mouthed, blankly taking in more of his appearance – the rangy, stubbled face, the long arms and broad chest and the hint of blond under the soot in his hair. His eyes sparked blue even in the dark. “Is he going to die?” “Who knows?” Edwin shrugged. “We can’t take him to a hospital, even disguised – if his nightmares are anything to go by he is very English and very not-Dutch,” he continued, sniggering a little. “He’d stick out like a sore thumb with that tongue.” “No,” he said, pulling the blanket further up to the airman’s chin. “I’ll do what I can for him here. If the Allies make another push he might even get back home.” The tone of his voice left Ruud with little doubt, as they both went back up to the room above, that he didn’t expect this to happen. “So,” Edwin said as they sat down on the floor and Ruud finally took some time to stretch out his cramped limbs. “So,” Ruud said, feeling exactly none of his tension dissipate away. “How long have you been out here?” Edwin drew on the cigarette and blew the smoke sideways out through a crack in the blacked-out window before handing it over to Ruud. “Since the end of April.” “Five months? Christ,” Ruud muttered, sucking smoke deep into his lungs in the vain hope it would calm him down. “I’ve only been with you people for a week and I’m already going crazy.” “Seventeen.” “What?” Ed seemed inappropriately amused, his thin lips stretched in a ruthless smile. “Seventeen months. I went into hiding when they tried to call up all the army men.” Ruud coughed. He learned a lot about Ed in those first few hours. He wasn’t a naturally gregarious type, but the more questions Ruud asked the more he thought of, and Ed had a habit of answering them all, no matter how stupid an idea it was to even bring them up. So soon he knew that Ed had always been good with his hands, and that it had been easy to at least start at medical school, and then leave to be a medic because he was bored, and stick it out even though there hadn’t been much to do besides hang around and wonder when everything was going to go tits-up. He told Ruud more than he wanted to know, really. He learned about those short five days when he didn’t sleep and was dragging men down roads that he no longer could recognize, carrying them until they died and he could pick up another one. He learned more than he wanted to about those five days, and he learned how then – after then, after that, then – Rotterdam was gone and it was over, the surrender signed, and they could go home as though nothing had ever happened. About living a relatively normal life – albeit one filled with broken oaths and students hauled out of the nearby university for sheltering or refusing to denounce Jewish friends – until the world intruded again and the call went out that all former Dutch Army conscripts were to report for hard labour. About how he’d met Gio in those chaotic few days and watched from a window when – it was said – half a million people turned out to spontaneously strike against the planned theft of all those men. Edwin ground out his cigarette in the floorboards and left it sputtering. “Sometimes I feel like I ghost,” he said cryptically, giving Ruud that same hard grin. “It’s not safe for me to go out during the day. Tall fucker like me, I get noticed.” Ruud sat still, feeling the cold creep its way through his clothes, and watched the last of the tobacco flare out. They slept on the same rough pallet that day, but didn’t have to share a blanket – a second one had been provided by Gio, who dropped by around lunchtime, his dark clothes of the night before replaced by an inoffensive suit that made him look as though he was normal. Edwin got up several times to check on the pilot, but other than that he was quiet, napping in fits and starts, leaving Ruud to stare up at the ruined roof as he struggled to readjust his body to sleeping in daylight and the cold. At one point, he rolled over and watched Edwin sleeping, on his front with the handle of a pistol sticking out of the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back. It looked like it couldn’t be comfortable, so Ruud reached over to take it out. Edwin was awake and trying to choke him before he could blink. “Don’t.” “Christ!” Ruud wheezed. “I was just – ” “I know.” The hard lines around the edges of Ed’s eyes softened. “Don’t.” * On September 30th, the pilot woke up and started talking properly. Ruud heard him as he slowly woke around dusk, his head heavy with a sleepy fog. Three days without bread, a nasty voice said at the back of his head as he got up and the world spun, as though he’d forgotten. The Germans had stopped all food-bearing trains headed to the provinces. “What the fuck do you mean, it didn’ work?” Ruud winced. The injured man must have worked up quite a head of steam to be heard through the floor. During a gap in the shouted conversation, he took his chance and dropped down into the cellar, letting the door close with a snap behind him. It turned out his name was Rio. What sort of name that was for an Englishman Ruud really didn’t know, but it was, at least, a relief to see him awake and angry and talking after watching over what would have better been his corpse for days. Well, for a bit. After a few minutes Ruud was just annoyed, and Ed wasn’t helping a bit by looking murderously amused at it all. “What, there’s more of you?” The powerful body on the stretcher looked about ready to lift itself up and punch its way straight through Ruud, damaged spine be damned. “Are all of you Dutch tits this big?” “Some,” Ed sniggered mildly. “Lie still.” Rio sniffed, and Ruud got the horrible feeling that he was every bit as insane as Edwin was turning out to be. “Don’t like the look of him.” “Tough. He was all ready to give up his rations for you, too.” “I fucking well wasn’t!” The fury was swelling in Ruud now, as though in direct defiance of his knowledge that he couldn’t do anything about it. “I didn’t ask to be here!” “Join the club,” Rio said nastily, and Ed rolled his eyes before pushing Ruud back up into the house and slamming the trapdoor shut. “Tha’s bollocks, mate. We were gonna win at Arnhem!” (6) * Ed spent many hours down in the basement talking to Rio. Ruud could recognize the beginning of an inexplicable and generally frightening friendship when he saw it, so he tended to stay away while the Dutchman and Englishman cackled their way through their respective war stories over the course of days and nights, and seemed to share a private, sniggering joke whenever Ruud interrupted them. He learned enough, at any rate, to know that Rio had been a gunner on a bomber, and that he’d just had time to think that he was in a colossal amount of shit with his parachute above him and fire in his back, before he blacked out and didn’t remember anything much before waking up to Ed and Ruud’s faces. Ed’s initial diagnosis, though, had still been correct, and one evening Ruud had woken and was about to descend with the latest package of supplies when he heard the pilot weeping, grieving for his freedom and his useless legs, and, through one of the many holes dotting the rotten wood, he saw Edwin holding his hand, giving him something to struggle and fight against, his other hand behind his head to guide it to his. Ruud swallowed, and looked away. * Rio still slept during the night most of the time, which meant that Ruud could spend time down in the dark without being infuriated and just watch Edwin work. His eyes were starting to adjust to the point where he felt like a blinking mole every time he happened to catch a glimpse of any sunlight, but the paraffin lamps and the way they illuminated every angle of the dusty press drew him like a moth. The printing assignments varied from night to night. Sometimes Ed received scraps of scrawled paper tucked in among the meager food and paraffin supplies that were left for them every afternoon, pamphlets that he would have to set himself and then get sent back to the authors or to others for distribution. Sometimes the set block of type for the little broadsheets would arrive complete, wrapped up with little screws of paper and cloth to make sure it didn’t rattle, and all Edwin would do was ink it up and print. Still other times – when he went into a pacing, silent, irritable mood, and Ruud would hear him stalking back and forth on the boards above him while he was trying to sleep properly down in the dark – he would write something himself, and his fingers would fly across paper holding a leaking fountain pen, or, to Ruud’s aching eyes, become a blur as he slotted letter after letter directly into the printing frame. Stealing enough power for the radio was difficult enough, with electricity so scarce and gas not much better, so the press had to be wound. If it had needed the paper to be hand-fed, Ruud could have helped, but as it was he just spent three weeks watching the little handles and grips flicking back and forth as sheets of damp paper disappeared in and out of it, and Ed’s back straining as he worked the hand-crank, smoke wafting gently around his head. By the middle of October, he was having to take breaks, and Ruud would take his turn, fumbling a little each time before he got into the rhythm of it as the machine, as if protesting against its no longer automatic existence, threatened to snarl. Ed would sit against the wall, wiping his damp brow, eyes fluttering as he struggled to catch his breath, until Ruud was in the same condition and needed a rest of his own, and they would trade places. What food they had, they were mostly giving to Rio (not that Ruud would admit to it, of course – he let Ed bring the Englishman his meals). The temperature, too, seemed far too cold for October, and was only getting worse. Ruud’s body felt like it was withering, breaking into pieces and floating away from him day by day as the loaves of bread shrunk and they had to leave the wax of any cheese they got in the basket to be picked up again so it could be used to make candles. The only things that kept coming were things that weren’t quite useful for staying alive. Ed seemed to notice it in him, too, and had taken to watching him carefully, his lightly blue eyes settling on Ruud’s face whenever he helped him work, whenever they ate together or maintained the quiet silence they had adopted for lack of anything interesting to say. Sometimes, but only sometimes, Ruud looked back, because whenever he did he had to look away again for fear he was falling too deep into something far too dangerous. On October 18th, Ed stopped Ruud when he was about to go back upstairs as dawn began to break. “Wait. Listen to the radio with me.” Ruud paused. He knew Edwin had been listening every morning, and sometimes more often – the BBC was on for most of the day and night, he knew that much at least – but he had never offered to share before, and Ruud, as long as whatever information about the war was passed on (which it was), had never asked. He could have said it was just about the fact that there was only one pair of headphones, or the fact that the heavy German-made machine, battered and a bit rusty, with the “Fu. H – ” of its name wearing away, intimidated him. But there Ed was holding out the headphones to him, the infernal machine was already on and blinking, and Rio was still asleep, so why the hell not? “We’ve missed most of the BBC News,” Ed said quietly, muffled as he helped adjust the headphones over Ruud’s ears and then turned to the receiver to adjust the frequency, with static crackling hard in Ruud’s head. Up close, he exuded sweat and fatigue. “But it’s almost eight o’clock, so. How’s that?” “Good, I think.” Pip pip pip piiiiiiiip – Pip pip pip piiiiiiiip – “What is that?” Ed seemed to know immediately what he was asking about, even though he wasn’t listening. “It’s the Morse Code sign for ‘V.’” “Radio Oranje, de stem van strijdend Nederland – ” (7) Ed leaned forward and kissed him for a long time, the smell of ink and grease filling his senses until the headphones fell down around his neck. * On October 21st, Edwin was up long before dusk and, by the time Ruud woke, was hurriedly dressing in dark clothes that must have been dropped off during the day, drawing a hat down so low it was almost covering his eyes and the pistol back in his waistband. “Where are you going?” “The knokploeg need a few extra hands tonight.” (8) Ruud’s throat constricted, and every muscle in his body wanted nothing more than to hold Ed still until he could no longer move. “You’ll get yourself killed.” “I’ve been out with them before.” “Like that makes a difference!” “Come with me,” Ed breathed against Ruud’s cheek, his eyes dark blue and manic with hunger, as though he were back on that long walk away from the front. “We could use you.” Ruud stared at him, his mouth dry, and a few minutes later they were running west behind the black hulks of houses, windows that murmured and puddles trickling their way across their shoes. Patrol, Edwin whispered once, and as they pressed together into an alley until it was safe, Ed’s body covering his, Ruud’s heart slammed through his clothes and pulsed against Ed’s warning touch on his neck. There were four other men, none of which Ruud knew, waiting for them near the registry office on the edge of the Sloterpark. “Well?” Ed whispered. “One guard. He’s out,” one of the men grinned, holding the soldier’s stolen rifle in his hands. “My wife cooks for him, ja? Her waterzooi (9) is so tasteless it puts people to sleep.” He paused. “The Jenever (10) might have helped too.” Ruud held back a sharp intake of breath at the snickers of agreement. I have gone mad, he thought. Mad, mad, I am – “Let’s go,” someone else whispered, and Ed grabbed Ruud’s arm to pull him towards the deserted building. The efficiency was just as frightening. Locks punched out of doors, ration cards stuffed into pockets, food stamps and travel passes tied together into piles with pieces of string and distributed to each man so they could take them back to their groups, and all done in a silence so profound that Ruud was surprised he even dared to keep breathing. They’d put him on lookout, but all he could do was look back and stare at Edwin as he ransacked cabinets, the ever-present gun on a desk beside him. As the other men were finishing, he carried a pile of papers over to a half-empty rubbish bin, tossed them inside, lit a match from his empty packet of cigarettes, and dropped it in. As the flames rose, Ruud watched his gleeful face turn demonic. One of the other men hissed. “They’ll see the light!” “Yeah,” Edwin laughed as he finally turned away and started to leave. “But without the population lists they won’t know who to pressgang, now will they?” Ruud didn’t remember anything of the trip back apart from the fact that Rio had gotten ahold of something in the cellar and was throwing it up to the ceiling to try and get attention, the dull thud of whatever it was alternating with the grunt as it fell back on top of him. Ruud felt drunk on adrenaline, so high it was actually making him boneless, and it seemed Ed was in the same straits, because his step was distinctly unsteady as he wavered over to the trapdoor and stumbled down the stairs. “Shut up, you English heathen,” he cackled, as Rio glared mightily at both him and Ruud, watching from above and failing to control his grin. “Welcome us back. We’ve been fucking heroes tonight.” “Yeah?” Ruud could tell the cocky soldier was actually interested, and failing quite spectacularly to hide it as he pouted back. “Y’could have fucking tol’ me where y’were going!” “What good would it have done you?” Ed laughed, and pressed an insolent kiss to the bridge of Rio’s nose, startling him and Ruud both. “Go to sleep. I’ll celebrate getting random innocents killed with you in the morning.” “Why you – !” Ed shut the trapdoor on him and collapsed onto their sleeping pallet, his pale body heaving. Ruud couldn’t do much more than join him, press him close, tell him as loudly as he could without words how terrified he was and how much he wanted him to just stay… Edwin rolled over until he lay on top of him, traced a circle around each of his eyes. “They shouldn’t have brought you to me.” “We’re too noticeable.” Ed’s pause was very long before he leaned down and kissed the corner of Ruud’s mouth. “Yeah. Something like that.” “What was that you said about getting people killed?” “They’ll probably drag someone out of their house and shoot them in retribution for our raid.” Ed moved on him silently, his eyes slipping closed when Ruud’s hands took the gun’s place under his belt, and Ruud welcomed the attempt at oblivion as he forgot himself. * On November 8th, Edwin was asked to go to a meeting in Rotterdam. The following evening he was dressing to go, and Ruud felt as though the last thing he might have had some pull over, some influence, some inkling of a feeling that he mattered, was slipping away from him. Ed huffed out a sigh as he stuffed his pockets with his gun, identity cards, ration cards, forged travel passes. “Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Ruud.” He paused, and then his face gradually lost its irritated edge. “I like being able to fix things,” he said gently. “Don’t stop me from trying.” “Sure.” Ed settled his jacket more firmly onto his shoulders. “I’ll be back in two days. You won’t get any new drops until then. Don’t let anyone in.” “Yeah.” Ed kissed him, held him for a long moment so they were sharing what was left of their body heat, and Ruud lifted a hand to cover Ed’s, wanting to soak up some of the dirt, the ink-stains in the folds of Ed’s palm. “Someday I won’t do this.” “Someday soon.” It wasn’t a question, just like when Gio had said he could keep a secret. Ed said nothing, just opened the door and went. It was easier to spend time with Rio, somehow, once Ed was gone. A day and a half slipped quietly by with the Englishman before the pilot really stirred and stared with only a little hostility at Ruud as the sun set on the 11th. “How come you an’ me never talk?” Ruud took a few moments to wrap his mouth around the unfamiliar, if relatively easy English. “I didn’t think you wanted to.” “Shows what you know,” Rio said snidely, before relaxing again. He had kept on trying to get up, even though he just fell helplessly whenever he tried, and it looked as though it was gearing up to give it another go, his upper body flexing and fidgeting. “Stop looking like you’ve got a rod up y’arse. He’ll come back t’ya.” Ruud held back a cough, wrapping his arms around himself to try and keep out the cold. “I don’t know what you mean.” “Balls,” Rio said bluntly. “He knows you’re too good f’r ‘im not ta.” Ruud had to take a while to figure that one out, but by the time he did a distant hammering was suddenly thundering downwards from the front door, and he forgot how to breathe. Rio paused on his elbows, started to speak, and Ruud put a hand over his mouth, ignoring the enraged glare and threat of biting he got in return as the din continued. “Van Nistelrooy!” someone shouted – he couldn’t tell who it was. He had to let go of Rio to stand up and reach for the lamp, knocking it over so they were left in darkness. A creak, a huge crash, and the door had been forced, and shit where were the pistols, shit shit shit there they were, give one to Rio and take the other for yourself, cock it muffled beneath your clothes so they don’t hear the metallic click – The trapdoor flew open, and Ruud was so startled all he could do was blink. “Thank God,” Gio said as he came quickly down, followed by five men Ruud vaguely recognized from the church. “We thought they might get here before us.” Two of the men had already grabbed the ends of Rio’s stretcher and were lifting him. “Oi!” Gio was nearly strangled as the outraged Englishman grabbed for his collar – Ruud had been summarily pushed aside as the other men went straight for the radio set and examined the dirty press as though they wanted to dismantle it. “What th’fuck’s goin’ on?” “We need to get you out. They’ve raided Rotterdam.” Ruud grabbed for the wall as he watched Rio’s fingers loosen and Gio stand up, rubbing at his neck. “They’ve taken fifty thousand men. Crammed into trains and taken to Germany after they just took them off the streets, and we’ve had no word from Ijskonijn.” He turned to Ruud. “Have you?” Ruud didn’t trust himself to speak. Gio’s eyes lowered in apology, and with a curt gesture the two men manhandled Rio up the stairs – Ruud, through the spinning of the room around him, vaguely caught a glimpse of the Englishman staring back at him as though it was all his fault. Gio grabbed Ruud’s wrist as the last of the men left. “Come. We’re going to get you into the country. Hiding people in the smaller villages has been surprisingly successful.” “The press.” “Someone will keep running it.” Gio, kinder than he had ever been, was not pulling him away, just holding him and waiting, but Ruud knew he wouldn’t wait much longer. “We’ll keep an eye out, Ruud. I promise you.” Eventually he stopped waiting, and Ruud allowed himself to be led. * He ended up in a tiny hamlet near Vijfhuizen, halfway to Haarlem, where a farmer’s family offered him a place in their barn. He had sleep-walked most of the way there, guided by not much more than half-hidden roadsigns and his body-clock, which drove him into hedges and fields to sleep until it was night again. He spent most of the first night idly hoping he would be found and searched, and that the multiple copies of his identity card – sent for by Edwin, and given to him by Gio – would sign his death warrant. The family barely had enough to feed themselves, so to be the recipient of their kindness, and the fact that the children started calling him their Uncle by December, just made him feel worse. Ink. Just after Christmas, he ate his first tulip bulb in place of an onion. In January, a child in the village died of malnutrition, and its mother soon after. February and March he spent in a prolonged, almost feverish state of hibernation, shutting out any contact with the outside world, even when he was told there were other resistance men nearby he could have made contact with. Smoke. How a mere six weeks could have destroyed so much he would never be able to tell, or at least not articulate. His mind had been blasted clear of almost everything, and, left with only the memory of the cranky sound of the press, he preferred to remain oblivious. Grease. In April, the few bulbs that hadn’t been dug up for food began to sprout, and he measured the passage of time by the varying weight of the children he carried around the farm, because they liked piggybacks and their father had left to join the underground men who would come out armed when the Allies arrived. The mother never asked what Ruud’s life had been like in Amsterdam, and he never told. You know how to keep a secret. The day in May that a man came rushing into the village on a tyre-less bicycle screaming that the Canadians (of all people) had arrived, he put the children down and walked back to Amsterdam, into the sea of orange and red-white-blue flags. The color, after so long, blinded him. He stayed away from the conflicts between the returning government and the resistance men who thought they should have a say; he was more interested in waiting at the Central Station, watching all the trains full of the emaciated displaced come back and fall into the arms of their families. Tens if not hundreds of work camps and worse were vomiting forth their inmates, and all of them were instantly coming home if they could. But if they didn’t come home, there was no way to find them. And Edwin didn’t come home. Gio had survived, and was just starting to look a normal weight when Ruud found him, overwhelmed with almost as much work setting a tilted society back onto its feet as he had ever had during the war. He had no news, and no time to console Ruud as he obviously wanted to. On July 10th, 1946, most of the trains had stopped coming, and a letter from England was waiting for Ruud at his local post office when he came home from working on the rebuilt railroads. A hand that had managed to look shaky and spiky at the same time had written in English on the back flap: Don’t rip the envelope, you stupid git. You’ll need the return address. And inside, a cheap and blurry photograph of a ghost. * Why Rio had chosen Hastings Ruud wasn’t really sure, but the smell of the sea being nearby was a comfort when he arrived, pulling up in the ever-present darkness. He was beginning to think he’d never really be back in the world that existed in the glow of light seeping out of every house he walked past; didn’t believe it, at least, until Rio opened his door. He had a cane, now, and even though he still looked like he had wasted away, the strength of his upper body kept him ramrod straight. “’Bout bloody time,” he grinned, his skeletal face breaking out into a fantastically weird, warm smile. “Oi! Dutchie! Guest for ya.” He limped away into the house, motioning for Ruud to follow. Edwin said Ruud’s name from somewhere inside, his presence announced by a gentle puff of smoke, and Ruud stepped inside, closing the door behind him. FIN * (A/N: I did not have the time nor the resources to research the background of this story as deeply as I would have wished. Certain details of the Dutch resistance movement’s activities and the hongerwinter are no doubt incorrect; nevertheless, I hope I did the best with what I had [which was several books and many websites], and filled in gaps in my knowledge with alternatives that are at least plausible. Many of the smaller details of daily life during the occupation used in this fic came from personal accounts told by war survivors and collected in the BBC’s “WW2 People’s War” project at http://www.bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar/ ; in the context of this fic they are likewise subjective and representative rather than specific to Amsterdam in 1944-45. For the record, I haven’t been to Amsterdam’s Dutch Resistance Museum. The title of this fic is from the song “I’ll Never Mention Your Name,” sung by Gladys Tell – you can listen to it here. (1) The LO was the Landelijke Organisatie voor hulp aan onderduikers, or National Organization for Help to People in Hiding; it organized food and other supplies to distribute to families in distress or those in hiding. (2) There were several incidents during the war of Nazi collaborators among the population being shot dead by members of the resistance. (3) To wear an orange carnation on Prince Bernard’s birthday (September 6th) was an act of passive resistance. (4) The NSF, or Nationaal Steunfonds (National Assistance Fund) was set up in 1943 by Walraven “Wally” van Hall, a banker and stockbroker who went by the codename “Van Tuyl” and who defrauded the Nederlandsche Bank out of millions of guilders over two years to help the resistance. He was arrested in January 1945, his identity betrayed while he was in prison, and executed in February. (5) A resistance fighter and former sculptor who was wounded and then executed by the Nazis in May/June 1944 after unsuccessfully attempting to free other resistance men from prison. (6) Arnhem was where the Allied advance in September 1944 had been halted. The northern Netherlands would not be liberated until May 1945. (7) Radio Oranje was the radio station/frequency run by the Dutch government-in-exile in London. Beginning its broadcasts in May 1940, immediately after the surrender, it became a vital source of news and a medium through which Queen Wilhelmina was able to address any Dutch lucky enough to have safely hidden their radios (the Nazis started to confiscate them in 1942). (8) The KP was a “task force” or “thug group” often involved in more violent resistance activities. They were active in Limburg. (9) A soup traditionally made with either fish or chicken, with vegetables, herbs, eggs, and butter. (10) A juniper-based spirit.
1090670	26 Piezas	{ "Archive Warning": "Graphic Depictions Of Violence", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Sebastian Wilkes, Original Characters", "Fandom": "Sherlock (TV)", "Language": "Español", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by ADalek", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-20T00:00:00", "words": "29,476", "Additional Tags": "Primera vez, Tortura, Apelativos cariñosos, Dolor/Confort, Final Feliz", "Relationship": "Sherlock Holmes/John Watson", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	John hizo una mueca cuando su teléfono sonó. Otra vez. Bajó su periódico y cogió el teléfono, bastante seguro de saber qué es lo que vería.¿ALGÚN PROGRESO? - MHJohn se arriesgó a mirar hacia Sherlock, quien estaba sentado en su escritorio, girando un pequeño objeto de madera una y otra vez en sus manos como una ardilla desquiciada, gruñendo.Suspirando, John tecleó una respuesta.DEMASIADO PELIGROSO PREGUNTAR. SOLICITAR ASISTENCIA ARMADA. - JW- Si es el idiota de mi hermano, dile amablemente que tengo cosas mejores que hacer que perder mi tiempo con un juguete para niños. - Sherlock se inclinó sobre el juguete, haciendo palanca con dedos desesperados y una expresión verdaderamente aterradora.- Ajá... - dijo John diplomáticamente. Sherlock podía hacer todo el ruido que quisiera sobre que le importaba una mierda el interés público, incluso preferiría que lo pusieran en el potro antes que admitirlo. Vivir con él mientras fingía que no le importaba una mierda era un desafío. Tecleó un añadido.SITUACIÓN DESESPERADA. MAFEKING* DEBE SER LIBERADA. - JW- Pequeño jodido absurdo... ¿quién transporta información clasificada robada en cajas puzle? El objetivo de estas cosas es tentar a los idiotas a abrirlas. Atraen la atención sobre si mismos apelando a los más básicos instintos humanos. Los ladrones bien pudieron haber puesto el chip en una caja de cartón y pintado “SECRETOS DE ESTADO BRITÁNICOS, NO MIRAR” con letras rojas brillantes. ¡MALDITO! ¡MALDITO!” Sherlock golpeó la cajita contra el escritorio sin ningún efecto.- Hum... - dijo John otra vez. Él disfrutaba el desafío. Normalmente. Era fascinante. Todo sobre Sherlock era fascinante. Había empezado a encontrar la manía de Sherlock de dejar partes de cuerpos esparcidas entrañable, de una especie de forma repulsiva. Su teléfono sonó.LA FECHA LÍMITE SE ACERCA RÁPIDAMENTE. EL PROGRESO ES IMPERATIVO. - MH- Dile que SE LARGUE - gruñó Sherlock, lanzando su mirada más fiera en la dirección de John.La mirada nunca había tenido mucho efecto en John, aparte de fijar su atención en un par de lo que él siempre consideró unos ojos grises increíblemente hermosos; le devolvió la mirada suavemente su amigo.- ¿Te gustaría que lo abra con mi sierra eléctrica?- ¡No, no me gustaría! Podrías dañar el chip. - Sherlock devolvió su atención a la caja.- Podríamos bajarla a St. Brat y pasarla primero por rayos x.- ¡Ridículo!John reconocía la fase de muro de piedra de Sherlock cuando la veía.- ¿Tienes hambre ya?- No.John se levantó, escribiendo un mensaje.- ¿Me haces compañía, entonces?LA NACIÓN ESTÁ CONDENADA. VAMOS A CENAR. - JWSherlock vaciló, luego suspiró.- De acuerdo. Necesito algo de aire. - Se alzó, cogiendo su chaqueta del respaldo de su silla. - ¿Le dijiste a Mycroft que se pudra en el infierno?- Por supuesto. - John cogió su chaqueta y metió su teléfono en el bolsillo.Sherlock le lanzó una mirada afilada, encogiéndose de hombros en su abrigo.- ¿Angelo’s?- Vale. - John miró a Sherlock deslizar la caja puzle en el bolsillo de su abrigo con resignación. - Pensé que querías algo de aire.- Y tendré algo de camino al Angelo’s. - Sherlock ya estaba caminando hacia la puerta. - Pensé que tenías hambre.- Estoy famélico. - La forma en la que el hombre camina. John retuvo firmemente sus pensamientos metiéndolos en cintura y siguió a su amigo escaleras abajo.Sherlock abrió la puerta.- No tenemos un caso decente desde hace semanas. Sospecharía que Mycroft está saboteando cada iniciativa criminal en Londres si ese trabajo no implicase salir de su oficina.- Él sabe lo flojo que ha estado. - John cerró la puerta tras ellos. - Probablemente pensó que esa cosa te distraería.Sherlock le lanzó una mirada de lástima.- Subestimas sistemáticamente la malevolencia de Mycroft.John hizo una mueca y caminó junto a Sherlock.- Él es tu hermano.- ¿Tú punto es?- Él está preocupado por ti.- ¿Qué te hace decir eso?- Siempre tiene un ojo puesto en ti. - John observó la cámara del CCTV en la esquina girando tras ellos mientras cruzaban la calle. - Te manda casos para mantenerte ocupado. Y, sólo por si lo has olvidado, me secuestró para demandarme cuales eran mis intenciones.Sherlock gruñó.- Él quería que me espiaras. Indudablemente para proporcionarle un informe rápido de mi inevitable brote psicótico.John metió los puños dentro de los bolsillos.- Él no cree eso.Sherlock le lanzó una mirada rápida.- Tú no crees eso - le corrigió en un tono extrañamente amable. - Gracias.John desvió rápidamente la mirada. La extraña media sonrisa de Sherlock siempre socavaba su control de forma peligrosa.- Tú tampoco deberías creerlo.- Renuncié felizmente a mi eventual separación con la realidad.- ¿Fue Mycroft quien te convenció de esa basura? - Por más que lo intentó, John no pudo evitar la brusquedad en su voz.Sherlock le dio otra media sonrisa.- ¿Preparándote para defender mi honor otra vez?Mandita sea. Que no empiece con eso otra vez.- Tu honor no necesita ser defendido.- Anderson aún se esconde cada vez que tú apareces en una escena del crimen.Hubo una calmada alegría en el tono de Sherlock que hizo sonreír a John a pesar de intentar evitarlo; giró su cabeza para mirar a un tráfico imaginario mientras cruzaron la siguiente calle.- Te dije que fue sólo un malentendido.- Oh, sí, me lo dijiste. No he escuchado la palabra “freak” salir de ninguno de ellos desde que vosotros dos os malentendisteis el uno al otro. Debería perdonársele a uno el confundir correlación con causalidad.John se encogió de hombros, evitando el contacto visual.- Tal vez Lestrade le dijo algo.Sherlock le sorprendió con una risita.- Lestrade. En serio, John. Puedes hacerlo mejor que eso.John mantuvo su mirada enfocada en la puerta del Angelo’s, ahora a sólo una manzana de distancia.- Nada de lo que yo pueda decir tendría ningún efecto en Anderson.- Te subestimas a ti mismo, como siempre. Puedes ser realmente aterrador cuando se necesita. ¿John?- ¿Sí?- ¿Has notado que estamos siendo seguidos?John no miró detrás de él.- Asumo que te refieres a alguien aparte de Mycroft.- Huhum. - Sherlock le lanzó una mirada triunfante. - Tenemos admiradores. Uno detrás y otro al otro lado de la calle.John disminuyó la distancia entre ellos, su brazo rozando el de Sherlock. Su mano se cerró alrededor de la pistola en su bolsillo.- Relájate - murmuró Sherlock, su sonrisa reapareciendo. - No se están acercando. Sólo observan.- ¿La caja?- Sólo Mycroft sabe que tenemos la caja.- A no ser que fuera poco cuidadoso.- Estoy sorprendido de que sugieras tal cosa. - Sherlock abrió la puerta del restaurante, su sonrisa profundizándose. - Después de ti.John caminó al interior, observando las caras de los clientes. No eran demasiados; aún era temprano y el lugar estaba medio vacío. Nada parecía fuera de lugar. Las observaciones de John fueron interrumpidas rápidamente por Angelo, yendo tras ellos con los brazos abiertos.- ¡Aquí están! ¡Mi pareja favorita!John ahogó un suspiro.Sherlock se dejó abrazar.- ¿Nuestra mesa de siempre, Angelo?- ¡Sí, si, por supuesto, la mesa de la ventana! Donde tuvisteis vuestra primera cita. Qué romántico. - Angelo los guió a la mesa, riendo. John reprimió una sonrisa. En qué mundo debe vivir Angelo, si Sherlock Holmes era considerado un romántico. - Otro caso, ¿no?Sherlock tomó asiento con una expresión indulgente.- Dime cómo lo sabes.- No te ves hambriento. Tu novio sí. Noto esas cosas. ¡Ah, la vela! - Angelo desapareció, chasqueando los dedos a la camarera para avisarla de los nuevos clientes.John se deslizó en la silla y miró por la ventana, buscando a sus admiradores en la oscurecida calle.- El hombre del otro lado de la calle con la bufanda roja que ha estado atando su zapato durante el último minuto y medio - dijo Sherlock en un tono seco. - Y el del horrible jersey y los calcetines desparejados que está paseándose por la puerta del Angelo’s por tercera vez.John asintió, logrando no decirle a Sherlock lo jodidamente increíble que era. Miró al del jersey púrpura y verde pasar con gran desconcierto.- No están intentando precisamente ser discretos, ¿no? Hubiera pensado...- Ya no lo sigues corrigiendo - dijo Sherlock suavemente.John miró hacia él, sorprendido.- ¿A Angelo?- Sí.- No tiene sentido.- ¿No te importa?- Nunca me importó. Es sólo que no soy tu cita, eso es todo.La ceja de Sherlock se elevó.- Te tomaste la molestia de presentarte ante Sebastian como mi colega, si no recuerdo mal.John sintió su cara sonrojarse. Había pasado casi un año; hubiera esperado que Sherlock lo hubiera olvidado. Debía haber sabido que no. Sus manos se encogieron ante el recuerdo; incluso ahora, nada le complacería más que estrangular a ese triste cabrón.- Nunca pedí disculpas por eso, ¿no?- Nunca fue necesario.- No quise que sonara como lo hizo. Algo en él... me alteró. - Eso era bastante cierto.Sherlock frunció el ceño.- ¿Sebastian? Es relativamente inofensivo. Ciertamente no es alguien que hubiera creído que te alterase.Ahora estaban en terreno peligroso. Sherlock estaba de un humor inusualmente comunicativo esta noche.- Supongo que me recordó a alguien que conocí hace tiempo. Un bastardo sádico mezquino, para ser honestos, y...- ¿Y querías evitar recibir alguna de sus atenciones sádicas?- Quería evitar que tú recibieras alguna de sus atenciones sádicas. Lo que resultó que no hice muy bien.- Oh. Eso es... - Sherlock parecía genuinamente sorprendido. - ¿Pensaste que me afectaría algo de lo que Sebastian Wilkes dijera?El recuerdo de la expresión de Sherlock durante esa conversación se alzó en el recuerdo de John. Demonios, sí, lo hice y lo hago. Y joder si patearía bien su trasero si tuviera la más mínima oportunidad.- No te conocía muy bien, ¿no?Angelo llegó con la vela, una botella de vino y dos vasos.- A cuenta de la casa, a cuenta de la casa. - Les guiñó un ojo y corrió en dirección a la cocina.- Evidentemente no. - Sherlock sacó un mechero de su bolsillo y encendió la vela. - Pero aprecio la intención.John tragó y apartó la mirada. Jesús, Sherlock a la luz de las velas. No pensarías que el hombre pudiera ser aún más jodidamente hermoso. Observó la calle en busca de los admiradores, pero no pudo verlos.Sherlock sirvió el vino.- En el portal al otro lado de la calle. El otro ha girado la esquina; probablemente acechando la puerta de la cocina. - Sacó la caja del bolsillo de su abrigo y la examinó a la luz de la vela.John se inclinó hacia delante.- Sherlock, si están interesados en la caja...- Entonces acabo de confirmar que la tenemos - murmuró Sherlock. - Lo que nos garantiza una presentación.John logró no gemir en voz alta. El hombre era absolutamente brillante, imposiblemente valiente, y un maldito peligro para si mismo cuando no tenía un caso durante más de unos pocos días. Añade a eso su compulsión por eclipsar a su hermano a cada oportunidad que le surgía, y John previó cabezas rotas e incomodas preguntas en el Yard, ambas de las cuales podría prescindir. John sacó su teléfono del bolsillo.- ¿Qué estás haciendo?- Le mando un mensaje a Mycroft.- Absolutamente no. - Sherlock arrancó el teléfono de la mano de John. - No tenemos nada que decirle aún.- Podemos decirle que nos han seguido, y que su hermano está dándose un paseo por su deseo de morir otra vez. - John intentó coger el teléfono, pero desapareció en el abrigo de Sherlock.- Bebe tu vino. - Sherlock alzó su vaso, dándole una sonrisa imposiblemente enigmática otra vez. - Por el entretenimiento de la noche.John hizo una mueca, tocando su vaso con el de Sherlock. Bueno, Bufanda Roja y Jersey Horrible claramente no parecían una gran amenaza. Mientras se mantuvieran a la vista, él y Sherlock posiblemente saldrían de este nuevo pequeño juego de Sherlock ilesos.- Dime que vas armado.- Por supuesto. - Sherlock tomó un sorbo de su vino e hizo señas a la camarera. - Necesitas comer, John. Comer siempre mejora tu perspectiva. Sherlock estaba ocasionalmente sorprendido por el placer que encontraba en ver a John comer. Durante los pasados meses, se había vuelto una especie de pasatiempo, y le transmitía una inexplicable sensación de bienestar. Todo estaba absurdamente bien en el mundo si John Watson estaba siendo alimentado adecuadamente.- Preferiría no ser arrestado esta vez, Sherlock. ¿Podemos estar de acuerdo en ese punto al menos? - John se llevó su último bocado de lasaña a la boca. Flotó allí tentadoramente al igual que la mirada de Sherlock que alternaba entre los labios de John y su cuello. John tenía un cuello fascinante.- ¿Hum? - Sherlock continuó girando la caja en sus manos mientras examinaba el jersey que llevaba John. Uno nunca podía fijarse lo suficiente en lo que escogía ponerse John en un día en concreto. Daba pisas valiosas de su estado mental, y el estado mental de John era un indicador confiable de la calidad del día de Sherlock. Eso era, por supuesto, hasta ahora un fenómeno bastante indocumentado y sufría de escasez de hechos verificables sobre su causalidad; pero la correlación permanecía, y demandaba un mayor estudio.John asumió una expresión de dolor.- Arrestados, Sherlock. Preferiría no ser arrestado.- ¿No lo hacemos todos? Termina tu comida, John. - Sherlock miró con satisfacción como el bocado de lasaña desaparecía en la boca de John. - ¿Qué tal estaba?- Excelente, como siempre. - John se limpió la boca con una servilleta y tomo un rápido sorbo de vino. - ¿Debo suponer que no me dejarás mandarle un mensaje a Mycroft ahora?- Desde luego que no. Mycroft se quedará para él toda la parte divertida. En serio, John, míralos. - Sherlock hizo un gesto con la cabeza en dirección a Bufanda Roja, ahora descansando en el portal al otro lado de la calle, y mirando a Sherlock y a John como si estuviera determinado a anunciar su presencia a todo el restaurante. - Es una desgracia. Una burla del fino arte de la vigilancia. Hay una historia detrás de este triste despliegue.- Estoy seguro de que sí - contestó John en un tono severo, sacando su cartera. - Es sólo que no quiero ser estrangulado con esa bufanda o ahogado por el horrible jersey.Sherlock sintió contraerse su boca. Incluso un caso trivial era mejorado con la presencia de John. Dejó algo de efectivo en la mesa y se levantó, agitando una mano ante la protesta que vio en los ojos de John.- Tú puedes alimentarme cuando el caso esté terminado.- No pienses que lo olvidaré.Algo en la suave voz de John trajo un calor inesperado a la cara de Sherlock; se giró rápidamente hacia la cocina.- Vamos, entonces.John hizo un sonido exasperado mientras siguió a Sherlock a través del ahora abarrotado comedor.- ¿El callejón? ¿Deberíamos?- Incluso esos cretinos no actuarían en plena calle. - Sherlock empujó la puerta hacia el ruido caótico de la cocina, saludando a Angelo mientras caminaban hacia la puerta trasera.- He estado queriendo hablar contigo sobre tus tendencias masoquistas, Sherlock.John se deslizó entre un flambeado y Sherlock para alcanzar primero la puerta, y Sherlock sintió algo bastante inidentificable en su pecho. John Watson, una vez más en la brecha.- John - dijo rápidamente, poniendo una mano en su hombro, - despacio.John le lanzó una mirada irónica sobre su hombro.- Cogeré ese jersey. Lo llevaré en las escenas del crimen. - Abrió la puerta.Algún tipo de instinto golpeó a Sherlock para lanzar su brazo sobre los hombros de John, forzando a John a tambalearse en el umbral. El brazo de John se fue hacia su pecho.- Debiste haberme avisado - murmuró John en el oído de Sherlock mientras avanzaba hacia el callejón.- La espontaneidad se suma a la actuación - susurró Sherlock, sintiendo más que viendo que no estaban solos.- Si vomitas en mis zapatos esta vez vas a comprarme un par nuevo. - La mano libre de John sacó su arma del bolsillo. - Sherlock....Fueron golpeados desde abajo y con fuerza, desde dos direcciones distintas, y Sherlock se encontró a si mismo con la espalda contra el suelo con un hombre vestido enteramente de negro sobre de él. Pelo castaño. Ojos azules. Labios delgados. Nariz con una ligera articulación. Dientes con fundas. Colonia cara. Delgado pero de constitución atlética. Ligero aroma a agua estancada y descomposición aferrándose a su ropa. Plantando un pie en el estómago de su atacante, giró al hombre y se puso en pie, sacando su arma del bolsillo y mirando frenéticamente buscando a John. Lo vio a unos metros de distancia, mandando al suelo a su oponente con un particularmente impresionante gancho de izquierda.Había sido un idiota. Un completo imbécil. Nada de bufanda roja. Nada de jersey horrible. Sólo dos hombres que definitivamente sabían cómo hacer su trabajo. Lo habían engañado. Elevó su arma, giró hacia su atacante. Fue puesto en un punto muerto repentinamente por un cuchillo en su garganta. El hombre le sonrió.- Tira el arma.Sherlock le devolvió la sonrisa.- Tira el cuchillo.Su oponente rió.- No está mal. Estoy impresionado, de verdad. Pero...- Sherlock, ¿quieres que llame a la policía?Oh, Dios mío, era Angelo. Por el rabillo del ojo, Sherlock vio al hombre mostrando incertidumbre en el marco de la puerta, la mitad de su equipo de cocina detrás de él.- Oh, sí, ¿te importaría? - dijo John bruscamente, esquivando una estocada. - Eso sería tan jodidamente útil. - Moviéndose hacia su izquierda, quitó la pistola a su oponente con un entusiasmo admirable, enviando al hombre al suelo, donde yació semiinconsciente y murmurando.Sherlock sintió más que vio al hombre frente a él abrir su abrigo; una rápida mirada confirmó la silueta de una Browning en el bolsillo del pecho.- ¡Vuelve dentro! - le gritó Sherlock a Angelo. El cuchillo en su garganta le hizo un corte superficial en el cuello cuando Angelo cerró la puerta de un portazo, y una mano agarró su muñeca, apretando con precisión hasta que la mano se le entumeció. Su arma traqueteó sobre el pavimento. Impresionante. Inconveniente, pero impresionante.Girándose hacia Sherlock, John se quedó congelado durante un segundo, sólo un segundo; Sherlock pudo ver la postura y la actuación de un soldado ante la situación frente a sus ojos. Entonces John alzó su arma, acercándose.- Aléjate de él. Hazlo ahora. - Sherlock notó con satisfacción que él había estado en lo correcto; John podía ser terriblemente aterrador cuando la situación lo requería.En lugar de obedecer, sin embargo, su amigo con el cuchillo giró sobre Sherlock y lo golpeó hasta hacerlo caer sobre sus rodillas antes de que pudiera siquiera tomar aliento. Luego agarró un puñado del pelo de Sherlock y tiró de su cabeza hacia atrás, exponiendo su garganta. Sherlock pudo sentir la longitud de la hoja en su garganta. Ah. Inesperado. Dientes Con Fundas no se asustaba fácilmente. Un largo historial de exposición a la violencia, entonces.- Tira la pistola. - La hoja empezó a moverse, lenta y superficialmente. Sherlock fijó su mirada en John, intentando ocultar cualquier traza de miedo o dolor en su cara. Si John pensaba por un momento que estaba realmente en peligro, podría hacer algo ridículamente valiente. John Watson era, después de todo, un hombre ridículamente valiente. Sherlock intentó negar con la cabeza mínimamente, pero su atacante tiró de su cabeza más hacia atrás.- ¡Para! - gruñó John, aun acercándose. A esta distancia, no tendría problemas para vaciar el cráneo de Dientes Con Fundas; el hombre lo habría hecho mejor si hubiese usado a Sherlock como escudo. - Dispararé.- Por supuesto que lo harás. - La voz de Dientes Con Fundas sonaba tranquila, incluso alegre. - Y probablemente me matarás; sé todo sobre tu eficacia. La pregunta es, ¿me matarás antes de que corte su carótida? - Interesante. El hombre estaba basando todo el éxito de su misión en su creencia de que John se preocupaba lo suficiente por el estado de la arteria carótida de Sherlock como para dejarlo indefenso. O era un idiota actuando bajo una suposición sin soporte, o tenía acceso a información no sólo sobre la eficacia de John con las armas de fuego, sino sobre su carácter. Otra vez, un inesperado y sobretodo, definitivamente no bienvenido, final. La situación era mucho más peligrosa de lo que un cuchillo en la garganta podría indicar.- Adelante - gruñó Sherlock. Hay peores maneras de morir. John, hay peores maneras de morir. Sherlock podía ver al hombre al que John había noqueado luchando por levantarse, y sabía que su ventaja, si la habían tenido, se había acabado.- Es la última vez que lo pido - dijo Dientes Con Fundas.En su boca se instaló una sonrisa sombría, John bajó su arma.- No - protestó Sherlock. El cuchillo se movió de nuevo, y Sherlock apretó los dientes.- Tírala hacia aquí.John tiró su arma en su dirección y levantó las manos.- Bien. Ya puedes parar.- De rodillas.- Por el amor de... - Sherlock ahogó un gemido cuando el cuchillo se hundió un poco más.John cayó de rodillas como si alguien le hubiera quitado de un golpe la habilidad para sostenerse.- Para. Sólo coge lo que deseas y márchate.- Pete, deja de hacer el tonto y coge las armas.John no dijo nada, su mirada fija en la de Sherlock. El hombre herido se puso en pie y se tambaleó hacia John. John apretó los dientes y no se movió cuando el hombre lo rodeó, luego alzó un pie y lo dejó volar en una tremenda patada en el estómago de John. John se dobló sobre sus manos y rodillas, jadeando.Sherlock se sacudió hacia delante involuntariamente.- John...- ¡Pete! Las armas.Pete hizo una mueca y obedeció, agarrando las armas de John y Sherlock mientras Sherlock catalogaba cada aspecto de su apariencia. Oh, sí, se encontrarían de nuevo. Incluso el barro de esas botas le dijo a Sherlock dónde empezar a buscar. Sherlock se puso rígido cuando Pete se acercó de nuevo a John, metiéndose en el bolsillo el arma de Sherlock, y colocó el cañón de la de John contra la parte de atrás de la cabeza de John con visible satisfacción. Sherlock sintió sus manos contraerse. Tendría a ese retorciéndose en el muelle dentro de veinticuatro horas. Sherlock respiró superficialmente mientras el cuchillo era apartado de su garganta.- Él no tiene lo que quieres. Déjale ir.- ¿Por qué habría de hacer eso? Quítate el abrigo.Sherlock hizo una mueca y obedeció. Mycroft iba a tener un día de trabajo de campo por culpa de esto. Sherlock nunca iba a poder olvidarlo. Iba a estar escuchando alusiones a su fallo abismal durante décadas. Él... La mirada de Sherlock se posó en John, aun respirando con fuerza apoyado en sus manos y rodillas, y todo pensamiento sobre Mycroft se esfumó. John había tenido dudas, y él no había escuchado. Debería haberlo sabido. Los instintos de John son muy, muy buenos; Sherlock había llegado a depender de ellos más y más según pasaba el tiempo. Había sido descuidado, y John había pagado el precio. Podía escuchar el sonido de las sirenas acercándose rápidamente, y por una vez las encontró bienvenidas, a pesar de la humillación que podría venir después de esta debacle.- ¿Qué has hecho con ella?Sherlock giró su cabeza para ver a Dientes Con Fundas tirar su abrigo a un lado, girando la caja en sus manos, apretando una sección aquí, intentando deslizar otra sección allá, todo con los mismos resultados exactos que Sherlock había experimentado.- Nada. - Por el rabillo del ojo, Sherlock vio a John alzar su cabeza con una triste sonrisa. Sí. Al menos la estupidez de tu amigo no pondrá en peligro a la nación, John.- ¡Dime que le has hecho!- ¿Qué parte de “nada” no entiendes? Yo tampoco pude abrirla.- Se abría bien hace una semana.- ¿Es eso una confesión?- Es falsa - replicó Pete.- No es falsa - murmuró Dientes Con Fundas, pasando sus dedos por debajo de la caja.Sherlock suprimió cualquier signo de satisfacción. Así que las marcas eran signos de identificación después de todo. Le dijo a Mycroft...- Cierto. Nos vamos, entonces. - Sherlock escuchó el inconfundible sonido de unas esposas siendo sacadas de un bolsillo. - Quítale la chaqueta a ese y ponle estas. - Las esposas volaron a través del aire; Pete las cogió limpiamente.- No lo necesitas a él - dijo Sherlock afiladamente, viendo como Pete le quitaba a John su chaqueta. - Él no sabe nada sobre...- ¿A dónde nos vamos? - preguntó Pete, como si Sherlock no hubiese hablado. Tiró de los brazos de John hacia atrás y lo esposó. John cuadró los hombros, pareciéndose demasiado a un hombre camino a su ejecución, más de lo que Sherlock podía tolerar.- ¿Oíste lo que dije? Déjale...- A donde podamos hacer el trabajo. - A pesar de su molestia por ser ignorado, Sherlock sintió un absurdo sentimiento de alivio cuando Dientes Con Fundas puso unas esposas en sus muñecas y lo puso en pie. Pon un surrealista momento, había pensado que se iban a llevar sólo a John.- No de vuelta a ese agujero de ratas tuyo, colega. Te dijo que no improvisaras, Cullen, no escuchas...- ¡Cállate! Mételo en el coche.Cullen.Sherlock había escuchado ese nombre recientemente. Había escuchado ese nombre... Su tren de pensamientos se evaporó ante la vista de John siendo alzado sobre sus pies y conducido callejón abajo.- No necesitas al doctor Watson - repitió Sherlock con severidad -. De hecho no necesitas a ninguno de los dos. Ninguno de los dos puede abrir esa caja.- Más te vale que eso no sea cierto. - Cullen le dio un brusco empujón.Mirando hacia delante en la oscuridad, Sherlock vio a Pete empujando a John contra el lateral de un taxi aparcado. Abrió el maletero.Oh, Dios, otro secuestro en el maletero de un coche no. Estaba mucho más que pasado de moda, era aburrido. O lo sería, si John no estuviera siendo obligado a meterse dentro de una forma no demasiado amable por un imbécil. Sherlock definitivamente tendría al idiota en el muelle en veinticuatro... no, olvida eso... antes del jodido amanecer. Sherlock contuvo un estremecimiento cuando el cuerpo de John golpeó contra el interior del maletero. Oh, sí, los atraparía. A ambos. Sherlock se fijó en el número de la matrícula. Indudablemente robada, pero la información era información.- Entra dentro. - Cullen inclinó a Sherlock, luego alzó sus piernas, girando a Sherlock por un lado, y lo metió dentro del maletero. Sherlock cayó de cara encima de John. Sin demasiada dignidad. Que se joda el amanecer; los tendría en el muelle antes de medianoche.- Hola - dijo John, con una sonrisa forzada, pero innegablemente imprudente. La garganta de Sherlock inexplicablemente apretada. John Watson, una vez más en la brecha.El maletero se cerró de un golpe provocando una agitación de aire, dejándolos en la oscuridad. El motor arrancó y el taxi circuló lentamente alejándose de las sirenas que se acercaban. Sherlock se deslizó sobre John para tumbarse sobre su costado.- Dime, John - dijo Sherlock con voz irregular - ¿alguna vez te has arrepentido de conocerme?John realmente se rió.- No puedo imaginarme por qué me preguntas eso.- John...- No, en serio, y cuando estamos pasando una tarde tan encantadora, además.- He estropeado del todo este asunto desde el momento...- Ah, los dioses descienden del Olimpo de vez en cuando. Maldita sea, tu cuello aún está sangrando. ¿Puedes...?- Es superficial. Debiste haber disparado.- ¿Debo señalarte que...- No, no debes - dijo Sherlock irritablemente, sabiendo muy bien lo que el idiota estaba a punto de decir.- ...la advertencia de Angelo le dio al artista anteriormente conocido como Jersey Horrible la oportunidad de desarmarte? - La voz de John estaba llena de afecto y burla, el resultado, sin duda, de su persistente ilusión de que Sherlock era un hombre mejor de lo que el propio Sherlock sabía que era.- Le tenías.- Y él te tenía a ti. No viste lo que yo vi.- ¿Qué fue?John estuvo en silencio durante un momento.- Hay una imagen. Hay una forma en la que un hombre sostiene un cuchillo cuando sabe cómo usarlo. Cuando le gusta usarlo.Mycroft le había ofrecido una vez el informe de servicio de John. Sherlock había resoplado y dicho que todo lo que quería saber de John podía descubrirlo él mismo. Quizás aquella había sido una mala decisión, también.- Él te hubiera abierto la carótida. No tenía nada que ver con la caja en aquel momento. Tenía que ver con...- Tenerte de rodillas. - La imaginación de Sherlock dio un salto en la oscuridad.- A cualquiera. No era personal. Íntimo, pero no personal.La voz de John era tan baja que Sherlock tuvo problemas para escucharle por encima del sonido del motor y el tráfico; inclinó su cabeza hasta que tocó la de John.- Estás describiendo a un interrogador.- Es una forma de llamarlo.- No es un ex-militar.- No.- Ni del MI-6, son más...- Probablemente va por libre.- Sí, eso explicaría... - Sherlock se interrumpió, de repente consciente de la respiración irregular de John y la decadente frecuencia cardíaca. Dios. Maldición. ¿Por qué no había leído el informe de servicio de John? - John. Te sacaré de esto. Yo...- Nos - le interrumpió John.- ¿Qué?- Nos. Tú nos sacarás de esto. Es lo que querías decir, ¿no?- Por supuesto que es lo que quería decir.John dejó descansar su cabeza contra la de Sherlock.- Está conduciendo en círculos.- Trata de despistarnos. No importa. Sé a dónde va.- Dime.- A la orilla norte, cerca de Blackfriars. Ha estado en los túneles que hay allí recientemente.- Eso no es bueno, Sherlock - dijo John en voz baja. - No podemos dejarle que nos lleve allí abajo.- No lo haremos.Como si fuera una señal, empezó a llover. *John sólo había estado atrapado en un maletero en una ocasión anterior. Tenía seis años aquella vez, y sobra decir que no había sido golpeado y esposado antes, así que la experiencia en realidad no ayudaba mucho cuando se trataba de lidiar con la situación actual. Estaba frío, oscuro y ruidoso, y cada bache de la carretera parecía diseñado específicamente para sacudir su hombro malo. Suspirando, rodó hacia su otro lado.- Ya casi hemos llegado - murmuró Sherlock.Maldita sea, ¿cómo podía estar ese hombre tan calmado? Nada lo hacía inmutarse. Si él tuviera la mitad del valor de Sherlock no estaría intentando mantener la cena en su sitio.- Dime cómo lo sabes. - Necesitaba escuchar esa voz. Desesperadamente.Sherlock lo soltó todo de golpe, hablando de los diferentes sonidos del tráfico y los peatones y la lluvia sobre el pavimento y la condición de la carretera y el ocasional olor del agua sucia, sobre el tiempo transcurrido desde que se fueron del Angelo’s y el sonido de alguna compuerta en la lluvia. Fue maravilloso. Fue increíble. Incluso esposado y herido y yendo a Dios-sabe-dónde, la mente de Sherlock estaba uniendo las piezas. Dios, era el más brillante y hermoso hombre que John jamás conoció y todo lo que John podía ver era ese maldito cuchillo, terminando con todo.- John. - La cabeza de Sherlock toco amablemente la de John.John soltó el aliento que había estado reteniendo.- Lo siento. Estaba pensando.- Sobre un plan, espero.- ¿Un plan? - John casi ríe. - Los planes son tu departamento.- Aparentemente no. ¿Estás seguro de que me quieres planeando algo después de este desastre?- Sherlock, esta repentina humildad es...- ¿Refrescante? - sugiere Sherlock, con tono divertido.- Iba a decir jodidamente antinatural, pero déjalo a tu manera. ¿Alguna idea?- Nuestras opciones son limitadas.- Se podría decir así, sí.- Si corremos, dispararán.- Sí.- Si uno de nosotros corre mientras el otro toma...- ¿Quién es el que está corriendo, para que yo lo sepa?- Es una discusión hipotética, John.- ¿Quién está corriendo hipotéticamente?- Tú preguntaste...- Porque si soy yo, tienes razón, tus planes van de culo y no de frente.- Estoy abierto a sugerencias. - Sherlock sonó como si estuviera suprimiendo una risa. Dios, él podía reír en este momento. John podría haberlo besado.- No tengo ninguna. Tendremos que improvisar. Porque si nos lleva bajo tierra... - John se interrumpió.- Si vamos abajo...- No es una opción.- Si vamos abajo, podemos ganar tiempo. Él quiere la caja abierta. Así que le dejaré persuadirme para abrir la caja.- ¿Y cuando no se abra?- Las cosas se pondrán interesantes - dijo Sherlock secamente. - Hasta que Mycroft nos encuentre.- Mycroft. Mycroft es tu plan.- Esencialmente, sí. A no ser que otra oportunidad se presente por si misma. Ellos pueden cometer un error.- Realmente te estás tomando una noche libre, ¿no?- No infravalores a Mycroft. Tiene recursos disponibles a su alcance que te asombrarían.John tragó.- Creo que Cullen te sorprendería ti.- ¿Son mejores nuestras oportunidades si corremos?- No. Pero hay un montón formas diferentes de morir, y algunas de ellas son... - La voz de John se desvaneció. Tomó aliento para volver a intentarlo, pero la cabeza de Sherlock tocó la suya.- John. Correremos si podemos.- De acuerdo - susurró John.- Si no podemos, te prometo que no te fallaré de nuevo.John luchó por entender.- Tú nunca...- Calla. - Sherlock giró su cabeza, escuchando. - Estamos yendo más despacio.- Tú nunca me has fallado - musitó John -. ¿Por qué si quiera...- Shus.- Esto no es culpa tuya. Ni siquiera pienses en hacer algo estúpido.El coche continuó hasta detenerse.- Sherlock - siseó John. Sólo Dios sabía que tenía el hombre en mente ahora. - No...Sherlock se giró hacia él, soltando un pequeño y extraño suspiro, y dio un suave beso en la sien de John. Antes de que John pudiera reaccionar, el maletero se abrió y dos pares de manos agarraron a Sherlock por los brazos y lo sacaron fuera. John luchó por colocarse en una posición sentada, parpadeando bajo la lluvia, para ver a Sherlock ser arrojado boca abajo en el barro.John se puso de rodillas y pasó una pierna por el borde del maletero antes de que Cullen le arrastrara y lo tirara al lado de Sherlock, lo que estaba bien. Ahí es exactamente donde quería estar. John miró alrededor, intentando orientarse, pero estaba totalmente oscuro y lluvioso, y no pudo ver más allá de cinco pasos en cualquier dirección. Parecían estar en medio de una propiedad en desuso de algún tipo, pero John podía oír los sonidos apagados del tráfico. Aún estaban en la ciudad.Culle se agachó entre ellos, sonriendo. Él no debería sonreír en realidad. No era agradable.- ¿Alguna idea de dónde estamos?- Warmer Street, Clerkenwell - contestó Sherlock con prontitud -. Si recuerdo correctamente hay un buen pub al girar la esquina, y otra propiedad en desuso calle abajo, la cual es probablemente dónde tu amigo Pete está a punto de dejar vuestro coche robado después de tomarse una pinta. - Pete se congeló, a medio camino fuera del asiento del conductor. - Buena idea, también, porque esta está demasiado cerca a esa escotilla de acceso a las alcantarillas que has estado usando.A pesar de todo, John tuvo que morderse los labios para evitar reírse. La mirada en la cara de Cullen no tenía precio; casi podría valer las consecuencias que sabía que conllevaría.Cullen se arrodillo al lado de John, sacando algo del bolsillo interior de su chaqueta.- Oh, maldición - dijo John con cansancio, mientras la aguja hipodérmica perforaba la piel de su cuello. A veces odiaba tener razón. No dolió en realidad tanto como había esperado; Cullen obviamente tenía experiencia con la aguja.- ¿Qué demonios le has dado? ¿John? - Sherlock estaba esforzándose para acercarse, pero Cullen se giró y empujó su cabeza contra el barro de nuevo.- Lo mismo que te voy a dar a ti.John vio a Cullen clavar la aguja no-demasiado-amablemente en el cuello de Sherlock. Sherlock se estremeció, pero no apartó en ningún momento la mirada de la cara de John.Cullen se inclinó para gruñir en el oído de Sherlock.- Sólo un recordatorio. Lleva menos de un segundo cortar la lengua de un hombre.La mirada de Sherlock no vaciló.- Menos de medio segundo, en realidad. Siempre que el hombre que haga el corte sepa lo que está haciendo.Oh, Cristo. John intentó decir algo y no pudo; su visión estaba empezando a oscurecerse.- John. - La silenciosa voz de Sherlock irrumpió a través de la oscuridad. - Recuerda. Me debes una cena. Cuarenta y dos minutos tal vez habían sido una aproximación demasiado optimista de la cantidad de persuasión que podía soportar. Cullen era muy bueno con el cuchillo, y estaba empezando a ser claro que cuarenta y dos minutos excedía sus límites físicos. Llevaba sólo veintiséis minutos en ello, y ya estaba considerando la posibilidad de que la discreción era la parte más importante del valor.Aun así, había sido necesario. Cullen podía haber sospechado algo si Sherlock se hubiera ofrecido voluntariamente a abrir la caja, después de negar que era posible. Había tenido su lógica.Pero John se despertaría pronto. John no podía ver esto: a él, así, apenas capaz de controlar sus propias cuerdas vocales y susurrando para si mismo la tabla periódica como un loco. Si John hubiese sospechado por un momento lo que había querido decir con persuadirme para abrir la caja, se hubiera sentido horrorizado. No lo hubiera soportado, porque así era John, decente hasta la médula. La decencia no tenía ninguna oportunidad frente a un hombre como Cullen. John se había equivocado en una cosa; no había absolutamente nada sobre este monstruo que sorprendiese a Sherlock.Sherlock apretó su mejilla contra la viga de hierro oxidado sobre la que había sido esposado, apretando sus dientes mientras el cuchillo se clavaba en su espalda de nuevo. De acuerdo. Eso había sido suficiente.- Dame la caja - dijo con voz crispada.- Dame la caja, ¿qué?Eso no era nuevo. Sherlock había aprendido ese tipo de humillación de un maestro.- Dame la caja, por favor.Cullen rió y apartó el cuchillo.- Buen chico. - Se puso de pie y sacó su teléfono. - Ahora mira hacia mí.Sherlock se obligó a si mismo a enderezarse y mirar hacia el teléfono de Cullen, intentando no parpadear cuando salió el flash.- ¿A dónde la estás enviando?- ¿Qué te hace pensar que la estoy mandando a alguna parte? Tengo una colección privada. - Cullen sacó la caja puzle del bolsillo de su abrigo y se la lanzó a Sherlock.Sherlock la atrapó y comenzó, metódica y mecánicamente, para seguir todo el procedimiento para resolver el puzle.- Te sigues moviendo para buscar cobertura, la cual debe ser difícil de encontrar aquí abajo. Has estado enviando y recibiendo mensajes de texto.”Cullen alzó la cabeza para mirarlo fijamente. La lámpara de aceite antigua que el hombre había elegido para iluminar la habitación lanzaba sombras marcadas sobre su cara, destacando rasgos y expresiones que las luces modernas nunca capturaban completamente. Sherlock era inmune a tan teatrales ambientaciones, pero el esfuerzo que Cullen se había tomado para crearlas hablaba del estado de su mente bastante acertadamente.- ¿Te ha dicho alguien que te fijas demasiado, friki?- Frecuentemente. ¿Vas a contestarme?Cullen sonrió.- Al hombre que me contrató. Pero ya adivinaste eso, ¿no?- Yo nunca adivino. No creo que tu jefe esté muy contento contigo ahora mismo.- ¿Qué te hace pensar eso? - Cullen metió su teléfono en el bolsillo y se dirigió también con indiferencia hacia un montón de cajas de madera que servían como mesa de instrumentos. Había una larga historia sobre esas cajas.Sherlock casi se encogió de hombros, luego se lo pensó mejor.- Fuiste contratado para recuperar la caja y su contenido, no para entregarte a tus... intereses personales.- Mi jefe y yo compartimos un montón de intereses. - Cullen cogió la fusta y la examinó. - Él está muy interesado en ti, por cierto. Me dijo un montón de cosas sobre ti.- ¿Lo está? Que considerado por su parte. - Si Cullen estaba mintiendo, lo estaba haciendo extremadamente bien.Un murmullo incoherente de John llamó la atención de Sherlock. John estaba moviéndose, intentando alejarse de la máquina oxidada llena de barro a la que estaba esposado. Maldición. Demasiado pronto. Sherlock se deslizó a su izquierda ligeramente, lo justo para que John no fuera capaz de ver su espalda. Esa era la menor de sus preocupaciones, pero al menos era algo. Cullen no había terminado con él ni mucho menos, y John... John vería lo que pasa. Había sido absurdo pensar que podía proteger a John de eso. Parecía ser propenso a los pensamientos absurdos últimamente.- Oh, mira, el doctor se está despertando. - Sherlock se puso rígido cuando Cullen se movió al lado de John y deslizó la fusta bajo la barbilla de John, forzándole a levantar su cabeza. - Bienvenido de vuelta, John.Los párpados de John se agitaron un momento, luego se abrieron de golpe. Miró a Cullen con ojos muy abiertos y dilatados, obviamente desorientado. Tomó aliento.- Cullen. - Fue obviamente difícil para él hablar.- Te acuerdas. Que dulce. Ahora mira atentamente, porque no quiero repetirme.Cullen se separó de John, y Sherlock empezó a respirar otra vez. Tenía que mantener el interés de Cullen. De algún modo tenía que mantener a Cullen centrado en él, porque el pensamiento de ese maníaco poniéndole las manos encima a John era intolerable. Sherlock miró la cara del hombre mientras volvía a su lado.- Supongo que este espíritu afín no tiene un...Cullen dio media vuelta, girando la fusta con entusiasmo, y golpeó a Sherlock sobre su espalda sangrante. La caja puzle se cayó de las manos de Sherlock mientras ahogó un gemido, sin éxito del todo, y se apresuró en volver a levantar sus defensas. Antes de que pudiera recobrarse, Cullen golpeó de nuevo. Y de nuevo.- Demasiada curiosidad. No es educado, Sherlock. Es como hablar de sexo durante el desayuno. Nadie te enseño nuca modales, friki.Sherlock escuchó como John tomaba aliento ahogadamente, y rápidamente giró la cara, apretando sus dientes y cerrando los ojos con fuerza. Mantente en silencio, idiota, no le dejes ver...- ¡Oh, no, no seas tímido! - Cullen agarró a Sherlock por el pelo y lo obligó a girar su cara hacia John de nuevo. - Estoy seguro de que John quiere verte después de dormir tanto tiempo. Se ha perdido tanto de esto. - Él reanudó la paliza con más energía de la que Sherlock había esperado, dado el hecho de que Cullen indudablemente los había llevado a ambos él mismo y John allí abajo. No había habido ninguna señal de Pete hasta ahora... y... lo que quedaba de pensamiento coherente se alejó flotando. Intentó restablecer una conexión, pero se encontró a si mismo reducido a unas jadeantes sílabas al azar que no mostraban semejanza a ninguna tabla periódica.- Para. - John sonó como si tuviera graba en la garganta. - ¡Déjale en paz! ¿Cómo demonios puede abrir esa caja tuya si le matas?- ¿Matarlo? - Cullen detuvo sus esfuerzos. - Por supuesto que no voy a matarlo, John. Eso sería contraproducente. - Sacó de nuevo su teléfono. - Mírame, Sherlock.Sherlock alzó su cabeza y abrió los ojos. No miró a Cullen. Miró a John. Necesitaba mirar a John. John le mantuvo la mirada sin decir nada, el dolor dibujado en su cara, como si él hubiese sido golpeado también. Esa empatía de sanador suya debería haberlo matado aquí abajo, pero verle era como aire para un hombre que se está ahogando.- ¡Dije que me mires! - Cullen le dio otro golpe, y Sherlock se encogió y obedeció. Cullen sacó otra foto.- Tú. Enfermo. Cerdo.Sherlock reprimió un gemido. Bueno, John había recuperado el uso completo de sus cuerdas vocales. Antes de que Sherlock si quiera pudiese intentar deshacer el daño, Cullen estaba agachado frente a John, esa maldita fusta empujando hacia arriba la barbilla de John.- Eso fue grosero - dijo Cullen suavemente.- Fue cierto - le escupió John. - Déjalo en paz.- John - interrumpió Sherlock bruscamente.El teléfono de Cullen sonó, y Sherlock contuvo el aliento. ¿Cuánto control tenía el jefe de Cullen sobre él? Si el hombre era quien Sherlock sospechaba que era, quizás sería el suficiente, el justo, para mantener a Cullen atado corto. Para mantener a John vivo.Cullen miró a la cara a John durante quizás un segundo, luego cogió la cabeza de John entre sus manos y la golpeó contra los restos de hierro detrás de él. John se desplomó hacia delante, inconsciente.Sherlock se abalanzó estúpidamente, incapaz de detenerse.- John...- Vuelve al trabajo. - Cullen se levantó y se dirigió al túnel de acceso, sacando su teléfono. - Y enséñale a tu amigo algo de modales.- John.John se encogió ante el sonido. Dios, la decapitación sería un alivio. Buscó en sus recuerdos recientes en busca de una explicación al dolor, y encontró una.- Oh. - Forzó sus ojos a que se abrieran. Sherlock estaba sentado a no más de cinco pasos de él, sus brazos alrededor de lo que parecía una pieza de hierro forjado victoriano y sus muñecas esposadas apretadamente juntas. Su camisa estaba en el suelo a su lado. Estaba herido, sucio y, gracias a Dios, vivo. - Sherlock. - El resto de su memoria volvió, y se inclinó hacia delante un poco demasiado rápido. - Au. Maldición. ¿Qué tan mal estás?- ¿Qué tan mal estoy yo? ¿Has perdido el juicio? - Sherlock estaba respirando un poco demasiado fuerte. - Pudo haberte matado.- No grites, por favor. Mi cabeza no ha decidido si aún sigue en pie. - John parpadeó, intentando aclarar su visión. - ¿Debo repetirte la pregunta?Sherlock le lanzó una mirada de exasperación pura.- Es superficial.- Para que quede claro, entiendes que “superficial” no incluye todo lo que no es letal, ¿no?- No le provoques otra vez. ¿Me entiendes?John apartó la vista. Eso no estaba abierto a discusión.- Perfectamente. ¿Dónde estamos?- En una de las habitaciones de máquinas de las viejas compuertas de inundación del Fleet. No estamos lejos del curso principal del Fleet.- Con una lluvia torrencial.- Oh, sí.John hizo una mueca.- Maravilloso. ¿Entiende Cullen qué es lo que probablemente suceda?- No lo creo. No es londinense, y por extraño que parezca no me siento inclinado a iluminarlo al respecto.- ¿A dónde fue?- A escuchar la voz de su amo.John le dio a Sherlock una mirada cortante, pero no preguntó. Tenía que saberlo. Sherlock tenía que saber jodidamente bien con quien estaba hablando Cullen.- Han estado mandándose mensajes constantemente - continuó Sherlock, sus ojos fijos en la puerta. - Creo que Cullen cogió a su jefe por sorpresa con esta pequeña aventura.- Él sólo quería la caja.- Eso creo. Cullen ha estado intentando aplacarle.El estómago de John dio un vuelco.- Con las fotos.- Hum. Dijo que tenían intereses similares. - Sherlock salió de su ensimismamiento y miró a John. - Ahora quiero que me escuches.- No empieces - dijo John calmadamente. - Simplemente... no lo hagas.Sherlock se inclinó hacia delante.- Necesitas saber cómo sobrevivir a esto.- Sé exactamente como sobrevivir a esto. - John intento mantener la voz baja y falló. - Es mantener a alguien más vivo lo que no soy capaz de hacer. Por el amor de Dios, ayúdame a hacer eso.Sherlock lanzó un suspiro inestable, luego que quedó congelado. En el silencio resultante, John lo escuchó también; alguien caminando a través de agua poco profunda.- Ha vuelto - susurró Sherlock. - John...- El puzle - le devolvió el susurro John.Sherlock apretó la mandíbula y cogió la maldita cosa. John se la imaginó cortándola salvajemente en pedazos.Cullen se detuvo en el marco de la puerta, mirándolos a ambos de nuevo.- ¿Gritando? Tenemos una pequeña pelea doméstica, ¿no?John mantuvo su mirada en las manos de Sherlock mientras se movían ágilmente sobre la madera. Cullen se movió para quedarse de pie tras Sherlock.- No pareces estar haciendo muchos progresos, Sherlock.- No - dijo Sherlock rotundamente.- Me estás decepcionando. - Cullen miró a John. - ¿Es sobre lo que iban los gritos, John? ¿Tu decepción?- No. - John no le miró.- Nadie podría culparte. Aquí estás, tu vida colgando en la balanza, y el gran Sherlock Holmes no puede resolver un puzle diseñado para niños moderadamente inteligentes. O no quiere resolverlo, y no le preocupa una mierda lo que te haré a ti.- Me preocupa - dice Sherlock en voz baja, no alzando su mirada del puzle. John esperó que la afirmación fuera en beneficio de Cullen, porque el pensamiento de que Sherlock no supiera la mucha fe que tiene John en la capacidad de Sherlock de preocuparse le hacía retorcerse por dentro.- Bueno, eso dice él, ¿no? No es como si él fuera capaz de tener ningún sentimiento real. Es defectuoso.- ¿Bagram? ¿O Abu Ghraib? - preguntó John, girando su cabeza lo suficiente para mirar a la serpiente a los ojos.Las cejas de Cullen se elevaron.- Oh, muy bien, John. Eso está muy bien.- Expulsado, ¿no? Bueno, hay límites. No como en los viejos tiempos. Incluso alguien que trabaja por libre no puede divertirse un poco sin que alguien del tipo de los que lo dan todo por el país y la reina denuncie su patético trasero.La sonrisa de Cullen era escalofriante.- Sherlock, tienes cinco minutos. Luego voy a cortarte una de tus manos.Sherlock apretó la mandíbula y no contestó nada. John apretó los labios, intentando centrarse. Eran asombrosamente iguales, ese cabrón y su jefe. El hecho de que uno prefiera las alcantarillas y el otro prefiera trajes de seda no ocultan ni una pizca la verdad. Un disparo limpio para cada uno, eso es todo lo que John quería.Cullen rió suavemente.- Deberías verte. Pensando en dispararme, ¿no?- Sí. - Fue un alivio simplemente el decirlo. Cullen debe haber tenido mucho éxito en el mercado de la interrogación antes de que le empezara a gustar demasiado. John ve las manos de Sherlock temblar un segundo, después continuar.- ¿Asesinato, John? ¿Realmente puedes hacer eso?- He disparado a mejores hombres que tú.Cullen rió y se arrodilló frente a John.- No lo dudo. ¿Pero por él? Tú has vivido con él. Sabes lo que él es.- Sí. - John miró sobre el hombro de Cullen como si no estuviera ahí mientras Sherlock alzó la cabeza para devolverle la mirada. - Sé exactamente lo que es.- En serio, John. Si sabes cómo abrir esa caja y no me lo estás diciendo por algún tipo de retorcida lealtad es el momento de soltarlo. Él no lo merece. En los viejos tiempos él hubiera sido sacrificado.Oh. John respiró. Oh, él acaba de hacer esto mucho más fácil. John dejó escapar una carcajada liberadora, luego alzó su pie y pateó justo en la entrepierna de Cullen tan fuerte como pudo. Cullen aulló cuando giró haciéndose una bola, sosteniendo sus genitales dañados.- Y en los viejos días, tú hubieras sido castrado - le informó John con total naturalidad. - Bienvenido al siglo 21.Sherlock dejó caer la caja con una expresión horrorizada.- John - dijo con voz ronca.- ¡Voy a matarte! ¡Joder si voy a matarte! - Cullen siguió intentando, y fallando, volver a ponerse sobre sus pies.- Se exactamente como abrir la caja - dijo John con una frialdad que casi seguramente no sentía. - Y no hay necesidad de abrirla por un pequeño gilipollas como tú. Un hombre que tiene que ser un jodido inútil si incluso el comercio de la tortura mercenaria no le sale bien. Dile a tu jefe que quiero hablar con él.Cullen se puso sobre sus pies y se echó hacia atrás, los ojos fijos en la cara de John.- Estás soñando, “chico que lucha por la Reina y el País”. Para cuando acabe contigo...- Hablas demasiado - observó John, con desprecio sincero. - No son nada del otro jueves, los charlatanes.Cullen lanzó un gruñido inarticulado y se lanzó a si mismo limpiamente contra una pila de cajas, casi tropezando con un bidón de plástico de cinco litros de algo en el proceso. Empezó a rebuscar entre el desorden de objetos que, hasta ahora, John no había sido capaz de obligarse a mirar.- Él no sabe cómo abrir la caja - gruñó Sherlock. Estaba luchando contra sus esposas tan violentamente que sus muñecas empezaron a sangrar. - Te estás dejando tomar por tonto, y no me sorprende. - Sherlock pateó una caja en dirección a Cullen. - Así que vamos. Corta mi mano para lo que te va a servir.Cullen lo ignoró, para el profundo alivio de John. Cogió lo que John instantáneamente reconoció como una barra de titanio quirúrgico y se dirigió de nuevo hacia John arrodillándose junto a él.- Has copiado un montón de malos modales de ese friki. - Empezó a quitar la bota izquierda de John.- Oh, bien - dijo John, fijando los ojos en Sherlock, quien aún estaba en proceso de lacerarse la piel de sus muñecas en un intento de liberarse de sus esposas. - Siempre he admirado los modales de Sherlock.Sherlock le lanzó una mirada que era impresionante: dolor y sorpresa y diversión y algo que John no pudo identificar lo suficiente, todo en una.- John, dile la verdad. ¡Dísela!Cullen sacó la bota y el calcetín de John, y sujetó el pie desnudo como si estuviera inspeccionándolo.- ¿Cuántos huesos hay en el pie humano, doctor?- ¿Todos vosotros cogéis las frases del mismo libro? - John se estremeció cuando Cullen torció si pie con la precisión suficiente para mostrar que entendía la anatomía demasiado bien. - Veintiséis.Cullen sonrió.- ¿Tantos? Esto puede llevar un tiempo.- Quiero que entiendas algo - dijo Sherlock en un espeluznante tono monótono. - Tu evaluación sobre mí es completamente cierta. Soy defectuoso, y te digo que si haces eso no saldrás de esta habitación vivo.John cerró los ojos mientras Cullen cogía la barra, tomando nota mental para decirle a Sherlock, si alguna vez tenía la oportunidad, que él también podía ser aterrador. Sintió a Cullen moverse mientras alzaba la barra, y el impacto cegador al golpearla contra la planta de su pie, rompiendo el primer metatarsiano.John no gritó. Fue lo mejor que pudo hacer, pero no pudo detener el gemido sin aliento que se forzó a si miso a pasar a través de sus cuerdas vocales mientras su cabeza se movió hacia atrás. Oh, Dios, dolió, pero ni se acercaba a lo malo que sería ver a ese monstruo golpear otra vez a Sherlock. John conocía sus límites, y no podía aguantar más de eso.- Estás muerto - dijo Sherlock.Cullen dejó caer el pie de John al suelo; John jadeó con sorprendida angustia y abrió los ojos. Cullen se estaba acercando a Sherlock. No. No, no, no...- ¿Se te acabaron los huesos? - carraspeó John, inclinándose hacia delante con sus esposas.- He tenido suficiente de tu boca - le dijo Cullen a Sherlock, llegando al bolsillo de su abrigo.Todo lo que John pudo ver fue un cuchillo, ese maldito cuchillo, no, no, Sherlock...- ¿Vienes a sacarme la lengua? - se burló Sherlock.- Después. - John se relajó con alivio cuando Cullen sacó en su lugar un pañuelo. - Ahora mismo quiero tener tu total y plena atención mientras mutilo a tu amigo. - Agarró a Sherlock por el pelo e intentó meter el pañuelo en su boca, pero Sherlock dio un tirón con la cabeza apartándola. Gruñendo, Cullen empujó la parte superior del cuerpo de Sherlock al suelo y lo inmovilizó ahí, su largo abrigo guarneciendo sobre Sherlock como unas alas de buitre. Metió el pañuelo en la boca de Sherlock, tan profundamente que John le vio tener una arcada.- ¡Para, es suficiente! Lo estás ahogando.- No se me ocurriría. - Cullen se enderezó. - Eso viene después, también.Sherlock luchó por ponerse en una posición sentada, su mano derecha en un puño como si estuviera listo para ir contra Cullen, incluso en su situación actual.John echó un largo vistazo, memorizando al hombre, luego cerró sus ojos y se echó hacia atrás mientras Cullen se agachaba junto a él de nuevo. Apretó los dientes mientras Cullen cogía su pie, girándolo con un resultado insoportable.- Bien. Uno listo, nos quedan veinticinco. - Su pulgar se deslizó hacia la parte superior del pie de John esta vez, deteniéndose en el astrágalo. John soltó un resoplido irregular. Esto no sería fácil. Hueso duro. Un golpe no iba a ser suficiente para conseguirlo. Luego Cullen se estaba moviendo. John sintió el ligero movimiento del generado por el golpe antes de sentir el propio impacto. Y gritó, esta vez; sintió como si todo el pie estuviera siendo destrozado. Se atragantó, preguntándose cuanto tiempo sería capaz de soportar mantener tanto control. Dios. Sherlock.- Oh, muy bonito. A mi jefe le vas a encantar. Mírame, John. - Intentando mantener su respiración bajo control, John se obligó a abrir los ojos. Cullen tenía su cámara en la mano. - Sonríe - dijo.- Vete a la mierda - dijo John con voz áspera, parpadeando cuando saltó el flash. Había hecho algo extraño en su visión; podría haber jurado que vio a Sherlock de pie detrás de Cullen. Le tomó dos segundos completos darse cuenta de que no estaba alucinando.Sherlock alzó el bidón de plástico con el que Cullen había tropezado minutos antes y lo volcó, derramando un líquido claro y de olor acre sobre la cabeza de Cullen. Aceite para lámparas. Era aceite para lámparas.Tartamudeando, Cullen se puso en pie y se volvió hacia Sherlock, quien balanceó la lámpara de aceite encendida frente a él. Cullen se congeló. John se sintió desfallecer, sabiendo que tenía una enorme, estúpida sonrisa en su cara y no le importaba.- Sherlock.- Uno de los inconvenientes de este tipo de iluminación ambiental es el hecho de que el aceite es altamente volátil. - La voz de Sherlock sonaba helada. - Una chispa es todo lo que se necesita.Cullen miró la falta de expresión en la cara de Sherlock, sin palabras.- Tira el teléfono.Cullen lo tiró.- Y tus armas.Cullen buscó frenéticamente en los bolsillos de su abrigo para sacar su cuchillo y pistola, los cuales tiró a los pies de Sherlock.- No. No lo hagas.Algo en los ojos de Sherlock parpadeó.- Harías bien en no hablar. Ahora aléjate de él.Cullen se apartó despacio en dirección a la puerta.- No hacia ese lado - espetó Sherlock. Movió su cabeza en dirección opuesta. - Por allí.Cullen obedeció, retrocediendo hasta que estuvo apretado contra la viga a la que Sherlock había estado esposado. Sherlock lo siguió, luego lo rodeó.- Las manos a tu espalda. - John pudo ver las manos del hombre temblando mientras obedecía; Sherlock golpeó sus ensangrentados puños contra Cullen sin ningún intento de gentileza.- Quizás, si sobrevives a esto, recordaras que es un error capital esposar a alguien con una motivación para escapar con sus manos frente a él. Todo tipo de cosas desafortunadas tienden a acompañar a un descuido de ese tipo. Ahora ponte de rodillas y quédate ahí. - Cullen cayó de rodillas.Sherlock retrocedió, luego corrió al lado de John, agarrando su camisa.- ¿Estás bien? - Su voz era cálida y urgente, su expresión suave; era como si fuese un hombre diferente. Sacó algo pequeño y plateado del bolsillo de su pantalón y alcanzó detrás de John -. ¿Estás bien?- Estoy bien - suspiró John, recuperándose. Rió un poco. - Estoy bien. ¿Cómo demonios…- Le robé cuando estaba amordazándome. El idiota tenía la llave en el bolsillo de su abrigo.John sintió abrirse las esposas, y adelantó sus brazos doloridos con un suspiro de alivio.- Eres… Absolutamente increíble.- Eres fácilmente impresionable. - Sherlock se inclinó hacia los pies de John. - No me molestaré preguntando qué tan mal está. ¿Hay alguna forma en que podamos vendarlo para que no empeore?- Si tuviera algo para…- Puedes usar esto. - Sherlock empezó a romper su camisa. - Necesitamos movernos. ¿Lo oyes?John escuchó. Agua. Demasiada.- ¿Tenemos que atravesarlo para salir?- ¿Atravesar qué? - Exigió Cullen, girando su cabeza. - ¿De qué estáis hablando?Sherlock lo ignoró.- No tengo ni idea. No he estado aquí abajo desde que tenía doce años.John parpadeó.- Jugabas en las alcantarillas cuando tenías…- No estaba jugando. Estaba buscando cadáveres. - Sherlock le pasó a John varias tiras de tela y continuó rompiendo. - Me perdí, por supuesto. Jodidamente embarazoso. ¿Serás capaz de caminar?John tomó aliento y empezó a vendar su pie, lo cual se parecía a golpearlo de nuevo.- Caminaré. No puedo asegurarte qué tan rápido… - Se detuvo, jadeando, como si el dolor se volviera demasiado intenso, luego continuó vendado con manos temblorosas. - Lo cual si vamos a estar corriendo por corrientes de agua va a ser un poco problemático. Deberías considerar…- ¿Corrientes de agua? - Cullen miró hacia la puerta con pánico creciente.- No voy a… - Sherlock se vio interrumpido por el sonido del teléfono de Cullen.John sintió que se le congelaba el aliento por la mirada en la cara de su amigo.- ¿Quieres que conteste yo?Sherlock cogió el teléfono y no esperó para hablar; era obvio que sabía quién estaba llamando.- Le hizo daño a John - dijo Sherlock con una voz que podía cortar el acero. - Acabas de cometer el error más grande de tu vida. Empieza a correr. - Sherlock colgó y empezó a marcar otro número.John sintió caer su mandíbula.- Sherlock…Sherlock alzó imperioso una mano pidiendo silencio, y John cerró la boca.- Estamos en las alcantarillas cerca de la línea principal del Fleet. Haz algo al respecto. - Luego Sherlock tiró el teléfono a través de la puerta hacia las varias pulgadas de agua que ahora estaba corriendo por el acceso al túnel. Se balanceó y desapareció. John lo miró irse, sin palabras.Sherlock se dirigió al lado de Cullen y lo tiró a sus pies.- A no ser que disfrutes ahogándote, vas a mostrarnos el camino de salida.- ¿Ahogándome? ¿Qué demonios…Sherlock agarró el arma de Cullen.- No tengo tiempo de explicarte la historia del diseño del alcantarillado de Londres. Vas a llevarlos al desagüe más cercano. Ahora.- ¿Para que puedas matarme cuando salgamos de aquí?- ¿Preferirías ser asesinado aquí? - Sherlock alzó el arma con la expresión de un hombre que pretende usarla.Cullen giró rápidamente y corrió hacia la puerta. Su largo abrigo ondeaba tras él, y antes de que John pudiera gritar una advertencia, golpeó contra la lámpara. El hombre se convirtió en una antorcha, gritando y corriendo ciegamente hacia la puerta, y golpeando contra todo en el intento.John se lanzó desde el suelo y derribó a Cullen a través de la puerta y aterrizó a seis pulgadas de la helada agua que corría a toda velocidad. Las llamas se extinguieron casi instantáneamente, sumiendo al túnel en la oscuridad, y John giró a Cullen, buscando el pulso en la horriblemente quemada piel. Se agitó durante un momento contra los dedos de John, luego se desvaneció. Fue sólo entonces cuando John se dio cuenta que Sherlock estaba arrodillado al lado de él en la oscuridad, ambos brazos a su alrededor.- Está muerto.- ¿Estás quemado? - Fue a penas un susurro, pero hizo eco contra los ladrillos.- No - dijo John lentamente, alzando sus manos. - No, sólo... un poco tostado. No lo entiendo. No debería estar muerto, él... - John deslizó sus manos para examinar la cabeza de Cullen, pero no había ninguna herida que pudiese sentir. Deslizando sus manos por el torso del hombre, se sorprendió al encontrar algo sobresaliendo del lado izquierdo de su pecho. - Oh, Dios santo. Tenía otro cuchillo.- Consiguió salir de la habitación, después de todo - dijo Sherlock con un tono venenoso. - Estoy perdiendo mi toque. - Ayudó a John a levantarse. - ¿Estás bien?- Lo estaré. - John sintió el tirón de la corriente de agua en el cuerpo a sus pies, y lo dejó ir. - ¿Qué tan mal está tu espalda?- Imagino que voy a tener algunos moratones mañana. ¿Puedes caminar?- Si pudiese ver hacia donde voy.- Había una linterna en la mesa de los juguetitos de Cullen. Espera.John cambió su peso hacia su pie bueno y apoyó ambas manos en el muro de ladrillos del túnel mientras Sherlock desaparecía de vuelta hacia la sala de maquinaria. Dios, menuda noche. Una inconfundible luz eléctrica se encendió en el interior de la habitación, y John suspiró aliviado. Al menos no resbalarían en los túneles inundados en la oscuridad.Sherlock apareció y se puso al lado de John.- Hazme un favor y pon esto dentro de tu camisa por mí para mantenerlo a salvo. - Levantó la caja puzle.John lo miró con cansancio.- ¿Has considerado la posibilidad de que esta cosa esté maldita?Sherlock alzó una ceja.- Absolutamente no. No puedo imaginarme por qué pensarías una cosa así.- Oh, dame eso. - John arrebató la maldita cosa de Sherlock y la metió en su camisa. - Lo próximo serán ratas gigantes, o cocodrilos.- Pasas demasiado tiempo en internet. - Sherlock le ofreció su brazo, un lado de su boca arqueándose hacia arriba.- Voy a reducirte la velocidad al paso de una tortuga. - John agarró el brazo de Sherlock y luchó para mantener el equilibro. - ¿Me estoy imaginando cosas, o este agua se está haciendo más profunda?- No te lo estás imaginando. - Sherlock movió la linterna arriba y abajo por el acceso al túnel. - No hay marcas. Pero estoy bastante seguro de que la línea principal del Fleet es por aquí. La inundación será peor, pero hay más rutas hacia la superficie.- De acuerdo, vamos.Sherlock le lanzó una mirada exasperada.- He dicho “bastante seguro”.- Tu “bastante seguro” es mejor que el “completamente convencido” de la mayoría de las personas. Si la inundación empieza a ponerse demasiado mal, podemos intentar otro camino.Sherlock suspiró y cuadró los hombros.- De acuerdo.- A no ser que haya cocodrilos, en cuyo caso estás absolutamente equivocado y yo haré los planes a partir de ahora.John fue recompensado con una pequeña risa.- Excepción anotada. Vamos, John. *Cullen había muerto demasiado rápido para el gusto de Sherlock. Sólo la vista de John cojeando valientemente a su lado, con la cara demacrada y los dientes apretados, era suficiente como para hacerle desear fervientemente que hubiera esposado a esa pila viviente de excrementos a ese maldito poste y prenderle fuego. Debería haber gritado durante mucho, mucho tiempo. Y Seb Wilkes debería haberlo escuchado. Sí. Eso le habría enseñado al Señor Wilkes, el que no todo hombre, mujer o en ocasiones niño que le apeteciera era el blanco para desahogar sus necesidades.John se resbaló y se agarró al brazo de Sherlock, un pequeño gemido ahogado de dolor surgiendo a través de su determinado silencio. Sherlock lo agarró por los brazos, maldiciendo en silencio. El barro que cubría todas las superficies aquí abajo hacía difícil el caminar incluso para una persona en buena condición física, mucho peor para alguien con un pie roto. Estuvieron caminando durante casi una hora, y esa fue la primera vez que John había emitido algo parecido a una queja.- Lo siento - susurró John, agarrándose con fuerza al brazo de Sherlock. - Resbalé.- Por el amor de Dios, John - dijo Sherlock molesto. - No te disculpes.John apoyó su cabeza contra el pecho de Sherlock.- Dos minutos.Sherlock descansó su mano en la parte de atrás de la cabeza de John, atreviéndose a acariciar su pelo húmedo. El suave gemido de John le tranquilizó.John necesitaba descansar desesperadamente, y no había un lugar adecuado para hacerlo. El agua aún seguía subiendo. Estaba a la altura de la cadera, y el hedor creciente le decía a Sherlock que los túneles interceptores habían comenzado a desbordarse. Ponto estarían vadeando aguas residuales, y para colmo de males, la marea estaba subiendo. Tenían que salir de aquí, y sin embargo cada alcantarilla que se encontraron estaba bloqueada por barras de hierro o portones. Obviamente habían escogido el camino equivocado. Otra vez.John dio un suspiro y alzó la mirada hacia él; Sherlock sacó rápidamente su mano del pelo de John. Dios, se veía más que exhausto. Se movía sólo gracias su fuerza de voluntad.- Te ves fatal.- Gracias. Estaba a punto de decir lo mismo de ti.- ¿Qué tal está tu espalda?- Está muy...- Enséñamela. - John cogió la linterna. - Date la vuelta.- John...- Y ya que hablamos del tema, déjame felicitarte por el brillante trabajo que hiciste escondiéndomelo durante tanto tiempo.- No tenemos tiempo...- Aplaudiré después. Date. La. Vuelta.Maldito sea. Debería haber sabido que no llegaría muy lejos con esta estrategia en concreto. John era demasiado buen doctor como para dejarlo pasar. Suspirando, Sherlock se dio la vuelta.Silencio, luego un toque indeciblemente suave.- Esas... Esas son heridas de cuchillo.- Es...- Si dices superficial una vez más... - La voz de John se quebró. - ¿Cuánto tiempo estuve inconsciente? ¿Cuánto tiempo él estuvo...- No fue tanto tiempo.- Un uso muy eficiente del tiempo. - La voz de John se volvió dura. - Debería haberle dejado quemarse.- Tú nunca harías eso - dijo Sherlock en voz baja.- ¿Eso crees? - Antes de que Sherlock pudiera responder, John siguió caminando. - Necesitas puntos, antitetánica y antibióticos, sin mencionar calmantes para el dolor.- No es tan malo. - Sherlock se dio la vuelta y cogió la linterna de las manos de John. La mirada en la cara de John casi le hizo flaquear. - Añadiremos eso a la lista de lo que tú necesitas, ¿no?- Eres el peor paciente de la historia documentada.- Gracias. - Sherlock entrelazó su brazo con el de John otra vez. - ¿Estás bien?John lanzó un suspiro y cuadró los hombros.- Estoy bien. Intentémoslo otra vez. - Siguieron avanzando otra vez, Sherlock mirando con cuidado en busca de algún signo de un paso en falso. Incluso sin ninguno, caminar debía ser dolorosamente infernal. John mantuvo los ojos fijos hacia delante. - El agua está viniendo más deprisa ¿Alguna indicación de la línea principal?- No anticipé... - Sherlock estaba molesto por escuchar su propia voz quebrarse. - Creo que debería haberla encontrado a estas alturas.John se detuvo y se giró hacia él.- Vas a sacarnos de aquí.- La marea...- Lo sé. Sherlock. Lo sé. Pero ni siquiera Sherlock Holmes puede controlar las mareas. - John se alzó y suavemente acarició el pelo mojado de Sherlock de su frente.Era una cosa muy pequeña como para tambalearse, como para dejarle mirando al hombre frente a él como un idiota. Pero lo hizo. Se le ocurrió a Sherlock que John le hacía tambalearse de forma regular, pero siempre lo había achacado a anomalías intermitentes. Claramente su evaluación era un error. Era un imbécil. Lentamente, se acercó para acariciar el pelo de la nuca de John, también. John le dio una lenta sonrisa.- Chalado. - dijo cariñosamente. Agarró el brazo de Sherlock otra vez y miró hacia delante. - Vamos.En el momento en el que Sherlock avanzó lo sintió: los ecos alrededor de ellos eran más profundos, el aire se estaba moviendo de forma diferente, el agua a su alrededor se estaba moviendo en más de una dirección. Alzó la linterna y escaneó las paredes y los techos abovedados rápidamente. Sin darse cuenta, se habían movido más allá de los túneles circulares hacia la gran línea principal arqueada. Los ladrillos de Bazalgette* brillaban a la luz de la linterna a veinte pies por encima de sus cabezas.- Dios santo - murmuró John. - Es casi hermoso.Sherlock gruñó. Sólo John Watson podía encontrar algo hermoso en un alcantarillado.- El monumento de Londres a la Gran Cloaca.- Fue una brillante pieza de ingeniería. No que lamentaría estar a una adecuada distancia de ella.- Nada me agradaría más que alejarte de ella lo más que el 221B lo permita. - Algún destello de luz hizo parpadear a Sherlock y girar la antorcha del tejado. El fenómeno persistió mientras miraba hacia arriba. - ¿Ves eso? - Señaló a lo que obviamente era un espejismo de algún tipo.John sostuvo el aliento.- Es la luz del día.- Una alcantarilla. - Sherlock ayudó a bajar a John por el túnel hasta estar bajo la tenue luz difusa por los veinte pies de oscuridad. - Una alcantarilla abierta.- Aún está lloviendo. - John cerró los ojos y dejó que las gotas cayeran sobre su cara.Sherlock recorrió con la linterna el techo; había asideros oxidados saliendo de la pared de ladrillos. El más bajo estaba a seis pies sobre sus cabezas.- Los más bajos probablemente se oxidaron hace años. - John le arrebató la linterna. - Hay alguien allí arriba. - Movió la antorcha de un lado a otro varias veces. Sherlock podía ver las siluetas de tres personas, asomándose a la alcantarilla. Tenían que haber visto la linterna, incluso aunque no pudiesen ver a los hombres en el agua. - ¡Ey! - John agitó la linterna. Una de las figuras de arriba se giró y desapareció rápidamente.Un oleaje suave de agua pasó sobre ellos, empapándolos hasta el pecho, y Sherlock inhaló bruscamente, girándose. El nivel del agua estaba aumentando con una velocidad aterradora. O la marea estaba alta o en algún lugar de Londres había habido una riada.- John, dime que puedes nadar.John se detuvo en sus esfuerzos por señalizar.- ¿Cuenta sentarse en el bote de mi tío?- Maldita sea. - Otra oleada pasó a través del cuello de Sherlock; escuchó a John atragantarse. Sherlock agarró a John por las caderas y lo alzó. - Mantén la barbilla alta y la boca cerrada.John bajó la mirada hacia él.- ¿Qué demonios piensas que estás haciendo?- Deja de hablar y sigue haciendo señales.Los ojos de John se abrieron cuando miró por encima de la cabeza de Sherlock.- Viene, Sherlock, vie…El agua helada pasó por encima de la cabeza de Sherlock, y golpeó a John arrancándolo de su agarre. Pateando sus zapatos, Sherlock emergió a la superficie, pareciendo mareado. John estaba peleando para alcanzarle, agitando los brazos y las pateando con las piernas desesperadamente. Sherlock nadó al lado de John y lo agarró de la cintura.- Sólo patalea, si puedes. Pon tus brazos alrededor de mi cuello.- Jesús, pensé que me hundía - dijo John a través de los dietes castañeteantes, quejándose. - ¿Estás bien?- Nunca estuve mejor. - Sherlock los llevó contra el arco.- Lo siento - jadeó John. - Perdí la linterna.- A la mierda la linterna. Respira.John rió débilmente.- Te dije que la jodida caja estaba maldita.- Es una muy mala maldición si no puede convocar a un cocodrilo.John apoyó su cabeza contra la de Sherlock.- ¿Ahora qué?- Nos quedamos quietos. Ese grupo de la superficie debe haber visto la linterna. En cualquier caso, no queremos ser llevados corriente abajo.- ¿Qué hay corriente abajo?- El desagüe.- Y el desagüe es... ¿dónde las cosas desaguan?Estaba siendo deliberadamente provocador, y Sherlock descaradamente lo acercó más, protegiéndolo de las olas.- El desagüe es donde nosotros y varias toneladas de agua de lluvia y aguas residuales acaban en el Támesis.- Tienes razón. No queremos ir al desagüe. - John alzó la vista. - Pero si nos quedamos aquí, no seremos capaces de alcanzar uno de esos peldaños, no importa cuánto suba el agua.- Vamos a tener que dejar la bóveda en el momento justo. - Sherlock empezó a cronometrar la corriente. - Y tenemos que ser rápidos, no hay segundas oportunidades. Mandita sea. No tenemos forma de probar la resistencia de esos agarres; si están lo bastante oxidados...- Podrían ceder. ¿No podemos esperar por la ayuda de nuestros amigos de arriba?- Mira. - Sherlock se hizo a un lado ligeramente para que John pudiera echarle un buen vistazo a lo que estaba pasando.John jadeó con fuerza al ver que el nivel del agua estaba aumentando visiblemente; ya había subido la mitad de la distancia.- Buen punto. Entonces voy a decir esto ahora. - Sherlock miró como John tomaba su cara con manos temblorosas. - Sherlock. Ha sido un honor. - John se soltó y se dejó llevar por la corriente.Sherlock gritó el nombre de John mientras la corriente lo arrastró río abajo, pero John ya estaba braceando, sin gracia pero con fuerza, hacia el muro sujetando los agarres de hierro. Sherlock lo vio elevar su mano derecha y alcanzar el peldaño más bajo, sólo para partirse.Sherlock se lanzó hacia la corriente, al límite del tiempo, porque si John se hundía, él también; no iba a ser de ninguna otra jodida forma. No iba a irse a casa sin John Watson. En el mismo momento, vio la mano derecha de John emerger del agua para agarrar el siguiente peldaño. Lo cogió. John se alzó a sí mismo lo suficiente fuera del agua como para coger el siguiente peldaño, y lo cogió también. Girándose, John observó el área alrededor de la bóveda, claramente buscando a Sherlock; el pánico salvaje en su cara durante el momento que no pudo verlo sacó a Sherlock de su aturdimiento, y empezó a nadar.-¡John! - gritó Sherlock, temeroso de que John no lo localizara, el idiota podría intentar nadar de vuelta otra vez.John lo localizó, y empezó a respirar visiblemente de nuevo; estiró su brazo libre en la dirección de Sherlock. Sherlock se vio empujado por la corriente y casi se pasa completamente de los escalones; no se dio cuenta de lo lejos que lo había llevado en los pocos segundos que decidió seguir a John. John lo agarró por el brazo y lo acercó. Sherlock alzó su brazo derecho y alcanzó el peldaño más alto.- ¡Tú jodido imbécil! - Sherlock agarró la mano de John y lo guió al siguiente peldaño. - ¿Qué demonios crees que estabas haciendo?John se alzó y colocó su pie bueno en un peldaño justo por encima de la superficie del agua.- Aprendiendo a nadar.- ¡Pudiste haberte ahogado!- Si vamos a tener una discusión, ¿podemos hacerlo arriba? Está empezando a ponerse un poco húmedo. - El agua estaba formando un remolino alrededor de sus pechos, y Sherlock reconoció su punto al respecto, subiendo un peldaño y guiando el brazo tembloroso de John hacia arriba con él.- No puedo creer que te permitieran vagar por tu cuenta - gruñó Sherlock mientras subían.- Fue muy refrescante.Sherlock miró hacia abajo mientras John levantaba su pie herido sobre el nivel del agua, y sus insultos murieron en su garganta. El vendaje improvisado había empezado a deshacerse, revelando un herido, sangrante e hinchado revoltijo. Sherlock se inclinó rápidamente para deslizar su mano bajo la rodilla de John para sujetarle.- Arriba.- Gracias. - John le lanzó una sonrisa y subió, saltando un poco para colocar su pie bueno en el escalón.Sherlock alzó la vista, alentado por su progreso. Ya casi lo habían conseguido. Sólo unos pocos pasos más y su pesadilla habría acabado. Alcanzó el siguiente escalón.Se vino abajo en su mano.Sherlock se lo quedó mirando estúpidamente durante un momento, luego miró hacia abajo a John. El agua estaba ya arremolinándose alrededor de las rodillas de John.- Prueba el siguiente - dijo John calmadamente.Tirando el inútil peldaño lejos, Sherlock se estiró para alcanzar el siguiente. Crujió en su mano.- Oh - suspiró Sherlock con incredulidad. - No. - Miró hacia abajo a John durante un segundo, luego se echó a un lado. - Sube aquí - dijo urgentemente, ofreciéndole su mano.John agarró su mano y subió los dos escalones hasta estar junto a Sherlock. Miraron el agua oscura alzándose bajo ellos.- Bueno - dijo John, enredando sus dedos con los de Sherlock y apretando su mano. - Al menos no hay cocodrilos.- John. - Sherlock luchó para que su garganta funcionase. El agua había alcanzado sus pies. - El honor es mío. Siempre lo ha sido.John lo miró con lo que parecía auténtico asombro, pero antes de que pudiese responder, algo cayó entre ellos desde arriba. Sherlock se lo quedó mirando durante un segundo completo antes de darse cuenta de qué era. Una cuerda. Alguien les había lanzado un salvavidas. Mirando hacia arriba, Sherlock pudo ver varias personas arremolinadas sobre la alcantarilla abierta.- Gracias a Dios - dijo John débilmente.Sherlock resistió el impulso, nacido de pura perversidad, de señalar que el milagro de John era muy probable que fuera el trabajo del Servicio de Emergencias y no de ninguna deidad mitológica, benevolente o no. Agarrando la cuerda, procedió a atarla alrededor de la cintura de John.John miró horrorizado.- ¿Qué crees que estás haciendo? Eso es para ambos, Sherlock, no voy a...- No voy a correr ningún riesgo. Conociéndote, saltarás de nuevo. - Sherlock le dio a la cuerda un par de tirones justo cuando John lanzó ambos brazos alrededor del cuello de Sherlock y lo sujetó como si su propia vida dependiese de ello.- Yo no voy a correr ningún riesgo, tampoco. Agarra la maldita cuerda. - John era en realidad bastante intimidante cuando se ponía a ello. - Hazlo. No voy a dejarte ir.Sherlock miró a su amigo, desconcertado, mientras el agua le alcanzaba las rodillas. Luego agarró la cuerda justo cuando empezaron a tirar de ella hacia arriba, hacia la lluvia.Puede que no hubieran pasado más de cinco minutos desde que John y Sherlock habían sido arrastrados fuera del alcantarillado; pero se sentía mucho más. Los dos estaban tendidos sobre sus espaldas en la calle, parpadeando hacia la lluvia torrencial mientras los paramédicos zumbaban sobre ellos en un enjambre. Una figura familiar en un traje llevando un paraguas abierto apareció, y Sherlock reprimió un sincero gemido.Aquí comienzan las décadas de humillación.- En serio, Sherlock - dijo Mycroft maliciosamente, inclinándose sobre ellos. - ¿Jugando en las alcantarillas otra vez a tu edad? Mummy y yo teníamos la esperanza de que lo hubieras superado.*- Realmente no veo qué es lo que encuentras tan divertido, John. No podías haber subido las escaleras por ti mismo.John colapsó sobre el sofá, riendo tan fuerte que hizo que sus costillas heridas doliesen.- Sherlock. Me llevaste en brazos. Me llevaste en brazos a través del umbral. - Subió la pierna, metida en una escayola desde la rodilla hasta los dedos, sobre el sofá con un suspiro de alivio, y se tumbó sobre los cojines.Sherlock frunció el ceño y le arrojó la bolsa con la medicación de ambos.- ¿Entiendo que hay algún significado cultural sobre esa característica arquitectónica en particular?- Oh, ya veo. Es una de esas cosas que has eliminado.- Aparentemente. Espero no haber creado un incidente internacional.- Lo dudo. Sin embargo no te sorprendas si la señora Hudson te hace algunas preguntas raras.- ¿Qué demonios tiene que ver la señora Hudson con esto? - Sherlock se quitó el abrigo. - ¿Necesitas algo? Me voy a tomar una ducha en condiciones; el olor de St. Bart’s es peor que el del Fleet.- Estoy bien. Debiste haberles dejado vendarte...- Si les hubiese dejado vendarme, no podría tomarme una ducha. - Sherlock lo miró agriamente. - Tú puedes vendarlas después, si quieres.John se sorprendió ante la concesión.- Gracias.- John...- No me quedaré cerca de las ventanas. No abriré la puerta a nadie. No responderé al teléfono - entonó John, como si fuera un escolar recitando una lección.Fue recompensado con un pequeño movimiento en la esquina de la boca de Sherlock.- Ya veo que no. - Sherlock desapareció en el baño.John esperó hasta que escuchó el agua corriendo, luego se puso de pie con esfuerzo y cojeó hasta el abrigo de Sherlock, maldiciendo con cada paso. Buscando en los bolsillos, encontró el puzle, luego cojeó hasta su mesa. Se sentó, sacó su kit médico del cajón inferior y lo abrió. Había tenido dos días en el hospital para pensar sobre esta maldita cosa, e iba a abrirla o morir en el intento.- Ahora, pequeño cabrón - murmuró John. - Veremos qué demonios está mal contigo. - Giró hacia la lámpara de la mesa y sujetó el puzle bajo la luz, girándolo lentamente. Ahí. Una de las grietas ente las piezas era más ancha que el resto. Sacando su escalpelo más fino del kit, John lo coló dentro la grieta y lo deslizó suavemente. Encontró resistencia, algo que no era madera. John aplicó un poco más de presión, y una banda de metal flexible muy fina de alrededor de un cuarto de pulgada surgió de la brecha. John se la quedó mirando, sin palabras. Había estado en lo cierto. Jodida mierda, había estado...- Oh, bravo, doctor.John se lanzó poniéndose en pie, apoyándose en la mesa en busca de soporte, y giró para ver a Mycroft de pie en el marco de la puerta.- ¡Cristo! ¿Llamas alguna vez?Mycroft chasqueó la lengua y sacudió la cabeza.- ¿Sabías que Sherlock me dijo que había perdido eso en el Fleet?- Sí - dijo John llanamente. - Estaba encantado de que lo hiciera.Mycroft elevó una ceja.- ¿Puedo recuperarlo, por favor?- Estoy seguro de que en cuanto Sherlock acabe con él, estará encantado de devolvértelo. Pero si fuera tú, estaría deseando que no lo hiciese. Podría acabar metido en tu esófago o en tu culo.Los ojos de Mycroft se abrieron ligeramente.- ¿Disculpa?John se acomodó en su silla. Sujetando el extremo de la banda de metal, lo sacó suavemente del puzle.- Tú hiciste esto. Tú lo preparaste para que no se abriese.- Sí, por supuesto. Si los ladrones hubieran sido capaces de abrirlo, descubrirían que ya habíamos recuperado el chip.John deslizó la primera pieza del puzle.- Y entonces hubieran tirado el puzle y se hubieran escondido bajo tierra.- Obviamente.- Y no hubieran contactado con su jefe para pedir instrucciones. - John quitó la siguiente pieza. - Era tras su jefe por quien ibais, por supuesto.- ¿Hay algún propósito tras este pequeño interrogatorio?- Tú amañaste el secuestro de tu hermano. - John sacó otra pieza, felicitándose a si mismo por no aplastarlo en su mano.- Ciertamente no lo hice. - El tono de Mycroft se volvió repentinamente afilado. - Eso fue totalmente inesperado.- Sherlock lo hubiera esperado. ¿Le has dicho que amañaste el puzle?- No.- ¿Le dijiste quién era la persona en la que estabas interesado? - John empezó a colocar las piezas sueltas en una línea recta.- No.- ¿Has considerado la posibilidad de que la persona en la que estabas interesado tenía motivos para dañar a tu hermano que no tenían nada que ver con tu maldito chip?- Si hubiese pensado por un momento que ese era el caso, no hubiese involucrado a Sherlock para nada.- No lo involucraste. Lo utilizaste. - John no se molestó en ocultar el rencor en su tono.- Suficiente. - La voz de Mycroft se volvió baja y fría. - Doctor, creo que es justo recordarte que esto es un asunto de seguridad nació...- Oh, sí. - John soltó una risa amarga. - Seguridad nacional. El último refugio de los bastardos de todo el mundo. ¿Por qué no le contaste todo a Sherlock?- Él no necesita saberlo.Eso fue demasiado. John se alzó de nuevo sobre sus pies, derribando su silla.- ¿No necesita saberlo? Tu hermano... tu hermano pequeño fue secuestrado y torturado porque tú no le dijiste lo que necesitaba saber. ¿Tienes la más mínima idea de lo que pasó ese hombre?- Doctor...- Ese maníaco estuvo a un pelo de cortarle la mano a Sherlock.El agarre de Mycroft en su paraguas se tensó visiblemente.- No me lo dijo.- ¿Cuándo tuvo la oportunidad? Estuvo dos días en el hospital. ¿Dónde estuviste tú?- John, sabes que Mycroft no se ocupa del trabajo de campo. - John se giró para ver a Sherlock en su pijama y baja, secándose el pelo con una toalla. - Oh, bien hecho, lo resolviste. Sabía que lo harías. - Sherlock se detuvo junto a la mesa de John para sujetar la pequeña tira de metal. - Muy efectivo, Mycroft, mis felicitaciones.- ¿Lo sabías? - preguntó John con asombro. - Nunca lo dijiste.- No lo supe hasta que lo pasé por los rayos x en el hospital. - Sherlock lo miró con una expresión sombría. - Gran idea, John. Si hubiésemos ido a St. Bart’s en vez de al Angelo’s...- La comida es terrible en St. Bart’s - dijo John llanamente. Fue recompensado con una pequeña sonrisa de Sherlock.Mycroft elevó las cejas.- Interesante. ¿Cómo lo lograste? Según mis informes no te separaste del lado del doctor Watson en dos días.John le lanzó una mirada interrogativa a Sherlock. Sherlock había estado allí cuando se despertó, claramente, pero...- Tuve un cómplice - contestó Sherlock, evidentemente imperturbable ante la omnisciencia de Mycroft. - He llegado a apreciar el valor de los cómplices últimamente. - Sherlock enderezó la silla de John. - Siéntate, John, podrías asustar a los niños.John se dejó caer en su silla, intentando ignorar la punzada de dolor en su pie.- Tu hermano quiere su puzle de vuelta, Sherlock.- Oh, ¿sí? - Los ojos afilados de Sherlock recorrieron a Mycroft de pies a cabeza. - No lo creo.Mycroft suspiró.- Se razonable, Sherlock; es una prueba.- Tienes el chip. Pretendo quedarme esto como un recordatorio de nuestra aventura. - Sherlock cogió las piezas del puzle y caminó hasta la repisa de la chimenea, donde colocó cada pieza tan hábilmente como pudo. - Aquí. Veintiséis piezas. Oh, ahí, tienes un título para la entrada de tu blog, John.John sonrió débilmente.- No creo que escriba sobre este caso.- Creo que no - dijo Mycroft afiladamente. - Estás de un humor muy caprichoso hoy, Sherlock. Confío en que no hayas olvidado que nuestros sospechosos de espionaje aún siguen en libertad.John apretó los labios con fuerza. Sospechosos de espionaje. Al infierno con el secuestro, asalto, tortura e intento de asesinato. Jodido Mycroft y sus jodidas retorcidas prioridades.Sherlock le lanzó a Mycroft una mirada helada.- Soy menos propenso al olvido que la mayoría. ¿Qué te han dicho tus fuentes?Mycroft se encogió de hombros.- No dejó el país. De hecho, no hay pruebas de que haya dejado la ciudad. Es más que probable que venga a por su pequeña baratija... o a por ti, si te pones en su camino.John cerró los ojos. Cristo. Sherlock. Se sobresaltó cuando fue cogido firmemente por el brazo y alzado de su silla. Abrió los ojos para protestar.- Estoy bien...Sherlock guió a John hasta el sofá, dándole más que un ligero apoyo.- Túmbate o te romperé el otro pie.John se sentó en el sofá, haciendo una mueca mientras intentaba levantar su pierna mala. Sherlock estuvo allí instantáneamente para alzar su pierna y colocar la escayola de John en un cojín. John captó la mirada inquisitiva de Mycroft y se inclinó sobre su almohada, cerrando los ojos de nuevo. Se vio a si mismo incapaz de lidiar con el gemelo malvado de John Steed en ese momento.- Hablemos - le dijo Sherlock a Mycroft con un tono bajo y letal.John escuchó a Sherlock y Mycroft irse de la habitación y bajar la escalera, hablando con una voz a penas más alta que un susurro.Sherlock resistió la urgencia de empujar a Mycroft por las escaleras.- Ese hombre está soportando una cantidad infernal de dolor y no necesita escuchar...- En serio, Sherlock, has desaprovechado tu vocación. El mundo de las niñeras te espera.- Cada lesión que sufrió John, la sufrió voluntariamente para mantenerme vivo, y lo mínimo que puedes ofrecerle es simple consideración, si respeto es demasiado pedir.Mycroft le devolvió una mirada sombría.- ¿Vas a decirme alguna vez qué pasó exactamente?- Te he dicho lo que necesitas saber - le espetó Sherlock. - Y te diré esto. Wilkes es un don nadie. No tiene experiencia en el campo y ciertamente no está familiarizado con la etiqueta de estos trabajitos.Mycroft se encogió de hombros.- Los que lo contrataron lo están, y no tengo ninguna duda de que han dado a conocer su disgusto. Ellos quieren el chip, y en lo que respecta a Wilkes, está aún en su pequeña caja puzle. La cual, por cierto, tu asociado…- Amigo.- … amenazó con insertar en mi recto.Sherlock soltó una pequeña risa.- ¿Eso hizo? Oh, bien por ti, John.- Él parece pensar que mi decisión de retenerte información te colocó en peligro de forma innecesaria.- John tiene unas opiniones muy fuertes sobre las medidas necesarias para garantizar mi seguridad. - Sherlock reprimió firmemente el recuerdo de la expresión en la cara de John cuando se tiró al Fleet.- Muy cierto. - La voz de Mycroft fue apenas audible.- ¿Disculpa? - Sherlock miró fijamente a su hermano, genuinamente sorprendido.Mycroft ajuntó sus guantes un momento.- Tu amigo puede que tenga razón. No estoy completamente satisfecho con mi criterio en este asunto.- Mycroft, ¿has estado bebiendo?- Parece que se me ha encontrado falto de la debida diligencia. Por, de entre todas las personas, John Watson. Me preguntó si había sospechado si mi persona de interés tenía algún motivo para dañarte antes de tu involucración en este caso.Sherlock miró hacia las escaleras, agitado. Seguramente John no podía saberlo. Él no tiene datos. ¿Por qué…- Y ahora veo que sí.Sherlock recompuso su expresión, maldiciendo internamente.- Eso es algo antiguo, y resuelto hace tiempo. No tiene que ver con…- Si te hubiera dicho que Wilkes estaba involucrado, ¿hubieras actuado como lo hiciste?Sherlock vaciló, considerándolo.- Probablemente no.- Me disculpo, Sherlock. Fui descuidado.Sherlock luchó para recuperar su compostura.- Salvaste nuestras vidas.- Eso no debería haber sido necesario. Nunca debió haber pasado. Y no volverá a pasar de nuevo. - Mycroft se giró hacia la puerta.- No fue completamente cosa tuya, Mycroft - se escuchó decir a si mismo Sherlock. - Lo que pasó en las alcantarillas estaba completamente fuera de tu mano.- ¿Lo estaba?Sherlock soltó un suspiro irregular.- Ni siquiera Mycroft Holmes puede controlar la marea.Mycroft resopló y abrió la puerta.- Descansa un poco, Sherlock, estás volviéndote poético. Debes descansar unas horas; hay un equipo colocado. Oh. Y mantén a ese soldado amigo tuyo cerca. Creo que está empezando a gustarme.Mycroft cerró la puerta tras él, y Sherlock subió penosamente las escaleras, sintiendo cada momento el paso de los tres días. Fue la primera vez que podía recordar que un consejo de Mycroft tuviera sentido. Eso, al menos, evidenciaba que sus facultades mentales estaban severamente dañadas.Sherlock se detuvo junto al sofá, sorprendido de ver que John se había cubierto a si mismo con el abrigo de Sherlock. Con la garganta apretada, se inclinó sobre John, apartando su pelo de la frente.Lo ojos de John se abrieron.- ¿Se ha ido? - preguntó adormilado.- Sí. Asignó un equipo a la casa. Vuelve a dormir.John murmuró algo sobre Sherlock necesitando descansar, pero ya estaba dormido. Sherlock abrió algunos parches de nicotina y se los colocó, luego puso su silla favorita junto al sofá y se acomodó en ella, inclinándose hacia delante con los ojos cerrados y los dedos juntos. Sebastian Wilkes no estaba huyendo, y ese era definitivamente un problema de 3 parches. Porque Sherlock conocía a Sebastián Wilkes; el hombre era un idiota y un cobarde hasta la médula. No se había visto envuelto en el robo del chip debido a ninguna ideología política, ni siquiera con ánimos de lucro. Había sido por diversión. Era demasiado estúpido para comprender las consecuencias, y el asesinato de un mensajero y el robo de secretos de estado británicos sólo alimentó sus elaboradas fantasías. El hecho de que Sherlock estuviera involucrado simplemente había mejorado esa ilusión.Cuánto debió haber complacido a Wilkes escuchar que Sherlock era incapaz de abrir su pequeña caja. Eso debió haberle dado más placer que ninguna de las fotos que Cullen le envió. Y Sherlock no duda que las fotos le hayan dado placer. Conocía demasiado bien los gustos de Wilkes en ese respecto.A mi jefe le encantará. Las palabras vinieron espontáneamente a la mente de Sherlock, para reestablecer un orden entre la cacofonía resultante de sus pensamientos. Sobre el cadáver de Sherlock que Seb Wilkes pondrá sus manos sobre John Watson. Ha sido un idiota. Nunca debió presentarlos. Sherlock se burla de su propia estupidez; había sido inducido por un deseo pueril de demostrar que había seguido adelante, sin duda, que no era universalmente odiado, que alguien lo valoraba y escogió pasar tiempo en su compañía. Patético. El simple acto de buscar la aprobación de Sebastian Wilkes demuestra que no siguió adelante; su condicionamiento estaba intacto.Sin embargo llamó la atención de Wilkes (y Sherlock tenía varias teorías al respecto, incluyendo ese ridículo blog que John insistía en escribir) Wilkes sin duda se había sorprendido de que John aún estuviera viviendo con Sherlock casi un año después de su encuentro. Sherlock también lo había estado. Él mismo no le hubiera dado más de dos meses. Y aun así ahí estaba John Watson, estableciéndose silenciosamente en cada aspecto de la vida de Sherlock. ¿Eso había alimentado la determinación de Wilkes de seguir a delante con su negocio más allá de recuperar el mandito chip? Un pequeño castigo, quizás, para enseñarle a Sherlock que nadie que deja a Sebastian Wilkes tenía derecho a encontrar consuelo en otra parte, y un pequeño susto para convencer a John Watson de dejar a Sherlock a su propia suerte. Eso probablemente habría funcionado, con cualquiera excepto con John.¿Era por eso por lo que Wilkes no estaba huyendo? ¿Podría estar tan determinado a reestablecer su conexión? Este caso de contrabando bien podría haber sido su primer intento de poner a Sherlock en su sitio. Wilkes debe estar muy decepcionado por el resultado de este negocio.Sherlock agitó su cabeza. No. No, no lo haría. Incluso un idiota, hedonista delirante como Wilkes no arriesgaría tanto por otra oportunidad para humillar a Sherlock Holmes. No después de todos estos años. Si el chip no era más que un juego, y Sherlock meramente una placentera diversión, ¿qué llevaría al hombre a esconderse en vez de dejar el país? Desconocido. Sin respuesta.Revisar los datos disponibles.Sebastian Wilkes. Con una buena educación pero no inteligente. Sádico. Absorbido en si mismo. Indiscreto. Adicto a las emociones fuertes. Adinerado, pero no tan adinerado como lo fue en el pasado. Indiferente a asuntos políticos. Ignorante del mundo del espionaje. Su rol en el robo del chip sin especificar. Motivación desconocida.Cullen. Nombre desconocido. Con una buena educación. Sádico. Acostumbrado a cosas caras, pero cayó en tiempos difíciles. Experiencia como mercenario e interrogador. Pelea como un luchador callejero. Desprecio por la milicia británica. Una inusual relación familiar con su jefe. Tomó parte activa en el robo del chip. Poseía conocimientos sobre ambos objetivos que es poco probable que supiera únicamente por Wilkes. Motivación también desconocida.Pete. Apellido desconocido. Acento de escuela pública disimulado con un intento atroz de parecer de Cockney**. Llevaba ropas de trabajo y botas que no le pegaban. Peleaba como alguien entrenado por los militares. Con manicura. Exudaba un aire de autoridad a pesar del trato de Cullen hacia él como matón a sueldo. Sin interés en la tortura de Cullen en altercado en la cámara. Rol en el robo desconocido.Sherlock cogió su teléfono del brazo del sofá y empezó a escribir.¿FUENTE DE LA FUGA EN LA RUTA DEL CORREO? - SHSeguramente Mycroft tenía resueltos estos cabos sueltos a estas alturas. Hubo una pausa infrecuentemente larga antes de la contestación de Mycroft, y los músculos de Sherlock se tensaron de impaciencia.UNA PERSONA ALTAMENTE SITUADA EN EL MINISTERIO DE DEFENSA. - MHSherlock gruño de frustración. Como si no fuera capaz de deducir eso por su cuenta. Como si la señora Hudson no hubiera podido deducir eso.ESTOY SORPRENDIDO. POR FAVOR SORPRÉNDEME MÁS DÁNDOME EL NOMBRE DE LA PERSONA ALTAMENTE POSICIONADA. - SHUna pausa interminable.DISCUTIR SOBRE PERSONAS ALTAMENTE POSICIONADAS A TRAVÉS DE APARATOS INSEGUROS ES COMPLETAMENTE INADMISIBLE. - MHSherlock le gruñó al teléfono, los pulgares volando a través del teclado.A LA MIERDA INADMISIBLE ES INFORMACIÓN VITAL PARA LA INVESTIGACIÓN SUELTALO YA - SHOtra pausa.TOMA UNA AGRADABE TAZA DE TÉ Y LEE LAS PÁGINAS DE ESCÁNDALOS; ESO MEJORARÁ TU TEMPERAMENTO. - MHSherlock reprimió su impulso de lanzar el teléfono por la ventana.JW ESTÁ DE CAMINO A INSERTAR CIERTO OBJETO EN CIERTO ORIFICIO - SHSherlock empezó a contar; su teléfono sonó en cinco segundos.UN CASO DE EXTORSIÓN PARTICULARMENTE ESPELUZNANTE PODRÍA LLAMAR TU ATENCIÓN. - MHSherlock tomó aliento. Extorsión. Extorsión, ¿cómo pudo haber sido tan estúpido? Hojeando las páginas de las webs de tabloides, se congeló, mirando la foto de un hombre bien vestido intentando ocultar su cara de la cámara. Las piezas encajaron como el recuerdo en la repisa de su chimenea.- Aquí estabas - susurró Sherlock. - Ahora te tengo.- Lo has resuelto.Sherlock alzó la vista, sorprendido de ver a John sonriéndole. Era su sonrisa de orgullo, y una que nunca dejaba de descolocar el proceso mental de Sherlock.- Eso creo. Podríamos estar en algún problema más, John.John rió.- Estaría decepcionado si no lo estuviéramos. - Miró su reloj y le lanzó a Sherlock su mirada médica. - Casi tres horas. No creo que hayas descansado para nada.- Estoy bien. ¿Tú necesitas algo?- Necesito que descanses, pero sé que no sirve de nada pedírtelo - contestó John en un tono irónico. - Así que haré una pregunta si no te importa. ¿Qué vamos a hacer con Wilkes?Sherlock giró su cara completamente hacia él, ignorando el dolor. Había tenido razón; de algún modo, imposiblemente, John había llegado a esa conclusión.- Wilkes - dijo Sherlock estúpidamente.- Si quieres protegerlo, te apoyaré por supuesto - dijo John calmadamente. - Pero creo que ambos viviremos para arrepentirnos.- ¿Protegerle? Dios mío… - Sherlock recobró su compostura. - Wilkes es completamente irrelevante para…- No te molestes. No pretendo darme cuenta de todo lo que haces (¿quién podría?) pero tengo orejas. Hablar de sexo en la mesa de desayuno. Jesús. Sherlock. No crees realmente que olvidé eso, ¿no?Sherlock se vio a si mismo incapaz de contestar.Las manos de John se apretaron en las dobleces del abrigo de Sherlock, su cara pálida sonrojándose.- Él contrató a Cullen. Y sólo Dios sabe quién contrató a Wilkes. Alguien que sabía su historia contigo, obviamente. No estoy diciéndote nada que no sepas. Ese no fue su único desliz.- Tu análisis…- Wilkes pensó que estábamos juntos - dijo John rotundamente.Eso era imposible. John no tiene datos. Él no podría saber eso.- Ese día en su oficina. Toda esa… jodida basura sobre ti siendo un friki.Sherlock sintió su mandíbula caerse. John estaba enfadado. John estaba furioso por, entre todas las cosas, una conversación trivial que había pasado hace casi un año.- Él pensó que estaba humillándote frente a tu nuevo novio. Y estaba disfrutándolo. - La respiración de John se volvió áspera e irregular. - Como si nada de lo que dijese esa cucaracha pudiera cambiar mi opinión de ti. Como si no fueras diez veces más hombre que él en tu peor día.- John. - El nombre se forzó a si mismo a través de la contrita garganta de Sherlock.- Y seguí mirándote, esperando que lo cortaras y lo pusieras en su sitio, porque Dios sabe que eres capaz de defenderte tu solo; te he visto convertir a la mitad del Scotland Yard en jirones temblorosos…- Las hipérboles empobrecen tu argumentación. - Sherlock se escuchó balbucear a si mismo.John siguió adelante como si no hubiese parado.- Pero simplemente te quedaste allí. Con… Dios, esa mirada en tu cara. No dijiste nada. Y luego mentiste sobre tus conclusiones. Como si esa impresionante mente tuya fuese algo de lo que estar avergonzado. Eso me dijo todo lo que necesitaba saber. El cabrón te hizo daño, y quería seguir haciéndotelo. Quería saltar sobre ese escritorio y golpear su cabeza contra él.La garganta de Sherlock se cerró. Locuacidad aparte, eso esta tan propio de John. Esa galantería quijotesca. Era ridículo, y oh, Dios, era magnífico. De una forma completamente innecesaria. Como arte. O…- Sólo Dios sabe por qué aceptaste ese caso en primer lugar. No, no estoy preguntando. Y ahora él lo ha llevado a un siguiente nivel. Él estaba adorando esas fotos, Sherlock.- Él no…- De algún modo dudo que esperase que Cullen lo fuera a llevar tan lejos como lo hizo. Los inconvenientes de contratar a un psicópata. Pero también dudo que derramase ninguna lágrima al respecto.- John - dijo Sherlock densamente, rindiéndose. No tenía ni idea de cómo John había llegado a esas conclusiones. No importa. Eran innegablemente ciertas y conducían a un hecho destacable, al cual John había estado haciendo obstinadamente caso omiso desde que habían sido lanzados a ese maletero. - La participación de Wilkes es completamente irrelevante. Soy responsable de esto. Mi criterio… Fallé al…- ¿Estás otra vez con eso? - El enfado de John se desvaneció en cansancio puro. - No has fallado. Lo resolviste. El caso…- ¡Que se joda el caso! - Sherlock luchó por controlarse cuando el improperio se hizo eco en las paredes. - Te he fallado a ti.El asombro en la cara de John desvió su pensamiento de nuevo.- Sherlock. - Esa voz era más amable de lo que Sherlock podía procesar. - Nunca. - Y luego John se estaba moviendo, sentándose, balanceando las piernas y apoyándolas en el maldito suelo. Sherlock estaba fuera de su silla antes de que supiera que se estaba moviendo; cogió las piernas de John y las movió de nuevo, forzándolo a tumbarse.- ¿Qué demonios estás haciendo? - dijo entre dientes. - Tienes puntos y un yeso, túmbate ahí y alégrate de estar vivo.John alzó la vista hacia él con una sonrisa irónica.- ¿No me veo feliz, entonces?Sherlock se quedó ahí de pie estúpidamente, parpadeando, aun sujetando las piernas de John. Intentó regular su respiración y falló miserablemente. Se rindió.- ¿Cuántos… ¿Cuántos huesos le hubieras dejado romperte, John?Sherlock estaba bastante seguro de obtener una respuesta razonable, incluso siendo John. Seguramente John había pensado en eso. John debió haber dibujado una línea, se daría cuenta de la realidad de la situación y dejaría a Cullen continuar su trabajo sobre su verdadero objetivo. Si Sherlock no se hubiera liberado a si mismo, John hubiera actuado. Se hubiera salvado a si mismo.- Quiero una respuesta - dijo con voz áspera. Necesitaba una respuesta.- Doscientos seis huesos que tiene el cuerpo humano - murmuró John.Sherlock se sintió a si mismo calentarse, luego enfriarse, luego adormecido, mientras suavemente subía las piernas de John al sofá.- No - dijo vacilante. - Eso es inaceptable. Eso es… - Se interrumpió al ver la expresión sombría del rostro de John y se hundió en el sofá, agarrando el hombro de John. - Nunca. Más - dijo, con una voz que no sonaba para nada como la suya. - ¿Me oyes? No lo aceptaré.John no dijo nada.- Por favor - susurró Sherlock, sus cuerdas vocales fallándole.John se giró hacia él con ojos brillantes, apoyó una mano en la mejilla de Sherlock.- Tú, chalado - susurró John. - Hermoso e imposible chal…Sherlock lo besó. Siempre había considerado el besar como un no placentero e innecesario preámbulo al no placentero y necesario negocio de tratar con esas raras ocasiones en las que su libido se hacía presente. Sherlock se encontró a si mismo reexaminando esa evaluación; nunca nadie lo había besado como John. Gentil y profundo y Jesús si no amó cada segundo de él, como si quisiese sólo eso y nada más.Sherlock fue vagamente consciente de que John estaba sujetando su cabeza con manos temblorosas como si Sherlock pudiese apartarse; si tuviese la respiración y el uso de la lengua, Sherlock le hubiera asegurado de que no tenía esa intención. Fue tentado a comunicar eso con tanta creatividad como los límites de la fisiología humana hubiese permitido, y fue recompensado con John gimiendo suavemente dentro del beso.John se separó y miró hacia Sherlock con los ojos muy abiertos.- No hubiera hecho nada. - Su voz tembló. - No podía soportar verte pasar por eso. Fue menos doloroso dejar que él…Sherlock se apoderó de su boca de nuevo. Demasiados datos. Demasiado, John, demasiado. Sintió a John enterrar sus manos en su pelo, acariciándolo como si fuese algo precioso. Sintió a John apartar el abrigo de Sherlock y se echó atrás ligeramente, sorprendido.- ¿John?- Ven aquí - murmuró John con voz ronca, tirando de Sherlock por el brazo mientras bajaba su pierna sana del sofá. Algo en su voz demandaba obediencia. Sherlock permitió a John tirarlo encima de él, con cuidado de no empujar la escayola de John. Notó su propio ritmo cardíaco acelerado con interés mientras la mano de John se deslizaba hacia abajo por el costado de Sherlock para descansar cómodamente en la parte baja de la espalda de Sherlock. La otra mano de John apartó suavemente el pelo de la cara de Sherlock.Sherlock cerró sus ojos y deseó que sus músculos dejaran de temblar; estaban distrayéndole del puro placer del toque de John. Como si adivinase su pensamiento, John movió su otra pierna al sofá, envolviendo a Sherlock completamente. Sherlock descansó su frente en el cojín junto a John; los labios y lengua de John inmediatamente comenzaron a probar la piel tras la oreja derecha de Sherlock.- ¿Estás bien? - suspiró.¿Estoy bien? El hombre estaba demente.- John, ¿alguna vez he sido tímido como para no dejarte saber cuándo algo no estaba bien?John rió.- ¿Tímido? No, puedo decir con seguridad que eso es algo que nunca has sido.- Entonces debes asumir que todas y cada una de las cosas que estás haciendo o a punto de hacer están bien.- De acuerdo. - John envolvió sus dedos alrededor de la mano izquierda de Sherlock y la alzó hasta su boca. Procedió a asombrar a Sherlock dejando un ligero beso en su palma que envió un absurdo escalofrío a través de la espina de Sherlock.Sherlock con debilidad decidió abandonar cualquier intento de extrapolar el comportamiento de John de las normas establecidas. Era obviamente un ejercicio sin sentido. Dada la historia y carácter de John había anticipado un acercamiento directo; el por qué no tenía a Sherlock ya sobre sus manos y rodillas no lo podía comprender. Estaba obviamente en territorio desconocido. Respirar era un problema. Estaba poniéndose duro. Un beso en la mano estaba haciéndole ponerse duro. Eso era ridículo.John besó la sien de Sherlock, apoyando su cabeza contra la de Sherlock.- La primera vez que posé mis ojos sobre ti…Conversación. Dios mío. John quería hablar.- Los sé. - Sherlock intentó no sonar presuntuoso, puramente por la novedad del intento, y falló. No estaba demasiado preocupado; la modestia estaba, después de todo, profundamente sobrevalorada.- Pensé que eras el hombre más hermoso de Inglaterra.- ¿Sólo de Inglaterra? - Sherlock notó con considerable molestia que su voz tembló. - La Commonwealth llora.- Esos ojos…- Me han dicho que son mi mejor atributo. - Sus ojos, por Dios santo. John. Ridículo, romántico e irresistible John.- Y luego empezaste a hablar.- Por lo tanto se rompió la ilusión. - Sherlock intentó lanzar una risa sardónica y falló.- No podía creer cuán brillante fuiste, y esa voz. - La propia voz de John se agravo en algo parecido a un ronroneo.El sonido hizo que el pene de Sherlock se pusiera repentina y dolorosamente duro. Se encontró a si mismo incapaz de parar los avances verbales de John y se centró en intentar controlar su respiración.- Y luego te levantaste y empezaste a moverte y fue como sexo. - Las dos últimas palabras fueron un susurro ronco. - Me puse duro.- ¿Lo hiciste? - preguntó Sherlock sin aliento. - He… subestimado mis encantos, claramente.Sintió la erección de John apretándose contra la suya propia. Sherlock intentó recordar cómo o dónde se había movido ese día para conseguir esa reacción. ¿Cómo pudo no haberse dado cuenta de la extensión del interés de John? Debe haber estado distraído. El experimento con la fusta, tal vez. Sherlock se desvió apresuradamente del recuerdo. Duda que alguna vez vuelva a ver una fusta de la misma forma.- Claramente. Hubiera vivido bajo un jodido puente de tren contigo. - John coló su mano dentro de la cintura del pijama de Sherlock y acarició su piel con cálidos dedos. Sherlock se dio a si mismo por perdido. - Y cuando me dijiste que no estabas interesado…Sherlock tomó aire y se recuperó.- Para ser justos, estaba siguiendo el rastro de un asesino en serie en aquel momento.- Lo sé. - La voz de John se volvió repentinamente grave, pero sus manos aún se movían. - Tu trabajo es lo primero. Debería serlo. Es importante.Importante.- Lo crees.- Lo sé. Es un trabajo jodidamente bueno, Sherlock, y tú eres brillante haciéndolo.Dios mío. Sherlock sintió que su control empezaba a romperse.- Gracias - susurró. - Supongo que sería inútil mencionar que mi buen trabajo casi te ha matado en cierto número de ocasiones.John rió realmente.- Supongo que sería inútil mencionar que casi te ha matado a ti también.- Yo escogí mi trabajo, John.- Como también hice yo. Quiero estar aquí. Quiero ser de utilidad, Sherlock.La afirmación dejó sin aliento a Sherlock durante un momento.- ¿De utilidad? - Estaba consternado por el limitado alcance de la frase. John Watson no era de utilidad. - Tú eres esencial.John cerró sus ojos y descansó su frente contra el pelo de Sherlock. Alzó otra vez la mano de Sherlock, llevándola hasta su boca.- Di eso otra vez.Sherlock mantuvo su atención con dificultad.- Eres esencial.- Para tu trabajo.John tenía una mente excepcional; obviamente los hechos recientes habían desorientado su proceso mental. Con toda sinceridad, Sherlock admitió que los suyos propios estaban un poco peor por el desgaste.- Eres esencial para mí en toda forma posible. - El toque de los labios y lengua de John contra su palma lo llevaron al borde. - Maldita sea, John, voy a correrme si no dejas de hacer eso. - Sherlock se congeló, luchando para recuperar su auto control y frenar su anteriormente dócil libido. Si alguien le hubiera dicho hace seis meses que era suficientemente idiota como para decir algo así, le habría recomendado un confinamiento en una institución.Claramente sorprendido y complacido consigo mismo, John ronroneó un poco, frotando sus labios contra el interior de la muñeca vendada de Sherlock, mientras su otra mano se deslizaba hacia abajo sobre el culo de Sherlock.- Manos - murmuró, con un gozoso aire travieso. - Debí haberlo sabido.Maldito sea.- ¿Alguna otra localización de interés?Sherlock se quedó sin aliento y luchó por mantenerse quieto mientras John apretaba su boca muy suavemente contra la garganta de Sherlock, justo bajo la venda.- La garganta, también. Oh, las cosas que puedo hacer contigo. - El tono juguetón de John era exasperante. Adorable. Ridículo. La mano de John se deslizó entre ellos y acarició el pene de Sherlock a través de la tela de su pijama.Sherlock cerró los ojos con fuerza, intentando limitar el estímulo. Sus experiencias sexuales previas no habían hecho nada para prepararle para John Watson. Ser doblado sobre cada pieza de mobiliario cercano y follado sin sentido palidecía en comparación con este asalto a sus sentidos a un ritmo tranquilo.- ¿Sherlock? - La voz de John era aguda; sus manos dejaron de moverse.- No pares.- ¿Qué pasa? ¿Tu espalda?Sherlock alzó su cabeza para mirar a John; sus bocas estaban a una pulgada la una de la otra.- No. Pares.La cabeza de John se inclinó ligeramente, y Sherlock pudo ver los saltos intuitivos en sus ojos. No. Sin lógica. Sin datos tal y como Sherlock entendía el mundo. Algo más.John frotó sus labios contra la mejilla de Sherlock y susurró en su oído.- Puedes tener cualquier cosa que quieras.Sherlock se movió con confusión.John lo besó suavemente.- Cualquier cosa.Algo aproximándose a la comprensión apareció.- ¿John?- No necesitas pedirlo.Exhalando una bocanada de aire, Sherlock se puso de rodillas, sacándose la camiseta por encima de la cabeza y lanzándola a un lado. Tiró hacia abajo de su pijama y lo pateó para sacárselo.- Oh, hola - suspiró, sin hacer ningún esfuerzo por ocultar su placer. Tiró de su camisa sobre su cabeza y la tiró.Envalentonado, Sherlock enganchó sus dedos en la cintura del pijama de John, respirando con fuerza. Sonriendo, John levantó obedientemente sus caderas lo suficiente como para que Sherlock tirara de ellos hacia abajo y los quitara. John estaba duro y listo, y Sherlock no lo estaba menos; se deslizó hacia abajo para tomar a John en su boca, dejando que sus ojos se cerraran y comenzó a moverse.- Maldita sea. - La voz de John sonaba temblorosa. - Sí. Sherlock. - John enterró sus manos en el pelo de Sherlock, y Sherlock se preparó para que lo empujara. Eso no pasó; John parecía contento con permitir a Sherlock actuar a su propio ritmo. Más que contento aparentemente. - Tan. Jodidamente. Caliente. Tan. Jodidamente. Hermoso; ¿cómo haces eso? Joder, enséñame a hacer eso, quiero chupártela toda la noche justo así, oh Dios.Así que esto era el sexo con John Watson. Sherlock empezó a ver de qué iba todo el alboroto al respecto, y el pensamiento de que John pensaba que Sherlock era capaz de enseñarle algo sobre ello le parecía infinitamente divertido. Gimió mientras redoblaba sus esfuerzos, aplicando labios y lengua con las habilidades que aprendió en encuentros mucho menos placenteros. Habían valido la pena el precio pagado. Todos ellos, incluso ahora valía la pena el desagradable servicio a Sebastian Wilkes; porque John estaba jadeando y suplicando y gimiendo el nombre de Sherlock como si fuera tan nuevo para él como lo era para Sherlock, como si no pudiera tener suficiente.Sherlock abrió sus ojos y aventuró una mirada hacia arriba, sólo para encontrar su mirada cruzada con la de John. John gruñó y deslizó sus manos desde el pelo de Sherlock para acunar su cara.- Oh Dios tan hermoso qué demonios estás haciendo conmigo Jesús Sherlock oh maldita sea… - La cara de John se contorsionó de una forma que no tenía nada que ver con el dolor, y suavemente intentó apartar a Sherlock, lo cual Sherlock encontró bastante molesto. - Estoy ahí estoy ahí amor estoy ahí - era evidente su explicación, lo cual también era molesto, ya que estar ahí era claramente el objetivo de todo el ejercicio; se apoderó de las muñecas vendadas de John y las sujetó suavemente.Los ojos oscuros de John se abrieron de golpe.- Oh - jadeó. - Oh, Dios Sherlock, ¿lo harías?Se le ocurrió a Sherlock con bastante retraso que John no había esperado algo que él mismo había dado por sentado, algo sorprendente en si mismo, en este contexto, y algo que lo hizo aún más determinado en darle a John lo que obviamente quería con tanto entusiasmo. Guió la mano de John de vuelta a su pelo y cerró los ojos de nuevo, incapaz de centrarse mientras miraba la ternura desnuda en la cara de John.- Nunca… nadie como tú - murmuró John con un impresionante grado de incoherencia. - El único… - Se atragantó en cualquiera que fuese el sinsentido que estaba a punto de decir y realmente gritó el nombre de Sherlock mientras se corrió, mientras Sherlock jugaba con el pene de John con fruición y tragaba su semen con genuino entusiasmo. Eso era nuevo también. Precioso, de hecho. A no ser, por supuesto, que los decibelios del entusiasmo de John provocasen que la señora Hudson presentase una denuncia en virtud de la Ley de Comportamiento Anti-Social, por supuesto, pero Sherlock decidió que esta experiencia bien valía la multa de cien libras.John cayó de nuevo sobre su almohada, respirando con fuerza, murmurando una incomprensible mezcla de profanaciones y el nombre de Sherlock. Miró ávidamente como la boca de Sherlock se deslizaba lentamente por la longitud de su pene y se apartaba.- Oh, Dios - dijo sin aliento. - Oh, Dios, vas a matarme, ¿no?- No seas melodramático - murmuró Sherlock, poniéndose el mismo sobre sus manos y rodillas con dificultad. Sus extremidades estaban temblando. - Nunca te mataría. Sólo… - Sherlock se detuvo, observando la expresión expectante de John. - Te arruinaré la posibilidad de querer estar con otros hombres.John estalló en carcajadas hacia el techo, pero Sherlock se agachó para interrumpirlo con un beso, sintiéndose más que un poco mareado. Su primera broma en la cama. No había sido tan divertida, pero parecía una tontería exitosa. Quizás John estaba predispuesto a apreciar su sentido del humor. Finalmente apartó su boca de la de John con renuencia. Había algo más que decadente en besar a John mientras se estaba riendo.- Chalado - dijo John cariñosamente. Ese parecía ser el apelativo cariñoso elegido para esta tarde, y dado su actual estado, Sherlock no podía objetar razonablemente. John se inclinó hacia delante lo suficiente como para tomar la cara de Sherlock entre sus manos como si fuera a besarlo de nuevo. - Ya lo has hecho.Los brazos de Sherlock rápidamente se rindieron; jadeó cuando John lo cogió y lo bajó junto a él con la espalda en el sofá, deslizándose un poco para hacerle sitio. Sherlock descansó su cabeza en el hueco del brazo de John, resignándose a la sobrecarga sensorial mientras John se apretaba de nuevo junto a él, su mano deslizándose por el estómago de Sherlock para tomar el dolorosamente duro pene en su mano. Sherlock profirió un sonido que definitivamente no fue un quejido.- Córrete para mí - susurró John en su oído, su mano moviéndose con movimientos insoportablemente largos y lentos. - Eres. Tan. Malditamente. Sexy. Déjamelo ver. Déjame verlo ahora mismo.- Lo que sea - se escuchó a si mismo balbucear Sherlock, al borde del precipicio. - Haría lo que sea…- Lo sé - dijo John con voz áspera. - Dios, lo sé. ¿Crees que no lo sé? - Su mano se estaba moviendo más rápido, y Sherlock se sintió caer. - Ahora déjame ver esto. Déjame ver lo jodidamente hermoso que eres, maldito chalado, déjame verlo.Sherlock lanzó su mano libre contra el pecho de John mientras se corrió, su cuerpo empujando contra John mientras su cabeza se echaba hacia atrás. No podía ver, pero podía oír algunas cosas incoherentes sobre John y lo que sea y todo lo que quiero. Sintió el semen salpicando su estómago y pecho, escuchó a John decir:- Oh, Jesús, sí - y luego la boca de John estaba sobre la suya de nuevo, dentro de la suya de nuevo. Sherlock sólo se separó cuando la necesidad de oxígeno se volvió imperativa; apretó su frente contra el cuello de John y respiró con fuerza.Las manos de John seguían moviéndose arriba y abajo en su pene, lenta y suavemente, y Sherlock tuvo que morderse el labio para detener los absurdos ruiditos que se asomaban detrás de sus cuerdas vocales.- Eres increíble - murmuró John. - Dios, eres increíble. - Su mano se deslizó hacia abajo por el pene de Sherlock y se alejó, y acabó descansando en la cadera de Sherlock. Besó la frente de Sherlock y se apoyó allí, con los ojos cerrados. Obviamente no tenía ninguna intención de moverse o pedirle a Sherlock que se moviese. Otra sorpresa. Otra ridícula, romántica y completamente pegajosa sorpresa; les gustaría no estar pegados el uno contra el otro dentro de una hora.Sherlock se descubrió a si mismo remarcablemente despreocupado. Miró a John quedarse dormido, frotando el rubio pelo de la frente de John y peleando contra el cansancio que asaltaba sus propios músculos. Sin señales de dolor aún, pero las endorfinas no durarían demasiado, desafortunadamente, para ninguno de los dos. Mereció la pena. Dios que si la mereció. John merecía cualquier cosa, y maldito fuera si alguna vez lo olvidaba.John se despertó reticentemente, intentando no gemir en voz alta. Maldito, maldito, maldito fuera su pie, malditas sus costillas, maldita su cabeza y… oh, maldición. Sherlock. Sintió los cojines tras él. Sherlock se había ido. El piso estaba oscuro y Sherlock se había ido. El corazón de John se hundió. Bueno, había sabido que era un riesgo. Sherlock estaba destinado a pensárselo dos veces. Jesús, esperaba no haber arruinado su amistad, porque eso…- Estoy haciendo algo de té.John giró hacia la voz, sobresaltado. Podía ver a Sherlock moviéndose con la blanquecina luz de la calle, y luchó por sentarse, apretando sus dientes. Escuchó a Sherlock maldecir entre dientes y moverse rápidamente para ayudarle a enderezarse. Puso en las manos de John un vaso de agua y dos pastillas.- Vas atrasado. ¿Qué tan malo es? - Su brazo rodeó los hombros de John.John retrasó la respuesta tomándose la medicación y aclarando su garganta, no confiando en su propia voz. Sherlock nunca dejaría de sorprenderle.- Como pinchazos de aguja de momento, pero esto lo arreglará. Gracias. - Se inclinó contra Sherlock mientras su amigo le cogía el vaso. John pasó una mano por su pecho. - Nos limpiaste.- Por favor no me digas que querías preservarnos en ese estado para la posteridad.John rió, luego, se sintió aliviado de que Sherlock sonase completamente como él mismo.- No. Siento habérmelo perdido sin embargo; no creo que nunca te haya visto limpiando nada.Sherlock gruñó y se deslizó detrás de John, empujándolo hacia atrás contra su pecho. John dejó escapar un suspiro de placer y su cabeza descansó en el hombro de Sherlock. Los brazos de Sherlock lo rodearon.- Hiciste té - murmuró John, absurdamente feliz.- Eres demasiado fácil de complacer - susurró Sherlock.- Ni lo más mínimo. Tengo unos estándares ridículamente altos. ¿Ves por quién he esperado?Sherlock hizo una especie de sonido suave y enterró su cara contra el pelo de John.- Por mí. - Su voz sonó ronca. - ¿Por qué?- Porque eres alguien imposible con el que vivir. Porque insultas a todos los que te escuchan durante más de cinco minutos. Porque conoces el tiempo de descomposición del cuero cabelludo humano pero no como usar la máquina de autoservicio. Porque arriesgarías tu vida para resolver un enigma que nadie más podría resolver en un siglo, o incluso pensar en hacerlo, y tú lo resolverías. Porque no harás la colada o compraras la maldita leche, pero le dirás a un maníaco que te corte la mano para salvar a un amigo. Porque tocas el violín como un ángel cuando crees que estoy dormido y jugueteas con él cuando estoy despierto. Porque te pasarás días sin hablar y luego, cuando lo hagas, me dirás que mi blog es una basura. Porque mi vida será un puro misterio contigo. Porque estás loco y eres brillante y valiente y hermoso y Dios, eres perfecto para mí. - John se detuvo para tomar aliento, sintiendo la cara arder y agradecido porque las luces estuvieran apagadas.Sherlock lo soltó de su abrazo y desapareció en la cocina, y a John le dio un vuelco el estómago. Oh. Jesús. Demasiada información, John, demasiado rápido, demasiado pronto, demasiado…John se retorció en el sofá y cogió su pijama, luchando para ponérselo mientras cojeaba hasta la cocina. Pudo escuchar a Sherlock sirviendo el té.- Mira. Sólo… olvida que dije todo eso ¿vale? Sólo culpa a los medicamentos o…John se vio a si mismo contra la pared con la boca de Sherlock sellando la suya, su inteligente lengua acariciando con urgencia la de John. Algo cálido y húmedo y salado salpicó la nariz de John. John se relajó con alivio, luego envolvió sus brazos firmemente alrededor del cuello de Sherlock, instándolo a profundizar más. Cuando Sherlock finalmente apartó su boca, su respiración era irregular y demasiado rápida,- Nunca voy a olvidarlo - dijo con voz áspera.- De acuerdo - susurró John. - Eso es bueno. Está bien.- Eres el hombre más extraordinario que nunca he conocido. Eres perfecto para mí, John. Eres totalmente perfecto para mí. - Y luego Sherlock estaba besándolo de nuevo, y maldición, eso también estaba bien, y también el hecho de que las manos de Sherlock estuvieran por todas partes y John quisiera que lo estuvieran. Todo esto y el té, también. Era el bastardo más afortunado de todo Londres.Un ensordecedor sonido grave acompañó los pensamientos de John. Sacudió el suelo bajo sus pies e hizo temblar todo en el piso; la conmoción de la explosión resonó en los oídos de John. Años de experiencia en combate se apoderaron de John mientras empujaba a Sherlock al suelo, escudándolo, antes de darse cuenta que la explosión fue calle abajo.- Coche bomba - jadeó.Sherlock tomó la cara de John en sus manos.- ¿Recuerdas ese problema que mencioné?- Sí.- Estamos en él.- ¿Diversión?- Oh, sí.- Entonces estamos esperando compañía.- Casi inmediatamente, me imagino.- Pete cogió nuestras armas.- Tendremos que improvisar.John lanzó una maldición y se retorció para ponerse de rodillas para dejar que Sherlock se levantase. Sherlock lo ayudó a ponerse en pie.- John, voy a tener que insistir en que no dejes que te maten. - Abrió de un tirón un cajón y sacó un cuchillo para trinchar bastante intimidante, ofreciéndoselo a John.- Lo mismo digo. No, gracias, si es Wilkes, prefiero golpear. - John salió cojeado de la cocina, luego vaciló. - Es Wilkes, ¿no?- Si tenemos suerte.- Oh, siempre es un día soleado en el 221B - murmuró John, cogiendo el atizador más amenazante y cojeando tan rápido como pudo para apretarse contra un lado del marco de la puerta de las escaleras. Sherlock se unió a él, su hombro apretándose contra el de John, el cuchillo en una de sus manos y el abrigo en la otra. - ¿Y si es el equipo de Mycroft…- El equipo de Mycroft se anunciaría antes de entrar. Pero me atrevería a decir que están ocupados en este momento. - Los sonidos de disparos, sirenas y cristales rotos flotaban a través de las ventanas abiertas; el olor de explosivos, gasolina y humo cargaban el ambiente.- Bastardos - gruñó John. - ¿Cuántos heridos o peor, sólo para conseguir algo que está en una caja fuerte en el ministerio?- Hum… - dijo Sherlock.John le lanzó una mirada afilada.- El chip fue recuperado.- Absolutamente - murmuró Sherlock en su oreja. - Lo recuperé de la repisa de la chimenea y lo puse en tu kit de medicina.- ¿Tú qué?- ¿Algún problema?- Necesitamos trabajar en nuestra comunicación - siseó John mientras la cerradura de la puerta principal traqueteaba ominosamente. - ¿Estás diciendo…- El chip que radiografié era auténtico. Con toda probabilidad, Mycroft tiene un chip falso. Estará descubriéndolo ahora, diría yo.John mordió su labio, imaginando la mirada en la cara de Mycroft cuando haga ese particular descubrimiento.- Joder, podría besarte ahora mismo - jadeó, alzando el atizador cuando la puerta delantera se abrió de golpe.- ¡Ayuda! ¡Sherlock, ayúdame!John se giró hacia Sherlock con asombro.- ¿Qué demonios…- No es exactamente un ataque sigiloso - observó Sherlock secamente.- ¡Sherlock! - Es sonido de alguien subiendo, y cayendo, por las escaleras se hizo eco en el piso.John se arriesgó a echar una mirada por la esquina, pero sólo vio una figura.- Está solo, por lo que se puede ver.- Veamos que tiene que decirnos, entonces. - Sherlock metió el cuchillo en el bolsillo de su abrigo y se puso el abrigo por encima del pijama.- ¿Puedo golpearlo primero?- Compórtate, John. - Sherlock encendió las luces. Tenía esa pequeña medio sonrisa puesta, la que inevitablemente hacia que John se retorciese y saltase por dentro, y los últimos tres días no habían cambiado eso en lo más mínimo. John bajó el atizador justo mientras Sebastian Wilkes tropezó en el umbral de la puerta para aterrizar sobre sus manos y rodillas sobre la alfombra.Wilkes miró de John a Sherlock salvajemente.- Hola, Sebastian. - Sherlock pasó un brazo por los hombros de John y lo condujo hacia la cocina. - Estábamos a punto de tomar un té, ¿te gustaría unirte a nosotros? Sherlock lee dio la espalda a Wilkes con dificultad, maniobrando a John de forma que el cuerpo de Sherlock bloquease la visión de Wilkes.- No lo subestimes - murmuró al oído de John. - Hasta el animal más estúpido tiene dientes.John asintió. Aún estaba apretando el atizador, y no mostró señales de soltarlo. Sí. Era una vez más en la brecha para John. Sherlock le pasó su taza de té y la tocó ligeramente con la suya; John sonrió hacia su taza mientras tomó su primer sorbo.- ¿Té? - Wilkes se quedó estupefacto y los siguió hasta la cocina. - Sherlock. No quería participar en esto, él me chantajeó. Lo siento si fue demasiado lejos, eso no fue nunca lo que quería.Sherlock se felicitó a si mismo por no golpear a Wilkes de lleno con la tetera.- ¿Tú aceptas su disculpa, John?John se detuvo, su taza alzada hasta sus labios.- ¿Alguien se ha disculpado?Wilkes parecía realmente fuera de si.- ¡Él va a matarme!- Está perfecto, Sherlock. Te acordaste de la leche. - John tomó otro sorbo, sus ojos llenos de afecto y travesura, y Sherlock bebió para aflojar su garganta.Sherlock apartó su mirada de John con dificultad.- Lo siento, Sebastian, ¿te puedo ofrecer uno? Tú lo prefieres solo, creo.Wilkes, por alguna razón, parecía no tener interés en el té.- ¡Te estoy diciendo que soy la víctima de un chantaje y quien me chantajea va a matarme!- Sí, el temperamento de Sir Edward es notorio, particularmente cuando no se sale con la suya. - Sherlock tuvo la satisfacción de ver caer la mandíbula de Wilkes. - Pero en serio, ¿qué esperabas? No le enviaste lo que le prometiste, y luego gastaste su valioso tiempo entreteniéndote con tu deporte favorito.- ¿Cómo… ¿Cómo has…- Es sólo otro de mis pequeños trucos frikis. Lo siento, pero si has venido aquí en busca de protección, no estás de suerte. Sir Edward y tu amigo Cullen se apropiaron de nuestras armas cuando nos secuestraron.Los ojos de Wilkes se abrieron.- Sir Edward…- Oh, sí, él estaba allí. Cullen no tenía ni idea de quién era, obviamente, aunque cómo ese espantoso traje y el acento de Cockney podían engañar a alguien con un lóbulo frontal funcional escapa de mi entendimiento. Parece que no confiaba en ti. O en Cullen. No me sorprendería si tuviera planeado mataros a ambos desde el principio.Wilkes lamió sus labios y se deslizó hacia ellos; Sherlock sintió a John apretarse más cerca instantáneamente.- Podemos hacer un trato, Sherlock. Puedo darte a Cullen…John estalló en carcajadas.- Buena suerte con eso.- Cullen está muerto - dijo Sherlock rotundamente, su mirada fija en la cara de Wilkes.Wilkes se puso blanco, luego se sonrojó profundamente, su cara retorciéndose de ira.- ¿Tú lo mataste?- Oh, sí. Le prendí fuego - dijo Sherlock de forma fría.- Y yo lo apuñalé. - John tomó otro sorbo de té. - Sin embargo le llevó un rato morir.- Malditos bastardos - gruñó Wilkes.- Era tu favorito, ¿verdad? - Sherlock mantuvo su voz calmada con esfuerzo. Esto no iba a ser placentero, y sólo Dios sabía cómo iba a reaccionar John. - Pensé que había reconocido tus toques artísticos.- Podría arruinarte tan fácilmente. - La voz de Wilkes era áspera. - Sabes que podría.- Se te está acabando el tiempo, Seb. Sir Edward está justo sobre tus talones, y él no es un hombre con el que se pueda jugar.- Él quiere el chip.- El ministerio tiene el chip.Wilkes sonrió.- No. Sir Edward sabe que ese no es el caso.- ¿Lo sabe, ahora? - Sherlock tomó nota mentar para posteriormente mortificar a Mycroft informándole de que había más de una brecha de seguridad en el ministerio. - No puedo imaginar de dónde sacó esa impresión.- Haré un trato contigo. Tú me das el chip. Y yo te daré el vídeo.Finalmente. Fue casi un alivio sacarlo al aire. Sherlock bajó su taza de té cuidadosamente.- Déjame que lo aclare. Incluso si tuviera el chip, la respuesta sería no. ¿Entiendes?- Lo publicaré.Sherlock sostuvo la mirada del hombre.- Publícalo y estás acabado.Wilkes se giró hacia John con una sonrisa que le dijo a Sherlock exactamente qué es lo que iba a pasar.- ¿Sabes lo que hacía que se corriera en la universidad, a tu novio?John estaba empezando a verse peligroso; bajó su taza y no dijo nada, mirando a Wilkes como si fuera alguna basura que hubiese raspado de la suela de su zapato. Sherlock escuchó a Wilkes como si estuviese en trance. Habían sido tantos años esperando a que esto saliese.- Dios, era una cosa dulce y joven. Cero experiencia en la cama y un friki total, por supuesto, pero una la cara y un cuerpo que, ¿a quién le importaba? Mi ciertamente no. Lo entrené, John, lo entrené para aceptar cualquier cosa que le diera y me diera las gracias por ello. Imagínatelo, John, sólo imagínatelo con diecinueve, sintiendo la fusta en su piel por primera vez. ¿Y la mejor parte cual era? Que él lo odiaba. Odiaba cada minuto y seguía volviendo a por más. ¿Qué clase de enfermo…El primer puñetazo de John golpeó la cara de Wilkes con tal velocidad que Sherlock pudo oír la nariz del hombre romperse, pero fue el sonido de cuando se cayó el atizador lo que finalmente lo despertó. La sangre salpicaba el traje de Wilkes, pero John lo ignoró; agarró el cuello de Wilkes con una llave muy eficiente y lo arrastró fuera de la cocina. Su cojera no lo ralentizó lo más mínimo.Sherlock encontró su voz.- ¡John! ¿Qué estás haciendo?- Nada de lo que preocuparse, Sherlock, sólo sacando la basura - dijo John en un tono práctico que le dijo a Sherlock que definitivamente sí había algo de lo que preocuparse.Sherlock lo siguió a través del salón, una parte de él disfrutando la visión de Sebastian Wilkes, financiero internacional y un desperdicio de espacio profesional, agitando sus brazos y gritando mientras John lo arrastraba hacia la ventana abierta.La ventana. Oh, Jesús.- John, no.John inclinó a Wilkes en el alfeizar.- ¿Esto te parece un largo camino hasta abajo? Realmente a mí me parece uno jodidamente largo. - John agarró las piernas de Wilkes y lo empujó aún más por el borde, provocando un grito por parte de Wilkes. - Tengamos tú y yo un pequeño acuerdo. ¿Tú? No mereces respirar el mismo aire que Sherlock, y nunca lo mereciste. Porque eres un jodido parásito. Ahora, esto es lo que va a pasar. Primero, vas a destruir cualquiera que sea el desagradable video o fotos que hayas hecho. Y luego, vas a contactar con el Ministerio del Interior, y les dirás exactamente el cuándo y el cómo y el quién de ese maldito chip. - Wilkes pronunció algo parecido a un graznido mientras John le dio otro empujón. - Porque si no lo haces, voy a encontrarte y arrancarte las pelotas. Ahora, ¿qué eres tú?Wilkes balbuceó algo incompresible.- ¡No puedo oírte!- ¡Soy un jodido parásito! - gritó Wilkes por encima del sonido de las sirenas.- Estamos de acuerdo entonces. - John tiró de Wilkes hacia dentro y lo dejó jadeando y hecho un montón en el suelo. Wilkes buscó algo en el bolsillo interior de su chaqueta, pero John se lo quitó antes de que pudiera siquiera sujetarlo apropiadamente. John abrió el cargador y le lanzó a Sherlock una mirada de disgusto. - Descargada.Wilkes se puso en pie y corrió hasta la puerta, pero se congeló con el sonido de una suave y educada voz.- Por dios, señor Wilkes. Es usted una decepción.Sherlock se giró, sacando el cuchillo de su bolsillo, pero era inútil. El hombre en la puerta disparó una vez, y Sebastian Wilkes cayó al suelo con la parte de atrás de su cabeza destrozada.John vio la sangre filtrarse a través de su alfombra, sorprendido e inmóvil totalmente durante dos segundos… hasta que vio la mirada en la cara de Sherlock. Intentó no pensar demasiado, lanzó la inútil arma a los pies del hombre en la puerta y, agarrando su chaqueta, cubrió la cabeza de Wilkes. Luego se movió para ponerse delante de Sherlock.- No - dijo suavemente. - Sherlock. Mírame.Sherlock apartó su mirada del suelo y miró a John a los ojos, asintiendo suavemente. El cuchillo se escurrió entre sus dedos y cayó a la alfombra.- Mis disculpas, señor Holmes. Entiendo que era un viejo amigo, pero era necesario.- Mira, llegas demasiado tarde - dijo John afiladamente. Todo lo que quería era alejar a Sherlock de esa cosa sangrante de la alfombra, y no podía. - El ministerio recuperó lo que estás buscando hace días, y…- Sí, sí. - El hombre se movió al interior y se sentó en la silla más cercana a la puerta. Era increíble lo inofensivo que parecía, como el abuelo de alguien… si tu abuelo pudiese dispararte entre los ojos al primer intento. - He escuchado esa historia. No necesito volver a escucharla. - Movió una mano hacia el sofá. - Por favor. Sentaos. Estoy seguro que podemos ser civilizados sobre esto.- ¿Civilizados? Hay un hombre muerto en nuestra alfombra y Dios sabe cuántos más en la calle…- Ninguno está muerto en la calle, doctor. Fui muy cuidadoso. Por favor, sentaos. - El tono era amable, pero afilado.John y Sherlock intercambiaron miradas. Sherlock se movió hacia el sofá y se sentó; John se sentó junto a él.- Bien. Puedo ver por la exposición en la repisa de su chimenea que ha resuelto el puzle. Puedo deducirlo por el hecho de que hay veinticinco piezas ahí que sabe que el chip está oculto dentro de la vigesimosexta. La vigesimosexta pieza no ha sido enviada al ministerio. Debe estar aquí.- Suena razonable - dijo Sherlock pausadamente. - No vamos a darte el chip.- ¿Por la Reina y el País, señor Holmes?- Ética profesional, si lo prefiere. O quizás es que simplemente no me siento inclinado a cooperar con gente que me apunta con armas.El hombre río.- Puedo respetar eso. Señor Holmes, he sido un servidor público durante toda mi vida que ha sido forzado a un retiro prematuro.- Eso suele pasar cuando llevas una red de extorsión paralelamente, incluso cuando tu nombre es Sir Edward Bruke.- Algunos pensarían que obligar a los criminales a pagar por sus altos crímenes y delitos ocultos es el acto de un hombre justo.- Algunos pensarían que beneficiarse a costa de los delitos de los demás es un alto crimen.Burke sonrió realmente.- No nos podremos de acuerdo en nuestras diferencias. Este negocio con el chip era con la intención de financiar un retiro confortable. Un simple robo, una simple venta, y nadie saldría herido.- Gente ha sido herida - dijo John, incapaz de mantenerse en silencio más tiempo. - Y no recuerdo que fueras tan amante de la paz fuera del Angelo’s.- Oh, vamos. ¿Una pequeña pelea entre soldados retirados? Eres muy bueno, que conste. Cuando escuché que eras cirujano, no pensé que presentaras semejante desafío.- Si quieres, podemos salir afuera y tener otra ronda.- John - murmuró Sherlock.- En cualquier caso, elegí a mis operativos imprudentemente, por decir poco. El señor Wilkes me aseguró bastante convincentemente que era un enlace con bastante experiencia en estas materias. En su lugar me encontré a mí mismo tratando con un repugnante amateur que pensó que esto era un juego de James Bond en el jardín de su madre. Usó su móvil personal para arreglar la venta. ¿Te puedes creer? Un hombre, ya bajo la mirada del Ministerio del Interior, contactando con un comprador a través de su móvil personal. Hubiera estado decepcionado si Mycroft Holmes no hubiese apresado a mi comprador y recuperado la caja.- ¿Puedo preguntar de quién fue la idea de usar una caja puzle? - La voz de Sherlock fue muy tranquila.Burke rodó los ojos.- Eso fue el señor Wilkes. Un hombre tan inteligente, nuestro señor Wilkes. - Burke lanzó una mirada contemplativa hacia el cuerpo en la alfombra. - Puso el chip en la caja cuando el señor Cullen se lo llevó. Nada de lo que hizo este hombre estuvo bien hecho. Su elección con el señor Cullen, por ejemplo, fue incomprensible; Cullen era inestable así como sin principios, y puso la operación entera en peligro. Imagínese que asesinó a un mensajero del ministerio. Es el colmo de la estupidez y la falta de conducta profesional. Que desagradable. Y puedo asegurarle que su secuestro nunca fue parte del plan. Intenté recordarle al señor Cullen eso, como recordará. En cualquier caso, sinceramente lamento cualquier inconveniente.Inconveniente. La mano de John se apretó en un puño ante el recuerdo de la cara de Sherlock mientras estaba siendo golpeado. Intentó responder y no pudo.- Y estos datos y disculpas se suponen que le harán entender por qué dispararé a su amigo si no me da el chip.El poco color que se había mantenido en la cara de Sherlock desapareció.Burke se encogió de hombros.- No es nada personal, doctor.- Nunca es personal - se escuchó decir a si mismo John.- Podría disparar al señor Holmes, por supuesto…- Entonces hazlo - dijo Sherlock. El aliento de John que atoró en su garganta.- Pero resulta que tengo un gran respeto profesional y personal hacia su hermano y no desearía afligirlo si de algún modo puedo evitarlo. - John empezó a respirar de nuevo. - Ya ves, tengo mi propio tipo de ética profesional.John escuchó abrirse la puerta delantera y se giró hacia el sonido, sorprendido.- ¿Quién…- ¿Señor Holmes? ¿Está todo bien ahí arriba?John ocultó su alivio con esfuerzo. Equipo de Mycroft. Y justo a tiempo, además.- Todo está bien - contestó Sherlock. Su voz a penas alterada. - Id a tomar un café.John le lanzó una mirada de asombro. Café. Les dijo que se fueran a tomar café.- ¿Señor?- He dicho que vayáis a tomar café. - La mirada de Sherlock nunca abandonó la cara de Burke.- Sí, señor. - La puerta se cerró, y la habitación se quedó en silencio durante dos segundos.- Sinceramente espero que eso no fuera lo que creo que era - dijo Burke suavemente.- Mi habilidad para asegurártelo depende enteramente de lo que tú creas que era - contestó Sherlock en un tono irónico.- Creo que le has dado la respuesta código para un intruso.- Entonces me temo que tu esperanza es en vano. Mis condolencias.John alzó su cabeza y sonrió hacia ninguna parte en particular.Burke se levantó de su silla.- El chip, por favor. Inmediatamente.- No tiene sentido - dijo calmadamente Sherlock. - La palabra ha sido dada; ellos estarán subiendo por esas escaleras en dos minutos.Burke cruzó la habitación y puso el cañón de su pistola bajo la barbilla de John.- Por favor no me hagas hacer esto.John cerró sus ojos, preguntándose si podría agarrar la pistola antes de que se disparase. Parecía improbable, pero estuvo tentado a intentarlo, sólo para quitarle a ese gilipollas la satisfacción. Sintió a Sherlock levantarse del sofá.- Sabia elección - dijo Burke.John abrió los ojos y observó a Sherlock abrir el cajón inferior de la mesa de John y sacar su kit médico. Lo abrió y sacó una pequeña pieza de forma irregular de madera tallada.- Ahí va. - Sherlock la lanzó en un alto y largo arco; pasó por encima de la cabeza de Burke hacia la puerta.- Gracias Sherlock.John movió su cabeza hacia la voz a tiempo para ver a Mycroft deslizar la pequeña pieza de madera dentro del bolsillo interior de su abrigo. Si alguien le hubiese dicho a John que estaría encantado de ver a Mycroft Holmes hoy le hubiese mandado a la mierda en unos términos poco amables. Cómo demonios había subido el tramo de escaleras sin hacer ningún ruido John no se lo podía imaginar, y ahora mismo no podía importarle menos. Mycroft no parecía estar armado, pero después de todo lo que John había visto en los últimos días no podría inmutarse si el hombre sacaba un lanzador de misiles de su paraguas.Mycroft miró a Burke con una expresión de desaprobación.- Bueno, tenemos una noche ocupada, ¿no, Edward?- Mycroft. - Burke le reconoció con una gran sonrisa.- Terrorismo, asesinato, y… - Mycroft agitó su mano con desdén hacia John - este melodrama barato.- Oh, bien. Gracias. - Por el rabillo del ojo, John pudo ver a Sherlock moviéndose hacia él y maldijo a Mycroft sonoramente por no sacar a su hermano de la habitación inmediatamente.- Es persuasión - contestó Burke a la ligera. - Y es muy efectiva.- Si, ya veo. Zona no asegurada, objetivo no adquirido, y sin escape posible. Lo estás haciendo espléndidamente. Todo lo que falta es la cápsula de cianuro.La boca de Burke se crispó.- Tengo a tu hermano.- Tienes al compañero de piso de mi hermano.- Ambos son uno, Mycroft, en caso de que no lo hayas notado. Sólo mírale, intentando arrastrarse hacia mí como un tigre cojo.Sherlock se congeló donde estaba, a un brazo de distancia de John.- Mycroft, saca a tu hermano de aquí - dijo John, sabiendo que su desesperación estaba asomándose y no importándole una mierda. - ¿A qué demonios estás jugando?Mycroft lo ignoró.- Esto es doloroso de ver. Es de amateurs, Edward. No tienes a mi hermano ni ninguna otra cosa que valga la pena. Es tiempo de retirarse.- Si crees que me voy a quedar en el banquillo de los acusados después de treinta y cinco años de servicio, ya puedes pesarlo de nuevo.- Ese pensamiento nunca cruzó mi mente.- Llama a tu equipo y consígueme un coche. El doctor y yo vamos a dar un paseo.- Él apenas puede andar - dijo Sherlock, su mirada fija en la cara de John. - Yo iré.- Estoy bien - le dijo John a Burke, incapaz de mirar a Sherlock a los ojos. - Caminaré.Burke rió.- ¿Ves, Mycroft?Mycroft los miró con las cejas lazadas por un momento.- Sí. Sí, veo. - Suspiró. - Oh, muy bien entonces, Edward. Parece que las telenovelas baratas son el plato del día. Vamos.John le lanzó a Sherlock una rápida mirada, pero Sherlock estaba mirando a su hermano.Burke le lanzó a Mycroft una mirada de asombro.- ¿Disculpa?- Yo seré tu rehén. No estarás esperando que te lo pida de rodillas, espero.Burke sonrió ligeramente y apartó su arma de la garganta de John, luego se alejó de John y Sherlock despacio.- ¿Mycroft? - La voz de Sherlock sonaba tensa.- Oh, no te preocupes, Sherlock. - Mycroft le lanzó una extraña sonrisa. - Todo saldrá bien.- Por supuesto que lo hará - dijo Burke con un tono molesto, girando para apuntar su arma hacia Mycroft. - No somos salvajes aquí.- Todos nos tenemos que ir en algún momento - continuó Sherlock cuando empezó a bajar las escaleras, Burke siguiéndolo justo detrás. - Si sale mal, Sherlock, dile a Mummy que morí por amor verdadero, eso la complacerá.- Oh, por el amor de Dios, Mycroft, estás siendo ridículo. - Burke sonó profundamente agraviado.Sherlock ayudó a John a ponerse en pie; John se quedó mirando al hombre con incredulidad.- ¿Lo dice… en serio?- Mucho. Quédate aquí. - Sherlock se movió silenciosamente hacia las escaleras. John apretó sus dientes y cojeó tras él, Sherlock le lanzó una mirada exasperada y extendió su brazo para ayudar a John. John miró hacia las escaleras.- ¿Debería levantar las manos? Eso me haría parecer muy intimidado, ¿no crees? - La voz de Mycroft se hizo eco por el pasillo de las escaleras mientras alzaba las manos.- No. Creo que has…Mycroft se giró, agarrando la mano del arma de Burke por la muñeca y obligándole a alzarla. Burke disparó, creando una nube de escayola desde el techo mientras Mycroft golpeaba el brazo de Burke contra la pared. El arma cayó de la mano de Burke y traqueteó escaleras abajo; Mycroft seguidamente lanzó su rodilla contra la entrepierna de Burke. Burle se dobló sobre si mismo, y Mycroft lo lanzó por encima del hombro para aterrizar hecho un ovillo a los pies de la escalera.- Golpe bajo ¡Golpe bajo! - jadeó Burke, mientras Mycroft sacaba un par de esposas del bolsillo de su abrigo.- Algunos dirían que amenazar al hermano de un colega es un golpe bajo, pero no voy a discutirlo. - Mycroft lo esposó y lo puso en pie.Burke permaneció inclinado, jadeando.- ¡No le puse la mano encima!- Lo cual es precisamente el por qué tengo la cortesía de no romperte el cuello. Deja de quejarte, Edward, es impropio.- ¿Deberíamos aplaudir? - preguntó John a Sherlock secamente.- No creo que él lo apreciase - contestó Sherlock con una medio sonrisa. - Estamos bajos de práctica, ¿no, Mycroft?Mycroft alzó la vista hacia las escaleras con un aire de gran sufrimiento.- Detesto el trabajo de campo. - Llamó a la puerta principal dos veces, y la abrió para mostrar a media docena de hombres fuertemente armados. Le dio a Burke un no muy amable empujón en su dirección. - Bajad las armas. Enviad a los limpiadores.John vio como Burke y el equipo desaparecían de la vista, sintiendo desaparecer sus últimas fuerzas con ellos. Sintió el brazo de Sherlock alrededor de sus hombros.Mycroft les lanzo a Sherlock y a John otra mirada.- No tardarán. Sugiero que esperéis en la habitación de John hasta que hayan terminado. ¿Y Sherlock?- ¿Mycroft?- Intenta mantenerte alejado de los problemas durante los siguientes días. No puedo atender a los asuntos de interés público si estas necesitando ser rescatado constantemente.Sherlock se sentó con las piernas cruzadas sobre la cama de John, con la espalda hacia John, y se sacó la camiseta.- Obedezco bajo protesta. - Escuchó a John tomar aliento con fuerza e hizo una mueca. - Parece peor de lo que es.- No puedo creer que te dejara llevarme esta mañana. Deberían quitarme la licencia. - La voz de John era áspera, pero su toque era tan ligero que Sherlock apenas podía sentir como aplicaba el ungüento.Sherlock dejó que sus ojos se cerrasen.- No seas absurdo. Eres el único doctor que se acercaría a menos de una milla de mi si de mí dependiese Ese torpe cretino del St. Bart’s…- Hizo un buen trabajo. Un par de docenas de heridas de cuchillo para coser y esas malditas contusiones y cardenales… - La voz de John se tensó de nuevo; aclaró su garganta. - La cicatriz no será muy notable.- No me preocupan las cicatrices. - John tocó un punto particularmente doloroso, y Sherlock contuvo un poco el aliento.- Lo siento - murmuró John. - Hazme saber si es demasiado.- No lo es. Sólo… - Sherlock se quedó a medias con el resto de la frase, molesto porque su cerebro pareciese estar envuelto en algodón.- Ha sido un día largo - terminó John por él.Sherlock dejó escapar algo del aire en sus pulmones.- Sí. Un día largo. - Se detuvo durante un momento. - No me has preguntado.- ¿Preguntado? - John sonó sorprendido.- Sobre lo que Wilkes te dijo.John se mantuvo en silencio durante un momento.- No pensé que quisieras hablar al respecto.- ¿Por qué no?- Es personal. No eres precisamente muy hablador cuando se refiere a tu vida personal.Sherlock lanzó un gruñido.- Muy observador. ¿No quieres saber?- Quiero saber todo lo que tú quieras contarme.- ¿Y nada más?- Y nada más.- ¿Por qué?- Tienes derecho a tener tu privacidad. Ya es bastante malo que ese bastardo me dijera cosas que no es asunto mío saber.Sherlock giró la cabeza lo suficiente para echar un vistazo hacia John. Su cara tenía una expresión de algo parecido a la pena. Se giró de nuevo rápidamente, extrañamente conmovido.- Singular. La mayoría de la gente en tu situación pensaría que es completamente asunto suyo. - Cerró sus ojos cuando otra punzada de dolor lo cogió por sorpresa.- Lo siento - dijo John calmadamente. - Casi terminé.Sherlock tomó aliento, preguntándose por su extraña compulsión por seguir con el tema.- Todo lo que dijo era verdad. Era ignorante y molesto.- Eras un niño.- Seb era el único que expresó interés en tener algo que ver conmigo.- Se aprovechó de ti. De acuerdo, date la vuelta para que pueda echarle un vistazo a tu cuello.Sherlock se giró para enfrentar a John y alzó su barbilla.- Éramos adultos con consentimiento, John.La boca de John se volvió una línea sombría.- No estoy hablando de legalidad. - Suavemente sacó la venda de la garganta de Sherlock, parpadeando. - Maldita sea, Sherlock, esto es…- Crees que se aprovechó de mi ignorancia.- Creo que se aprovechó de tu inocencia.Sherlock casi rió. John y sus nociones románticas.- Yo nunca fui inocente.- Todo el mundo es inocente al menos una vez en sus vidas. A veces más de una vez. - John aplicó el ungüento en la herida, su cara se crispó como si fuera su propia garganta la que estuviera tratando. Sherlock pudo sentir la molesta tensión en los puntos y apretó los dientes. John apartó su mano y limpió el ungüento de su mano con un pañuelo de papel. - Sólo déjame poner un vendaje limpio y acabamos.- Él dijo la verdad. Lo odie. Odié todo lo que me hizo. Y seguí volviendo. - Sherlock se preguntó por qué seguía hablando.John colocó un vendaje limpio en la garganta de Sherlock.- Sherlock. - La voz tensa de John casi se apagó. Levantó la camiseta de Sherlock. - Ponte la camiseta.Sherlock se pasó la camiseta por la cabeza para ponérsela.- Siempre me pregunté por qué lo hice.John apagó la luz, y Sherlock se sentó parpadeando en la oscuridad, intentando ver a cara de John con la ligera luz de la ventana.- A veces estar completamente sólo es peor que cualquier cantidad de dolor físico - dijo John quedamente.Sherlock lentamente fue consciente de un movimiento involuntario en sus extremidades, y elevando sus manos pudo ver, incluso en la oscuridad, que estaban temblando.- Mis manos están temblando - dijo calmadamente, girándolas y examinándolas. - ¿Por qué están temblando mis manos?John cogió su manta extra de los pies de la cama y la envolvió alrededor de Sherlock cuidadosamente.- Porque estás en shock. - John acercó sus brazos hasta él.- Eso es ridículo. ¿Por qué demonios iba a estar en shock?John inclinó su cabeza contra la de Sherlock.- Porque acabas de ver como era asesinado alguien por quien solías preocuparte.- ¿Preocuparme? - Sherlock estaba consternado por la falta de compresión de John. - Lo odiaba. Odiaba todo de él. Me alejé de él. ¿Quieres saber por qué?John se echó hacia atrás apoyándose en la almohada con Sherlock entre sus brazos; Sherlock no sintió ningún deseo de resistirse.- Si quieres decírmelo. - John acarició el pelo de la nuca de Sherlock mientras Sherlock se inclinaba contra él, apoyando su cabeza de lado contra el hombro de John. Sucumbiendo al instinto, Sherlock se acurrucó contra John, absorbiendo su calor.- Encontré su colección. Videos y fotos. Docenas de personas. La mayoría de ellas eran más jóvenes que yo. Mucho más jóvenes. Había una niña en esas fotos que no podría tener más de doce.- Dios bendito - murmuró John.- Me enfrenté a él. Él se rió. Le dije que se había acabado. Él me dijo que no fuera estúpido. Me ofreció cien libras por polvo.- Él… ¿qué? - La voz de John se convirtió en un susurro venenoso. - ¿Él hizo qué?- Era una suma bastante halagadora por aquellos días.- ¿Halagadora? - John estaba respirando demasiado rápido. - Debí haber… - Se cortó a si mismo y se apretó más fuerte contra él, besando la frente de Sherlock. - Sherlock…- No acepté.- Por supuesto que tú no aceptaste una mierda.- Intenté hacer que la policía local se interesase en sus… actividades con menores. ¿Puedes imaginar la estupidez? Por supuesto que había cambiado de sitio su colección para entonces. Localicé a la chica. Ella lo negó todo. Quedé como un idiota.- No fuiste un idiota.- Pensaba que la universidad sería diferente. Un nuevo comienzo. - Sherlock estaba molesto de escucharse a si mismo tartamudear, como si tuviera frio. - Nadie me conocía allí. Pero después de eso, Sebastian se aseguró de que todo el mundo me conociese.- Ninguno de ellos te conocía - susurró John en su oído.- ¿Por qué estoy hablando tanto? - Finalmente se dio cuenta de la atroz realidad. - ¿Es por el shock?- Sí, es por el Shock.- No puedo pensar, John. Joder, no puedo pensar. - Eso era repugnante; ¿y si se quedaba así?- Respira, Sherlock. Se pasará pronto. - John apoyó su cabeza contra la de Sherlock. - ¿Te apetece que te prepare un té?- Me apetece que te quedes exactamente donde estás - dijo Sherlock crispado, apretando su brazo alrededor de la cintura de John. - Y olvidar que esto pasó.- Duérmete - murmuró John, acariciándole.- El estado de la medicina en este país es claramente medieval, ¿cómo demonios una manta resetea el proceso cognitivo de alguien?- Duerme.- Dios mío, ¿crees que Anderson está viviendo en un estado de shock perpetuo? Eso explicaría muchas cosas.- A mí me parece una teoría plausible. - John estaba riendo suavemente en su oreja. - Duérmete, chalado. - John besó su sien, acariciándolo, y Sherlock se calmó, sintiendo los temblores desaparecer. Cerró los ojos, sincronizando su respiración con la de John. John estaba aún abrazándolo cuando finalmente se quedó dormido.*John se despertó con un susto, seguro de que había escuchado algo, sólo para descubrir que Sherlock se había ido. ¡Maldita sea! ¿No podía ese hombre estarse quieto durante… John echó un vistazo al reloj. Oh. Ya casi estaba amaneciendo, y Sherlock no había comido desde hace días. Seguramente había salido a por el desayuno, o… El sonido del violín de Sherlock interrumpió sus pensamientos y lo despertó completamente. Sherlock había dejado la puerta de la habitación abierta, y el sonido del instrumento subió por las escaleras hasta la habitación de John con sorprendente claridad, incluso a pesar de que podía ver que Sherlock estaba tocando muy suavemente.John se obligó a si mismo a levantarse, cada músculo y hueso protestando. Rápidamente se tragó su dosis de la medicación para el dolor, se puso su bata y cojeó escaleras abajo lo más rápido que pudo. La música de violín significaba que Sherlock estaba pensando. Sherlock pensando cuando no había un caso en el que pensar podía significar problemas. Eso podía significar que estaba pensando sobre el no tristemente fallecido Sebastian Wilkes, que se pudra en el infierno. John apretó los dientes. Si fuera posible traer a Sebastian Wilkes de entre los muertos y matarlo otra vez, John lo hubiera hecho. Videos y niños de doce años y cien libras el polvo, Dios mío; pensar que tuvo la oportunidad de matar a golpes a ese bastardo con el atizador y se lo perdió.O podía significar que estaba pensando en cómo recuperar la maldita colección de Wilkes, lo cual John tenía la intención de referir a Mycroft para que se encargara personalmente, incluso si era un maldito maestro de judo y emperador secreto del universo.O podía significar que estaba pensando en John. El John en el cual había confiado la pasada noche, el John al que le había dicho cosas que no tenía dudas de que no había contado a ningún otro ser viviente. Eso podía ser muy malo para John Watson. Nadie guardaba sus secretos más recelosamente que Sherlock Holmes.John redujo la velocidad mientras bajaba las escaleras, escuchando la música. Dios, el hombre sí que sabía tocar. No era decente que tal cantidad de talentos residieran en una sola persona. John llegó al final de las escaleras y abrió la puerta del salón, donde se detuvo en seco.Sherlock evidentemente había estado tocando durante algún tiempo; había velas encendidas sobre la repisa de la chimenea que casi habían ardido hasta la base. Sherlock estaba de pie junto a la chimenea, aún vestido con su bata y pijama, y continuó tocando como un poseído, ajeno a todo a su alrededor, sus dedos bailando sobre el diapasón como si hubieran sido creados para ese único propósito.John no reconoció la melodía. Todo lo que sabía era que le hizo respirar más rápido y que sus ojos ardieran; tragó contra el apretado y dolorido nudo en su garganta. Para cuando Sherlock terminó y alzó su arco, John estaba parpadeando para aclarar su visión.- Espero no haberte despertado. - La voz de Sherlock era inusualmente calmada cuando su mirada se posó sobre John.- Dios mío - dijo John con voz ronca. - Eso fue hermoso. - Estaba impresionado de ver las mejillas de Sherlock sonrojarse. - Simplemente… exquisito. Nunca te escuché tocar así antes.Sherlock sonrió un poco cuando colocó el violín en su caja y aflojó su arco.- Tenías razón. Tiendo a tocar mientras estás dormido.- No reconoció esa pieza.Sherlock hizo un alboroto mientras guardaba su arco en la caja.- Sólo una pequeña improvisación.John avanzó, estupefacto.- ¿Tú compusiste eso?- Creo que es un poco exagerado considerarlo como una composición. - El sonrojo de Sherlock se estaba profundizando.- Estás completamente loco si no sabes lo impresionante que es. Mira, sólo soy un clarinetista de escuela primaria y aun así se… - John fue sorprendido cuando fue cogido y besado antes de que pudiera terminar. Y Dios, besado profundamente. Sintió las rodillas temblorosas para cuando Sherlock apartó su boca.- Estoy encantado de que te guste - dijo Sherlock sin aliento. - Lo escribí para ti.Bueno, maldita sea si ese loco creía que iba a escaparse con eso; John envolvió ambos brazos alrededor del cuello de Sherlock y tiró de su cabeza hacia abajo, dando algunos besos él mismo.- Pensé que sólo tocabas cuando estabas pensando - murmuró una vez que estuvo satisfecho de haber dejado clara su opinión.Las manos de Sherlock viajaron por el cuerpo de John suavemente.- A veces, raramente, toco para dejar de pensar. - Se detuvo, buscando en la cara de John, luego tomo aliento. - Tuve una pesadilla. Estaba en el agua y no podía encontrarte. Seguí buceando para buscarte, pero la corriente te había llevado lejos. - La voz de Sherlock vaciló.- Debiste haberme despertado. - John descansó su cabeza contra el pecho de Sherlock. - Siempre me encontrarás. O yo te encontraré a ti.Sherlock soltó un poco de aire, envolviendo ambos brazos alrededor de los hombros de John.- Peligroso.John sabía que Sherlock no estaba hablando del agua.- ¿Te arrepientes?- Para nada. Sólo… ten cuidado. Por favor.John cerró los ojos. Siempre era extraordinario escuchar esas palabras de este hombre.- Y tú. Porque nada tiene sentido sin ti.- O sin ti. - Sherlock sonaba como si algo estuviera obstruyéndole la tráquea. Aclaró su garganta. - Entiendo que la naturaleza de nuestro trabajo necesita una cierta cantidad de riesgo, pero esa compulsión tuya por lanzarte a ríos y provocar a psicópatas…- ¿Nuestro trabajo? - murmuró John con satisfacción.- ¿Disculpa?- Dijiste “nuestro trabajo”.- ¿Y?- Y también podemos hablar de saltar y hostigar, ¿no?- No tengo ni la más mínima…- No importa. Toca esa melodía otra vez.- Después. Tengo otros planes para la mañana. De hecho, tengo otros planes para los próximos días.- ¿Ah? - John levantó la cabeza y abrió los ojos, sorprendido. - ¿Un nuevo caso?Sherlock lo miró seriamente.- No. Planeo evitar que estés sobre tus pies.John rió entre dientes.- Aburrido. Estarás disparándole a las paredes de casa en menos de veinticuatro horas.- No lo creo. - Sherlock coló sus manos por debajo de la bata de John, deslizándola para quitársela.John lo miró un momento, luego sonrió hacia Sherlock.- Me gusta este plan.- Pensé que así sería. - Sherlock lo inclinó y lo besó de nuevo, una mano colándose bajo la camiseta de John.John intentó tirar de la bata de Sherlock para quitársela, pero tuvo poca ayuda por parte de Sherlock, quien estaba demasiado centrado en mantener a John entre sus brazos como para cooperar mucho más.- Demasiada ropa - susurró John entre besos.Sherlock gruño y se deshizo de la bata, dirigiendo a John hacia su dormitorio.- Entonces dime - preguntó John, tirando de la cintura del pijama de Sherlock. - ¿El interludio musical era parte de ese plan?Sherlock sacó la camiseta de John por encima de su cabeza y la tiró a un lado, empujando a John hacia su dormitorio. Estaba sonriendo.- Posiblemente.- Creo que lo era. - John le sacó cuidadosamente la camiseta a Sherlock, con cuidado de no enganchar ningún punto. - Creo que el plan era seducirme apelando a mi naturaleza irremediablemente romántica.- No tienes ningún dato que apoye esa teoría, John. - Las largas manos de Sherlock se deslizaron dentro de la cintura del pijama de John y lo bajaron; John caminó felizmente dejándolo atrás y dejó que Sherlock lo empujase a la cama, luego él empujó a Sherlock tirándolo encima de él.- Dime que tienes algo más útil ahí que muestras de piel y tejido pulmonar desecado - murmuró John en el oído de Sherlock.Los ojos de Sherlock empezaron a dilatarse; tanteó el frontal de su mesilla con torpeza inusual.- ¿Es eso un sí?Sherlock murmuró algo que John interpretó como un “bastardo insolente” y logró abrir el cajón. Sacó un tubo pequeño de lubricante y un condón y los tiró en la cama.John cogió instantáneamente el tubo.- Datos - dijo con aire de suficiencia. - Está nuevo.Sherlock lo besó, pero John se apartó, riendo.- Oh, no, la ciencia no se verá frustrada.- John - gruñó Sherlock en un tono de advertencia.- No nuevo recién comprado, o aún tendrías la bolsa de la farmacia tirada por ahí en este pantano infestado de microbios…- Esa es una caracterización inexacta y ofensiva.- Pero aun así bastante nuevo. ¿Hace cuánto tiempo terminaste esa melodía?Sherlock lo fulminó con la mirada.- Adivina.- Yo nunca adivino. Dado lo familiarizado que estás con ella, y teniendo en cuenta lo ridículamente brillante que eres en todo, yo diría… dos semanas.Los ojos de Sherlock se abrieron con asombro.- Ah. Eso pensé. - John abrió el lubricante. - Caso cerrado. Y aún hay demasiada ropa.Sherlock se deslizó fuera de su pijama.- Tu metodología es errónea. Yo has demostrado tu caso.- No significa que esté equivocado - dijo John sonriendo.- Puramente por motivos de curiosidad, y sin aceptar nada… Si hubiese planeado algo tan descabellado, ¿hubiera funcionado? - Sherlock observó a John con los ojos entrecerrados.- Oh, me tienes desde la primera nota. - John se estiró y cogió la mano de Sherlock. - De hecho, creo que dejé bastante claro que me tienes desde hace meses, pero supongo que siendo el hombre minucioso que eres, no te era suficiente con tenerme; querías tenerme locamente enamorado.La cara de Sherlock se volvió increíblemente suave.- ¿Y?- Misión conseguida. - John empezó a extender el lubricante sobre los dedos de Sherlock.Sherlock miró su mano, claramente sorprendido.- ¿Qué estas…- Voy a demostrarte como me traes de cabeza. Bueno, no literalmente, ya no tengo veinte, pero lo haré lo mejor que pueda. A no ser que no quieras est…- Sí - soltó Sherlock. Sus ojos estaban completamente dilatados ahora; miró fijamente a John. - Dios, sí. Es sólo que pensé… - Tomó aliento. - Sí. - Se puso de rodillas entre las piernas de John.La sorpresa de Sherlock confirmó las sospechas de John. Dejó salir un suspiro y tiró de Sherlock para besarlo, rezando por al menos una fracción de la resistencia que tenía cuando tenía veinte; por la mirada en los ojos de Sherlock, iba a necesitarla. John deslizó una de las almohadas bajo su cadera y levantó su pierna herida para apoyar la parte trasera de su rodilla en el hombro de Sherlock.- No dejes que te haga daño en la espalda.Sherlock acarició el muslo de John, tragando visiblemente mientras John cogió la mano de Sherlock y guió un cálido y lubricado dedo a su interior. Oh, Dios, esos largos y talentosos dedos. John dejó escapar un largo suspiro ante la sensación, y Sherlock se congeló.- ¿John?- Es bueno - jadeó John. - Está bien. Es sólo que… ha pasado un tiempo. - Envolvió sus dedos alrededor del pene de Sherlock que se estaba endureciendo rápidamente, frotándolo con suavidad.- ¿Cuánto es un tiempo? - Sherlock se inclinó sobre él, siguiendo las directrices de John, apretando más profundo lentamente, sus ojos nunca abandonando la cara de John.- Ah. Bueno. - Maldito hombre, no esperaba realmente que pudiera pensar mientras estaba pasando todo esto, ¿no? - ¿Siete años? - John rió un poco ante el poco característico asombro en la cara de Sherlock. -¿Qué? Soy exigente.- Lunático - susurró Sherlock.- Me parece justo - dijo John irónicamente.Los ojos de Sherlock se cerraron.- No me dejes hacerte daño.- No hay posibilidades de que eso pase. - John guió un segundo dedo a su interior, logrando evitar la incomodidad inicial en su cara. - Mis sueños no eran tan buenos, oh, Dios, sí… - John luchó para no arquear su espalda cuando los dedos de Sherlock frotaron su próstata.Los ojos de Sherlock se abrieron con sorpresa.- ¿Todo bien?- Estás bromeando - dijo John sin aliento. Jesús, había olvidado lo bien que se sentía eso. Soltó la mano de Sherlock, dejándolo solo.Sherlock se inclinó sobre John con un gemido ahogado y empezó a mover sus dedos con tal ritmo que John empezó a temblar.- Despacio, despacio, Dios, Sherlock, por favor.Sherlock instantáneamente obedeció, con una sonrisa malvada.- Lo siento. ¿Qué tal así?Un par de ágiles dedos acariciaron su próstata, y una sacudida de placer puro hizo que las caderas de John se sacudieran.- Sherlock. No es…. un jodido violín. - John agarró el condón y abrió el envoltorio con manos temblorosas. - Sabía que me matarías.- Te arruinaré. La posibilidad de querer estar con otros hombres - le recordó Sherlock erráticamente, estableciendo un ritmo de caricias y presión suave, sus ojos medio cerrados.John no pudo reprimir un gemido de placer. Debería haber sabido que el hombre aprendería indecentemente rápido.- No quedará nada de mí para otros hombres, estúpido bastardo. - John deslizó el condón por el pene de Sherlock con dificultad. - Y así es como lo quiero. - Aplicó más lubricante, armando un desastre por todas partes; Sherlock parecía demasiado distraído como para importarle.Sherlock soltó un sonido suave y profundo por la garganta.- Sí… así es como… John. Quiero…John sujetó la mano de Sherlock y suavemente la apartó. Apoyó una mano guiando la cadera de Sherlock, y otra en su pene, y le hizo entrar. Sherlock embistió impacientemente, con las mejillas completamente sonrojadas y ojos oscuros. John cerró sus ojos mientras su cabeza caía sobre la almohada, jadeando hacia el techo, y más que un poco abrumado por la sensación de Sherlock apretando dentro de él. Bien, eso había dolido un poco más de lo que había esperado.- ¿John?La alarma en esa voz trajo de vuelta a John; obligó a sus ojos a abrirse para encontrarse con la mirada salvaje de Sherlock. Maldita sea. Estaba en la cama con el único hombre del planeta que no apagaba su cerebro durante el sexo. John puso una mano en el hombro libre de Sherlock, inclinándose para besarlo profundamente.- Más - suspiró al oído de Sherlock, sintiéndolo de verdad. - Más, más, más…Sherlock lanzó un grito entre dientes cuando sus caderas empujaron ligeramente; apretó el muslo de John y empezó a moverse, suave pero profundamente. Deslizó su otra mano tras la cabeza de John y lo recostó de nuevo en la almohada, luego envolvió sus largos y sensibles dedos alrededor del pene de John. John respiró entrecortadamente, la incomodidad convirtiéndose en placer enloquecedor. Apretó las sábanas entre sus manos.- Dios, mírate - dijo Sherlock crispado. - ¿Siempre eres así? Dime que siempre eres así.John se esforzó para responder.- ¿Soy… Dios… siempre así? Quiero decir… oh Jesús… Soy conocido por ser de otras formas… ¡oh joder! Tú, hermoso chalado… pero la mayor parte… sí sísí justo así… Supongo que depende… ahí ahíahí justo ahí… de si te gusto así.- Oh, sí. Me gustas así. Quiero tenerte así todo el día.John empezó a reírse sin remedio.- Bien… Dios… suerte con eso. Oh, Dios, tú, ángel loco, fóllame más fuerte…Sherlock obedeció con considerable entusiasmo, mirando a John con una expresión de éxtasis y los ojos entrecerrados.- ¿Me follarías así? Justo así. Exactamente así.John golpeó su puño contra las mantas.- Te follaría así o haciendo el pino hermoso idiota, sí.- Quiero que lo hagas. No pensé… Dios, te deseo. - El ritmo de Sherlock repentinamente vaciló; sus ojos se abrieron y su aliento se volvió errático. - No - gruñó. - No, aún no…- Está bien - suspiró John, deslizando una mano cubierta de lubricante sobre la cadera de Sherlock y sobre su nalga.- Maldita sea, John, no, tú no…- Enséñame - coreó John, deslizando un dedo dentro de Sherlock. - Córrete para mí sí sísí hazlo amor por favor…Sherlock dio un jadeo sobresaltado, mirando a John con los labios ligeramente abiertos y ojos desenfocados de puro placer durante lo que parecieron minutos, aunque probablemente fue menos de un segundo. John contuvo el aliento. Dios, él era hermoso, era jodidamente sobrenatural lo hermoso que se veía Sherlock en ese segundo. Luego las caderas de Sherlock envistieron y se corrió, todo su cuerpo temblando entre los muslos de John mientras lo apretaba, gritando el nombre de John. Permaneció de rodillas, jadeando y murmurando algo sobre violines y ríos durante unos segundos, mientras John acariciaba su espalda.- ¿Todo bi… - Sherlock salió de John, se inclinó y tomó el duro y listo pene de John en su boca, cortando bastante efectivamente la pregunta de John y deshabilitando su capacidad de pensamiento racional.- Jesús santo - John jadeó hacia el techo, hundiendo sus manos en el pelo de Sherlock e intentando desesperadamente quitar su pierna de la espalda de Sherlock sin golpearle en la cabeza. El toque de esos locamente talentosos labios y lengua lo llevaron al borde.- ¿Qué estás haciendo? Tú, lunático, oh por el amor de dios estoy tan malditamente cerca por favor por favor por favor... - John se corrió con fuerza; no podía ver, no podía oír, sólo podía sentir a Sherlock chupándolo y tragando su semen. Sospechó seriamente que estaba gritando algo profundamente estúpido.John no tuvo ni idea de cuánto tiempo estuvo ahí tendido mientras sus sentidos volvían lentamente a él y su respiración se volvía más lenta hasta normalizarse. Después de un rato sintió a Sherlock rodar a su lado, lo escuchó sacarse el condón y tirarlo. John se estiró hacia él, a tientas, y se sorprendió cuando Sherlock cogió su mano, la llevó a su boca y besó la palma de John.- ¿Sherlock?Sherlock se giró para tumbarse de lado, encarándolo.- John. - Le tendió un brazo sobre el pecho y descansó su cabeza en el hombro de John. Se quedó en silencio durante un minuto. - Creo que puedo haber subestimado el esfuerzo requerido para evitar que estés sobre tus pies.John rió, acariciando el brazo de Sherlock.- Hay fallos en todos los planes.- El esfuerzo no es un fallo - dijo Sherlock bruscamente. - Es un regalo.John besó la sien de Sherlock.- Oh. Y hablando de regalos. - Sherlock se estiró hasta la mesilla y cogió una pequeña caja de cartón. - He estado queriendo darte esto durante semanas. Yo… nunca pude encontrar el momento adecuado. - Le pasó la caja a John, sonrojándose.John aclaró su garganta. ¿Qué había hecho ahora el lunático?- No necesitas…- Deja de ser un idiota y abre la caja - gruñó Sherlock.John abrió la caja, preparándose. Podía ser cualquier cosa desde un pisapapeles de un globo ocular de bronce hasta un pulgar momificado, pero la intención era lo que contaba. Se sorprendió al ver tarjetas de visita. Cogiendo la primera tarjeta, se dio cuenta que eran las de Sherlock, pero las dos primeras líneas habían sido reescritas. Sherlock Holmes y John Watson, MD Detectives asesores. John la miró, completamente estupefacto por segunda vez en una mañana.- Toma - dijo Sherlock ligeramente, girando sobre su espalda para mirar al techo. - Ahora puedes enseñárselas a Angelo la próxima vez que diga que eres mi cita…- Sherlock - dijo John, sin intentar ocultar su asombro.- Y decirle que eres mi compañero de negocios.- Cita está bien. Y esto es… gracias. Esto significa mucho para mí.- No que vaya a impresionar a Anderson o a tus otros amigos en el Yard…John dejó caer la caja, tomó la cabeza de Sherlock entre sus manos, y lo acercó, besándolo profundamente. Sintió a Sherlock rodar sobre su costado y apretarse contra John, un brazo deslizándose sobre la cintura de John. John se apartó lentamente para mirar a su amigo a los ojos. Sherlock enfrentó su mirada con un toque de asombro en su expresión.- Ahora que tengo tu atención. Gracias. Esto significa mucho para mí.Sherlock sonrió.- ¿Té?
1071449	unstoppable faith	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Tanaka Gundam, Dangan Ronpa 1 Ensemble", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by hoverbun", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-05T00:00:00", "words": "372", "Additional Tags": "Mastermind AU, Drabble, Mastermind Gundam Tanaka, Class 78 as SHSL Despair", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Disciples earn the attention of the one who issues them, fervent followers who desire the blessings their leader may wish to bestow upon them. They desire the silver that encircles his words, a royal speech that drips from pentecostal lips to appease them. They sit eagerly and wait for that praise, when they prove their adherence to him (to Him, to Them) and earn those comforting pats on the back and even the tender smile that fist his visage like a blade in its sheath. You are so wise, you are so smart, the Gods smile upon you.Archetypal, he says into hands that curl into his hair and palms that press to his lips out of frustration, because you can only make a society of wicked spirits if they know how to demonstrate such. Praise softens you yet it also enthralls you—he does not believe in such kindness but he believes in such manipulation, and he knows joy when he sees it after he takes the hands of another and gives them a smile that opens the pits of Hell; he sees their hearts tremble and their eyes spark to life like oil lamps, carried by a graveyard attendant in the valley of death.Each one of them will fall to their knees for him as well as stand for him, strong salutes and clasped hands altogether. They know how to worship and they know how to respect, both a God and a captain all in one. They tend to the dust upon his jacket and the assistance he needs, ready to throw themselves on all fours to supply a rest for his heavy boots. He can craft a human throne if that is what he desires, either of corpses or of cultists, and when he preaches to them of the visions given to him by Ares, they clasp their hands together and pray for his success.He worships Gods that can scorch the earth and Gods that craft winter storms, Gods that rule realms and Gods that corral denizens of the underworld. They worship Gundam Tanaka, with his word gospel and posture perfect, who deserves a throne crafted out of the earth’s crust once he rips Hell from underfoot.
1098596	Dirty Sexy Little Secret	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Harley (Jared's Dog), Original Male Dog Character(s)", "Fandom": "Supernatural RPF", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by littlefirefly31", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-24T00:00:00", "words": "3,004", "Additional Tags": "beastiality, Alternate Universe-Law Firm", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles/Harley", "Series": "Secret Desire", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Jared Padalecki wasn’t Jensen Ackles’ biggest fan. Or second biggest fan. He wasn’t even in the top 100. Of course, everyone else loved Jensen Ackles. He was like the second coming of Jesus to everyone else. Jared didn’t quite understand it. Jensen wasn’t nice. He was haughty and believed he was above everyone else. Well, he was, given that Jensen was a partner of the law firm, but still, he didn’t have to walk around like an arrogant bastard.But Jared couldn’t deny Jensen was hot. The rare occasions Jared was close enough to Jensen to get a good look at him, Jared was astounded by the green of his eyes and the adorable freckles on his face. Many nights Jared woke up with sticky boxers and Jensen’s name on his lips.Then there was the rainstorm.Jared had two wonderful dogs he was utterly proud of, Oscar and Harley. He ran with them every day when he got home from work. They were sweet and energetic and absolutely loved people. But on Friday night when Jared was running with the dogs, it started to pour. It was drizzling when Jared left, but he thought it would let up. When the rain didn’t stop and instead came down harder, Jared realized he’d made a big mistake. Thunder sounded in the distance and what looked like the flash of lightening appeared on the horizon. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Jared ran harder and his dogs picked up the pace as well, panting. Jared was soaked to the bone and exhausted.“Jared!”Jared tripped over the dogs’ leashes in his efforts to turn around. Jensen Ackles stood behind him under an umbrella. “Mr. Ackles,” Jared stammered. “Um, I don’t-,”“Jared, come inside,” Jensen gestured at the apartment building behind them. “I’m walking home now. You shouldn’t walk out in the rain.” He stepped closer to Jared and lifted the umbrella so they could both be under it. “Come on.”Jared wasn’t sure what brought on the sudden act of kindness, but followed Jensen into the building and into a cozy apartment. But of course, his two well-behaved dogs shook out the rainwater and droplets landed on Jensen and the floor. “Oh, god, Mr. Ackles-,”“No worries. They’re dogs, they’ll act like dogs.” Jensen didn’t even turn around to glare at Jared, he just flicked on the coffee maker. “Want some?”“Sure, thanks.” Jared smiled at him.“Hey, you’re soaking. I’m gonna change, do you want me to grab you something?” Jensen offered. Oh god, the thought of wearing Jensen’s clothes was making Jared hard.“No, that’s okay,” Jared mumbled.“Come on. Either dry clothes, sopping clothes, or no clothes. And I know which one I’d pick.”God, I wish it were no clothes. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t be horrible to wear something dry.”Jensen beamed and disappeared into his room. he re-emerged in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. He threw some clothes at Jared, saying, “they might be a little small on you, but it’s the biggest I’ve got.” While they waited for the coffee to brew, Jensen plopped down on the couch and patted the spot beside him. “No use standing awkwardly in the doorway, Jared.” Jared nervously sat beside him and the dogs curled at his feet. “Cute dogs.” Oscar and Harley lifted their heads, like they knew Jensen was talking about them. Jared chuckled. “They’re a handful.”“I can imagine. What, two German Shepherds? I don’t think I could handle one.” Jensen stroked Harley’s soft fur.“Harley’s half German Shepherd, half-mastiff,” Jared corrected. “Oscar’s a mutt. I don’t know what he is.”“Are they shelter dogs?”Jared nodded. Jensen smiled and Jared continued. “I got them when I first moved here. Cuz, you know, I didn’t know anyone so I didn’t have any friends, but there was the shelter and I always loved dogs so I got these two.” He grinned at his dogs and Harley woofed.“Hi, Harley,” Jensen cooed. And for the second time that day, his dog embarrassed him as Harley snuffled into Jensen’s crotch. Jensen flushed deeply and jumped up. “I think I heard the coffee machine.”Jared opened his mouth to apologize but caught sight of Jensen’s tented sweatpants. Jared’s dick got a little harder at the sight. Jensen’s dick was probably as attractive as the rest of him. Jared’s mouth watered at the idea of Jensen’s cock in his mouth. Or fucking Jensen. Jensen riding him was a late night fantasy that visited Jared often.And the sight of his dick… Jared wanted to spread Jensen out beneath him and lick and kiss him all over.Jared spent more time imagining scenarios where Jensen was helpless and begging beneath Jensen, so he missed Harley sneaking away into the kitchen. It wasn’t until he heard Jensen’s yelp that he realized his dog was missing. “Harley?”Jared entered the kitchen and saw Jensen leaning against the counter with his legs wide and his head lolling, mouth open and eyes shut. Harley was sniffing and prodding at his crotch. Jared could tell Jensen was trying hard not to buck into the feeling. Jensen’s mouth fell open in shock and he must have made a noise because Jensen’s head jolted up in surprise and he blushed. “Jare-oh-I’m sorry—god, just go, I’m sorry, please go!”Jared’s heart made a sad little pang at Jensen’s request but it was overtaken by arousal. Jensen’s eyes were rimmed green, the pupils blown wide with lust. “Jensen…”Jensen looked like he was debating whether or not to lie down and let Harley work his way under his sweatpants, or close his legs and push the dog away. Jared was getting harder by the second.“Jared! Take him and go—ughn—now!”“Do you really want me to?” Jared asked quietly. Then, bolder, he said, “Because it looks like you really don’t.”Harley nuzzled Jensen’s crotch and Jensen moaned. “Fuck.”“I’m gonna take that as a no,” Jared purred. Jensen opened one eye to glare at Jared. “Take your shirt off,” Jared ordered. He worried Jensen wouldn’t obey, but Jensen’s slender fingers eased the shirt over his head and threw it into a corner. Jared’s dick gave a happy twitch at the sight of Jensen’s well-defined abs and smooth skin.He stepped closer to Jensen and curled his fingers in the waistband of Jensen’s sweatpants. “Tell me to stop,” Jared murmured. “Tell me to stop, Jensen.”Jensen didn’t say anything. He just breathed heavily and pushed his knees further apart letting Harley push his snout closer. Jared took this as encouragement and rolled Jensen’s pants down his hips and into a puddle on the floor, tangled around Jensen’s ankles.Jensen’s dick bobbed up against his stomach and smeared pre-come against his abs. Jared’s dick took interest and he reached out and ran a hand down Jensen’s dick. Jensen groaned beautifully and arched his hips into Jared’s hand.“Fuck, oh god,” Jensen grunted. “More, more, please, more.”Jensen’s cock was smooth and silky in Jared’s palm. The counter was supporting Jensen’s weight as he writhed under Jared’s palm. “Does that feel good?” Jared asked. Jensen moaned in response.Jared pulled his hand off Jensen’s dick and he frowned at the loss. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll make you feel good.” Harley whined behind him. “Or I’ll let Harley make you feel good, how’s that sound?” Jensen tossed his head back, squirming against the counter.“So needy,” Jared purred. He stepped further away from Jensen and Harley was on him in a second, licking at Jensen’s hard cock.Jensen moaned loudly and his hips hitched. Harley’s scratchy tongue kept flicking across Jensen’s dick and Jensen stuffed a fist in his mouth to muffle the sweet whimpers and moans he was making. Jared whistled and Oscar joined them in the kitchen. The dog caught sight of Harley and eagerly joined him, sniffing and licking at Jensen’s balls. Doggy tongues lapped all over his genitals and Jensen writhed against the counter, coughing on moans of pleasure.“Don’t hide,” Jared breathed. “I wanna hear you.”Jensen groaned and his hand fell out of his mouth to grip the edge of the counter. His knees trembled and he looked like he was going to collapse. “Stay standing,” Jared ordered. Jensen struggled to obey, the intense pleasure making his legs weak.“God, you’re so hot,” Jared murmured. “Harley and Oscar are all over you, making you moan. Wanna fuck you, Jensen, so badly.”Jensen’s head thrashed and his hips bucked up uncontrollably. “Yes, god, fuck.”“Jensen,” Jared asked timidly. “Can I kiss you?”“Yes, please, kiss me!” Jensen replied. Jared didn’t hesitate to lean forward and press his lips against Jensen’s. Jensen’s lips were soft and he moaned into the kiss, both from the dogs lapping at his balls and cock and Jared’s tongue dancing with his. Jared pulled away to breathe and Jensen sighed with pleasure.Jensen groaned at a particularly strong lick from Harley. “Want… god, fuck me.”“I will,” Jared promised. “If you’re good, I might even let Harley fuck you. I’d let him knot you and when you’re trapped on his doggy dick, I’d let Oscar lick you all over.”Jensen was choking on his gasps and his hands scrambled to keep himself supported on the marble surface. Jared imagined the sweat from Jensen’s palms was making the smooth counter slippery and it’d be even harder to keep standing.“Come here,” Jared ordered. Jensen took wobbly steps to Jared, Harley and Oscar nosing at Jensen’s balls and cock. “Good,” Jared praised. There was an island in the middle of the kitchen and Jared made Jensen lean on it on his side. Jared let Harley keep licking Jensen’s crotch but pulled Oscar off to the side. “I’m going to give you something real special, Jensen.”Jared led Oscar behind Jensen. He ran a hand down one of Jensen’s perfect globes and squeezed it. “Fuck, that ass is hot.”Jensen pushed his hips back into Jared’s hands, then jerked forward with the sensation of Harley’s tongue slurping up the steady stream of pre-come. “More,” Jensen begged. “Please.”“Don’t worry, baby,” Jared soothed. Baby? Where did that come from? Jared shook the thought out and fondled Jensen’s ass. “Gonna let Oscar like your hole, Jen. Gonna open you up and let him get his tongue right in there. You want that?”Jensen shuddered and gripped at the slippery marble surface. Since he was on his side, he could only hold himself up with one arm. His knees were shaking with the effort to stay standing. Jared really wanted to push him over the edge, so he spread the cheeks apart. He wiggled a finger in, stretching Jensen’s hole and moving it around until Jensen jerked violently. Jared grinned and played with Jensen’s prostate a little more while stretching him wider.Jensen writhed on his finger, lurching forward while Harley’s tongue licked at every crevasse on Jensen’s groin. Jared beckoned Oscar forward and pulled the globes apart. Oscar eagerly nosed in the hole and dragged a long wet tongue across the pucker, and Jensen screamed. Jensen thrashed under the dogs. “Please, please, please, please,” Jensen babbled. “Fuck, please, Jared, please!”“Please what?” Jared asked. “Please let my dogs torture you? Please let Oscar lick at your hole? Please let Harley’s doggy tongue run all across your balls? Give me something to work with.”“PLEASE let me come! P-p-please, want it so bad!”“Get on your hands and knees,” Jared commanded. Jensen all but fell to his hands and knees, chest heaving with exertion. Oscar snuffled at the hole and licked it again, making Jensen keen and cant his hips.Harley whined. The dog couldn’t reach Jensen’s dick as easily as he had before. Harley wanted to lick the silky cock free of pre-come, to have Jensen squirming underneath him. Harley licked at Jensen’s hips and side in an effort to try and wiggle his tongue across Jensen’s balls.Jared had Harley lie down on his belly with his head under Jensen’s stomach. Immediately the dog’s tongue reached out and wrapped around Jensen’s cock in one smooth motion. Jensen gasped. Insane pleasure was coming from both sides, Oscar rimming him enthusiastically while Harley slurped at his cock. Jared’s cock twitched and the borrowed sweatpants felt too tight. Jensen Ackles, the indifferent and powerful executive, was moaning and squirming on his hands and knees as two dogs licked him eagerly. Jared wished he had a camera to capture this moment.“Need to, need, need to come,” Jensen whined. “Please, please, pleasepleaseplease, let me come, fuck!”Oscar’s tongue stroked over the pucker and Harley went to town on Jensen’s balls. Neither of the dogs were licking Jensen’s leaking dick, and he was squirming and babbling incoherent pleas. “Wanna come?” Jared taunted. Jensen keened while his hips bucked uncontrollably. Jensen looked like he was going to collapse onto his stomach at any moment, his hands and knees not enough to keep him up under the unbearable pleasure. “Please,” Jensen whimpered. “Please, I need to come!”“Get on your back,” Jared said. Jensen obediently rolled over, his limbs splayed out. Oscar couldn’t lick Jensen’s hole anymore, so he joined Harley working over Jensen’s balls. They bounced under the dogs’ enthusiastic tongues and pre-come puddled on Jensen’s stomach. The flushed cock remained untouched and it was killing Jensen. His balls seemed to be incredibly sensitive and Jared wondered if the dogs could make Jensen come just by licking his balls.Jensen was writhing helplessly under the ministrations. Harley’s tongue occasionally licked behind Jensen’s balls, close to his hole, and Jensen jerked and squealed with helpless lust.“Help, please, help, god, Jared!” Jensen cried.Jared smirked and pulled the dogs off Jensen. Jensen threw his head back and it hit hard against the tile floor. Jensen didn’t even seem to register the pain, completely overcome with sexual frustration. “You bastard,” Jensen panted.Jared chuckled and kneeled beside Jensen to stroke Jensen’s cock. He held the dogs at bay and Jensen whined. Jared knew his hand felt amazing on Jensen’s dick, but what the executive really wanted was the dogs’ tongues running all over him. Jared brought him to the very edge of orgasm and then pulled his hand away. Jensen looked murderous.Jared pulled Jensen’s hands over his head. “Keep them there.”Jensen nodded. Jared leaned down hesitantly and kissed Jensen again. Jensen replied aggressively, opening Jared’s mouth with his tongue and sucking on his lip. Jared cupped the back of Jensen’s neck and kissed him fiercely. When Jared pulled away, he couldn’t help but run a finger across Jensen’s kiss swollen lips.I did that, Jared thought proudly. He grinned and let the dogs go and they immediately started licking at Jensen. Harley licked up and down Jensen’s leaking cock while Oscar’s tongue tickled his balls. Jared started to play with Jensen’s nipples and he cried out in ecstasy.“’M so close, so close, gonna come,” Jensen moaned. He didn’t have enough energy to shout, all he could do was squirm and groan with pleasure. The dogs licked faster and harder and Jensen whimpered and mewled uncontrollably.“I wanna see you fall apart,” Jared said. His dick was rock hard and pre-come pain his pants sticky. “Come, Jensen. I wanna see you come.”Jared barely finished his sentence before Jensen was crying out and coming intensely. Jensen’s eyes rolled back into his head and he bucked with the force of his orgasm. Jensen sobbed with bliss as Jared stroked him through the aftershocks.When Jensen’s body became too sensitive for Jared to touch, he pulled away. Jared felt his own orgasm come on and he shoved a hand down his shorts to jerk himself off quickly. It didn’t take more than a few hard tugs for Jared to come with the image of Jensen’s helpless moaning in his head.“Jensen?” Jared asked quietly. He was still on the floor except for his heaving chest. “Fuck, Jensen, are you alright?”“That was amazing,” Jensen slurred. Jared sighed in relief.“You’re okay.”“’M awesome.” Jensen tried to push himself up but his limbs were like jelly. Jared immediately helped Jensen crawl into a sitting position and, on a burst of courage, tucked Jensen against his chest. Instead of struggling to get away, like Jared expected, Jensen sagged against Jared’s chest with an arm tucked around his waist. Butterflies filled Jared’s stomach. Considering the insane lust that coursed through Jared only moments ago, happy little fluttering was unexpected. Almost like a teenager’s crush.Jensen’s eyes were shut and Jared realized that he’d fallen asleep. Jared chuckled; the maddening orgasm had lulled him into unconsciousness. Jared scooped Jensen into his arms and brought him into the bedroom, tucking the covers around his naked body.“Goodbye, Jensen,” Jared whispered. He grabbed the dogs by their leashes and pulled them out of Jensen’s apartment. Jared was working in his tiny, cramped cubicle sorting out papers and arranging meetings for clients. Lawyers got all the glory, but no one knew how hard everyone else worked in the office.Jared’s mind wandered from the boring paperwork to Friday night. He still remembered Jensen’s panting, squirming body underneath the tongues of his two dogs, and the torturous pleasure that overtook his features. To Jared’s embarrassment, his dick began to harden.A knock on the edge of his tiny square jerked Jared out of his daydream. He spun around and blushed deeply when he saw the man standing there. This is it. This is where I lose my job.“Hi, Mr. Ackles,” Jared mumbled. “How can I help you?” Jensen looked as amazing as ever. His ankles were crossed and he leaned casually against the wall of the cubicle, his suit jacket just tight enough to reveal the outline of muscles. Jensen was a walking cocktease, and it certainly didn’t help Jared’s silly crush.Jensen grinned at Jared. “Hey, Jared. I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch with me.”
1028178	all the other rooms are	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Damian Wayne, Selina Kyle, Alfred Pennyworth", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by irnan", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-02T00:00:00", "words": "6,939", "Additional Tags": "Family, Fluff", "Relationship": "background Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "old haunts", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Bruce’s first week back in Gotham is a disaster, but he’s not about to admit that to anyone, except maybe Clark, and then only on the condition that he first gets very, very drunk, which he never has in his life, so, functionally, he’s not admitting it to anyone.Yet.He’s been back to Gotham before. Every time he wraps up a Batman, Inc operation he comes back: a week here, a fortnight there. He spends time with Dick and Damian and… and gets slapped by Steph and starts arguments with Tim over his father’s murderer.And let’s not even talk about his daughter’s extraordinary skills at ignoring people.*******It starts with him finding himself quartered in Dick’s guest room, which is its own special humiliation, though Bruce can’t quite put his finger on why that should be so (which frustrates him even more; he is, after all, the World’s Greatest Detective). Oh! said Dick, when Bruce said he was going over to the Manor for the night. We, uh, we closed that up again.But, said Bruce, has Cass been staying with you?She moved in with Drake about two days after she got here, Damian had informed him, and seemed to be biting his tongue on a number of unflattering observations such as thank God.Bruce is – well. It’s not that he expects his children to hate each other. It’s just that it’s been a rough few years, especially for Tim, and therefore it’s not out of the ordinary, or telling, or anything like that, to feel relieved that Tim and Cass like (love) each other enough to share an apartment.But the news reinforces the uncomfortable realisation that his children have grown up: they’ve moved out and moved on, and Bruce, like any leftover, unnecessary parent, is being relegated to guest rooms and spare beds, because he’s…Well, he’s a guest.That stings.*****Within four days of setting up shop in Dick’s apartment Bruce has spent an approximate total of seventy hours dancing around the question of whether or not he should move back into the Manor, and if he did, would Alfred come with him? and has come to the gloomy conclusion that no, Alfred would probably not.Not that Bruce has actually put the question to him in so many words.He’s spent almost as much time in the Bunker, watching Dick and Damian manoeuvre around one another with the same ease that Bruce and Dick used to, and finding himself – grudgingly – forced to admit that the place is excellently outfitted and competently designed.It’s not that he begrudges them their own space. It’s just that he’d prefer their space to be… where he wants it to be.“I’m surprised you didn’t find a way to bring the dinosaur,” he says to Dick.“The dinosaur?” says Dick, and then laughs. “Yeah, well, I kind of needed to get Damian to believe I was an adult worth taking seriously.”“For all the success you’ve had you might as well have brought the dinosaur,” Damian says snidely.“That was uncalled for,” says Bruce, needled.Dick stares at him.“What was?” Damian asks, sounding puzzled.“B,” says Dick. “Um, thank you! For… defending my honour. But. We’re good.”Bruce crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. He’s always – his children have always teased him, and he’s never hesitated to tease back, but that tone of Damian’s went right past teasing and into mortal insult.“As in, stop making the Bat-face,” says Dick sternly.Bruce goes back to his case files in silence.(You realise you’ve been known to take that tone with me, don’t you, said Clark, and Bruce said irritably, that’s not the point! and changed the subject.)*****No matter how often Batman tries to convince himself that the Batsignal is nothing more than a necessary tool for a necessary job, twenty years later he still can’t quite squash the twist of excitement in his chest whenever he sees it thrown across the Gotham skyline: a warning, a summons, a promise, a hope. This is his mark, stamped across his city night after night – not in ownership, but in protection.He’s not far from Central – less than twenty minutes, and he thinks it’ll be good to see Jim again, to return to that partnership. But as he hits the opposite roof the anticipation – the closest he’ll allow himself to come to cheerful – turns uncomfortably… sour.Batman’s already there.Oh.Well then.Well, that was a wasted trip.Disgruntled – unsettled – he heads back out.*****The docks are quiet, but that’s because Red Robin and Batgirl are zip-tying thugs and having an argument about science fiction novels. Batman is too far away to hear the whole thing, and too irritated to switch on comms, but the words Heinlein and talentless hack float back to him; so too does his son’s indignant exclamation that alt-history doesn’t count!Batman isn’t sure he knows what alt-history even is.He’s certain he didn’t know that Red Robin and Batgirl were once again on such good terms, almost as good as – as before, or so it seems to him. Then again, it’s been over a year since he returned: what was he expecting? Time to stand still?It always has before, in Gotham.*****Robin is sitting on Catwoman’s rooftop access door playing with a kitten.This is getting ridiculous. Batman doesn’t believe in premonitions, but he could pick whatever trouble hotspot in the city to patrol this evening and he’s positive that whichever one he chooses, Black Bat will be there when he arrives. Just positive.*****Batman, of course, is very rarely wrong.Black Bat is perched on a fire escape chatting placidly with a cop whom Batman recognises as Dick Grayson’s former partner Amy Rohrbach while three men are led away in handcuffs and a boy in a yellow shirt gives an excited witness statement to another officer.Well.*****He’s clearly superfluous.*****“Batman most certainly is, sir,” says Alfred pointedly.*****Batman is the first to admit that his opinion of Bruce Wayne is occasionally… negligent, but he would also like to be quite, quite clear about this: both of them are more than capable of taking a hint, thank you, Alfred.(Or several hints, in this case.)*****He hasn’t been back to Tim’s new place in Crime Alley since they had that fight about Boomerang and Tim’s… new outlook on crimefighting, so Bruce isn’t really expecting a hugely warm welcome, regardless of the fact that they haven’t discussed it since and have managed to get along perfectly well in the intervening months.Bruce scuffs his heels against the front door step like a child and actually stoops to ringing the doorbell, that’s how off-balance he is.It has absolutely nothing to do with Dick’s suggestion that this is a gesture of common politeness which his middle son and daughter would appreciate from him.Tim flings the door open, astonishment written all over his features. They’ve filled out again, thankfully – no longer pale and drawn. Bruce only hopes that uptick to his mouth and the glint in his eyes are both permanent.“You rang the doorbell.”“I assume that is why you have one,” says Bruce, refusing to feel panicked. Was Dick wrong? (Impossible.)“I didn’t know you’d ever learnt what they were for,” says Tim.Bruce smiles. “Alfred, uh, sent cookies.”Tim’s face lights up. “First doorbells, now a package delivery service,” he says. “Amazing.”They stand in the doorway and stare at each other.“So –““Yes!” says Tim. “Come in. Um.”They go inside. Bruce has an urge to wipe his shoes, but that passes pretty quickly when he sees the mess the place is in. Individually, Tim and Cass have always been fairly tidy, but together they’re falling behind: Cass’ sports bag is lying open in the hallway, the table in the dining room is piled high with books and coffee cups, a tangle of cords snakes across the living room floor that appears to belong to various video game controllers, and a pile of half-folded laundry has taken up residence on an armchair. In the kitchen, there’s a computer on the work surface and two empty pizza boxes by the trash.Tim cracks open the box of cookies and immediately offers one to Bruce. Cass comes in just as he’s biting down and takes one herself, smiling.“You came by!”“Mission from Alfred,” says Bruce, gesturing with the cookie.She watches him for a moment, nods.He pauses there, finding himself aware of the silence in the kitchen in a way he hasn’t been in a long while.“How’s the ballet?”Cass smiles. “Good! I love it.”“I’m glad.”They all go silent again.“So, uh, did you want the tour?” Tim asks.Bruce takes another cookie. “If you want to give it,” he says, feeling diffident and hesitant and out of place.Feeling out of place is not a sensation Bruce Wayne – or Batman – usually bothers with. If it ever comes up, he tends to make a point of ensuring that everyone else around him is at least as wrongfooted as he is. But… what works on the JLA is at least a little inappropriate in his children’s house, he supposes.He tries a smile. Dick would do that. It goes over spectacularly well: they both beam at him. Bruce feels downright proud of himself.*****They go out to dinner later on at some hole-in-the-wall Greek place that Cass suggests. Bruce doesn’t know how she found it, but he remembers that Steph likes Greek food. He drinks an excellent glass of red wine and talks to them about – he doesn’t know what he talks to them about. The company. The apartment. Hong Kong. Damian. Jason. Dick. Bruce’s relationship with Selina. At one point he and Tim get into an argument over whether or not Captain America really died: Bruce doesn’t believe it, because this is Captain America they’re talking about, but Tim insists he owns the issue. Cass likes some comics, but she judges them solely on the merits of their art and says half the time they hurt her eyes because the people are all drawn wrong and women have spines too.The last time Bruce had a conversation about comics it was with Tommy Eliot. They were both seven.*****No, that can’t be true. Dick used to read them, didn’t he?*****It’s past three when he gets back to the penthouse. Damian has fallen asleep on the couch, a textbook balanced on his chest, one arm outflung and hanging down to the floor. There’s a light on under Dick’s study door, the low murmur of his son’s voice; he’s probably on the phone.Bruce leans down and carefully shakes out the throw rug to drape over Damian’s still form. The boy stirs sharply as his father comes closer, almost waking. Bruce decides not to touch the textbook, and simply tucks him in. Damian’s eyelashes flutter; he’s woken up, but is trying to hide it. Bruce’s hand hovers over his shoulder.If it were Tim, Jason, Dick, he would touch them, stroke their hair back, rearrange that uncomfortably draped arm. If it were Cass, he would kiss her forehead as well.He brushes his fingertips over the boy’s shoulder.“Good night, Damian.”He’s almost left the living room when the couch creaks a little with Damian’s movement; he’s put his book down.“Good night, Father.”*****“He’s got some sort of moral objection to sleeping in his own bed,” says Dick the next day. “I think he thinks it shows dedication, falling asleep on his books.”Bruce frowns. “That’s… not healthy.”Dick cackles.Bruce frowns harder.Dick shakes his head at him and pours himself another bowl of cereal. “Let him sleep there if it makes him feel better.”“But,” says Bruce.“By the time he’s been at school for three weeks he’ll be locking himself in his bedroom the second he gets home,” says Dick.“Yes,” says Bruce, “this school plan…”Dick folds his arms over his chest. He doesn’t reply – he doesn’t even look angry – he is – he’s waiting Bruce out.This is un-Dick-like behaviour. Bruce objects to it. Strenuously. Tim waits people out. Cass waits people out. Barbara waits people out. Bruce himself waits people out, unless he already knows what they’re going to say, which he usually does. If there is one thing that Dick, Jason and Steph all have in common it is that they do not simply wait people out. None of them are wired that way.(This is all becoming horribly reminiscent of the time Dick turned sixteen and shot up ten inches overnight and started doing things like looking at colleges and dating and making his own decisions about his life that set a knot of panic in Bruce’s chest because he’d been so determined he was no good for any kind of father figure, and yet there he was, playing a heavy-handed overprotective new parent, just as if Dick hadn’t been living in his house for eight years already, forced to confront the fact that teenagers change because that’s what adolescence is for, and between one day and the next Dick had become a completely different person: not yet, at the time, an adult, but very definitely Bruce’s son.He didn’t like it then, and he doesn’t like it now.)Bruce settles for a strategic neutral, “I’m worried for him.”Dick’s face softens.Score.“I know,” he says. “I am too, a little. It won’t be easy on him. I’ve been in his shoes.” He smiles, remembering. “But he’s tough and he’s smart and he makes friends just fine, when he actually wants to.”Yes, the Wilkes boy, and Lian Harper, and Wally has said that his twins find Damian endlessly entertaining, which is… come to think of it, it’s probably excellent practice for Gotham Academy.“Yes,” says Bruce, unable to put his point into words, “but –““But he’s a half-Arab kid at a prestigious prep school where ninety percent of the other kids will be white?”Bruce hadn’t thought of that at all.He hopes it doesn’t show. (It probably does. Dick is sensitive to that sort of thing. Cass never has been, as far as Bruce can tell, but in a lot of ways Cass is… Cass doesn’t necessarily construct her identity the way other people do, or so Bruce suspects.)“I don’t doubt his ability to do the work,” he tries.Dick rolls his eyes. “We’re not talking about his ability to do the work,” he says patiently. “Dami’s extremely smart, and he knows it. He’ll never have your patience, but that doesn’t mean he can’t beat you at chess.”Bruce permits himself a smile.“And it’s not about his social skills, either – it’s not like you’re afraid he’s going to snap one day and stab someone in the cafeteria for looking at him wrong.”“No,” says Bruce.“You know what I think?”Bruce sighs. “I don’t believe I’ve ever really known what you think, Dick,” he says ruefully.“I think,” says Dick gently, “that you don’t want to give him up, because you’ve only just come home, and you were expecting everything to have stood still and waited for you to come back and pick up where you left off. Oh, not consciously. You knew we’ve all changed. But that’s what you thought, somewhere in there.”Bruce leans back in his chair and props his head on his hand. “You really believe I’m that obtuse?”“Yes.”“Charming.”“But it’s not about obtuse, you know. It’s just about… not having been here.”“I’ve been here!”“Three months out of twelve don’t count.”He sighs, defeated but reluctant to admit it. The bad father accusation has been chasing him for years, and sometimes – often – he doesn’t know what to do to make it untrue again. Bruce is not, after all, infallible. Neither is Batman.“Take him someplace,” says Dick.“What?”“You and Damian. Go do something together. Like you went for dinner with Tim and Cass. Go… I don’t know, go do something you’ll both enjoy.”“A museum visit, a day at the zoo?” says Bruce, sarcastic.“You’re the world’s greatest detective,” says Dick, grinning. “Work something out.”*****But Bruce knows he’s sunk to simply disgusting levels of parental incompetence when he manages, one day at breakfast, to weasel an opinion out of Damian on what he enjoys doing in his spare time and it turns out that he’s aficionado of art galleries and has a deep fondness for the big cat enclosures at the Gotham City Zoo.Dick butters his toast with a supremely false look of innocence and has the common decency to refrain from comment. Bruce carefully avoids looking at him when he says, “You could take me sometime.”Damian has just swung his jaw open to take a simply enormous bite of a buttered bacon sandwich. (It is, apparently, his traditional Sunday morning breakfast; he eats some variation of muesli most of the rest of the week.) He has the sandwich in both hands, and lowers it suspiciously to stare at his father. His mouth is still hanging open. Bruce has an urge to reach over the table and push his chin up, the sort of fond, familiar gesture he used to make with Dick twenty years ago.He reaches over the table and nudges Damian’s chin up with a fingertip. Damian jerks as if he’s been burned. Bruce is careful to hide his wince.“Why?” Damian says suspiciously.It’s a trick question of some sort. Why does he think? Bruce is his father. He read almost all the books that Jason used to devour when he was a teenager, all but the most turgid and long-winded tomes about epic quests and elfmaidens, and he learned about kickflips and Tony Hawk when Tim started skateboarding, though he will admit that he lost track of the absolute myriad of Dick’s ‘favourite’ things when the boy was about thirteen. Dick has a habit of consuming everything he can find on a subject in a month at most and then moving on, like a human-shaped plague of locusts that feeds off new information; Bruce has always been mostly convinced that he flunked out of Hudson more because he got bored with the coursework than because he wanted to annoy Bruce, whatever the boy’s protests to the contrary.So he eyes Damian up a little suspiciously, but he supposes it is just possible that Talia has no idea that Damian’s favourite singer is Kurt Cobain.“I’d like to know about the things you enjoy,” he says, and bites down a remark about kittens.Damian turns to Dick. He still hasn’t put his sandwich down.Dick says, “It’s not a trick, little D.”“Hrrrunph,” says Damian. “Very well then.” He glowers at Bruce. “If you’re going to throw yourself into the cafeteria at the GMA for five hours while I sketch, tell me now.” It’s Dick’s turn to get a scowl.“Five hours!” says Dick. “More like ten. The curator had to come throw you out personally. I could’ve read all of Proust in the time you were ‘sketching’.”“The ignorance of the unartistic,” says Damian, unimpressed.It’s on the tip of Bruce’s tongue to point out that unlike Jason and Tim, both Dick and Cass can actually draw passably well; in fact he’s sure that folder he kept of Dick’s drawings for school has survived somewhere in the Manor. But, looking at Damian’s earnest, studiedly arrogant little face, Bruce decides that discretion is probably the better part of valour at this point, and turns his attention back to his scrambled eggs. *****That’s four out of five – uh – taken care of seems – an inaccurate expression. But. Preliminary groundwork established, at least.The fifth…(Of course you’re not afraid of Jason, says Diana. You’re afraid of trying to help him and to fix things with him because it might fail completely and then you’ll have lost him for good. If you don’t ever try in the first place, you can still hope.)*****Stalking Jason doesn’t take much effort. The boy’s either grown careless, which Bruce doubts, or he knows Bruce is there and isn’t interested in confronting him, which Bruce also doubts, so the likelihood is that there’s something going on and Jason doesn’t have time to confront him, in which case it is imperative that Batman monitor further proceedings. When Red Hood doesn’t have time for a confrontation with Batman it usually means he’s planning… something. People will probably die. Half the city will get blown up. There’ll be a gang war and a mass Arkham breakout. All at once.The usual.Six hours later it’s four in the morning: Jason has stopped two singularly incompetent seventeen-year-olds from committing a burglary, escorted a streetwalker to the free clinic and the pharmacist and apparently paid for whatever medication the boy needed, broken up a drunken brawl outside a club, apparently convinced the owner to give him a job, God knows why, Batman will have to get Oracle to look into the place, and met another streetwalker by the abandoned Park Lane subway station who directed him to an apartment a block over where a man named Golan was apparently beating his wife; judging by her distress the prostitute appears to consider the woman a friend, or possibly a relative.Batman follows Jason across the block, expecting a public altercation to materialise in the street any minute, but instead Jason marches straight into the apartment block. Batman frowns. That’s not procedure. That’s breaking and entering; but then again, in comparison, a relatively paltry crime for the Red Hood…He crosses to the roof of the building in question and settles in to wait. It doesn’t take long. Golan winds up cuffed to his fire escape in his underwear in the chilly spring morning, right hand and nose and left knee all broken, face caked with blood and streaked with tears, ugly purple bruises forming along his sides and across his chest, matching up no doubt with Jason’s boots.Batman, exasperated with Jason’s crude theatrics, calls it in to GCPD and follows Jason and the family out of Crime Alley. But by the time he’s crouched on another fire escape watching his second son feeding Golan’s two small daughters and their battered mother English muffins and bacon in a diner across the street Batman is forced to concede that maybe Jason just genuinely doesn’t want to talk to him.He’s irritated. That’s interesting. He pokes at the feeling a little, curious: irritated, annoyed, impatient for the woman Jason’s holding to finally stop crying and leave with her children so he can go over there and –Bruce hauls his thoughts up short, appalled at himself. He balances on the fire escape in a state of something like shock for another few minutes. Then he forces himself up onto the roof and takes off in the direction of the East End.He has a job to do, and no time to sit on fire escapes feeling irrationally angry about the crying habits of people who need help.*****People who need help are his job.*****One vicious gang fight later Catwoman says, “All it means is that you want to talk to your son, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”“I shouldn’t have been – it wasn’t right that – her whole face was bruised and she was crying and those children –““It’s always cute when you remember you’re human and get flustered over it instead of going into robot mode,” says Catwoman, propping her hands on her hips. The morning sunlight is flashing on her goggles. Sunlight. This is ridiculous. And dangerous. And… unnecessary. Batman should leave, leave right now. ”Will you put that grapple gun down and come over here, please?”She isn’t asking.After a moment, Batman puts the grapple gun down and goes over there.*****Two nights later Jason TP’s the car and leaves a Batman plushie hanging from the rearview mirror by its neck with a sign saying ‘stalker!’ pinned to its cape.Well, it’s a step up from killing people, Bruce supposes.*****He keeps the plushie in the glove compartment. Dick’s probably noticed it, but Dick was brought up to be considerate and respectful and doesn’t ask him about it.*****It’s not that Bruce and Damian’s day at the GMA is a failure, but – but Bruce does wish the boy had more fondness for some harmless Impressionist or other – Monet or Matisse or someone – than Hieronymus Bosch.He should’ve expected it, really.Nevertheless, the operation went off objectively well: no argument occurred, Damian’s behaviour was unobtrusive and comparatively polite, and Bruce found himself quite fascinated and pleased with the chance to watch his son without the boy wearing a mask over his eyes. Damian has an equally regrettable fondness for chocolate milkshake – strawberry is clearly objectively superior – but this is one of the few things about him that seem to Bruce genuinely childlike.Bruce would like to claim he has experience with black-haired, blue-eyed little boys too old for their age, and perhaps in the basics this is true, but all four of his sons are diametrically different from each other, even when they’re similar. He’s always known this.(He hasn’t, perhaps, always acted accordingly. Remembering the glaring ways in which Jason and Dick are different, despite their fundamentally similar temperaments, sends a twisting shame through his chest that he hasn’t felt in a long time – too preoccupied with other guilt, Jason’s death, return, the warping of his mind. Bruce knew there was more to the boy’s anger and hurt than dead parents, malnutrition, and a habit of smoking when he was nervous or upset. He knew it, but he didn’t want to know, to admit it and face it; too afraid of failure, of hurting Jay more. And so – because Bruce Wayne is still the Batman, despite everything he tells himself – he stopped it, that knowing; he turned it off, and went on his merry way, and put off for another few years the inescapable acknowledgement that his sons are not as much like him as people seem to think. One day perhaps he’ll find a way to make amends to Jason. One day perhaps Jason will let him.)Diana and Clark disapprove of him thinking of people as puzzles, but in Damian’s case Bruce is resolved to it – just until he’s got the hang of how best to approach the boy. Once he understands him it’ll be easier.And more fun, of course. He wonders if Damian’s ever been to a circus where half the inhabitants aren’t trying to kill him. If not, well, that’s clearly a significant gap in his education. Bruce will have to rectify it.*****Batman doesn’t really talk much; words are not his true area of expertise, though he can use them effectively when he needs to. Bruce… understands the mechanics of them, but has never grasped the importance people place on them. Words are nothing: air and sound. Words last less than seconds, intangible, leaving no trace of themselves behind; they have no real power, no validity, no weight or heft. They cannot stand between a body and a bullet. Actions are the only currency that matter.He used to think his daughter felt the same way. He’s fairly sure she still does, for the most part; he suspects it’s his own view that’s begun to change, his perspective skewed, tilted, off. Cass doesn’t talk about Hong Kong. Bruce doesn’t know when he first noticed that. Of course, Cass doesn’t talk about a lot of things, but…Maybe it’s just Bruce’s imagination. It’s probably Bruce’s imagination. Or latent guilt. Why didn’t he say – why didn’t he explain?He’s sure he had a good reason, not to explain.He always has good reasons. He goes over to the apartment; Tim waves him in absentmindedly, nose squashed against his tablet screen.“Living room,” he says in answer to Bruce’s query. “Gotta sort this out. Tracking a thing for the Titans. Right with you.”Bruce smiles. “That’s all right.” Tim’s too distracted to reply. Bruce thinks he should probably take him by the shoulders and steer him back to his computer chair before he trips on the mess he and Cass like to leave lying around and breaks a bone, but Tim manoeuvres his way down the hall with practiced skill, muttering at the tablet.Cass is in the living room, cross-legged on the couch. She’s got a tablet of her own and a pile of notes, paper littered with half-sentences and sketches.“Cobblepot again,” she says around the pen in the corner of her mouth. Bruce resists the temptation to reach over and tug it out. “Hate him.”“I know,” says Bruce, sitting down on the other couch. She’s wearing leggings and a bright pink sweatshirt that hangs off her as if it were six sizes too big. Apparently that’s fashion.Bruce says, “I wanted a quick word.”Cass looks up. The pen dangles; she takes it out. “What about?”“Hong Kong,” he says. She goes still, bites her lip thoughtfully. Careful, Bruce. Your daughter, this is.“I’m sorry,” he says.She blinks.“For sending you there.”“That’s…” Cass smiles. “Thank you. That’s all right.”“It isn’t,” says Bruce quietly. “I had no right to ask that of you.”Cass straightens up a little, dropping her hands into her lap. “It’s all right,” she repeats. Then, quietly, she adds, “It was for Steph.”“It was, partly,” Bruce agrees. He owes it to Steph to do better, to make amends, just as he owes it to Jason, but he’s not sure if he has the right to try, not for Steph. He’s never been her father. “But you wanted to be – I meant for it to go to you, when you came back to Gotham. I thought you needed to learn to handle a city on your own, the way I did, the way Dick did. I thought you needed to see that in yourself, especially after – what happened. And I told Dick not to take it. He’s never wanted it, but you do; I meant for you to have it, in the end.” He pauses there, watching Cass’s surprise. “I should have found another way.”Cass says, “Yes.” She looks away from him then, frowns at the floor. Bruce hasn’t the words to make this right. Perhaps he was wrong: he shouldn’t have brought it up at all. There’s a bottomless pit opening in his stomach.“I’m sorry,” he repeats.She looks up again, smiling. The change is minute, but it’s there. Bruce is relieved. “It’s all right,” she says. “It is. I couldn’t have handled Damian.” She grins. It is all right. He doesn’t deserve for it to be, but it is.“Unsubstantiated assumption,” says her father, smiling back.*****Perhaps inevitably, Dick’s guest bedroom begins to take on a frighteningly… home-y feel.It hasn’t ever occurred to Bruce before to live anywhere but the Manor, so perhaps it’s not surprising that he never realised just how few of his possessions he really needs in his day-to-day life. The Manor is stuffed with things that are important to him, possessions he’s owned since he was eight, things his parents chose and bought, but the number of them that he actually uses…When Dick was very small he used to cram himself into corners with his duvet and his stuffed animals and sleep there, unsettled by the sheer size of the Manor, the high ceilings and empty rooms. As his grief passed his nerves began to settle; he managed one day to move his bed from the centre of the room to lie against one wall, but otherwise his discomfort with the open spaces in the house faded.Bruce, standing now in a comparatively small guestroom littered with his books, his phone, his laptop, his clothes, begins to understand that discomfort for the first time he can remember. In the room next door Damian is playing rock music; there’s a smell of freshly-made toast and jam, and Cass is whistling in Dick’s study, curled in an armchair and working her way steadily through criminology textbooks. Dick’s step in the corridor, the sound of his laugh.Far too home-y. He and Dick haven’t lived in the same house since Dick was eighteen. The crunch will come. *****What if it doesn’t?Bruce hadn’t thought that far. He, who thinks of everything, not considering that in ten years and more both he and his eldest have grown up enough that – what?“There’s a line my Ma always used to read to me,” says Clark. “But one day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”“Sentimental nonsense,” Bruce mutters half-heartedly.*****Alfred helps him choose the kitten.“You’ll regret it when he starts climbing all your expensive upholstery and scratching to get out of that stuffy penthouse,” says Selina, laughing.“Dick’s expensive upholstery,” Bruce corrects her, touching his fingertips to the hollow of her throat, the line of her collarbone. She rolls closer to him, mouth soft with laughter.*****Bruce doesn’t consider it to have been a mistake, giving Tim the company. He’s capable. Bruce has never yet found a challenge Tim could not rise to. Dick would have handled it equally well, but Dick has other responsibilities: the Titans, the League, Barbara, Damian, himself. Bruce has asked enough of Dick, over the years. And in light of the knowledge that he countermanded Bruce’s direct orders and put the cowl on scarcely days after Bruce had, uh, left, well, it was a good decision not to burden Dick with the company as well.On the other hand, Tim wasn’t even eighteen.(Bruce hadn’t really believed the emancipation would be needed when he made the provisions. Not really.)So here he is, in the corridor outside Tim’s office, balancing lunch on one hand and watching his orderly, efficient, well-dressed son through the gap left by the half-open door, wondering where the scrawny boy in the Gotham Knights jerseys with the skateboard and the teased-up hair has gone.He has a feeling Tim’s wondering too, because there’s a scattering of college brochures spread across the coffee table in the corner of his office.“Princeton?” Bruce asks hopefully, and gives a brochure for Hudson U a baleful look.“Oh!” says Tim. “I – uh – “ He drops his pen – expensive thing, very nicely made – and runs a hand through his hair. It’s a mess. That’s more like it.Bruce comes over to his desk and hands him the plate of sandwiches. Tim takes it, smiling.“Gotham U,” he admits.“Staying home,” Bruce says. “Well.”He can’t really object to that, can he?Come to think of it, as long Tim actually manages to finish his damn degree in whatever he chooses to study, Bruce will never, ever say another word about his children’s choice of college.Ever.Anyway, Damian might still go to Princeton.“What are you going to study?” he asks.“Haven’t decided yet,” Tim admits, tearing a sandwich apart and peering interestedly inside. “Hey, wow, ham cheese and pickle, my favourite!” He chows down happily.Bruce doesn’t get a thank you, but that’s parenthood for you, he supposes.*****Black Bat and Robin are doing handstands on a ledge above Ninth in Midtown when Batman comes across them.“Are you being timed?” he says sardonically. Black Bat waves a foot a little in what Batman supposes is a greeting.“No, but excessively bored,” says Robin sourly. “Batman – not you – has been in there for about half an hour and I have no idea what he’s doing.”“Reading files,” says Black Bat.“Why can’t he just steal them?”“I assume he’s enjoying the peace and quiet,” Batman mutters.“He gets enough of that,” says Robin. “You’ve been so busy hanging off Drake’s apron-strings – ““No real names in the field,” says his father sternly. Tim’s had a busy week; Bruce has indeed helped him with a thing or two, and their evenings ran late, and he hasn’t really seen Dick or Damian all week, has he? Hmm.“Red Robin’s with the Titans this weekend,” says Black Bat. “Robin... says he’ll come over and help me paint my room.”“I did not,” says Robin. “I said I would consider it.”“Don’t quibble,” says his sister, falling gracefully backwards onto her feet and the roof. Robin follows, red-faced from balancing upside down.“It doesn’t take any particular skill, painting a room.”“Maybe I want a mural.”“Of what?”“Gargoyles,” says Black Bat promptly.“Hideous,” says Robin. “Father! Tell her.”“Perhaps something a little less…”“They’re for protection!” says Black Bat. “Oracle told me.”“You believe in evil spirits, do you?” says Robin, scornful.“Your grandfather’s… at least a thousand years old,” she points out, grinning.“Yes,” says Robin, “and he’s been senile for about seven hundred of them. What’s your point?”And Bruce used to think that Dick and Barbara’s bickering was grating. Half an hour alone with stolen files in a deserted office is beginning to sound increasingly appealing. He’s tempted to beg another errand and leave them to it, but –- well.*****Batman – Dick – is amused to see him: they don’t get much chance to talk, though, as there’s half a skyscraper’s worth of hired goons behind him.“I hope you’ve not been passing this knack for trouble on to anyone else,” says Bruce irritably and pointedly. (It’s probably a forlorn hope that Cass will have enough influence on her brothers that at least one of them will turn out sensible. He used to think that would end up being Tim, but, well, Tim. Reckless, brave, prone to self-sacrifice and convoluted schemes: none of these things go well with sensible, more’s the pity.)“Nah,” says Batman, and Bruce will never, ever be used to seeing him grin while wearing the cowl. “Robin already got yours.”*******The penthouse is blessedly quiet on Saturday. Alfred left with Damian for Cassandra’s – not before making breakfast; Bruce is a little offended by the suspicious look he got – and the weather is dreadful. The rain’s coming down in sleets and the temperature dropped like a stone overnight.Back at the Manor, when Dick was small, they’d spend days like this in the study before the fire, reading and toasting bread on forks and drinking tea. Well, the penthouse doesn’t have a fire, but Bruce puts the kettle on and borrows a book from Dick’s study, waiting for his son to get up. Damian’s cat is curled on an armchair, twitching in its sleep; it hasn’t yet graduated to shredding the upholstery, thank God. He was delighted with the scrawny thing – named it Alfred, in fact – and Bruce has been meaning to ask Dick about getting a dog. Boys, Bruce has always believed, should have dogs. They had to put Ace to sleep just a few months after Jason came to the Manor. At the time Bruce thought that Jay couldn’t care less about pets either way, and never bothered to get another dog. He suspects that was a mistake. Unconditional friendship, teach you responsibility. You’ll have to come and pick it out with me. Something that’ll take care of you… Thomas Wayne never had bought his son the talked-of puppy. Maybe Bruce should get one for Jason while he’s at it. Hmm.Dick wanders in around eleven, barefoot and dressed in sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. “Filthy weather,” he says, pouring himself a cup of tea and climbing onto the couch. He wraps himself up in the throw rug with a shudder, bundled up like a child again. Bruce has an urge to take a photograph. “Thank God it’s Saturday.”“Shame about the fireplace,” says Bruce. “What’s that you’re reading?”“Bulgakov,” says Dick. “You know, I know less than nothing about Russian history?”“I did not,” Bruce smiles.“Totally ignorant,” says Dick. “I can give you chapter and verse on places like France but hell if I know when Ivan the Terrible even lived.” He shakes his head.“New project, I take it.”“What else am I gonna do on a day like today?” Dick asks cheerfully. “It’s this and then work. You going to Cass’s?”Five years ago, the question would’ve had some inflection, some implication – I hope you don’t, I wanna hang out with you, or the complete opposite, or something. Now it’s just a question.“No,” says Bruce. “Everything seems to be covered.” He made sure it was covered: Barbara gave him a very amused look when he shuffled half Dick’s cases off onto her and Steph, but neither of them objected.“At Cass’s?”“Workwise,” says Bruce. “Drink your tea, it’s getting cold. Alfred left us breakfast.”“That was generous of him,” says Dick, smiling.“Hmm,” says Bruce.“You just can’t say it, can you?” Dick’s still smiling, amused, indulgent. “Hey Dick, let’s spend time together. No two ways about it, Damian’s definitely your son.”“It’s a chore,” says Bruce, “shuffling round the five of you while you get on with your lives.”Dick’s expression slides from amused into thoughtful. “Meaning?” he asks.“Exactly what it sounds like.”Dick’s turn to hmm.Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder. “You wear it well,” he says. “You all do.”“The cowl? Responsibility? Adulthood?”“Take your pick,” says his father, standing up. “Breakfast, Robin, yes or no?”“Yes,” Dick says promptly. “And chocolate syrup on my pancakes.”“You’ll be lucky!”“Well,” says Dick. “I generally am, aren’t I.”“I suppose that makes two of us,” says Bruce.
1036157	A Short-Learned Lesson	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Reek (ASoIaF)", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Phoenixflame88", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-08T00:00:00", "words": "2,623", "Additional Tags": "Discipline, Laying down the Bolton law, leeches", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The boy has quickly become a disappointment. Lord Bolton should have killed his mother and left the babe with her dead husband’s brother. Unfortunately the brother is dead too, and Roose will not be a kinslayer.He sits in his solar, a cup of hippocras in one hand, regarding the boy of three-and-ten flopped in the chair across from his. All travel-stained, crime-stained, his brown deerskin vest is the only scrap on him not in need of burning. His ear is stuck through with a metal stud, its original color covered by dark red. Most guests have the gentility or instincts to sit straight in the presence of the Lord of the Dreadfort, but his bastard tramples anything resembling courtesy.Alas, his eyes do not lie. Though set in a wider-boned face, framed by ragged dark hair that begs for a knife, those eyes look back at him every time he passes a mirror. Pity.“You forced yourself on a farm girl.”“As you did my mother?”Roose knows his bastard. He is plain, transparent even, only an inconceivable monster of a child because some cannot conceive his lusts. Studying him a moment longer, Roose allows the smallest of smiles.“You committed a crime on my lands, punishable by hanging. You bit her ear off—”Ramsay glares. “I know, I was there—”Roose sets down the goblet before he throws it at him. “You claimed to be my son.”That makes the boy pause. And is the crux of the matter. When a story from the villages travelled all the way to the Dreadfort, about a beastly boy claiming to have Bolton blood, Roose sent a messenger to retrieve him and his revolting servant. Several years ago he thought Ramsay might have his uses. A trueborn son must keep his hands seemingly clean for the sake of appearances. A bastard’s hands are stained already. Ramsay’s are coated in pitch. So much pitch it will choke him one day.“I am your son,” Ramsay says, meandering toward shrill.“No.” Roose lets the word hang. His frustration begs for some assuagement. “Only my bastard, and a useless one at that.”Ramsay’s cheeks color. “I’m—” Lord Bolton lifts a hand to silence him, but it is not a subtlety the boy has come to understand. “—your blood, whoever my mother is. Lowborn she may be, you took her all the same.”“Was it Reek who said that?” Roose looks at Ramsay, curious in spite of himself. So there is someone the boy will chirp after, like an obedient songbird. “Or your mother?”Ramsay should freeze, as would anyone when Lord Bolton asks about their kith and kin. But he only stares back, simmering, bristling to keep himself more or less civil. But Roose does not miss the way his fingers close around the chair’s arms. Regardless, he has his suspicions. Just as the boy is forming his. Pale eyes—his eyes, thrown true—narrow as his son realizes.“Where is Reek?”Roose smiles. It is almost a true one, embellished for the boy’s benefit. Some quail in pissing terror if Lord Bolton grins, more if he smiles. What few see is a calculation like any other. But any skilled mummer will admit he feels his character’s fury, passion, or lust, as long as he has an audience. It abates in moments, but a mummer can act so well he fools even oneself.Perhaps that is all it is. An act, a passing curiosity. Roose gave up trying to understand why he is different long ago. His lady wife embraces him from time to time, and remarks coolly, respectfully, how passion is an overvalued virtue. Bethany visits her sister now. He would prefer her company to this child’s. She is quiet, but he has learned her eyes and mouth say more in a moment than most men say in an evening.Ramsay has gone silent, glancing out the room’s only window, as if remembering the ride into the courtyard earlier this evening. The boy misses little, Roose must admit. Likely he remembers Roose escorting him to his own solar without an offer for dinner, while two of his guards remained in the courtyard with that thrice-damned revolting servant. Roose cannot hear the man’s screams, or know what the wretch thinks of as the whips scour deeper into his flesh. But imagination is a far better inquisitor than even he. Ramsay has no lack of imagination for the macabre.“He’s mine to punish!” the boy snarls in a sudden frenzy. “Not yours!”“Child, I gift your mother coins for your every nameday. Does that make every scrap she buys mine as well?”“You claim everything is yours,” the boy snaps. “What difference does it make?”“As you say.”Ramsay is restless, but his original enthusiasm at his father offering him wine has left his body in a languor, blasé to his rage. Taking several deep breaths, the boy tries to sound less than rabid. “Why, Father, did you bring me here?”“Perhaps I enjoy speaking with you.”He’s met with a cocked head, a brow raised in disbelief. The weakness in his son’s mouth betrays him. Oh you brash child, you think too much of me.In a sense, he enjoys speaking to someone of kin and not being filled with unease. Unease…that is understated, even for you. Dread is more apt, those times he sees Domeric. He appreciates how much stake his son puts on knowledge, then feels his guts grow cold when he sees the trust and friendliness Domeric offers as if it is a trinket, something with no price…no sacrifice.Ramsay will never fall from his own kindness. Roose might chuckle—the boy senses his own vulnerability just enough to stay wary and bare his crooked teeth. He does not see trust as something to be given…he does not see trust, only knows of a few people he expects not to hurt him. Am I included? Even creeping into his solar, his crimes swaddled in no defense or denial, Ramsay trusts his father not to hang him for a hanging crime. And so I break you of your naivety. At least when they talk the Lord of the Dreadfort can sigh in calm knowing he does not care if his feral child dies on the ‘morrow. Not like Domeric. Never like Domeric, all clever smiles and eyes a shade between his parents’.Roose draws on his glass of hippocras again, hands seeking a distraction. Ramsay is too brash, like a feral dog that tears through sheep with no regard for the shepherd who can kill him with a well-aimed arrow. A dog is hardly worth the time to break of imperfections, but the boy is, somehow, kin.“You need a better example, Ramsay. Imagine a bitch in the kennels bred to my strongest hound. The pups are theirs by blood. Any malformed or untrainable are drowned—but most fit their heritage. If my hound found a mongrel bitch in the field, the kennel master would strangle those pups to prevent a pack of wild dogs. Which pup do you think you are, Ramsay?”The snarl undercuts his answer. “I’m not a dog.”Beast, dog, creature…the boy can choose his own embodiments. Roose has not brought him here to share pleasantries. His son is in need of a lesson.He stands then, holding out a hand. “Come. You’ve ridden half the day and must be hungry.” Ramsay regards him, all squinty and suspicious. Roose forces a small smile. “You are young. I am not angry.”Roose isn’t, not now. Irritated, thinking how the boy’s eyes are his curse and his son’s salvation, but it feels like any other evening at the Dreadfort. At last, the bastard rocks to his feet, arms loose in their sockets from the wine. When Roose puts a hand between his shoulders to guide him into the adjoining chamber, his bastard is on edge again, tense and stiff-legged. Ramsay does not believe him about being angry, but he wants to—Roose has long warned Domeric of chasing after his wants. Hopefully his true son listens.The bathing chamber makes the boy stop, gawking in bemused wariness. Likely he has never seen a bathtub built of porcelain, incased in dark wood, long enough Roose can lean back and breathe in the steam—good for the lungs, his father said. There are no windows, only sconces. A table stands nearby, for servants to bring the tray of leeches, or betimes a cup of hippocras. Now there is a goblet, large enough a mad king could offer a drink to his favorite horse. Beside it is a chain of well-worn iron. Ramsay creeps closer, less out of caution than confusion. His distraction, his cup of wine, and his shadow of trust, make him deaf to Lord Bolton sliding the manacles off the wooden table. A scrape, a clink, Ramsay looks back too late—Roose snaps one cuff around a raw-boned wrist. The boy’s twisting, snarling, but while he is strong for his age, he has not ridden into battle. Roose wrenches his other arm back, earning a furious cry, and claps it in the second band of iron.“What are you—?” Cleaning you. Teaching you. If either are possible. His backhand sends Ramsay reeling, off-kilter enough that Roose can easily shove him into the porcelain basin. No water, only unspoiled white enamel. Gods, it will need a long scrubbing soon. The boy’s arms are bound under his back, the weight staking him to the bottom of the tub. A second chain snaps around Ramsay’s ankles, which are hooked over the side, before Roose shoves them into the basin as well. Finally, he removes the dagger from his hip.Ramsay struggles through his daze, fighting and furious. Surprised, but scrambling, unable to get his arms out from under his back. His eyes lock on the blade and he thrashes harder, iron clanking against porcelain. As if he has put up with the boy’s distemper for so long only to kill him now. Roose grabs his deerskin vest and stained tunic and tears the blade down the middle, exposing the boy’s pale chest.“Unchain me!” Ramsay’s voice is seething to the point of incomprehension.But Roose only returns to the table and picks up the goblet with both hands. It is a cup made for giants, its metal sculpted in the likeness of dragon bones, and filled with dark, gelatinous wine. Of course it is not wine. He steps beside the tub and his bastard realizes what the writhing mass must be.“Don’t you dare!” The boy’s pupils are widening, gray rings growing smaller, and blood snakes down his cheek from his broken lip. The bathtub will need a long scouring afterward.“I am helping you.”“Get those fucking things away from me!” A ragged note, partly from fatigue—but not all.Roose begins to tip the goblet.“Father stop!”At last. Roose offers him a small smile of understanding, of congratulations. Fear shrills his bastard’s voice. His eyes are wide and his chest heaves. How good it is to know his son is not completely broken. But there is still the manner of his punishment, for tossing his name around like a purse of gold.He upends the goblet and the dark creatures pulse over the boy’s bare flesh.Ramsay roars, writhes, but his arms are underneath him and his hips are twisted sideways. Trapped, utterly. His roar turn to screeches, squeals—the leeches are sucking, lancing his blighted blood.Maesters never use more than ten leeches, yet maesters have never dealt with his bastard. He counted them himself. One hundred and fifty.Returning to his solar, the door muffling his bastard’s screams, he summons the servants who usually attend the leeches. The creatures will be filled to bursting and Roose does not want too many of them dead. While he waits, he continues writing his missive to Lord Stark, offering good will for the birth of his newest child. It is only courtesy.The boy still squalls his lungs out. Rolling his eyes at the dramatics, he heats the sealing wax and catches sight of his signet ring. Stained in red now, just like that ridiculous bauble the boy wears. Eventually the screams turn to sobs, then slurred yowls for mercy. Roose waits for these to pass, for this is not a lesson of mercy. And so, when he hears little more than ragged breathing, he returns for his bastard.The leeches have done their work. Ramsay can barely growl at the servants who straighten him in the basin. His lips have paled, even the split one, and his breath has quickened. Yet his lungs find the strength somewhere to cry out when they remove the legion of creatures, those that have not fallen off from their own engorgement. At last, Roose unlocks the bindings, picks him up, and carries him to the closest guest chamber.Sprawled on the large bed, bloodless as a fish, the boy looks half his own size. He’s covered in bloody red stars, stark against his ashen flesh.Ramsay’s rasping breath shifts. “I’m…sorry, Father.” His left eye is watery, clouded with blood from the bite of a particularly prodigious leech.Roose stares at him. “Sorry for?”The boy turns his head away. “For using your name.”He nods, slowly. “And what is your name?”Ramsay does not answer and after a moment Roose takes his jaw between his thumb and forefinger, twisting the boy’s face back to his. He feels the thrum under his fingers as Ramsay’s jaw tightens.“Snow.” The name fights its way from his mouth.Letting go, Roose pats him on the cheek, hard enough to be a slap. “You should best remember it.” Withdrawing his hand, he looks again at the boy’s body. Pale and blood-streaked—his thumb felt a rapid pulse when he grabbed his jaw. Truly, bled white, if the white of broken bones and not driven snow. “How do you feel?”“Dead,” answers the groan.“Purged, Ramsay. Drained of some of your hate. At least I hope.” He lets his son imagine what might happen if he is found less drained than desired.Roose looks at his eyes. They are wide, glazed, somewhat lopsided from the bite. The Lord of the Dreadfort leans against a bedpost. Still imperfect. Already the boy looks less terrified. The lesson will stick with him for months, perhaps even a year. But his son’s blood is fouler than pitch. He will forget how sharp terror feels and never treasure its value.So different from Domeric. Was it Ramsay’s base blood, Bethany’s easy temper? What part of each did he create? An amusing puzzle. The boy shifts, trying to sit up. Lord Bolton pushes him back as if he’s a newborn kitten.“You will return to your mother in the morning.”Ramsay’s eyes narrow. “And Reek?”Thrice-damned fish-rank servant. Roose is tempted to say the revolting man’s head is a foot away from his body, or locked in a cell so deep his cries die unheard. Alas, the servant is only now curled up in the corner of some normal cell, his hide weeping more blood than his tears can match.“You will leave together.”The bastard exhales, the sound reedy to his father’s ears.Lord Bolton turns and leaves him to his nightmares, though he feels the boy's eyes following him out the door. Now he must have a word with his bastard’s servant. He promised Ramsay they would leave together; he said nothing of the servant’s condition.It is a short walk to the Dreadfort’s dungeon. Or perhaps he only walks faster.
1003326	The Tales of My Heart	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Sherlock Holmes, John Watson", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Shoshy566", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-14T00:00:00", "words": "3,009", "Additional Tags": "Fluff, Fluff and Angst", "Relationship": "Sherlock Holmes/John Watson", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“Sherlock” John shouted from across the room holding up his laptop with one hand and pointing at it with the other. “What the hell is this?”Sherlock glanced up from his microscope briefly before looking back down at his work. “It’s your laptop, John. I would have thought that even you would know that.”“No, Sherlock!” John was outraged. “Look closer. What is wrong with it?”Sherlock let out a sigh and looked at it again, taking off his goggles. “I may have dropped a gabbro on your computer screen when I was checking an email.”John was baffled. “What do you mean ‘may have’? Sherlock, my entire screen is broken! I had work on there. And why were you even using my laptop in the first place? You have your own in your bedroom. And what the fuck is a gabbro and why is there one in the flat?”“Yours was closer” Sherlock said with a shrug. “And a gabbro is a subcategory for an igneous rock. It was evidence from that case where the suspect was found deceased in the mountain ranges in the country. Remember? He wasn't really even habilable for the funeral according to Molly.” Sherlock gave is rage-filled flat mate a look of concern. “You should really try to relax. I heard that taking deep breathes helps.”John pinched his nose as if he was trying to stop it from bleeding and he closed his eyes. “I don’t need to relax, Sherlock. What I need as a new laptop.”“Then go out and buy one. I’ll admit that I broke it; sorry. Just use my credit card.” Sherlock waved his hand at John like it was no big deal and fished his wallet out of his back pocket all the while still focused on the slide under his microscope.“I’m not doing that. Just pay for what the value of it was, not for a new one. And besides, it’s eleven at night. All of the shops are closed by now.” By now his voice had mellowed out. It was difficult to be angry with Sherlock for over a few minutes under normal circumstances but it was nearly impossible when he had offered to by John a new laptop and gave an apology on top of it all. “I just really needed to write something.”“It’s no trouble. Consider it an investment. You are, after all, my blogger.” A half grin formed on Sherlock’s face as he said it. “And what is so important that you need to write it right now anyways?”John ran his hands through his hair. “It was that case about the dog back when we were in Baskerville. You gave it a nine, remember?” John watched as Sherlock’s head shot up from the microscope.“You were going to write about that now?” His eyes were huge. “I was rather looking forward to reading that one…” He looked to his side and then back at John. “If you must, I guess you can use my laptop for tonight until we can go to the store tomorrow. It’s in my bedroom on my dresser.”John gave Sherlock a quick thanks before walking inside Sherlock’s room. He’d never been there in the years that he had roomed with Sherlock and was quite interested although a little hesitant to go inside. It was nothing like how he had expected it to be. Sherlock had the smaller of the two bedrooms but his was painted a deep red almost to match the color of blood. John couldn't decide if it was that color because of mere coincidence or Sherlock’s rabelaisian sense of humor; not that it mattered. John looked around a bit more. Sherlock’s bed was dirt brown and pushed up against the corner of the room. It was unmade and surrounded by piles of open books and mismatched paperwork. There was a floor lamp directly next to his bed assumingly so that he wouldn't need to get out of bed to do his paperwork. There was also an entire wall of boxed case files that stretched all the way to the ceiling. Directly under the window, on the side of the room that Sherlock’s bed was pushed up against was the dresser. John could see Sherlock’s slate-black laptop blinking indicating that it was charging. He crept across the mahogany floors to the outlet and unplugged it, carrying the laptop and charger to the living room where he could type in the silent company of Sherlock who was still working with his experiments.John opened the lid of the laptop and looked down at the desktop screen. There were two links: one to Chrome and the other to a Microsoft Word Document entitled ‘My Deepest Thoughts’. John thought of opening the document. He had never actually been able to understand how Sherlock’s thought process worked and this seemed like a promising link. Tempted, he scrolled over the document with his mouse before quickly opening Google Chrome, determined to write his post of the day. Three hours had past and John was finally done. Sherlock hadn't moved since he had started his experiment in the kitchen and looked to be in a state of extreme concentration. John minimized Google Chrome and looked at the word document link. It wasn't as if Sherlock had ever invaded John’s privacy before; hell, invading John’s privacy was the reason that John was in this scenario in the first place. John glanced over at Sherlock quickly before double clicking on the document. It lit up the screen and opened to a post from two years ago. John read it quickly, feeling a little bit guilty that he was invading Sherlock’s privacy like this. Journal Entry 1,Mycroft had requested me to create a journal to record my innermost thoughts: just more nonsense from another person. Nevertheless, I have decided to follow his ‘advice’ as to clear a favor that I had supposedly owed him. Whatever this is for, I suspect his own amusement, I insincerely hope that you enjoy reading it as my journey begins on Baker Street.I have acquired a new flat and flat mate; not very interesting but more so than the others. I brought him on a case with me. That was… different. I would normally feel impartial to having people around me while I work. Most people are idiots like Anderson but this one was rather intellectual, although he hardly thought so himself, and I’m certainly not going to say so. His name is John; a rather mundane name although his character doesn’t reflect the same simplicity. It was amusing to watch him so taken aback by my detective abilities. I believe that I’ll be taking him on many more cases. -Sherlock Holmes John didn’t know how to feel about what he had just read. Sherlock, even from the start, had seen something in John; something that not even John himself had been able to detect. It made him feel good to know that somebody thought he was different, special even, and if that person was Sherlock then even better. The thought made his stomach feel as though it was doing backflips. John searched the document for the name “John” and was genuinely surprised when he got fifteen search results; even if they were just small blurbs. He scrolled through the list picking out the ones that seemed like the most interesting reads. Journal Entry12,It’s been a little over two months now since we moved into the flat. Mrs. Hudson is just as nice as I remember from working with her in the past. She likes to do the dusting although she claims that she isn’t our housekeeper. I let her. She’s looking for a distraction, obviously.The flat is also well although it does get fairly messy from time to time. John likes to cook. He’s actually better than I would have initially suspected; something rather unusual. He has taken a deep interest in my abilities to solve cases and has created a blog to write about them and me I suppose. I haven’t been on it; too many things to do. Just as he has fascinated himself with my cases I find myself fascinated with his life story. It had occurred to me that, while I can see the current details of his life, I know little about his emotional views or his past. Oddly enough, I haven’t done anything to make him want to leave. The flat mates before him haven’t lasted over a few weeks and I find myself pondering the possibility of the change occurring through me or through him. -Sherlock Holmes John almost had to reread the entry just to make sure that his eyes weren’t fooling him. He was amazed that Sherlock thought about these things. Everything that Sherlock had done so far led John to believe that he had tried to abandon emotion all together and focus on his work but apparently that was not the case. John glanced back up at Sherlock who looked like he was finishing up his experiments for the night. Quickly, he scrolled down to the last entry that mentioned John. It was only written a few days ago. Journal Entry 68, I find myself in a very odd position that I do not believe I have ever been in before. I was on a case with John doing the standard procedure and he asked me a question; I didn't catch what it was. But when I looked up to ask him what it was I noticed how the rays of sunlight hit his gold hair, even though we were covered by the cloudy skies of London. I noticed the sparkle in his eyes and the mixed look of admiration and kindness that was expressed through his soft lips. I noticed how his personality seemed to radiate off of him. And I had to force myself to suppress the feelings inside of my stomach and the urge to lean in and kiss him. I've known that I've wanted to for a long time but I expected feelings to pass. This, I fear, is love. But love is not what I truly fear; what I fear is losing the ability to tell it apart from lust or something insincere. The last thing that I want is to hurt John. It is evident that he does not feel mutually and thus I refuse to confess my feelings. It wouldn't be worth it to me to add any added strain to our friendship. And if it’s too much of a risk then so be it. To be with John will have to suffice. If only it wasn't like pleading for rain while standing in the desert. -Sherlock Holmes John sat there staring at the screen in disbelief of what he had just read. He closed out of the document and shut the laptop off. He tried to regain his composure as he looked at Sherlock from across the flat but his pulse was racing and his hands shook slightly. When he looked at Sherlock his image of the neutral detective was replaced with an image of a man who was passionate about his job and passion itself. He noticed Sherlock’s composure a little more closely this time. What he originally thought was detachment seemed to be nothing more than the calm composure that Sherlock worked under. He could see the intense focus he had on his work and the slight upward curve of his lips that signaled an interest in what he was doing. John felt a stab of guilt and resentment towards himself for not seeing Sherlock in this light before. This was the Sherlock that he wanted to know; the Sherlock that he even looked up to from time to time. He felt ashamed that there had been times when he honestly thought that Sherlock had tried to abandon all emotion. John looked at the detective, so deeply consumed by his work, for hours until he found himself drifting in and out of a deep slumber. Chapter 2 John awoke on the couch that morning with a stiffness in his back and a blanket over him. He opened his weary eyes and sat up on the couch, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. He could see that it was midday from out the living room window and looked around for Sherlock who was sitting adjacent from him reading the paper. “I thought you may have been chilled” Sherlock stated without looking up from his paper. John looked down at the blanket. Sherlock must have put it on him after he fell asleep last night.“Thank you” John replied, still trying to come to terms with everything that had happened last night. “What time is it anyways?” “It’s around noon.” Sherlock still didn't look up from his paper. John sighed and looked around the flat. “Well, I needed to make a grocery run anyways. Did you want to eat out for lunch?” He tried to look at Sherlock normally but there was an odd grin that he couldn't wipe off of his face no matter how he tried. If Sherlock noticed, which was almost inevitable, he didn't say anything although he was looking at John from behind his paper now. Sherlock gave a small grunt, indicating that lunch sounded good, so John got up and got dressed. After a painfully long silent taxi drive through the crowded streets of London Sherlock and John got a table at a small deli located on the corner where two streets seemed to collide into each other. John liked the deli well enough but that was beside the point. He needed to decide whether or not to tell Sherlock about what he read. He already knew that he needed to act on it somehow; it was just a matter of how exactly to do so. “John,” Sherlock called, raising John out of his fantasy. “Is everything all right? You haven’t been acting like yourself lately.” John could see it this time: the emotions behind the ever so subtle changes on Sherlock’s face. “Yeah um, there is something I need to tell you” John practically whispered from across the table. He didn’t know how to say it. “Maybe I should wait until later to talk to you about it though.” John must have sounded particularly distressed when he said it because the look that Sherlock gave him was somewhat panicked. “It’s not a big deal, Sherlock. It can wait.” “Are you sure?” Sherlock asked a little bit apprehensive about whatever John could possibly have to say. John nodded and waved a hand as if to say that it could wait.They ate in an awkward silence and took a taxi back to the flat when they were done with the grocery shopping. Sherlock had, of course, asked for about five huge jugs of milk and carried them up the stairs with ease. “Alright,” Sherlock started to say after they put everything away. “What’s wrong with you today?” John could tell that Sherlock didn't know what to expect. It made him, as well as John, a little bit anxious.“When I opened your laptop there was another link on the desktop. It was a word document that you had been writing journal entries in-” John could see Sherlock’s eyes open up in a shocked and panicked moment of disbelief. He watched Sherlock’s face turn an unnatural shade of white that suited the mortified expression that he had on his face.“How much did you read?” Sherlock asked, his voice shaky.“Enough” John replied, ashamed.“Oh,” Sherlock looked disappointed and in shock. “I assume that you'll want me to pack my things then. I apologize, John. I’m truly sorry.” He turned; about to go to his bedroom and pack but John grabbed his arm.“Sherlock, what the hell are you talking about?” At the thought of Sherlock leaving he felt dizzy and nauseous like he was going to faint. He didn't want Sherlock to leave; in fact he wanted just the opposite. “John,” Sherlock began with a look on his face that told John that all he wanted was to get out of this situation. “It’s fine. I get it. You don't need to say anything.” He pulled his arm out of John grasp and walked to the door.“Sherlock-” John started to shout but Sherlock wouldn't listen. Instinctively and desperately, he ran up to Sherlock, grabbed both of his arms and pinned him to the wall in a kiss. He could feel Sherlock tense up as he crashed against the wall and then relax again when he realized what John was doing. Sherlock was kissing him back. He moved his hand to the back of John’s head and brushed through John’s hair with his fingers. John could feel the coldness of his hands on the back of his neck and it made bumps rise on his skin.Slowly they pulled apart and John opened his eyes. “If you wanted to do that all you needed to do was ask.” His voice was gentle and soft; a contradiction to Sherlock’s deep edgy sound. “How was I supposed to know?” Sherlock’s response surprised John.“You’re the best detective I've ever known; the best that the worlds ever known. You couldn't tell, Sherlock?”Sherlock looked into John’s grayish blue eyes. They reminded him of sea foam on the ocean. “I had thought that perhaps it was my imagination… I wanted to be certain. Our friendship means everything to me.”John smiled at him and it made Sherlock feel butterflies in his stomach. He thought that it was the best smile that he'd ever seen: a smile that could light up a darkened world only be showing the white of his teeth: a smile that could change the mood of anybody that viewed it into something of a happier note: a smile that could make Sherlock return the gesture because if John was happy enough to smile, he was too.
1086035	Fin	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Terezi Pyrope, Dave Strider", "Fandom": "Homestuck", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by Lhyllianna", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-17T00:00:00", "words": "324", "Additional Tags": "Humanstuck", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "dav3Z1, Dave/Terezi, Dave Strider/Terezi Pyrope", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“D4V3. D4V3, NO.”T3R3Z1’s harsh voice cut through his façade. Dave Strider was never shaken by anything. Ever. He just wasn’t.But now – now his brows were furrowed and his mouth a little slack.“this was a little unexpected is all” His strange choice of words showed Terezi how crushed he felt by what she’d said.“UN3XP3CT3D HOW?”“well, you never really gave me much of an impression like that you were just all cherry cheeks ya know”“1’M SORRY D4V3. HON3STLY, 1T’S M3 W1TH TH3 PROBL3M H3R3. 1 JUST DON’T W4NT TH4T K1ND OF COMM1TM3NT 4NYMOR3 FOR 4 WH1L3. 1 3NJOY3D 3V3RY S3COND W1TH YOU, 1 JUST DON’T W4NT TO B3 W1TH 4NYON3 FOR 4 WH1L3. 1 W4NT TO FOCUS ON MY MO1R41LL3G14NC3 4ND K1M3S1S. D4V3 4R3 YOU GONN4 CRY? L1KE TH4T T1M3 YOU H4D TO L3T THOS3 K1DS 4T F3F3R1’S WORK ‘COOK’ YOU? BUT TH1S 1S D1FF3R3NT FROM TH3N THOUGH 4ND…”Dave just set his jaw and blinked a few times, hoping his shades hid his reaction.“well fuck this whatever”He turned and walked away, his long gangly legs seeming to melt into the pavement with each step. Not like he was sad; like he didn’t care.But this would be one of the very few times Dave Strider actually did, and ever would, care.He rounded the corner, and was gone, the building where his next class – science – was held, obscuring him from Terezi’s view. Vaguely she realised that the bell had gone for the end of lunch as the hoards of ‘ignorant pi22head2’, as KARKAT and 2ollux had so aptly nicknamed everyone they didn’t like, swarmed past her in their mindless return to class. She allowed herself to be swept up in it, already feeling the hole the loss of a matespritship left.She sighed. High school fucking sucked for this shit.Time for another class where she was 3 weeks in front of the rest of them.“FUN.”
1083687	Dont Have A Choice But	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Deucalion (Teen Wolf), Peter Hale, Derek Hale, Cora Hale, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Talia Hale, Gerard Argent, Kali (Teen Wolf), Ennis (Teen Wolf), Vernon Boyd, Jennifer Blake", "Fandom": "Teen Wolf (TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by hoboshorts", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-15T00:00:00", "words": "3,668", "Additional Tags": "Angst, Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Canonical Character Death, Kinda Underage-ish but not really because werewolves, Peter is a cheeky bastard, Deucalion is patient but not desperate, and neither of them know how to deal with their feels", "Relationship": "Deucalion/Peter Hale", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Deucalion first notices him at a pack gathering. The gift, some say curse, had been good to this one. He looked a boy-- but was sipping champagne like he was an old hand at it. Or perhaps he was as young as he seemed but simply cheeky. Their eyes meet from across the room and all Deucalion can see is blue. Big blue eyes like sapphires set in an ivory face. The boy smiles and winks at Deucalion, draining the flute. Someone brushes against Deuc's side and he turns only a moment to mumble a quiet "Pardon me". When he looks up, the boy has vanished into the shadows. Yes. Cheeky, he decides.=-=-=His name is Peter Hale. Deucalion finds this out incidentally when the packs line up for a group photo and the boy stands at Talia's side when the Hales are called up to the steps. Peter slides an arm around Talia in a fraternal gesture and doesn't look Deuc's way at all. Weeks later, back in New York with his pack, he receives his framed copy of the photo. Deucalion sits back in his easy chair in his apartment, rubbing his chin in thought. Peter Hale's eyes are turned, unmistakably, towards him.=-=-= Catch me if you can. Deucalion stares at the note scrawled across the cocktail napkin that has suddenly appeared in front of him. The script is distinctly masculine in slant and he wonders at it a moment before looking up. Framed in the back door of the little dive bar Deuc and his pack had chosen for an evening of frivolity, features lit by the street lamp flickering outside, is Peter Hale. There is no mistaking him. Nor the signature manner in which he disappeared in the blink of an eye. Deucalion's up from the table before he can even question the strangeness of this meeting. Before he can take a moment to hesitate, to wonder at the young Hale's motives. The animal takes over the man, eyes flashing red, cutting through the dark as he exits without a word to his pack. Deuc is an Alpha-- he never walks alone. But now, he chooses to. It is nothing to pick up Peter's trail, the scent of Burberry and chicory coffee light on air that is somewhat damp even in the crisp of winter. Deuc follows it down alleys that get more narrow and industrial as he stalks through them speedily, all fours when it gets stronger. The gate is nothing to leap over and Deuc lands in a shipping yard, crates surrounding him. The scent is gone so he must rely on his other senses. He listens intently for the beat of a nervous Beta heart, for the quickening of breath exhausted from the long chase. He looks around-- there will be no hiding for Peter, Deuc's Alpha-enhanced vision cutting through the dark. Or so he thinks. The attack does not come from the ground nor from the air. Deucalion's legs crumple beneath him when a claw slices through tendon viciously, pain shooting up through them, pain when his face crashes into the gravel. He rallies, twists and swings a claw with a ferocious snarl, face ridged and fanged. It doesn't connect, Peter blocking it with the grate he'd been hiding beneath, Deuc's fingers sliding into the grooves harmlessly. There is nothing harmless in how Peter twists it to break said fingers before casting it aside, pinning Deucalion with his full weight. Peter's knees press to Deuc's shoulders painfully, a clawed hand around the Alpha's throat. Peter is red-cheeked and his golden stare is victorious and vicious and proud. His chest is working like a bellows and he seems so satisfied in that instant that Deuc can't help but think that he was born to be an Alpha. Peter's clawed thumb traces Deucalion's bobbing adam's apple slowly, thoughtfully. "That's you dead." he announces. "You think you have what it takes?" Deucalion questions in return, "Do you think you can be an Alpha? Then take it from me. Kill me now, if you are so certain." Peter looks hesitant, eyes darting over Deucalion's face. It is an opening and Deuc takes it, not above being unfair himself as he bites Peter's inner thigh. The boy howls in pain and jerks away instinctively. Deuc uses his momentum to roll them, wincing only a little as the movement jostles his healing legs. They flop over Peter, useless dead weight, but they will be working soon. Peter doesn't look away as Deuc roars his victory. He stares down his death without fear, face whiter from blood loss. Deuc's bite will not easily heal and Peter knows it. Knows he cannot break away or run now, clever and fast as he is. So he will use other means. Whether he knows it or not. "Not bad." Peter whispers, head back, throat bared. He is beautiful and Deucalion cannot find it in himself to finish this. He tells himself later, as he lifts Peter up, that it is because he does not want a vendetta to form between his pack and the Hales. He tells himself it has nothing to do with how much he wants to know the boy, how much Peter fascinates him with how he moves in shadow and still looks the part of an angel. He will tell himself that it is nothing of importance, nothing of consequence when he takes Peter to his home instead of back to the small studio apartment Peter is renting while he goes to school. That it means little when he cleans Peter's wound, first with warm water and then a warmer tongue. The coppery taste chased by the bitterness of Peter's come washing across his palate does not have significance, nor does the way Deucalion snarls and leaves another bite on Peter's shoulder as he comes, rutting between Peter's opening, welcoming legs. And there is nothing, nothing of value in the way he does it again and again until Peter is littered with bruises and teeth marks, nothing to note in how they pleasure each other to exhaustion. Deucalion just barely convinces himself that there is nothing to how he lets Peter's head rest on his chest, the boy swathed in the covers he'd stolen seconds ago. Nothing to how he holds him and kisses dark waves of hair until he too, falls asleep.=-=-=Peter is not only cheeky, he is intelligent. A dangerous combination even without the debacle of the night prior. Luckily for Peter, Deucalion admired intelligence. Their conversation over breakfast (Peter had cooked) turned to another session of sex (slower this time) up against the counter, Peter swathed in Deucalion's robe (it looked better on him). The shower took forever and by the time they were done they felt peckish enough to venture out. They went for lunch together at a cafe that Deuc frequented. Deuc learned that Peter ate like a bird instead of a wolf and that he scowled prettily when teased about it. Peter learned about Deuc immigrating from England after his pack had been scattered by the European hunters. Peter was in his last year at Parsons and lamented that he'd be returning to California on a more permanent basis. "You could stay." Deuc said before he could catch himself. Peter arched a brow at the older wolf and smiled demurely into his oolong tea. "A little soon, don't you think? Next thing you know we'll be picking out china patterns." "That's not what I meant, Peter..." "It's okay." the boy replies, wise eyes winking at Deucalion. "I know." After Deucalion pays the bill, they walk out. Deucalion has just slid his arm through his coat when Peter captures his hand. People look at them and Deuc has no chance to pull away without causing a fuss, so he holds Peter's hand back. And they walk out that way, hand in hand. Deucalion's eyes are only for the bright bruise that Peter's scarf doesn't hide at all and he squeezes the other wolf's hand tighter as Peter happily points out all the little places in the fashion district that he frequents.=-=-="You need to get your landlord to fix the bloody air conditioner. How do you even live like this?" Deuc complains, Peter's sheets sticking to his skin, soaked through from their fervent activities. "Stop trying to get me to stay with you." Peter responds muzzily, face planted in his pillow. Deuc curls up to his side, game given away and kisses at Peter's shoulder. He gets kicked out of the bed onto his rump when Peter grumbles about how he's making him too hot by clinging to him. Deucalion almost gets up to get dressed-- he's an Alpha he doesn't have to take this-- when Peter crawls down onto the floor and straddles him. "...it's actually cooler down here." he notes and then kisses and sucks at Deucalion's lips like he's dying for it.=-=-=It's the end of the summer and Peter is finishing the last of his packing, his trappings scattered over Deucalion's apartment where he has been living for two months after his lease ran out. Peter holds up a coffee mug of his that Deuc bought him. It is horrifyingly ugly, some strange configuration of acid green and blood orange with taupe stripes. He knows Deuc picked it out on purpose, a joke Peter had made about him being 'utterly color blind' when it came to design. Peter' s drank from it every morning since Deuc bought it and always would wash it instead of simply picking out another mug. Peter leaves it behind intentionally and takes the one sweater from Deucalion's closet he declared to be 'not entirely hideous'.=-=-=Deuc doesn't move the mug from its place of honor by the coffee maker and waits for a call that never comes. He doesn't know if he should be shocked or hurt when it was supposed to be nothing but fun. He should probably be relieved. Probably.=-=-=Peter doesn't wear the shirt, just keeps it beneath his pillow, inhaling deeply when he's frustrated from living with his 'perfect' sister. She will never be his Alpha. That title has already been taken.=-=-=They don't meet until a few years later, when the threat of overly bold hunters necessitates another pack gathering. Deucalion is too preoccupied with negotiating with the other Alphas to recall that Peter is still around. It is only when Talia, wise Talia with her dark knowing eyes, speaks to him, that he remembers. "Peter asked about you."=-=-=Peter is just as he recalled when they finally catch one another. He's quieter then Deuc recalls, stealthier. Stronger too, when Peter lands a rather impressive blow before Deuc wrestles him to the wall. "Why are you here?" Peter demands to know, impertinent as ever, heat from his face tangible as he raises it to Deucalion's. "Why do you care?" Deucalion replies, petulantly, edging nearer. "Why do you think I care?" Peter responds. His heartbeat isn't controlled for once, so startled by the encounter, and Deucalion can hear it thundering in his ears. "Why do you care if I think you care?" Deucalion whispers like a threat, breath away from Peter's lips. Their mouths mash together viciously and afterwards they agree that they don't know who moved first and they don't care either.=-=-="Don't do it." Peter says, fingertip ruffling the light smattering of curls surrounding Deuc's navel, tracing every ripple of his abdomen. "I have to. If there's any chance for peace, I must make the first step towards it." Deuc replied, cradling Peter's head to his and kissing him with affection. "I'm not going alone, pup. I have my pack." "And Gerard has his hunters." Peter said, eyes ringed gold, burning bright. "You can't trust the Argents." "They're better than most hunters, Peter. They have a code, they follow it, just as we follow our own." Deucalion explained patiently, knowing Peter would recoil from being talked down to. Surprisingly, he didn't, just staring at Deucalion with an unreadable expression. "Don't go." Peter's voice was small. "Please. It's a trap." "Peter." Deuc says, silenced by a kiss. "Don't go." Peter repeats against his lips. "Don't." Peter kisses his neck, his shoulder, draping himself over Deuc like a living shield. Deuc feels overwhelmed. Nothing has become something, somehow and he wants to cry from the sound of Peter casting aside his pride and begging him. "Please, Deuc." Deucalion gives a fierce growl and upends the beautiful Hale boy, kissing him into the mattress, framing his face with his hands. Peter doesn't think him strong enough, Peter doesn't see his vision. Deuc will convince him, with tongue and teeth and limbs. He will convince Peter that he will be fine and the peace that they struggle for will be won, will begin with him. He will convince him that they can be something instead of nothing, together. Peter is unconvinced, but he 'aaa's and 'oh's all the same. It is the last time Deuc sees him-- the last time he sees anything.=-=-="I told you so." he hears Peter sneer with disgust in his voice from the corner of the clinic's small operating area. Deucalion throws a jar of something in Peter's direction, hearing it miss, crash into the wall. And then Peter's gone, but Deucalion can swear he tastes the salt of tears in the air.=-=-=When Deucalion hears that voice again, it is older and rougher than he knew. "So what is your endgame?" Peter asks, feet crunching in the leaves. Deucalion doesn't turn, doesn't need to. Even before he was blind he was more than a match for Peter and his handicap matters little with all the power he's gained. Taken. For a moment, he's transported to a cold New York night, claws trailing over his throat. He casts it aside immediately. It meant nothing. "Wouldn't you like to know? From what I hear, you have your own subterfuge and deceptions to deal with. I wouldn't burden you with mine, Peter." Deucalion said with a slow smirk. Peter stuffed his hands into his pea coat, sighing in a put-upon way. Obviously he's just come from talking to Derek. Deucalion had smelled the younger Hale and his beta running through the forest, along with Scott McCall. "Well, I can't help but wonder... thusfar you've captured my niece and tortured her through three full moons now, taken my nephew's beta and turned him feral against his alpha... and to top it off, you're trying to kill Derek as well-- I can't help but wonder if this is a little personal, Deuc." Peter goaded, walking a slow circle around Deucalion. Deucalion didn't move. All he did was give a twitch of a smirk. "After all these years, it's still all about you, isn't it, Peter?" Peter made a soft, scoffing sound, more distant now, obviously retreating. "What's wrong with that?" he said and was gone.=-=-="Better keep that one on a tight leash." Peter advises, watching from a distance as his niece rushes to Derek's aid, the gaping wound left by Kali shoving a pipe through him knitting together slowly. Derek's lucky he's an alpha, otherwise there would have been no chance. "Kali does as she's told, unlike some people." Deucalion states, not even sparing a glance Peter's way. It's not like he could see him anyways, unless he shifts, which is unwise now that he's out of Derek's gloomy loft. He can practically hear Peter's slow smirk unfolding. "Or you're still as gullible as ever." Peter mused and Deuc feels the urge to punch him. Luckily the other wolf is gone before he does.=-=-=Everyone is expecting Peter to betray them, this he knows as the 'schemers are scheming'. The plan is terrible, as are most of Derek's plans, but that's not why he objects. "You can't beat a pack of Alphas." Scott argues, blandly moralistic as always. "That's why we're going after Deucalion." his niece says and Peter's face remains carefully blank. "Just him." And that's what he objects to. "Cut off the head of a snake and the body dies." Boyd oversimplifies. He's a nice enough kid but not all that bright-- Peter questions Derek's taste once again before speaking-- "Only this isn't a snake. It's a Hydra. And like Scott says, they're all alphas." "Deucalion's still the leader." Derek responds, giving Peter a sort of searching look. Peter makes sure he sees nothing. "Well let's hope so." Peter says, although he knows so. Because he knows Deucalion well, even this twisted version of him. Kali is toeing the line as is Ennis. One of them is going to be real dead real soon. "Because you know what happened when Hercules cut off one of the heads of the Hydra?" "Two more grew back in its place." Scott intones severely and Peter can't resist-- "Someone's been doing their summer reading." he says with a smirk and the knowledge that Scott will do all the rest on his own. The preemptive assault on Deucalion's apartment will not happen.=-=-=Peter still feels a dull ache when he watches his nephew plummet eight stories down. Despite all that had happened between them, all that hatred and hurt, Derek was still family. There is no body when he goes to search. Cora intercepts him there and he is appalled at his own suspicion of his niece for a moment. But it goes away. And as they search out Derek together, as they watch Kali scream to the heavens of Ennis' death-- as Peter places a firm hand on his niece's shoulder and guides her away with care... It's almost like they're family again, even for a moment, barriers of mistrust broken down. Death will do that to people.=-=-=Derek lives and Peter suspects that more than alpha healing is at work. He thinks about going to Deucalion, but doesn't. Let him deal with it on his own.=-=-=It's when Cora gets sick that Peter finally cracks. It's not Deucalion or his pack's fault-- not totally-- but Peter does take it personal this time. And he fights for someone other than himself for once. Deucalion watches this, watches Peter throw himself at the twins through a red tinted gaze, through the monitors. He cannot make out Peter's features, but he remembers those snarling teeth curled in a vicious mouth well. "There." Kali says, pointing to a camera showing a nearby hallway. Jennifer Blake's form scurries down the hallway. Kali's nails clack along the linoleum hurriedly. Deucalion knows she is trying to save face, to correct her error. He'll let her do so and then kill her. Meanwhile, Peter tries to correct some of his own errors-- for once even uncertain of his own motives.=-=-=There is nothing noble in Peter's next move. Or at least, he's fairly certain. As he watches the power drain from his nephew, he feels relief at seeing the paleness leave Cora's skin. She was always his favorite. But more than that, this meant the Hale throne was ripe for the taking. A long time ago, Peter had thought he might be content. Anger and jealousy of his sister had seemed to fade once. A knowing touch, a gentle smile and a warm, accented voice had been enough. Not anymore. Everything was going to hell and Peter didn't care. He'd already burned twice-- what was one more time?=-=-=Deucalion watches as all the pieces fall into place, one after another. One threat will destroy another. It was a lesson Gerard taught him well. I told you so. Deucalion slams the point of his spear into the earth in a fit of pique. Scott sends him a questioning glance, but is fortunately smart enough not to speak. Peter did know how to pick them.=-=-=The eclipse comes and they are both so helplessly human that of course, the thought crosses both their minds-- Is he alright? They try to dismiss it. It is nothing, all wolves think on that during the eclipse, worry about their own. It's nothing.=-=-=Peter roars his victory to the skies as Jennifer Blake bleeds out beside the nemeton. "A bit dramatic, don't you think?" He turns, chest heaving, face blood speckled. Deucalion stands before him, no walking stick in hand, eyes unblemished. Peter can't stand it, the pity in his stare. He wipes blood and flecks of his own spittle from his face, breaking eye contact first. "Maybe..." Peter mused, smirk empty. "So-- aren't you going to tell me I'm a sight for sore eyes?" he asked, stepping towards Deucalion. Peter's older-- they both are-- but it shows. Compared to the fresh-faced youth Deuc once know, this man is practically a stranger. Except the eyes. Big blue eyes that hint of madness, but still shine with intelligence and cunning. Deuc crosses the short distance between them, wary. Peter doesn't stop him, save to turn his head away when Deuc moves in for a kiss. "...you're too late." Peter stated as Deuc's lips grazed his temple. "There's nothing there." Deuc smiled wearily against Peter's sweat soaked skin, nose and brow bumping against Peter's hair. "And yet somehow... we always manage to make something out of nothing." Deucalion said. "We always come out on top." Peter looks up at that, uncertain, not something he was used to feeling anymore. It gives Deucalion the opportunity to take the kiss he'd sought earlier. Peter doesn't resist. "And I am nothing if not patient." "I assume this means I don't have a choice..." Peter said after a breath, body already orbiting towards Deucalion's like it was the most natural thing in the world. "No." Deuc replied. "But even if you did-- you'd still choose me." Peter's blue eyes are shadowed with grief and pain beyond compare. But they still light up at the words, just a little. It didn't matter that the world wouldn't forgive them for what they'd done. They'd forgiven each other. It was enough.
1093496	by fire by rain	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": null, "Characters": "Felicity Smoak, John Diggle, Oliver Queen (mentioned)", "Fandom": "Arrow (TV 2012)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by treble", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-23T00:00:00", "words": "1,743", "Additional Tags": "Team Arrow, Oliver-less Summer, Male-Female Friendship", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "John Diggle & Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, if you squint", "Series": null, "Collections": "Yuletide 2013", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "Gen, F/M", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	It rained all summer.Channel 52’s veteran meteorologist died during the earthquake – a heart attack, the number three most common cause of death from the night the Glades fell – and his replacement was a mass of quivering nerves and shiny teeth.“I hate the new kid.” Felicity slumped farther into the couch in her apartment, tugging so tightly on the strings of her hooded sweatshirt that only her nose and cheeks could be seen. She was wearing two pairs of socks and three layers everywhere else, and still she was cold.“I hear you,” Digg muttered from where he sat on the floor, leaning against the couch.Felicity impatiently flung off the hood, “It’s been almost a month, and I swear, if he explains our current weather front one more time by saying ‘El Niña!’ with his stupid jazz hands, well – I mean first, that isn’t scientifically possible, and second, that isn’t even grammatically correct! I mean, I guess there could be contexts when it would be correct, or rather, who am I to get into the gender politics of - ” Felicity caught Digg’s faint smile. “Whatever, the point stands. And the point is that guy,” she waved dismissively toward the TV, “is useless.”“Well said, Ms. Smoak.”“Why thank you, Mr. Diggle.” She made a halfhearted curtsy-like gesture, but without actually moving from where she was sprawled on the couch.The wind and rain began to pick up, and the power flickered, turning the television off in the process. From outside came the sounds of glass shattering and an air siren going off in the distance, matched in pitch by the howls of the Jacobson’s baby downstairs.When Digg spoke again, his voice was quieter, deeper. “So, how would you explain it, all of this?”She stared back at him for a long moment. Her best guess was that the earthquake machine had released an excessive amount of sulfur dioxide, methane, and nitrogen in a contained space, triggering changes to the local atmosphere and ecosystem. But despite all of her remarkability, environmental science wasn't really her thing. At MIT she only took two semesters of related coursework and that was only because it was the major of one Andrew Warren, of the really dreamy eyes and the full body lean, who had a unique ability to make flora and fauna sound like words worth blushing over.But here and now, no one seemed able to explain the exact science behind the Starling City weather phenomena – no one seemed to want to try. Most of the best scientists had already fled to Central City, either to get work on the particle accelerator, or to avoid lab break-ins from the burgeoning criminal population. The city remained in a state of emergency, with most businesses and schools closed indefinitely. Queen Consolidated was being scrutinized by three different government agencies, and no one knew whether there would be jobs to return to when the state of emergency was lifted. There was a constant murmur that the company was going to fail - that at best, the city's fourth largest employer was going to fire half of its employees before the summer was out. But the political elites were content to point and shriek at Moira Queen rather than acknowledge that the city was rotting below their feet.Yet the city clearly was in decay. Subterranean rivers had appeared seemingly from nowhere, running with water a shade too green and iridescent. Pets were dropping dead all over the city. And sometimes the rain burned, leaving tiny scars on people and concrete alike.Felicity was staring out the window considering her answer when Digg threw her another blanket from the basket on the floor. She wrapped it around herself gratefully, unaware that she'd been shivering.“This,” she gestured expansively while peering down at him, “this is just my chance to finally take that semester abroad in London.”Digg raised his eyebrow.“I mean, I always wanted a semester abroad in London. Who wouldn’t? Men with accents, Doctor Who, again, those accents… But my family couldn’t afford it. So here we are," she ticked off with her fingers, "It rains all the time, it’s cold most of the time, and sometimes, it’s even foggy. I just need to find a comic con of sorts, and we’ll be all set. London semester abroad, check.” She did a fist pump into the air and let out a halfhearted, "woo!"Digg grinned, tapping his fingers on his thighs. “Yeah, we’re going to need to get you to London for real. I bet Oliver could come up with a work-related reason.”The smiles on their faces faded slightly at the mention of Oliver.He’d been gone for more than three weeks. Felicity woke up from another nightmare to find his phone on top of the pillow next to her. Right below it was her favorite of his sweatshirts, and in its front pocket were the five GPS chips she thought she had covertly slid into different pairs of his shoes.No note, just the slightest indentation on her bed where she could almost make out his shape.Digg cleared his throat. “I went to a lot of places while I served. But I rarely had the chance to see any of them.”“No?” Felicity asked.Digg shook his head.“So where would you go if you could have a semester abroad?”Digg stared pensively at the coffee table, “I don’t know, maybe Morocco? I had a friend, a close friend, well, she saved my life in Morocco once. Never felt like I gave it a fair shot.”“Oooh, a close friend, like a girlfriend?” Felicity teased.Digg gave her an exasperated smirk, before pointedly looking at her topmost layer - Oliver’s sweatshirt.Felicity could feel a blush racing up her neck so she pulled the blankets up over her shoulders with an imperious sigh.“I’m just saying," he snorted, "I didn’t get any parting gifts. And Queen’s got some nice ties…”"Yeah, I'm sure you would have loved to wake up to your entire apartment decorated in Oliver's $200 ties. What exactly would you have done with all that Gucci? And besides, with Oliver, who knows where they've been. Fifty/fifty chance that his average tie has been used either recently as a lethal weapon or previously as a sex toy. Possibly involving Russian triplets - in either scenario." "Well, hey..." Digg shrugged, looking amused.Then she abruptly blurted, “I didn’t really want to go to London.”Digg glanced up at her in surprise.She continued quietly, “Before, I said I wanted to go study abroad in London. I didn’t. Total lie. I hate the rain. It makes me sad and sullen and my hair frizzy, and what I really wanted was to go to Spain and basically have a life like L'auberge Espagnole. Except I wanted to wear bright red bikinis all the time. And tell people my name was Nadia. I think I probably can’t ramble as much in a foreign language. I mean, I guess I could, but it would just be random nouns strung together, without verbs or adjectives, which somehow seems like it would be less embarrassing.”“That logic is completely sound,” he gently teased.Felicity fixed him with a mock glare that quickly faded into a smile.The power flickered again, and this time when it came back on, the television roared back to life.On Channel 52, the new meteorologist was doing emphatic jazz hands as he tried to explain away some kind of glow cloud hovering over the Harbor Bridge.“Alright, why don’t you show me one of your Doctor Who episodes before you get all Hood on the television.”“You don’t have to get back to Carly?”Digg scratched the back of his neck. “No. Not tonight.”Felicity waited but he avoided her gaze.“So? Doctor Who?" he prompted, "Let’s go. I’ll give you one episode to convert me, so pick a good one.”Felicity queued up the DVD while Digg grabbed a bowl of pretzels from the kitchen and settled in the chair next to the sofa.“A blue police box, in Utah, in an alien museum, in 2012. Man, this is really pressing all my buttons.”“Hush!” Felicity snapped.The watched quietly for a few moments before Digg started chuckling.“Felicity, c’mon. That’s a villain? It looks like a pepper shaker, or a door knob, or at worst, a spiky metallic mushroom.”Felicity threw a pillow at him.“Digg, sometimes the worst villains are the ones you underestimate." She reached up and determinedly tightened her ponytail. "And the scariest villains are the ones who can make their villainy seem like it’s your fault. Because you helped created them, you and your choices. Or you just failed to stop them, when you could have. Or you do stop them, and it isn’t enough. So it’s like they have a piece of you. I don’t know, maybe somehow-”“Hey, Felicity,” Digg interrupted, staring at her with a level gaze, “things are going to get better. I promise.”She nodded slowly.“I know,” she said. “That’s because we’re going to fix them.”Digg studied her face intently before leaning back with an easy smile. “Well, yes ma’am.”She beamed in response, giving him a mock salute before reaching over to grab the bowl of snacks on the table."Hey, Digg?" Her voice was soft, more hesitant than it had been only minutes earlier.He glanced over at Felicity. She was looking out the window with a faint frown on her face, the snack bowl still resting in her lap."Do you think he's okay?" Digg reached over and gave her arm a light squeeze. "I do, Felicity. I really do. I just think he's dealing with this the best way he knows how.""And that couldn't involve board games and Doctor Who marathons?" she asked lightly."Poor guy has no idea what he's missing.""I mean, you don't even know what he's missing since you keep talking through everything. So I call a mulligan - you have to watch one more episode after this one. Or maybe just this one again from the start. It's a really good one."Digg shrugged. "Whatever, for tonight I've got nowhere to be. Do your worst. But this does not set a precedent for the future."Felicity did a tiny victory dance as they both turned back to the television.Outside, the rain sizzled.
1091287	Drift	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin \| Mr. Gold, Prince \"Charming\" James \| David Nolan, Huntsman \| Sheriff Graham, Baelfire \| Neal Cassidy, rumbelle - Character", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by notalwayslate", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-20T00:00:00", "words": "9,249", "Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Rumbelle Secret Santa", "Relationship": "Belle/Rumplestiltskin \| Mr. Gold", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Once Upon a Time (TV), Pacific Rim (2013)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“Spinster, you are clear for release. Drop in 60 seconds.” “Copy that, Command. Papa, you ready for this? The biggest category 3 Kaiju on record.” “I think the question you should be asking, son, is if this son of a bitch is ready for us.” The countdown echoed throughout the module. “Drop in four, three, two, one.” Even with 12 kills under their belt, a hint of nervousness washed over Gold as the massive Jaeger splashed down into the ocean. Doubt had no place in this war, let alone in his head. “We got this, Papa,” Bae whispered, instantly feeling the doubt that tried to cloud his father’s mind. “Spinster, we detect a Kaiju signature coming at your left side, 30 yards.” “Copy, Command. Come on Papa, let’s try to get this one done quickly. I hear they are serving beef stew back at the station tonight.” The ocean seemed to part, as a shark-faced Kaiju emerged from the water. As they had before, father and son made the first move… grabbing the Kaiju around the neck, lifting, and pile driving it. The impact caused massive waves in the ocean. As the Kaiju started rising for round two, the father and son pilot duo wasted no time. They charged, lifting the Jaeger’s right arm, and initiating a photon blaster gun which sent a jolt of firepower, blasting the creature. The impact of the blow pushed the Kaiju back. In retaliation, the monster opened his mouth and spat a blue acid substance that landed on the left side of the Jaeger’s face. “Malfunction, circuit overload,” the Jaeger’s system blared the warning. “Command, we seemed to have been hit with some sort of acid from this Kaiju. It seems to be melting into our circuitry. Papa, we need to get…” His son’s words sounded like a distant echo as Gold was suddenly overcome with a distant memory. Before him was his father, Malcolm. “I’m not meant to be a father. You were a mistake.” Malcom’s words were filled with bitterness. “Don’t leave me, Papa, we need to be together. I can be better, please don’t leave me.” Gold pleaded in his memory. “Papa! Shit… Papa! Dad, I need you.” Bae screamed at his father, trying to pull him back to the present. “Spinster, your Neural bridge is recalibrating, left hemisphere is out of alignment,” Bae instantly recognized the voice of Marshall Graham coming from the Command Center. “You must get him back in alignment.” “Papa!” Bae screamed. “Papa, don’t latch on to this memory. I need you, Papa!” Alarms continued to blare around the Jaeger, as the Kaiju swiped at the left leg, shattering it to pieces. “Spinster, left leg has gone cold.” The abrupt neurological pain that flooded his left leg was enough to jolt Gold out of his past, and into the reality at hand. He turned to his son. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, son.” “You can be sorry tonight, right now just help me kill this beast.” Gold lifted his control, his mind realigned into the Jaeger and more importantly with his son. “Dagger activation.” “Dagger activation, Pa...” Suddenly the right side of the compartment ripped open from the massive claws of the Kaiju. Gold turned in time to see his only son torn from the module; as his body flew out the hole in the side. “Baeee!!!” The pounding on his door jostled him from his nightmare. Nick twisted his head, taking in his surroundings as the adrenaline rushed out of his sweating body. He was in his bed, and there was the god awful pounding again. Usually his hangovers didn’t make his head throb this way, but today the pounding was endless. It took him a moment to realize that the noise wasn’t coming from inside his head; it was someone at his door. Impossible. No one ever came over to his place, and yet the continuous knocking on his door indicated someone was there. He stumbled out of bed and made his way through the dark, cold, studio apartment. Nick shielded his eyes from the sun and opened the door. Standing before him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Her curly chestnut hair cascaded down past her shoulders, and she had the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He must still be asleep. That was the only logical explanation. “Mr…” she paused a moment at his disheveled hair, and clothing. Suddenly, Nick felt like he’d rather crawl under a rock than to have this dazzling creature staring at him. “Mr. Gold, I presume?” Not knowing what to say, and still in awe of how her lips framed the most perfect smile he had ever seen in his life, he just nodded. She turned her head to the right, nodding her head yes, when an all too familiar face appeared from the side standing next to the beauty. “Well, I could say you look like hell, but I think I would be too kind.” The man stated with a smirk. Nick went to close the door, but the man’s foot blocked the doorway. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying, so I suggest you and your pretty little thing get the hell out of here.” He tried more forcefully to again close the door, but again the foot didn’t budge. “Just give us ten minutes.” Her sweet voice pleaded. It was an unfair advantage to have this angel ask him for anything. “I’ll give you five.” And with that, Nick opened the door and let the two of them in. The clanking of glass bottles rang through the apartment, as the two visitors made their way across the floor heading towards the small couch. “I’d ask how you’ve been but I think the answer is pretty clear.” “What do you want, Graham?” “Well that’s Marshall Graham, actually, and isn’t a host supposed to offer his guests a drink? Preferably something that doesn’t come from a bottle?” Nick’s nostril’s flared. He stared down the Marshall. Sensing the tension, the woman stood up from the couch, and extended her perfect hand. “Mr. Gold, I’m Belle French.” Nick barely grasped her fingers into his palm. “Do you have any coffee?” “I’m…I’m not sure, I may have some in the kitchen.” She smiled again. “Well why don’t I go check and see if I can make us a few cups, while you two talk?” Before Gold could answer, she was heading towards the small kitchenette. Dumbfounded, Nick turned his attention back towards Graham. “Who is she?” “My brightest, a damn good ranger, and the reason I’m here.” His interest peaked; Nick sat down in the chair and listened. In the background, Nick could hear the opening and closing of cabinets, and jostling around in the kitchen drawers. Graham explained how the Kaiju were winning this war. That the government was only giving the Jaeger program 8 more months of funding before they pursued other actions. “Here we go.” Belle came walking into the small living space, with three mixed matched cups. “I couldn’t find any coffee, but I did find some tea. She handed Graham a green mug, Nick the blue one, and she held a small teacup that Nick didn’t even recall owning. Belle sat down on the couch next to Graham, and Nick watched her bring her delicate lips to the cup and take a small gulp of the contents. He had never wanted to be a cup more in his life. He placed his mug down on the cluttered coffee table, and sat back in his chair. “So we are losing the war. I don’t really know what that has to do with me.” Graham opened his mouth to speak, but Belle cut him off. “You are one of the best Jaeger pilots that ever fought. You defeated more Kaiju than any other team. We need you. Your expertise, your knowledge…your skills. You are one of the only remaining Mach 3 Jaeger pilots left and we need you to help us.” Gritting his teeth he tried not to choke on the bile that rose in his throat. “Well, if you are aware of my accomplishments, then I assume you are well aware of my failures. I left and I have no intention of ever going back.” “I understand that you…”Graham was not able to complete his sentence before Nick cut off whatever condescending advice he may have. “Don’t tell me what you think you understand, Marshall. You didn’t lose your son. You didn’t feel the moment that he died. You don’t know what it is like to relive that moment, to feel it, every day of your life. To avoid sleep, because you know he is waiting there to die every night in your dreams. You don’t…” Now Nick was the one who was cut off. Not by words, but sheer surprise when Belle got up off the couch, and headed toward the only window in the room. She drew back the curtain, and was tying it up to the side. “What are you doing?” Nick asked flabbergasted. “Just letting some light in. I’m afraid you have been in the dark for far too long, Mr. Gold.” She walked back towards the couch, but instead of sitting where she previously sat, she planted herself down on the coffee table directly in front of Nick. Her blue eyes were filled with such warmth that it inflicted Nick with a humble silence. “I’m very sorry about your son. I can’t presume to understand how you must feel. I lost my mother in a Kaiju attack in Sydney. The truth of the matter is that we are losing more Jaegers then we ever have before. The Kaiju are evolving, adapting to our fighting techniques, and the newest ones are putting up increasingly effective resistance. We only have a handful of Jaeger’s left. And with the little funding that we have, the restoration program was only able to restore one Jaeger, Spinster. I know you lost your son, but I am asking you to help us. We have lost so many in the Jaeger program, and we will continue to lose them unless something changes. Will you help us, Mr. Gold?” Hypnotized by her warmth and beauty, Nick had to blink a few times to get his rational thoughts back in order. She had a point. He had lost his son, but how was he honoring his memory? By hiding away, by being a hermit for the rest of his life? He looked over at Graham. “Even if I considered this, and I am not saying that I am, do you really think I would be allowed back?” Graham smirked. “Well, when Belle suggested to the committee the idea of bringing you back, I believe Commander Mill’s words were over her dead body.” Nick smirked. “Well if that is not incentive enough, then I don’t know what is.” X It was only his second day back on the base, but Nick already was regretting this decision. Every pair of eyes that lay upon him were filled with disgust and hatred for this former pilot, who was now labeled a deserter and coward. At lunch he sat down at a table by himself, ever the outcast. “Well, well, well if isn’t the coward of the county.” Nick didn’t even have to look up to recognize the man behind the voice. Killian “Hook” Jones. Killian and his brother were one of the top Jaeger teams. He was given the nickname “Hook” due to his mean right hand and how it delivered him countless victories against the Kaiju. “I had heard the rumors, but I can’t believe they were really desperate enough to bring you back here.” Nick continued to stare at his tray. “Where did they find you? Hmm? Laying on some beach somewhere, while the real men stayed and fought this war?” Nick could feel the trembling in his hands. Rage was building as he stood up from his chair. He took one step towards the smug bastard’s face, when he felt a hand on his chest holding him back. “Just relax there, buddy.” Nick flicked the man’s hand away from his chest. “I’m not your buddy, and I suggest you never touch me again,” Nick hissed. “Whatever, man. We have enough fighting going on out there, we don’t need it in here. Hook, just go back to your table.” Killian shot daggers towards Nick, and then smiled bringing his hand up to his head in a mock salute, as he walked away. “Making friends as always I see, Gold.” “Well, it’s a specialty of mine. What can I say?” Gold sat back down, as Ranger David Nolan stood above him. David Nolan, and his twin brother James, were some of the best Jaeger pilots since the start of the program. David was always a by the book type of guy, and was nicknamed Charming for having a way of getting everyone to like him. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. If you are here to fight, then you are here to fight. I will try to keep them away from you.” Nick gave a stiff nod of acknowledgment. “Do you have any idea on who they are thinking of trying to pair you up with?” Nick just shook his head no. It was a hot topic among the base. Who would be the unlucky soul paired with a coward who got his last Jaeger copilot killed? “Ms. French has arranged a list of potential partners for me.” “Well, good luck to you.” And with that, David walked away and joined the table with his brother and other pilots. “You should have just let me clock that coward, mate,” Killian spat at David. “Show some respect, Killian. The man lost his son in battle. He’s only the second person to have ever successfully piloted a Jaeger by himself.” “Right, the coward lost his son, but somehow managed to save his own skin when it counted. Whoever agrees to pilot with him is signing his own death warrant.” “That’s enough. When he is paired with someone, Gold will be out there fighting beside us. Keep your hatred focused on the real enemy, the Kaiju.” Killian sneered at David. “That coward is going to get us all killed, mark my words.” X Gold found this to be hopeless, as he finished his 6th tryout with another incompatible Ranger. To find anyone drift compatible seemed to be an impossible task. Gold could not imagine ever letting anyone else inside of his head, and the other Rangers seemed to not be able to trust a man many blamed for his own son’s death. Perhaps this was his curse. He made decisions, choices, in the war and in his life; now he had to live with the consequences. The clank of the tray landing on the table was enough to snap Gold out of the monotony of his solitary lunch. He lifted his head, his gaze landing on the blue eyes of Ms. French looking down on him. “Mind if I sit here?” Before his mind could register her question, she was already sitting across from him. He instantly looked around, confusion landing on his face as he saw empty chairs scattered throughout the dining hall. “What are you doing?” His voice came out raspier then he expected, but if memory served him right, it had been at least three hours since he had spoken to anyone. And even that had only been two words to a young ranger who had the misfortune of standing in his way. Gold watched as she cast her eyes on her tray, cutting a piece of chicken. “Eating.” “Well I can see that, dearie. What I mean is what are you doing sitting here at this table with me?” She shrugged her shoulders, still staring too intently on the piece of chicken on her tray. “It’s as good as a place as any, I think.” She lifted the white plastic fork to her mouth, and took a bite of the overcooked food. “The Marshall has ordered me to make another list of candidates for you, but I think we both know that is just a waste of time.” Nick scoffed. “A waste of time? Well thanks for the assurance. And why do you think it would be a waste of time, Dearie? If I remember correctly, it was you that wanted me here in the first place.” “I did. I still want you.” Her cheeks blushed at her own words. “What I mean is that you have to try to let someone in. I watched you during the tryouts. You hold back. You go in believing that you have no match, that no one will be drift compatible with you.” “Well, I’m a difficult man to love.” “You have to let someone in.” “Tell me Ms. French, have you ever drifted with anyone before?” Her sudden fascination with her tray was all the answer that he needed. “I didn’t think so. So let me explain it to you. The drift doesn’t allow for hiding, it doesn’t allow for lies. It’s two people, completely in each other’s heads. Memories, secrets, everything that makes you what you are is being shared with another. You will never be connected to another person in your entire life, the way you are when you are drifting with someone. You are…one.” Belle stared at him, apparently at a loss for words. She bit her lip as she looked back down at her tray, and Nick noticed a lock of hair that fell down to her face. His hand suddenly itched to tuck it behind her ear. He looked down at his half eaten tray, the food looking even less appealing than ever. He willed himself to look back up at her. Her chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail, he watched as she took bite after bite of her food. He couldn’t help but notice her lips as the enclosed upon the fork. Feeling a tightening in his chest, Nick stood without saying a word, bobbling the tray as he leaned over to lift it. Looking at Ms. French, he saw a small smile creep on her lips. Acknowledging her with a quick nod, he turned and walked over to the trash can; throwing away the tray of food. Gold took one step, before cursing at himself. He stepped back, digging his hands into the can, pulling out the metal tray. What was wrong him? Hands shaking, he took the tray and placed it on a conveyor belt leading back to the kitchen. Without looking back, he walked out of the dining hall and headed to his room. He shook his head thinking of how many times he ate lunch there and never once did he discard the tray along with his food. He wondered if Belle had noticed. Was she laughing at him now? Maybe she was heading back to a table with younger, more handsome, Rangers, collecting the money that she surely must have won from a dare to sit with the cowardly beast at lunch. What other explanation could there have been? A beautiful smart woman does not converse with the cowardly outcast for nothing. Gold tried not to think of her but, as he closed his eyes that night, her pretty pink lips were the last thought on his mind. X Nick’s pulse raced the next day at lunch when he took his usual place at his table for one. He didn’t dare glance up to scan the room, not wanting to seem desperate in search for something or someone. A familiar clatter brought an unwanted simper on his face, as Belle sat down yet again across from him. This time he found his voice before she did hers. “Back for seconds, dearie?” She narrowed her crystal blue eyes at him, before her lips formed a smirk. She didn’t respond, but took out a small paperback book that she must have had in her pocket. Laying the book flat on the table, she opened to the dog eared page, and started reading. Once she opened the book, Nick felt like he had an itch that he couldn’t scratch. Her eyes and attention were on the pages, when he wanted them to be on him. He woke up that day dreading that she would sit next to him again, but now that she was here, he was jealous that the book held her attention. He looked down, mixing the vegetables on his tray, and took a few bites of his lunch. Nick scolded himself for stealing glances, and scolded himself more when he felt deflated that her attention was still on the small paperback book. After what felt like hours, but in reality was only ten minutes, he stood from his seat. The scraping of the chair finally lifted her blue eyes away from the pages and on him. “Have a good day, Mr. Gold.” He nodded, “You as well, Ms. French.” The same occurred the next day, and the day after. Belle came in, sat down at the small table, and read her book, while Nick tried not to hold his gaze on her for too long. She was fascinating to watch. She would lick her lips every two pages, take a bit of food after every other paragraph. He could tell when she was fascinated by the words as her eyes would squint slightly and then go wide again. It was after a week, when she returned to the table with a slightly larger book, that Nick decided to make a move before she got too invested into her next story. It started out with asking her how her day had been going. Small chitchat for the next three days or so, but then as the days passed, words and smiles seemed to flow more freely between the two of them. By the end of the third week, Belle eschewed her books altogether for the company of Nick. It had been so long since he had any connection to anyone really, let alone the most enticing woman that he had ever seen in his life. Nick found himself feeling more and more at ease when thinking of her smile or her neck, or more importantly what his teeth would feel like against her skin. It was the next day as he sat at the table alone, that he felt the all too familiar pang in his chest, as his stomach clenched into a tiny ball. She wasn’t there. He scanned the room, and did not know if he should feel relief or disappointment when he did not see her there in the company of anyone else. He quickly reevaluated every word, every syllable he had ever uttered to her over the last few weeks. He was a fool. He probably had said something idiotic that he didn’t even realize that sent her screeching away from him. But…he felt the doubt battle with his self-pity. What if she was sick? Maybe she was in her room, in bed, or at the infirmary. Not eating another bite, Nick found his feet leading him down to the medical unit. After a quick inquiry, he learned to his relief that she was not there. Rounding the hallway to the west wing, his heart stuttered to a stop, when he saw his beauty walking towards him, her attention on a one of many folders that she held in her grasp. When she looked up and saw him, the smile that she adorned let him know instantly that he was in over his head. X Her room was roughly the same 10 foot square as his, and yet it felt homier and more delicate. He quickly scanned the few pictures she had hanging on the wall. One of her and Graham, and another one of a child with an older gentleman, who he assumed to be her father. “Is this you?” he asked lifting the picture, as if the child’s piercing blue eyes were not a dead giveaway. “Yep, that’s me and my Dad, about ten years ago.” She motioned to him to sit on the only furniture in her room, her bunk. It felt too sacred, the small mattress that she laid her pretty head and body on every night. Definitely not something an old monster like himself should be allowed to even touch, but alas Nick felt himself curling his body onto it. He took as little space as he could near the foot of her bed. She soon joined him, sitting near the middle of the mattress, their legs only inches away from touching. “I apologize for not letting you know I wouldn’t be there today, but as soon as I was getting ready for lunch, Graham asked me to review the latest analysis we received from the Swan squad.” Nick could not reject the relief that coursed through his veins as he let out a small breath. She wasn’t avoiding him, he hadn’t somehow screwed this up yet. “I figured you may have had enough of the Beast.” He didn’t mean to confess this insecurity however his tongue seemed bewitched by her presence. “Don’t say that.” She breathed quietly, as she lifted her hand placing it on top of his. He clenched his fist at her contact, grabbing part of the perfectly made bed sheet in his hand. The heat that resonated from her skin against his was scorching his very soul. He found himself gawking at her lips, wondering what they would taste like. He had to snap himself out of this enchantment before he embarrassed himself. “So…” Nick pulled his attention from her to the first thing he could see, the picture of her and her father. “Your father must be very proud of you.” She gave a waned smile. “I would like to think that, but that really isn’t the case.” His eyebrows burrowed in confusion, as Belle continued. “He didn’t want me to join. He had other ideas of how he thought my life should be.” “Maybe he was just worried about your safety?” Gold knew better than anyone the worry that came with having a child in the service. The only thing that kept him sane when Bae had told him that he wanted to join the Jaeger program was that he knew that he would be there with him every step of the way to protect him. “Maybe.” She shrugged. “Being just the two of us, you could say that he was overprotective of me. He just couldn’t understand why I wanted to join. When my mother died, it lit a fire in me. I waited until I was 18, and thought do the brave thing, and bravery will follow. So, I joined the Rangers. I couldn’t save my mother that day but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t save others from Kaiju attacks.” “So you want to be a pilot?” “More than anything. I have over 50 kills in the simulator.” “I’m surprised Marshall hasn’t put you in a Jaeger yet, with those scores.” Gold could see the eagerness in her eyes to fight, to be a hero. He had it once upon a time, and saw it in his son’s eyes every time they entered the Spinster. “Well, maybe one day,” she said with a soft smile as her eyes fixated on his. They stared at each other before Gold finally fumbled off her bed. “I guess I should go get ready, I believe there’s another round of tryouts in an hour or so. Will you be there?” he asked in a whisper. “Of course.” She said standing up only inches from his face. “We have to find your match.” His breathing staggered as he looked at her. It took all of his willpower to walk out of her room and back to his own. X “That was the last one on the list, Marshall.” Belle whispered, as the last candidate left the room. “We are expecting a Kaiju attack any day now, Gold. I do not have the time or patience to waste having Ms. French gather another group of Rangers for your choosing.” Graham closed the folder containing the lists of all of the men Gold had rejected. “One will be chosen for you.” Gold glowered at the Marshall. “You damn well know that drifting isn’t as simple as just picking someone who looks good on paper. The stronger the bond, the better you fight. I thought you wanted us to win this war.” “Don’t you ever question my authority again! Do you understand me, Ranger? I gave you enough time to find someone, and now I am taking matters into my own hands.” “Her!” Gold pointed his finger at Belle, her eyes widened in surprise. “This is not Ms. French’s fault, she combed through every record to find you the best matches…” “No, I’m not blaming her. I want her. She is my copilot.” Outrage filled the Marshall’s eyes, and flowed through in his voice. “She is not an option.” “Graham, please.” Belle reached her hand to touch his shoulder. “I can do this.” “No.” Graham gritted between his teeth, as he turned walking out of the room. Belle followed, leaving Gold standing in the room alone. He had no idea what had come over him, but he knew that the only person he had ever felt a connection, a bond towards in this entire base, was the blue eyed, chestnut haired, Ranger that had just walked out. “Why not?” Belle challenged, following close behind Graham. He stopped, looked around, and pulled her into a small room, where other eyes and ears would not be purvey to their conversation. “He’s not the right one for you.” “He is. I felt it the moment I laid eyes on him. I’ve gotten to know him over the last month. We will make a good team. I want this. Why can’t you let me make my own decision, it is my life, my fate. Don’t take this away from me.” Graham turned his back on her. “If you haven’t forgotten I am still your commanding Marshall. I am responsible and I will decide the fate of every ranger in this building, do you understand me?” “Yes,” tears welled in Belle’s eyes. Graham moved towards her, cupping her face in his hands. “I did not save you all of those years ago, just to put you with some beast.” “I trust him. He’s not what you think he is. Please. Just give me a chance.” X Gold tried to stand perfectly still as the workers put the final touches on his circuitry suit. His mind speculated which young Ranger the Marshall had chosen for him, during this pilot to pilot protocol run. He heard the stomps of a second suit entering the pod. He turned and, to his astonishment, saw Belle standing there. Overwhelmed with feelings of elation and relief, he wanted to communicate so many things but the only word that seemed to leave his mouth at the site of her was, “Hey.” “Hey yourself.” She replied with a grin. They both took their places in the left and right pilot bay. Belle could hear Marshall’s voice coming over the control. We are going to start testing of the Neural handshake in ten seconds. “Roger that, Control.” Belle replied. “Just let the memories flow, Belle. Don’t latch on to any specific one.” Gold stated. “Neural handshake in three, two, one.” Belle felt a burst of electricity flow through her, as memories and images that were not her own began flooding into her consciousness. Memories of Gold’s childhood, the birth of his son, birthdays, holidays; every aspect of his life was now melded into her. “Neural interface complete. We have a successful neural handshake.” “Was there every any doubt?” Gold questioned, almost hearing the gritting of the Marshall’s teeth in the control box. “Okay Belle why don’t we…” Gold turned his head expecting to see Belle, but instead he saw his son standing there in his Jaeger circuitry suit. “Bae?” Suddenly the module wall ripped away, and Gold watched as his son is ejected out. “NOOOO!!” Gold screamed, as all too familiar alarms rang out inside the Jaeger. “Gold is out of alignment.” The panicked voice of the Marshall snapped Gold back to reality. He opened his eyes, back in the practice module with Belle once again in the right hemisphere. “I’m alright I’m alright. Just got caught up in a memory, I’m stabilizing.” Gold shook his head. “Yes, left hemisphere is stabilizing, but right is now spinning out of alignment.” Gold turned looking at Belle, who stood silently her gaze fixated on nothing before her. “Belle, Belle?” Gold could feel her slipping. Slipping into a memory. “Control, she’s chasing the rabbit, she’s going down the hole.” “Damnit” Marshall cursed over the system. “Ranger French, Belle you need to listen to my voice. This is your Marshall speaking, Belle. I order you to answer me.” Gold could feel Belle sinking deeper and deeper. Suddenly there was ash falling from the sky like snow. She was just a girl, only 12. He was witnessing her memory. She was alone, holding her dead mother’s hand as her body was buried under debris from a destroyed building. A loud roar caused Belle to let go of her mother’s hand. She cried, running and hiding in an alley. Nick could see the Kaiju was only a block down from her. “Belle, sweetheart, look at me, this is not real, you are caught in a memory, none of this is real.” He saw her crying blue eyes look up the sky as a Jaeger was being dropped into the city. “Pull the plug. damnit.” Gold could hear the Marshall’s orders in the background but he tried to focus his attention on the little girl. “Belle.” He fell silent as he watched her walk out of the alley, and into the disseminated street. Standing behind her was the dead Kaiju and before her the victorious Jaeger. The top hatch opened, and Gold looked up to see a familiar face emerging from the top. Gold felt a sudden pull, and before he knew it, his reality of Belle’s memory turned back to the simulation pod where he was with Belle. “Neural bridge invalid. Drift sequence terminated.” X It was not until the next morning when Gold was able to finally speak with Belle. After the failure of their drift sequence, the doctor’s had taken them both to separate quarters for routine observation. Gold knocked on her door, and she let him in without saying a word. They sat down on her bed. After moments of silence, it was Belle who spoke. “I’m so sorry, Nick. I let you down. I let everyone down.” Surprised by her apology, Nick shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. I was the one who got us off track. I fell. I broke our bridge first. It was your first time; of course you would fall into a memory of your own. This wasn’t your fault. I’m more experienced, I knew better.” “I felt it.” Belle said tears in her eyes. “When you latched on to the memory…of your son. I felt what you felt. I felt the pain, the grief, from when he died.” Gold swallowed, feeling his mouth going dry. He tried to fight the own tears forming in his eyes. “Feeling that just jolted me into my own memory of being overwhelmed with grief and fear.” Belle explained. “Why didn’t you tell me that it was the Marshall that saved you from the Kaiju attack that killed your mother?” Belle looked at Gold in surprise. “I saw it. You can see my memories and I can see yours. I saw him come out of the top of the Jaeger when you were a small girl.” “He doesn’t really like anyone knowing about it. He was only 22 years old when he saved my life. He became a big brother to me. He is the reason I wanted to be a Jaeger pilot. Once I joined, he took me under his wing. He saved my life, and I love him and respect him.” Gold stood careful not to look her in the eyes. He was afraid he would not be able to do what needed to be done if he had to go up against her eyes. “I’m going to leave by the end of the week.” “What?” Belle stood her voice cracking with despair. “You can’t.” “This was a mistake. The fact is that I am not the man you think I am. You are the person I have the strongest connection with. I felt it today, when we drifted, we were one. I have never let another person into my head like that. Only my son. But I am not going to risk your life. How am I going to keep you safe in this war? I am too busy fighting the monsters in my own head, to help you fight the ones out there.” “Okay, so today didn’t quite go as well as we had planned, but that doesn’t mean that we just give up. It was our first drift. We are learning, learning about each other. It takes time, but this,” she pointed her finger at her and then him. “This connection, this bond we have. It is real. I know you feel it.” “Of course I feel it, Belle. But after everything you saw today. After seeing all my memories, seeing the man I really am, how is it that you haven’t just given up on me?” Biting her lip, Belle took a step forward, willing herself to be brave as she looked at him. “I learned a long time ago. When you find something that is worth fighting for, you never give up.” Before he could convince himself not to, Gold had wrapped his hands around Belle’s waist and pulled her towards him. He leaned his forehead against hers as he spoke. “I never thought I would be able to let anyone else in after losing Bae.” He closed his eyes, drowning in her scent. “I’m glad you did.” The drift allowed her into his head, but he made the decision to let her into his heart. He pulled his forehead away, letting himself drink in her beautiful blue eyes so filled with warmth. He moved slowly, only centimeters away from her lips, when the blaring of the Kaiju attack alarm jolted them both back. X Gold and Belle watched as the Marshall sent off two teams, Mulan and Aurora in the Sleeping Warrior Jaeger, and the Jolly Roger which was piloted by Kilian and his brother. After the battle with two class 3 Kaijus only one team had made it back to the Shatterdome. Killian helped his brother who had a broken arm out of the module, and made a beeline towards the Marshall, as a paramedic took his brother to the medic bay. “They are getting stronger,” Killian informed the Marshall. “If there had been three of them out there instead of two, we wouldn’t have survived.” “I understand, Ranger.” Graham turned his back on Killian. “No Marshall, I really don’t think you do, mate.” Killian said as he grabbed for the Marshall’s arm Graham turned looking Killian straight into his soul. “First, don’t you ever touch me again. And second, don’t you ever touch me again.” Graham’s attention turned from Killian as he saw Dr. Whale, the chief researcher, hastily enter the bay. “Marshall. We need to talk.” “What is it, Dr. Whale?” Graham inquired. “What we discussed before,” his face went white as he spoke. “It's happening.” X Belle and Gold entered the Jaeger tactical conference room. Killian and the Charming brothers were already waiting. “What the hell are they doing here?” Killian raised his voice as he got up from his chair. “Sit your ass down, Ranger Jones,” the Marshall ordered as he entered the room, accompanied by Dr. Whale. With a sulking obedience, Killian sat back down, as Belle and Gold took their seats. “As most of you know this is Dr. Whale, the chief researcher of the Kaiju. He has been studying the Kaiju for the last twelve years ever since the first attack. He came to me months ago with his latest findings. As predicted, the Kaiju attacks have become more frequent. Two Kaijus are coming through the portal now, and Dr. Whale predicts that within the next day, three Kaijus will be next. Then five, and then more than we could ever handle.” “So what are you saying Marshall, that we are about to be invaded?” David catechized. “No.” It was Dr. Whale who answered gravely. “Not invaded, decimated.” Stunned silence filled the room. Gold grasped Belle’s hand under the table. “Through some unauthorized research done by Dr. Whale and his colleagues, we have obtained information regarding the Kaiju and more importantly about the portal they come through. We have developed a plan. One of the Jaegers will drop a massive explosive into the portal.” “But, Marshall.” It was Gold’s turn now to interject. “We have tried that in the past, but nothing ever broke through the breach. It’s not possible.” Dr. Whale interjected before the Marshall could answer. “Yes, but we have learned that the breach will open when it releases the next wave of Kaiju. We will then insert the nuclear explosives into the open rift, and it should carry the weapon to the other side, thus eliminating our enemy.” “So, fight at least three Kaijus and then detonate an explosive device into the portal. And how exactly is one Jaeger going to accomplish all of this?” Killian asked. “Not one Jaeger, but three.” Graham answered confidently. A rush of excitement and nervousness rushed through Gold. He glanced at Belle whose eyes were locked on Graham. “You have got to bloody kidding me. There is no way I am going to go out there with these two.” Killian roared as he jabbed his fingers towards Belle and Gold. “Besides, I can’t take the Jolly Roger. My brother’s arm is broken in two places, and as much as I would like, I can’t do it alone.” “You won’t be. I will be your copilot.” Graham stated coolly. Killian sat still for a moment letting the idea wash over him. “With all due respect sir, how do you even know we will be drift compatible?” “I am not taking any baggage or memories into the bridge, and I had you figured out the moment I saw you, Hook. You are a smug, egotistical, bastard with daddy issues, but a damn good pilot. We will be fine.” Belle was immediately by Graham’s side. She handed him a tissue and touched her own nose. Taking the cue, Graham brought the tissue up to his own stopping the unexpected nose bleed. As the Rangers left the room, Belle stayed standing next to Graham. “You can’t get into a Jaeger again. You know it will kill you. The doctor’s told you about your heart.” Belle’s voice cracked. “Hey, hey. Look at me.” He brought his hands cupping her cheeks. “I’m going to be fine. I would rather die in a Jaeger, fighting, then just standing here waiting for the end. Besides he said, with a small smile. I have you out there to protect me.” As Belle headed back to her room, she wasn’t surprised to find Gold waiting outside her door. “Are you ready for this?” he asked her with a small smile. “Of course,” she walked into his arms placing her head against his chest. “What’s wrong with him, Belle?” Still in his arms, Belle let out a loud sigh. “He’s kept it secret from everyone. When he saved me that day from the Kaiju attack, as you know he had to command the Jaeger by himself for the last few minutes of battle. It took a toll on his body. He has a bad heart. ” Belle tried to keep her tears from falling. “We have to do this, Nick. We have to win.” He lifted her chin placing a warm kiss on her forehead. “We will.” X Stepping back into the Spinster’s pilot module was a surreal experience for Gold. Even though the Jaeger had been restored, everything looked pretty much the same, just shinier and newer, since the last time he stepped into it with his son. Belle soon followed in her circuitry suit, and the two latched into their pilot modules. Control’s voice boomed through the speakers. Initiating pilot to pilot protocol sequence. The mechanical arms and legs latched onto the suits, as both Belle and Gold prepared for the neural bridge sequence. “Spinster sequence is a go. Neural handshake in five, four, three, two….” Jolts of energy forced Gold’s head back, as Belle’s memories flooded into his brain. “Calibrating neural lobe. Left hemisphere aligned. Right hemisphere aligned. Neural Handshake complete and holding.” Belle smiled and glanced over to Gold. Their subconscious entwined the two waited for their drop zone. X “Approaching breach in 50 yards.” Graham’s voiced crackled through the radio set to both the Spinster and Giant Killer. “All Jaegers, this is Control. We have confirmed two category three Kaiju breaking the breach. Wait….we now have confirmation of a third. A third Kaiju signature has broken the breach surface. Signature is picking up this as a category 4.” “Category 4? Are you sure, Control?” David questioned. Dr. Whale’s voice came over the system in response. “It’s the biggest one we have seen to date.” “Well, this should be interesting,” Gold smirked as the Spinster continued its push towards the now three confirmed Kaiju. Before Belle had time to remark, an alarm blared, and they saw a red dot charging towards them on the screen. “Kaiju approaching….” Gold’s sentence was cut off by the sheer force of the Spinster being hit on the left side, forcing it on its side to the ocean floor. Moving in sync, Belle and Gold lifted their arms, as the Kaiju leapt on them, biting around the Jaeger’s neck module. “The Spinster has been hit Marshall, should we assist?” Killian asked. “No, stay on course, we have to make it to the Breach.” Just as quickly, the second Kaiju attacked the Giant Killer from the left side. The Kaiju repeatedly struck Giant Killer with its massive tail. “David, activate the sword.” Moving as one, David and James produce the Jaeger’s sword. Swinging in unison they separate the Kaiju from its tail. Able to regain it’s footing on the ocean floor, now that the Kaiju is tailless, the Jaeger charges; its sword aimed for the monster’s neck. The sword glides into the Kaiju’s neck. In an instinct of survival, the Kaiju bites wildly. Its razor sharp teeth puncture through the strong steel, and one of the sharp teeth impales James, killing him instantly. “Right hemisphere cold.” The system alerts of the pilots death. “No! James!” The Kaiju’s mouth loosens its grip on the Jaeger as the Kaiju surrenders to his wounds, falling dead upon the sea floor. The sudden weight of the Jaeger system upon him, David rips off his helmet, detaches himself from his pilot module, and runs to his deceased brother. “David, you need to get out of there. Use the escape module, and release to the ocean’s surface.” He could hear the Marshall’s orders coming through the system. Tears in his eyes, David just looks at his dead brother. “I can stay, I need to help.” “You can’t do anything now, Ranger. You can’t pilot that Jaeger yourself. You took down that Kaiju, you did what was asked of you.” Graham waited a moment, and when he heard no response, he used more force. “Ranger that is an order. Get in your escape pod now.” Knowing that his Jaeger was dead in the water, David entered his escape pod, lay down, and activated it. “Giant Killer pilot pod activated.” Control confirmed. “Good,” Marshall stated, looking at Killian. “10 yards to the breach.” “Wait!!” Dr. Whale’s voice boomed over the intercom. “Abort, Marshall abort!” “What the hell are you talking about, Whale?” Killian asked confused. “We just learned the bomb you are carrying will not activate if you drop it into the breach. Any object that is received by the portal needs the Kaiju DNA. If you just release the bomb, it will not enter the breach and therefore will not go into the portal. You must make the portal believe that the bomb is a Kaiju in order for it to open for you.” “And how in the hell are we suppose to do that?” Killian asked. “There’s only one way that I know of.” Graham stated. X The Spinster continued its fight against the Kaiju, slamming the monster into the ocean floor. Picking up their right feet, the Jaeger pilots guide Spinster’s right foot to its mark. It crashes down on the Kaiju’s head, killing it. “We need to help, Graham,” Belle said, as they started moving closing the distance between them and the Jolly Roger. When they reached the Jolly Roger, Graham and Killian were battling the large, category 4, Kaiju. The Spinster joined in the fight, and flanked the monster from behind while the Kaiju grasped the Jolly Roger in its claws. “Initiate dagger.” Nick stated. Belle and Nick moved in sync as the spinning dagger impaled into the Kaiju’s heart. It released the Jolly Roger from its claws as the Kaiju hit the ocean floor. “Get to the escape pod, Killian.” Graham ordered. Killian nodded, detaching himself from the pilot system. “What the hell is going on?” Nick questioned hearing Graham’s orders over the radio. Belle watched as the escape pod launched Killian from the Jaeger. “Graham, what the hell are you doing?” “Belle, listen to me. If I don’t do this, we will all die. I need to take the Kaiju into the portal with me, and in three minutes I will detonate the bomb, closing the bridge.” “No, Graham there has to be another way.” Belle sobbed. “Belle.” Graham’s voice became tender as he spoke. “You did good Ranger. I am so proud of you. But we both knew that either way I wasn’t going to leave this Jaeger alive today.” Belle opened her mouth to speak again, but choked on a sob as tears ran down her cheeks. Belle and Nick watched as Graham, piloting the Jaeger by himself, lifted the dead Kaiju from the ocean floor, and stepped off the edge of the cliff. As the portal opened, it recognized the Kaiju and accepted both the Kaiju and the Jolly Roger into it. “Spinster, this is control. You have three minutes to get the hell out of there.” “Belle you need to get in the emergency pod.” Nick started flipping the switches before him preparing for her pod. Nick heard Belle’s sob, as she whispered Graham’s name. Suddenly, Nick was overcome with grief. He had failed. He had lost his son, and now Belle had lost Graham. It should have been him. Nick should have been the one to sacrifice himself. Belle would come to resent him, see him for the coward that he was. As insecurities and fear plagued Nick’s mind, he suddenly felt himself slipping, getting caught up in his past failures. “Spinster, left hemisphere is down. Belle, he’s chasing the rabbit.” “Nick, honey. Nick.” Belle’s words soon fell upon deaf ears, as Nick was standing in the module, watching his son getting ripped out the side to his death. Then Nick was caught in another memory; he was six years old with his father. His father was leaving him, as Nick clutched at a small doll. Belle watched as the father told the young boy that he is a burden, and that he should never have had a child. “Belle, you need to get out of there. The bomb is going to detonate in two minutes.” Panic filled Dr. Whale’s voice. “Get in your emergency pod.” “I’m not leaving him, Control.” Belle focused back on Nick, who was down on his knees in the Jaeger module constantly replaying in his mind the death of his son. She got down on her knees in front of him, although he did not seem to even realize she was there. “Nick, honey. Listen to me. You have to let this go. You have to let go of the past if you want to have a future.” She raised her hand, as she ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm him. “He was right,” he sobbed. “I’m not worth anything. I hurt anyone I love. I’m just like my father. I abandoned my own son. Leave Belle. Just go.” “Nick, look at me.” She placed her hand under his chin. He closed his eyes. “Look at me.” “Belle, get the hell out…” Belle pulled the plug on her communication cable cutting off Whale’s voice. Nick opened his eyes, lost in the crystal blue before him. “Belle, sweetheart, you need to go. Why won’t you go?” She shrugged her shoulders. “I thought about it but something changed my mind.” Tentatively she closed the gap between the two of them, and she placed her lips on his. Nick felt a jolt of magic course through his veins, with Belle’s lips upon his. Gone for the moment were the memories that cursed his dreams. Suddenly memories of Belle flooded into his head and heart. The first time he saw her, their lunches, her smile. Her kiss awakened a part of him that had been buried under his hurt and pain. Gone was the darkness of his father’s words. He had worth. He had…love. He was full of love. Love for his son. Love for Belle. He was suddenly back in the present. “We need to get the hell out of here.” He quickly started detaching himself from the pilot controls, as Belle did the same. He pushed the control buttons readying the escape pod for Belle. “Belle get in, I will follow.” Belle shook her head. “There is no time. We both need to get in.” Nick climbed in, as Belle lay down on top of him. Just as the escape pod launched, flashes of light surrounded them, as the force from the explosion, propelled them to the ocean’s surface. Within minutes of hitting the surface, the pod hissed open. Their eyes squinted at the harsh daylight, and Belle peaked her head up, as the waves of the ocean bobbed them around. “Are we alive?” Belle smiled at Nick’s question not sure if he was serious or not. Belle could hear the sound of helicopters in the distance. “I guess we should shoot one of the emergency flares,” she stated reaching for one of the flares in the emergency kit on the side of the pod. Nick grabbed her hand to stop her. “Actually, I’m pretty comfortable right here. They will spot us soon enough.” She placed her head back on his chest, as he wrapped his arms around her and placed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you, Nick.” “I love you too sweetheart.”
1097655	All through the Night	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Bel Rowley, Lix Storm, Randall Brown, Freddie Lyon", "Fandom": "The Hour", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Fabrisse", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-23T00:00:00", "words": "1,165", "Additional Tags": "Misses Clause Challenge", "Relationship": "Freddie Lyon/Bel Rowley", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Yuletide 2013", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Bel screamed when she saw him. She couldn’t help it. It never occurred to her that Freddie could be broken, not mentally and not physically, but all she could see at this moment was a broken body lying in front of the studio.She reached for Freddie’s hand and heard him call her ‘Moneypenny,’ before she was pushed out of the way by Lix who said, “If you’re just going to sit there, get out of the way.”Firm hands gripped her shoulders and Randall said quietly, “Stand here where he can see you. That will give him hope.”Bel found she couldn’t stop trembling and said, “I don’t want a world without him.”Randall took her hand. “It may not come to that, but if it does, then you’ll go on and change the world because that’s what he wants to do.”She turned to him, stricken, and said, “No. He can’t go.”Lix yelled, “Where’s the bloody ambulance?”* Sissy came by twice a day with the information she needed to keep the show going. Randall was covering the timings and the broadcast, but he was letting her judge the stories. He understood that having some kind of work was keeping her sane.Lix walked up with briefcase in her hand and said, “I came instead of Sissy because I want to talk to you.”“No, you can’t have the Chancellor’s resignation. Isaac’s already preparing it for Hector.”“Have you slept? I mean really put your head down and gotten a solid eight hours?”Bel looked at her. “Freddie’s sleeping for both of us right now. Why?”“Because you wouldn’t usually ask such a bloody stupid question.”“Sorry,” Bel said.“Look, there’s going to be a meeting on January 15 about the nuclear question. It’s civilians, but they’re civilians with names.”Bel said, “I thought we covered this with the interview last week. And the J.B. Priestley article was back in November. It’s hardly current.”“Bertrand Russell, Julian Huxley, canons and bishops -- when the atheists and the religious decide to work together, it’s bigger than we’ve already covered. But that’s not the angle I’m interested in. What does this kind of pressure do to the governments involved? I want to talk to the Americans, at least. Actually, I want to talk to as many embassies as I can.”Bel closed her eyes and nodded. “I assume Randall’s said no already.”Lix said, “He doesn’t think the time is right, wants to wait until it’s bigger.”Bel said, “By then, everyone will have it. And I doubt they’ll be covering the international side. It won’t be this week. If you can get the Soviets to comment on the record, as well as the Americans, then attend the meeting and we’ll run it the week after. I want at least three different countries -- not the French or Germans -- commenting as well.”“I just wanted a shot at it. I think this will be big. I still know someone who has Soviet contacts. I’ll work on getting Kim to set up an on-record meeting.”“Two weeks. If you don’t have it by then, move on.”Lix nodded. “How is he?”“One of the nurses told me you saved his life.”“He's a fighter. I just know some basic stuff from when I was in Spain. We had to doctor ourselves.”“The lungs were punctured. That’s what’s giving them the most trouble. One punctured lung is bad, and the broken ribs aren’t helping, but two? That’s why they’re keeping him in an oxygen tent.”“Is he sedated?”“He’s in so much pain when he wakes up. They give him morphine as soon as they’ve checked him.”Lix said, “Go home. Sleep. Bathe. Put on something warmer. Sleep again. Come back tomorrow, or even better, the day after.”“He needs me.”“Not right now, he doesn’t. But he’s going to. Find out from the doctors when they’re likely to let him really stay awake. Talk to Randall about taking some time, but right now, this instant, you need to sleep and eat and pull yourself together so that you’re ready for when he does need you.” Lix shook her head. “You said I saved him. I wasn’t the one he was looking at the whole time. You gave him something to live for and if you walk in there looking a mess and unable to cope, it won’t help him at all.”Bel shook her head. Lix said, “I’ll be back in half a mo.”Ten minutes later she came back and said, “I’m staying until nine tonight. Randall’s taking the night shift and Sissy and Isaac are splitting up tomorrow. Hector will take tomorrow night’s shift. If anything happens, we will call you, but I’m having the nurses put you into a cab so you can go home and take my advice.”“Lix, I…”“We’re worried about both of you. Now put on your coat. Do you have money for the taxi?”Bel sighed. “Yes, yes I do.”* Most of the office figured out ways to take some of their work to the hospital. Bel took her shifts, but over the next week, she was slowly returning to her usual life, even if it felt bereft without being able to talk with her best friend.* The phone was ringing as she let herself into the flat. Lix’s voice came rushing through when she picked up. “He’s awake, really awake. The doctors have said no visitors until tomorrow. I just got to say ‘hullo,’ but from eight tomorrow morning, you can see him, Bel. He’s back.”A sob wrenched from her, “Freddie’s all right.”Lix dropped her voice to a soothing hush. “Yes. He’ll mend. It may take some time, but he’ll mend.”“I don’t know why I’m crying.”“It’s relief, darling. I know it won’t be easy, but sleep tonight. Don’t have any wine because you want to be level headed, but sleep and be here tomorrow when he wakes up again.” She paused to let the weeping subside a little. “I’ve already spoken to Randall. You have the rest of the week off. Have lunch with him on Friday, and he’ll see from there.”“You called Randall first?”Lix said, “No. I talked to him about it last week. That you were to have a week off when Freddie woke up.”“Oh, Lix. Thank you. Thank Randall.”“I will. Go eat and sleep. He’ll be here in the morning.”* The next morning she got out of bed extremely early and went down to Covent Garden. She bought hothouse grapes and oranges to take with her. He looked pale and weak propped up on the pillows, but he was breathing without help. She nearly dropped her packages she was so thrilled to see him.Freddie turned to the sound of the opening door and smiled. He raised his hand a little weakly and said, “There’s my Bel.”Bel smiled back and said, “It’s good that you’re home.”
1007242	Only a signal shown	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Jesse Pinkman, Walter White, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Squidink", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-17T00:00:00", "words": "4,260", "Additional Tags": "Humor, Crossover, Shenanigans, Casual kidnapping", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Breaking Bad, Supernatural", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“That car…”“It’s been there for days, man.” Jesse nervously twitches the curtains back into place, hiding them away from view again. He hasn’t turned on his houselights since Tuesday. “It’s freaking me out, Mr. White. What if it’s the cops? Or the DEA? What are we gonna do?”“It can’t be the police, Jesse. Do you think anyone would be stupid enough to use a car like that on a stake out? Please.”Jesse nods, even though he is thoroughly unconvinced. He was sure he saw one guy with binoculars sitting in the front, and he saw it at the waffle house once when he went out to get some breakfast. But still, Mr. White did have a point. It seems a little outrageous for cops to be rolling up in that beast. “Do you—” his voice drops down to a whisper. “Do you think they’re cartel?”Mr. White stares at Jesse, then sort of laughs, shakes his head. “Jesse, you are being ridiculous. Why would the cartel be interested in us?”“Um, I don’t know. We—we killed three distributors, the blue meth, there’s lots of reasons! They don’t screw around, yo.” Jesse peeks back through the curtains. It’s too dark to tell if anyone’s even in the car; it sits at the end of the street, just barely in line of sight, and tucked in the dark place between streetlights. It’s just creepy. “I’m not being paranoid, Mr. White. I’m not. They have been watching me.”“Jesse, I—” Mr. White breaks off.“What? What is it?”“Shh, listen.”Jesse does, holding his breath and yes, there it is; something clicks, somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen door. They both freeze. It is deathly silent throughout the house.“Mr. White, what was that?” Jesse can feel himself starting to freak out. He struggles to keep his voice at a low whisper. “We have to get out of here. Now. Let’s go!”Mr. White frowns, waving Jesse down. “It’s probably nothing. Just—just the house settling.” He glances back. “But you should… check. Just to be sure.”“What?” Jesse squawks, and Mr. White frantically gestures for him to be quiet. He drops his voice and hisses, “Why me?”“It’s your house, Jesse, it seems only fair—”“No, man. We should, like, I don’t know, flip a coin, or, or…”The floorboards upstairs creak.They both look up, then at each other. Almost as one, they start creeping toward the front door. Then Mr. White stops, shakes himself, and grabs Jesse by the shoulder to stop him. Jesse groans under his breath, but pauses, turning back to Mr. White.“The car, outside. If they are watching, they will see us.”“So, what? Should we just wait here and get our kneecaps broken?”“No. No. We should—let’s—” Mr. White looks around, wildly. “Let’s go in the kitchen—”“No!”Mr. White shifts his grip onto Jesse's arms, shakes him slightly. His palms are sweaty, and his eyes are very wide, catching the meager light. “Listen, Jesse, listen. We’ll go in together. We can surprise them, if anyone is there. We’ll go over the fence and run.”“Mr. White…” Jesse swallows, nervous, then nods hesitantly. He pushes Mr. White toward the kitchen, but Mr. White just shuffles aside, practically hiding behind him. “Why me?” Jesse asks again, his voice lifting in a bit of a whine.“You know the layout better than me, and you’re faster,” Mr. White tells him. “I’ll be right behind you.”“Prick,” Jesse hisses back, but starts cautiously forward. It’s the longest walk of his life; every sound seems amplified a thousand times, his heart racing and climbing his throat; he feels like he could be sick at any moment. They reach the doorway, and he peeks inside, leaning in just enough to get one eye around the corner. It looks clear. He looks back at Mr. White, who only gestures encouragingly.Jesse creeps in, gets all the way to the island in the middle before he realizes Mr. White didn’t follow. He looks back over his shoulder and Mr. White is still in the doorway, waiting. “What the fuck,” he breathes.Mr. White waves him on, exaggeratedly mouths ‘go’.Mr. White is kind of an asshole, Jesse decides mutinously. But he’s already almost there, so he tiptoes the rest of the way to the back door. He takes a moment to breathe, to try (somewhat unsuccessfully) to stifle the overpowering urge to just bolt out the second he reaches it. With painstaking slowness, he pulls it open, just enough to peer around.There’s nothing there. Jesse is instantly weak with relief, sagging against the doorframe. He ducks his head out, looks up and down the back, but doesn’t see a sign of another human being. Somewhere far away, dogs bark. Jesse laughs, softly, a little hysterical, and starts to come back in, when he notices something out of the corner of his eye.He looks down. There’s… a circle with a star in it painted on his stoop. Like something out of a shitty horror movie, filled with cryptic squiggles. Dumbfounded, he bends down and pokes a fingertip against it. It’s still wet. He turns back inside, staring at his finger, confused, when he hears a soft thump. Jesse looks up, and sees the hugest dude ever looming in his doorway, caught mid-step moving toward Jesse.They look at each other. Jesse can't decide which of them is more surprised.“Hey,” the guy says, awkward. It’s fucking surreal. Jesse notices he has a shotgun.“Run, Mr. White!” Jesse shouts, darting around the other side of the island. They guy lunges after him but misses, and Jesse is skidding around the corner, heading for the living room. They have to get out—A boot shoots out from nowhere and sends Jesse sprawling across the hardwood. Before he can even get his legs back under him, someone grabs him by the scruff of the neck and yanks him up. He starts struggling, and then sees Mr. White, lying prostrate on the ground, his temple flushed with the faint beginnings of a bruise. For one heart-stopping second, Jesse is sure he’s dead, he’s lying there freaking dead on the floor, but he wheezes out a breath and Jesse sags. The huge dude from the kitchen comes in, dropping to one knee by Mr. White and pulling out a zip tie. Who just carries those on them, seriously? Jesse moans in terror; these are like some professional serial killers or some shit.Jesse tries to wrench free, throwing all his weight against the dude, but he barely even shifts him. They are so fucked. “Sam, gotta say you’re getting sloppy,” the guy holding Jesse laughs, easily restraining Jesse even though he is thrashing and trying his hardest to get away. The dude has a grip like a steel trap. “Easy, kid,” the guy tells him, conversational, then shoves him headfirst into the wall. It stuns Jesse, just for a few moments, and the guy zip ties his hands together behind his back, quick and professional.Meanwhile, Sam is spray-painting another one of those weird stars on Jesse’s floor. Once he is done, he goes back into the kitchen and pulls out a chair, sets it carefully in the middle of the circle, taking pains to not mess up any of the lines. He then lifts Mr. White as if he weighs nothing, and puts him in the chair. Mr. White flops against Sam’s shoulder, drooling, and snorts. Sam grimaces and pushes him away, sending Mr. White's head lolling back. He starts to wind ropes around Mr. White to hold him in place.When Jesse proves too recalcitrant to walk forward, the guy just half lifts him, drags him to the corner away from the window. He tosses Jesse down, careless, then pulls out a gun, easy as you please. It’s silver, with a white handle, and seems to glow in the low light. Jesse freezes. “H-hey, what are you gonna do to Mr. White?”Above him, the guy snorts. “Mr. White, huh? Cute.” He looks Jesse over. “So, you a witch or something?”Jesse can’t even take a breath for a long moment. What the hell?It must show in his face, because the guy sneers. "Cut the crap, kid." He seems annoyed. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Hey. Cat got your tongue?” He prods Jesse with his boot.“Dean,” Sam says, warningly. Dean shrugs, turns away to check the room.“Yeah, whatever. Nice digs. Yours or his?” He starts flipping through Jesse’s video games. “Or both? Not judging.”“Mine,” Jesse answers on autopilot. His head is reeling. Jesse slumps in the corner, glancing back and forth between Sam and Dean. “I—don’t witches have to be like, green ladies? With brooms and shit?” It sounds stupid the moment it leaves his mouth.Dean laughs, a little snidely. “Not quite.” He comes back over to Sam, murmurs something to him. Sam nods, stands up at Mr. White’s side. “Sorry to say, kid, but you have got yourself mixed up in some deep shit.”Tell me about it, Jesse almost says, but thinks better at the last second.“I don’t know how much you know, but I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt. It’s been a weird year for everybody.” Dean puts his gun back in his holster. “You are working for demons.”“Uh.” Jesse first thinks that’s kind of reaching for it, as far as meth goes, then realizes the guy is dead serious. “Demons. Like the devil.” His voice has gone weirdly flat, as if this is anything rational. What is even happening?Dean points at him, his fingers cocked like a gun. “Good guess. The very same. And your pal here,” Dean pauses to smirk, “Mr. White, is working on some apocalyptic shenanigans. So. I’m gonna need you to fill me in on some details, and we can just stop this crazy train before it gets out of hand. Where’s the heart, and where’s the body?”Jesse shakes his head, slowly. He wonders if he should ask for clarification of which body, but, oh, god, these are crazy people. Maybe they don’t know for sure. “You, uh. You know demons aren’t actually like really real, right? They’re like, um. Metaphors, or…” he trails off. “Do you work for the cartel?”Dean rolls his eyes. “Demons are very real, trust me. I’m kind of an expert.” Dean looks away for a moment, his eyes gone blank and distant. Sam shifts his weight, says his name, and it seems to shake him out of it. When he looks back, it’s gone, like nothing was never there. It's weirdly dramatic for hitmen. “Mr. White here is currently renting out for one. Not really his fault, but what are you gonna do? These suckers are like the flu, they just keep going around.”“Um, no, he isn’t.” Jesse would have noticed if Mr. White was spitting out pea soup or floating or growing horns or whatever. It’s not like he could hide that from Jesse. But, a traitorous little voice inside him whispers, wouldn’t it explain away a lot? Mr. White has been erratic, ever since he broke bad. Nothing like how he used to be, just another mild-mannered prick of a teacher. And he’s just so inexplicably lucky, all the time. It's practically magic. Jesse shivers. No, this is bullshit, these guys are nuts. “Look, I don't know what you’re playing at—”“What, no unusual behavior? Nothing weird going on here?” Dean purses his lips absurdly, rocks back on his heels. “Nothing fishy, at all, about any of this.” He tilts his head back and forth, like he’s considering, then, goes over to a black duffel bag by the door. He bends down and starts riffling through it. Jesse can vividly imagine all sorts of knives and corkscrews and chains, and his whole body goes cold. But when Dean stands back up, he only has two metal flasks. Jesse could almost cry in relief. He tosses one to Sam, who catches it easily. Dean holds his flask up and wiggles it, showing it off, like Jesse is supposed to know what the fuck it is for. “No bizarre weather lately? Missing pets? Just a regular life in suburbia. Except, of course, the little moonlight jaunts to the middle of nowhere. You think we didn’t know about those?”Jesseshifts, uneasy. Shit. “No,” Jesse says, feeling a little like a liar. How much do they know? “Mr. White, he’s got a fam— he can’t be a, a freaking demon. He’s a chemistry teacher.”“And you just know,” Sam pipes up. “Not even a little doubt.”Jesse can’t even believe he is arguing about this. “Yeah. He’s just— he’s really good at chemistry.”Sam makes a confused face at that, opens his mouth and shuts it. “That doesn’t have to do with anything.”“Look, yo, he’s not, not possessed, or whatever! He’s just a guy! Okay?” Sam’s scowl deepens, and Jesse subsides, shrinking back on himself. “Don’t, don’t shoot me.”“So, he’s not a demon? You sure about that?” Dean smirks, triumphant, and quick as a flash dumps half the bottle over Mr. White’s head. Jesse shouts, sure they are going to pour acid or something on him, but Mr. White continues to sleep peacefully, snoring slightly. Sam and Dean look at each other with identical expressions of bewilderment, perfectly synchronized. It’s like they practiced.Looking lost, Dean pours more water over Mr. White. It runs down his head and dribbles all over his shirt, harmless. Dean inspects the bottle as if it’s the first he’s ever seen of it, sloshing the water around. “… Huh.”“Leave him alone,” Jesse says, a little uncertainly. These people are definitely unhinged. He is so screwed. Maybe he should just start screaming, get the neighbors to call the cops. But Sam still has the shotgun. And Mr. White is tied to a chair, helpless. Jesse has to keep him safe.Dean glances at Sam. Some secret instruction must to pass between them, because Sam spins around, terrifyingly quick for such an enormous guy. Jesse is sure he is gonna get his brains splattered back against the wall, and starts to scream, but Sam splashes Jesse in the face with the other bottle of water. Jesse sputters, coughing as it gets up his nose and down his throat, but overwhelmingly thankful Sam didn’t think to use the shotgun. Are they waterboarding him? Is this what waterboarding is? His confusion is rapidly overtaking his fear. “What the fuck! Quit it!”They look at each other again. The shotgun drops at Sam’s side, and Sam beckons Dean over. They start to whisper urgently, even though Jesse is right there and can hear everything anyways. “Are you sure that was holy water? Absolutely?”“Yeah, Dean,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t understand. Something has to be wrong.”“Are we sure this Seal has to have demons involved directly? Could they be, I don’t know, something else? Maybe they’re only working for the demons, like witches, or—”Sam shakes his head. “No, none of the signs are here. No books, no hex bags.” He eyeballs the room, then Mr. White, his brow pinched in thought. “There should be a Seal here. It fits everything. Look—”Jesse can’t contain himself any longer. He sits up on his knees, in a stupidly pointless attempt to make himself taller. These guys are like giants or something, holy shit. “What the hell is your problem, dude? There are no seals, we’re not even near the coast!”Both of them give Jesse the worst face, and then go back to ignoring him, the pricks. Sam digs through their duffel bag and pulls out, of all things, a bible. It’s bristling with post-it-notes, pink and yellow and blue, and paperclips, and bits of paper. Sam flicks through it, searchingly.Jesse’s heart sinks into his stomach. Great. They’ve been abducted by a cult. They are definitely going to be murdered.Sam and Dean confer for what seems like an excessively long time, talking about signs and portents and meatsuits, which is just something Jesse doesn’t even want to know about, what the fuck. He starts to shuffle, slowly, toward Mr. White. His legs are all pins and needles from sitting on the floor, but he manages to get a good two thirds of the way there before Dean seems to remember him and gives him a withering glower. Jesse shrinks back against the wall again, freezing and trying to look innocent, or at least an approximation. Mr. White looks frail, like this. Like all the life has drained out of him. Jesse chews his lip. He has to get over there and make sure he's okay. He needs Mr. White awake; maybe he can talk them out of it, or figure out something. Jesse can't do this by himself.Dean sighs, and rubs his face. “Okay, enough of this bull. I’m gonna call Cas.” He pulls out his phone, walking away to dial while Sam stares down at Jesse, thoughtful. Jesse tries not to meet his eyes. Mr. White mumbles in his sleep, and shivers. The house is chilly, and he’s drenched in what is apparently holy water, just in case everything couldn’t get any weirder.His helplessness lends Jesse some measure of daring. “Hey. Uh, Sam,” he says, quiet. Sam does seem like the more reasonable one.Sam looks for a moment like he’s just going to go on ignoring Jesse, then sighs. “What?”“Can you, uh, can you give Mr. White a blanket? There’s some upstairs.” Sam seems surprised. Jesse is immediately embarrassed, and stares down at the floor. His heart is pounding. “Look, he’s— he’s sick and it’s cold in here. Alright?” He hesitates, and tacks on a nervous “Please.”“… Uh. Sure, okay,” Sam says. He moves away, setting the shotgun all the way across the room near Dean and out of Jesse’s reach, and disappears up the stairs. Jesse takes his opportunity to make the last few ungainly feet to Mr. White, peers up at him, inspecting where he had been hit. His temple is now dark and mottled with his bruise. Jesse bites his lip, and desperately hopes he doesn’t have a concussion. It isn't like he can do anything about it now. He quickly scoots back to where he was before. Dean hasn’t looked at him once, muttering into his phone. He wonders if he should mention Mr. White is probably going to need a hospital, then thinks better of it; Sam and Dean probably aren’t planning on letting them live, anyways, and he doesn’t want them to just off Mr. White out of hand. Both he and Jesse have seen their faces, and Jesse knows their names. It would be stupid of them to let them go.Sam re-appears, a blanket rolled up in his arms. He eyes Jesse once – he probably knows Jesse moved, somehow – then tucks it in over Mr. White’s shoulders, awkwardly wiping some of the water off of Mr. White’s head with a corner as an afterthought.“Thanks.”“Sure.”“What do you mean ‘the wrong address’?” Dean barks. Sam whispers ‘oh my god,’ incredulous, and Dean holds up a finger and turns away. He listens for a moment, then pulls out a piece of well-folded notebook paper from his pocket, holding the phone in the crook of his shoulder. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. No, that’s exactly… shit, shit, wait. Your seven looks like a one.” He pauses to listen, and glances aside at Mr. White and Jesse. “Yeah. Yeah, two. That’d be great. Yeah. Where are you, anyways? Las Vegas? Really? No, get your feathery ass here now, this is awkward as hell. What? No— Cas, no, ignore her, you don’t have any cash and you don’t want to have a good time. You don’t. Tell her that. Cas. Cas! Come back to the phone! Hey! We already talked about this. Don’t start up a conversation with her. Cas? I know you can hear— wait, what did she say? Jesus.” Dean laughs. Sam makes a face. “Uh, sorry. Just… just get out of there and come here. You’re on the clock.” He snaps his phone closed.“Is he on his way?” Sam asks.“Yeah,” Dean drags over a chair and sits heavily. “So I guess we’re all gonna sit tight here, nice and quiet—”Like fuck they are. Jesse is not gonna hang around here like a dumbass while some hitman clean-up crew drives all the way from Las Vegas. He spares a glance for Mr. White, still out of it. It’s their only shot. He’s up in a second and running for the back door, he’s going to scream bloody murder until the police show up——and he runs smack into some douche in a trench coat. Jesse bounces off the dude and falls to the floor. The guy didn’t even twitch; it was like running into a vaguely warm stone wall. He looks down at Jesse, tilting his head curiously, then up to Dean. Something in his expression softens. Jesse tries not to panic further, and slides away, crabwise, until he finds himself trapped against the wall. They totally ignore him. “Hello, Dean. Sam.”“Hey, Cas.” Dean grins broadly. “Took you long enough.”“Mindy wanted to give me her card. She was very friendly.”Dean pops up out of his seat like his ass is on fire. “Give it to me.” Dean plucks it from Cas’s unresisting fingers and flips it over to look at the picture, and his eyebrows climb up theatrically. “Holy shit. Nice.” He pockets it without asking, but Cas seems unperturbed. Dean must take his stuff a lot. “You and me, we’re going to have a talk later.”This is officially the weirdest kidnapping Jesse has ever experienced. This can’t be the same Cas guy, unless they are like, X-men or some shit. Jesse can feel himself starting to lose his grip on reality. He hyperventilates. He doesn’t want to be killed, and definitely not by these whackos. Cas blinks at Dean, owlish, then looks past him and seems to notice Jesse losing his mind in the corner. He strolls over, like this is just another day in the park, until he stands between Jesse's legs. Oh god, he's a creeper. Jesse wants to run, but he can't even muster the will to cringe away.Cas crouches right down into Jesse’s personal space, and eyes him musingly. There’s something unsettling about him, some weird vibration in the air that makes Jesse want to go hide under the bed, get somewhere as far away as he can. It makes his teeth ache. “You should consider another line of employment,” Cas intones with deadly serious earnestness. Jesse starts to suspect he’s not all there, upstairs.“Uh,” Jesse says. “Okay?”Cas nods, satisfied. He puts two of his fingers against Jesse’s forehead, and waits. His frown deepens. He presses a little harder, pushing Jesse’s head gently but insistently back against the wall.Jesse goes cross-eyed to look at the offending fingers. After a long, uncomfortable silence, Cas pulls his hand away, looking down as if it has betrayed him.“Uh. What are you doing?”“Let me try again,” Cas says, having the grace to look a little embarrassed. He reaches out and— -- Jesse groggily opens his eyes. The morning light is beaming directly into his eyeballs, making him squint and swear. God, it must be what, eleven? He feels like he hasn’t slept at all. He yawns, stretches. The sheets are tangled hopelessly around his legs. When did he even fall asleep? He’s still wearing his jeans from yesterday. He grabs his phone and slithers off the bed, makes his way down to the kitchen, rubbing the heel of his palm against his scratchy eyes. Everything is a blur. Maybe he is getting sick.He gets a bowl of cereal and eats it standing in the kitchen. He has the unnerving sensation of being watched, is almost sure someone is in the house, but he's pretty certain he locked up last night. Nothing seems to be missing. He looks around the island and pokes his head around the corners, just in case. His blanket is on the floor in the living room. Weird. Mr. White was over last night, he remembers that much; maybe he fell asleep there, and Mr. White put it on him? It’s kind of stupid, but it makes him feel good, too, even if doesn’t seem quite right. Whatever. It doesn’t even matter.He has the distant, unconnected thought that maybe he should try data management again, but then the phone rings his alarm, and it’s gone just like that. Today’s the cook day, and he’s already late. Mr. White’s gonna ream his ass if he doesn’t get in gear. Jesse dumps his bowl in the sink, and scrambles back upstairs to get dressed.When he gets there, he remembers the car that had been staking him out. He peers out the windows, between the shades. It’s gone. Of course it’s gone, he was just being paranoid. What kind of cop uses a car like that, anyways? He’s glad he didn’t tell Mr. White. He doesn’t want him to think he was losing it. Just to be safe, he decides to not say anything about last night, too, and the gap in his memory he had this morning. It’s already fading, anyways.
1092425	Twenty Tropes for Real	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez, Sam Evans, Artie Abrams, Dani (Glee), Elliott \"Starchild\" Gilbert", "Fandom": "Glee", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by flaming_muse", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-21T00:00:00", "words": "12,950", "Additional Tags": "Tropes, Trope Subversion/Inversion, Future Fic", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Dani/Santana Lopez", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	1. Aliens made them do it“Left, left,” Rachel says as Kurt tries to balance on his toes on the back cushions of the couch with the string of lights held up over his head. They’re lit and sparkling in his eyes, dancing a little disconcertingly when he blinks. “More left, Kurt.”“I can’t get any more left without falling off the sofa,” Kurt snaps over his shoulder at her. He leans a little more anyway.“Just two more inches,” she tells him from where she’s standing across the room, her hands on her hips as she directs. “We want it to be even. There’s no point in doing any of this if it isn’t even.”“I won’t let you fall,” Blaine says to Kurt from below, standing beside the couch. His hand on Kurt’s hip squeezes in a way that Kurt assumes is supposed to be reassuring, though realistically if he tips over he knows the best Blaine will be able to do is break his fall as they both tumble to the ground.“He’s just going to squish you if he falls on you,” Santana comments from where she’s untangling another string of lights at the kitchen table.Kurt wonders why reality always sounds so much less pleasant coming from her mouth. Also, he’s been on top of Blaine plenty of times, and Blaine has never once complained about being squished, thank you very much.“I don’t know,” Sam replies, up on a ladder by the front door, absolutely mangling the bow he’s trying to tie. After the lights are up, Kurt’s going to have to go fix it. “Blaine’s pretty strong.”“Thanks, Sam!” Blaine says happily, his eyes bright from the compliment as well as the eggnog they’ve all been drinking.“Kurt’s like two feet taller than he is,” Santana says. “It’s simple physics.”Beside her, Dani laughs and nudges her with her hip, the bell on her elf hat jingling with the motion.“There!” Rachel cries as Kurt grits his teeth and stretches just that much further, his leg extended far out behind him for balance; he’s lucky his yoga class has been working so much on core strength and stability. He’s also lucky, he thinks, that he ladled out his cup of eggnog before Santana poured more brandy into the bowl.Kurt attaches the lights to the bookcase wall with a bit of sticky tack and drops back to a more stable position with both feet on the back of the couch with a sigh of relief. The cushions dip under his weight, but they’re so much more solid than being supported by nothing but his training, determination, and open air.“That looks really nice,” Blaine says, his face tipped up and his hand still warm on Kurt’s hip.Kurt smiles down at him, then tilts his head and examines his work. His mouth drops into a faint frown. Are the lights a little uneven?“I think it’s uneven,” Rachel says. “Maybe if Sam and Blaine spotted you, you could lean - ““Absolutely not,” Kurt says. “A little imperfection is homey. And much less dangerous.” He puts his hand in Blaine’s to let Blaine help him down off the couch. Not that he needs the help, really, even with the eggnog buzzing in his veins, but he likes the gallant elegance of the gesture. He likes the gallant elegance of Blaine, especially when he looks so nice in that red sweater and silver bow tie, dressed for the occasion even if it’s only a night in of decorating with friends.But that’s Blaine. He never forgets how important occasions are.Filled with an overwhelming fondness, Kurt keeps hold of Blaine’s warm, safe hand even after his feet are down on the floor.“Okay, the next one goes over the - “ Rachel starts.“Wait a minute,” Santana says around a mouthful of cookie. “Lady Hummel and his tiny, elf-sized mate are under the mistletoe.”Kurt and Blaine both look upwards. Sure enough, there is a little bunch of plastic mistletoe tacked to the ceiling between the kitchen and the back of the apartment. “Who even put that there?” Kurt asks.“Doesn’t matter who. You know the rules,” Santana says. “You have to kiss, or it’s seven years of bad luck.”“Isn’t that a broken mirror?” Sam asks, coming down off the ladder.“What does happen if you don’t kiss under mistletoe?” Rachel wonders. She ladles herself another cup of eggnog and leans her hip against the table.Santana drops the still-tangled string of lights on the table. “Who cares? They still have to kiss.” She crosses her arms over her chest and fixes Kurt and Blaine with a challenging look. “Go ahead. And make it good. If we have to watch you, at least you can give us some tongue action.”“You don’t have to watch us,” Blaine says, just as Kurt asks pointedly, “How much have you had to drink, Santana?”“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Dani chants, clapping her hands.Kurt rolls his eyes at all of them, but when he moves to pull his hand away from Blaine’s he finds that it’s held fast. He looks at his fiancé, who is giving him this soft, happy smile.“Really?” Kurt asks with a lift of his eyebrows, surprised that Blaine doesn’t seem to mind what’s going on. Even now, even after everything, even after getting engaged and moving in together, they don’t kiss in front of people all that often. There’s no need for it. They don’t have anything to prove.“It’s mistletoe, Kurt,” Blaine says simply, openly amused. “We have to.”Kurt looks around at his friends, who are all watching them in some type of anticipation, from Dani’s giddy grin to Sam’s guileless smile to Rachel’s bittersweet fondness, and sighs. There’s no getting out of it; if he refuses, he’ll never hear the end of it, and it’s not like he doesn’t like kissing Blaine. It’s not like he doesn’t want to.But if they’re doing this, he’s also not going to be teased about giving Blaine a sexless peck on the lips. He’s heard that enough from Santana, though how she can call them a pair of eunuchs and also complain about them keeping her awake with their bed squeaking he is never going to understand.“Come on,” Rachel says. “We have more decorating to do if we want to be done by the time A Christmas Story comes on.”Kurt glances at each of their friends again and then back at Blaine, who is watching him with undisguised love and maybe a little bit of anticipation shining in his eyes.Kurt can’t help but smile back, because at the end of the day, he really just loves him, too. His heart feels full with the joy of the season, the holiday cookies in his stomach, and the errant pieces of tinsel caught in Blaine’s dark hair. He loves it all, even if he doesn’t really need the peer pressure to show it.With one last shrug at the mistletoe above them, he cups Blaine’s cheek and presses a soft, slow kiss to his mouth, deepening it when Blaine’s arms come around him and his lips open on a sigh. It’s not indecent, just sweet, sweet from love and crystallized sugar and vanilla-scented nog. Blaine’s hands are strong on Kurt’s back, his cheek is warm and just a little stubbly under his palm, and his mouth is just as perfect as it ever is, exciting and safe and home all at once.Maybe it’s the eggnog, or the season, or the impending threat of his friends’ reactions, but Kurt is slow to pull back, slow to want to give up the moment, and Blaine’s eyes are just as hazy as his feel as they blink at each other from a few inches away.Blaine smiles at him, his fingers tightening in the back of Kurt’s sweater for a moment before letting go.“Uh - ” Sam clears his throat and bites into a cookie when Kurt looks back at his friends, squaring his shoulders for their comments.Rachel glances away, suddenly busy with an empty box of garlands.Santana reaches weakly for the ladle for the egg nog. “I need another drink,” she says, her voice a little strangled.Laughing under his breath, Blaine sways in against Kurt’s side, and Kurt wraps his arm around Blaine’s waist and holds him there.“I love everything that happens in this apartment,” Dani says with a huge smile. 2. Demon Possession“Good morning,” Blaine says as Kurt walks out of their bedroom, his hair sticking up in odd angles and his feet bare and silent on the cool wooden floor. Blaine can’t help but smile at him; he loves living with Kurt for so many reasons, but one of his favorite is getting to see Kurt sleep-rumpled and unguarded.“Was Santana actually sawing wood last night?” Kurt asks, his voice a husky croak from disuse. “Tell me there’s a new table out here. Tell me she cut down another Christmas tree.”Mildly alarmed by the hostile tone to his voice, Blaine pulls a mug down from the shelf and glances over at the living room. “I haven’t noticed one.”“We need a better white noise machine. We need another one.” Kurt falls heavily into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.Going over to the refrigerator to get the milk, Blaine says, “We can turn ours up.”“It’s not enough to combat her snoring,” Kurt says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure anything would be able to drown out Rachel’s morning warm-ups, either. I know she has the early shift at the diner today. I know she needs to keep her voice in good shape for Funny Girl. But really, even we ought to be able to follow a ‘no singing before six-thirty’ rule in this apartment.”“We should at least talk about it again.”Kurt makes a disagreeable noise. “Like Rachel will care. Didn’t she wake you up, too?”Blaine snags a spoon from the drawer. “I didn’t notice.”“You’re lucky,” Kurt grumbles. “I really don’t know how you can sleep through all of the noise. But then you were up late watching that movie with Santana, weren’t you? I don’t even remember you coming to bed.” He leans back in his chair and glares over at the empty sofa, his brow deeply furrowed and his eyes dark with annoyance. “I like falling asleep with you.”Smiling a little to himself, Blaine takes the chair opposite him and slides the cup of coffee across the table to his fiancé. “Coffee?”Kurt looks at it with suspicion for a moment before lifting the steaming mug to his mouth. He takes a small sip, and then as his shoulders drop and his eyes close he drinks deeply. He sighs out and licks his lower lip as he slowly lowers the cup to the table. He sits quietly for a long moment.Then his eyes open again, and all of the sharp edges of his mood are softened. He’s no longer glaring daggers but calmer and more centered. More awake. More himself.There is the Kurt Blaine knows.Kurt takes another drawn-out sip of coffee. Then he reaches out a hand to take Blaine’s across the table, his long fingers curling around Blaine’s palm. He meets his eyes, really sees him, and smiles. “Good morning,” he says much more gently.“Good morning, Kurt,” Blaine replies, squeezing his hand. 3. Hogwarts AU“Obviously I want to say I’m a Gryffindor,” Blaine says over the sound of the front door sliding open. “But when I think about it I’m actually kind of worried I’m a Hufflepuff.”Kurt glances up from the bed, though he can’t see Blaine coming back into the apartment with the privacy curtain closed; he’s supposed to be getting ready for his last final, but he can’t help that sound carries in the apartment.“Dude, you are not a Hufflepuff!” Sam tells him, clearly offended. “You’re totally a Gryffindor. Strong and brave, always standing up for what’s right.”“Maybe,” Blaine says; he doesn’t sound convinced. “I’m also loyal, though. And I don’t rock the boat that much.”“It doesn’t matter,” Sam says. “If we were at Hogwarts, we’d both be Gryffindors. We’d live together and play Quidditch and drink butterbeer on weekends. It would be awesome. Trust me.”Kurt shakes his head and goes back to his script. He is happy for many reasons that Blaine has Sam, but one of the biggest is absolutely that Blaine has someone to have these conversations with who isn’t Kurt.“Kurt would be in Gryffindor, too,” Blaine says more cheerfully. “That would be cool.”“Not Ravenclaw? He’s pretty smart,” Sam says.The refrigerator door closes. “I know, but he’s so brave. If you’d seen him stand up to Karofsky or navigate a sample sale you wouldn’t even have a question in your mind.”Kurt’s heart flutters a little at that assessment of himself; he knows Blaine loves him, but it’s always nice to hear how he’s earned his admiration.“Artie’s in Ravenclaw for sure, though,” Sam says, his voice coming from closer to the couch than the kitchen.Kurt picks up his phone and uncurls the attached earbuds to fit them into his ears; if there are going to be people in the loft, he’ll need to drown them out with music.“Oh, definitely,” Blaine says. “And Santana’s - ““Slytherin,” Kurt finishes in a decisive mutter at the same time as both Blaine and Sam.Smirking to himself, he turns on his music and settles back down to work as they laugh and continue their conversation. 4. Huddled together for warmthNo matter how high they turn the heat up on their ancient thermostat, the loft is always cold in the winter. It has too many old windows and too little insulation to be anything but, and first thing in the morning, especially on days when Kurt has an early class and has left the bed long before Blaine wakes, Blaine longs for the efficient and enveloping central heating of his parents’ house as he shivers his way awake.They each find their own ways of dealing with the chill in the apartment. Santana takes endless - and inconvenient - long, hot baths. Rachel fills her room with warm-mist humidifiers to the point that peeking through her curtain is like walking into a greenhouse. Kurt dresses himself in sweater after beautiful, soft sweater.Blaine rubs his cheek against Kurt’s cozy, sweater-clad shoulder and pulls the chenille throw up higher over his own shoulder. He curls his legs closer where they’re tucked up on the couch beside him. His eyelids are drooping as they watch Real Housewives; not even their strident yelling, Santana’s laughter from the chair beside the couch, and Kurt’s deliciously sharp commentary can keep the lethargy of contentment from creeping over him as surely as the cocoon of shared body heat wraps around him.Blaine curls his hand over Kurt’s thigh, not too high up but still plenty warm enough to heat his palm and up into his arm just from the simple act of touching him.He loves to touch Kurt. He loves to be close. He loves that there are so many opportunities now.“Warm enough?” Kurt asks him, his cheek resting against Blaine’s hair.Blaine’s nose is a little chilly, and he probably should have put on his slippers instead of just wearing socks. But he’s warm, so warm, so very happy and warm tucked here under the blanket with Kurt.“Mmm,” he replies and snuggles up closer. 5. Sex pollenThe apartment door slides open, and Kurt looks up from slicing carrots to see Blaine coming in. There’s snow in his hair and a plastic grocery bag hooked on his arm, and a smile rises to Kurt’s face just to see him. Blaine’s home.There’s something that makes Kurt’s heart stutter in his chest to have Blaine come home after a long day apart, especially when it’s just the two of them in the apartment. It’s like their long future ahead, years of being married, is starting now. In a way, despite the chaos of their friends coming and going around them, it already has. This is their life together.“It’s snowing!” Blaine says, grinning with the kind of unbridled enthusiasm that can make him seem so much younger than he is and that Kurt silently hopes he’ll never lose.“I can see that. Did they have onions?” Kurt asks, putting down the knife on the cutting board and walking toward him. He can’t make their dinner if he doesn’t have onions, and Santana had apparently used the last few the night before practicing her crying for another commercial audition. Not only is that rude, but it’s completely unprofessional.“Yes,” Blaine says, and he lets the bag slide from his elbow to his hand to offer it to Kurt. “I got some garlic, too, just in case.”“Thank you.” Kurt starts to open the bag when Blaine pulls out something from behind his back with a flourish.It’s a big bundle, narrow at the bottom and wide at the top, wrapped in purple florist’s paper; Kurt doesn’t know how Blaine’s coat had hidden it, but then Kurt had been distracted by the sparkle in his eyes.“These are for you,” Blaine says, his smile growing even wider. He jiggles the bundle, the paper rattling with the motion.Kurt puts the bag on the table and takes a shallow breath as he accepts the flowers with gentle hands. “Why?” he asks, pulling open the paper to expose the bouquet of bright red and white blooms mixed with deep green leaves.Blaine shrugs off his coat and says over his shoulder as he hangs it up, “I saw them, and I thought you’d like them.”Kurt sets the flowers down to unwrap them, and he has trouble breathing around the sudden lump in his throat. “They’re beautiful.” Simple, elegant, and gorgeous, perfectly seasonal and yet somehow special.The special part probably has to do with the man who bought them, Kurt thinks, someone who in the middle of a snowstorm, at the tail end of finals, in a tiny corner bodega getting groceries on a dreary Wednesday night, bought flowers for him.The lump in his throat gets bigger.Pressing a kiss to Kurt’s shoulder and settling his hand at his waist, Blaine says with a smile, “I’m glad you like them.”Kurt turns to him and slides his arms around him, kissing the corner of Blaine’s winter-cool mouth as his heart fills and fills with the simplicity and sweetness of the gesture. Blaine has accused him in the past of being full of surprises, but Blaine can be, too. Blaine can just do things, bare his heart, be affectionate without reservation, and Kurt loves that about him. Kurt loves him.“Thank you,” Kurt says and watches the love dance in Blaine’s eyes for a moment before he just has to kiss him properly, kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until they’re breathing hard and their hands are in each other’s hair and they have to decide whether they need to break apart to make dinner or should take advantage of being home alone for once.It’s not a difficult decision.They have the pizza place down the block on speed-dial, after all. 6. Coffee Shop AUKurt’s slender fingers are quick and efficient on the cappuccino machine, flicking buttons and tamping down coffee with the experience of months of practice.“ - says she can get the three of us tickets to the Christmas Revels for Friday,” he is saying to Rachel, including Blaine over his shoulder as he picks up the pitcher to start frothing the milk.“Three lattes,” Rachel tells him.“I heard you the first time.” Kurt reaches around her and grabs another cup as she leans in front of him for the cinnamon shaker in their graceful dance. “I’m already off that night, and Santana says she’ll cover your shift if you’ll take an early morning for her next week.”There’s a blast of steam and noise as Kurt turns a valve and keeps an eye on the thermometer he’s balancing just so with one of the fingers of his left hand.“ - a meeting with the producers on Tuesday at nine,” Rachel says over the machine, “but Wednesday I could - “Blaine rests his chin on his hand, his elbow on the counter that sits between him and his friends, and admires the line of Kurt’s broad shoulders and lovely back in his work uniform. Kurt’s hair is especially perfect today, and for some reason that shirt always looks so good on him.“You’ll have to check the schedule, Rachel,” Kurt says, carefully but quickly pouring the milk into the cups in front of him and then picking up a rag to wipe down the spout with gentle strokes, his engagement ring flashing in the diner’s lighting.Something dark stirs in Blaine’s belly as he watches, and he realizes he’s almost jealous of a cappuccino machine. He knows just how it feels to have Kurt touch him like that.Rachel starts to load the coffees onto her tray and frowns at Kurt, her ponytail bobbing with the disapproving twist of her head. “I said three lattes, Kurt. You made too many.”“No, I didn’t,” Kurt replies.He scoops up one of the cups and places it on the counter beside Blaine’s long-forgotten homework reading.As Blaine blinks at it in surprise, Kurt smiles at him, bright and affectionate, far more warmly than he does to anyone else he serves here.“For my favorite customer,” he says with a wink, and then he hurries off to check on his tables, leaving Blaine to sigh over his graceful stride and busy hands and sip his perfect coffee until Kurt and Rachel get off shift and they can all head home together. 7. AmnesiaKurt stomps the clinging slush off of his feet in the hallway outside of their door. His feet are chilled through, his arms are sore from carrying so many shopping bags, and he feels harried and unhappy.He loves shopping. He loves finding the perfect presents for people. He’s never met a mall he feared or a fellow shopper he couldn’t out-maneuver. But New York is filled with millions of people also shopping for the perfect holiday gifts at a bargain, and they all seem to have sharper elbows than their Ohio counterparts. He’s nowhere done with his list, most of his money is already spent, and if he hears “Santa Baby” one more time he’s pretty sure he’s going to start screaming.Giving up on his shoes, which may now have a permanent coating of New York sludge on their lovely, previously butter-soft leather uppers, Kurt trudges inside and drops all of his bags heavily beside the door so that he can pull off his scarf and get out of his coat.“Kurt?” Blaine says from their bedroom, sounding alarmed.“It’s me,” Kurt calls back.“Where have you been?” Blaine asks. He comes out of their room dressed in suit pants and a white dress shirt, his hands working at his bow tie. “I’ve been texting you for an hour.”“Shopping,” Kurt says. “My phone was buried somewhere in my pocket, and I couldn’t dig it out with my hands so full.”“We’re going to be late,” Blaine says, his voice and face tight and anxious, and Kurt looks at him again. Suit pants. Dress shirt. Bow tie.“The Dean’s Christmas party,” Kurt says breathlessly, his heart dropping into his shoes. All of the blood drains out of his face, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy. He feels like he’s going to throw up.Blaine nods and settles his neatly tied bow tie at his throat. “We’re supposed to leave in fifteen minutes. Rachel’s just finishing up her hair.”“I’m so sorry,” Kurt says to Blaine, because Blaine is the one who got them the invitation to begin with. He is the one who is taking a seminar with the Dean next semester and who needs to get off on the right foot with him. He’s the one who has to be there when the party starts to be a part of the hand-picked quartet singing Christmas carols to greet the Dean’s guests. “I can’t believe I forgot. I stopped for one thing, and then I finally found a scarf for Dad, and - ”“Tell me later,” Blaine says. “You need to hurry. We have to go. I can’t be late for this, Kurt. I have to be there.”Kurt’s hands have gone numb, and it’s not from the cold. He has fifteen minutes to go from soggy shopper to fashion plate. His suit isn’t even steamed. His hair is a disaster. He hasn’t even decided what shirt he wants to wear.This is horrible. He can’t believe he forgot. Sure, he can meet Blaine there later if he has to, but he can’t believe he’s done this to Blaine.No, he hasn’t done it yet. He has fifteen minutes.“Don’t worry,” Kurt tells him, meeting his eyes in a firm promise. “I can do this.”Blaine stares at him with wide eyes for a second, then relaxes a tiny bit and nods. “Just hurry, okay?”“Go get your jacket on. I’ll be ready.” Kurt takes a deep breath and strides for their room. It will be fine. He might need to make magic happen right now, but he’s done more in less time.Rachel had just better stop hogging the mirror if she knows what’s good for her. 8. Fake boyfriend“So, you’re from Ohio. What’s that like?” Kelly says, running her hand up Blaine’s forearm.“Um.” Blaine clears his throat and looks down at her hand, not quite sure of the best way to dislodge it. Not that she’s hurting him, but she’s started touching him a lot, and he can’t get out of this corner of the Dean’s living room if she doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to be rude. “Different from New York,” he manages to say. “I mean, weather-wise it’s kind of the same. We have snow, too.”“Do you?” She tips her head to the side, her long, dark hair spilling over her shoulder. “I love the snow. I think it’s so romantic.”Blaine thinks of Kurt with his nose red from the cold and his lashes sparkling with snowflakes and says, “I do, too.” He smiles as he says it. He can’t help it.Kelly smiles, too, and touches his arm again. “And you’re a singer. Your voice is so nice.”“Thank you,” Blaine says. “Do you sing?”“I’m a dancer,” she says. “That’s probably why I haven’t seen you at school.”Blaine nods. “I’m usually only there for classes. I work, too, and I live in Bushwick, so it’s a long way home.”Kelly flicks her hair back over her shoulder and says, “Oh, I live near NYADA. If you ever need a couch to crash on overnight, let me know. My roommates are really quiet.”Blaine can’t help but laugh, because his roommates are anything but quiet, and he looks over Kelly’s shoulder for them as she digs for something in her purse. It’s a busy party, and unfortunately he doesn’t see anyone he recognizes during his quick, respectful, desperate glance.“I want to put your number into my phone,” Kelly says. “And give you mine.”“I don’t - I - “ Blaine stammers, because it’s not like she’s being rude or awful, and yet a part of him isn’t sure how to respond, because he knows he’s never going to stay at her apartment when he has Kurt to go home to.“Do you have a girlfriend, Blaine? Is that the problem?”“No,” Blaine says, too surprised by the question to do anything but answer truthfully.Kelly’s smile grows even wider, and she leans in toward his ear. “Then you should definitely call me. I wouldn’t want to be the other woman, but if there’s no woman...” She tweaks his bow tie as she draws away again. “So cute.”“But - “ Blaine begins. “I’m gay.”“Oh, I don’t care about that,” she says with a wave of her hand. “You have no idea how many gay guys I’ve slept with. Don’t worry. I can show you how it all works.”Blaine’s eyes go wide, because that wasn’t the answer he expected at all. “You don’t care that I’m gay?”“Labels are so restrictive, don’t you think?”Blaine stares at her, then blinks and shakes his head. “In this case it’s accurate.”“Please,” she says. “You’ve been flirting with me for twenty minutes.”His mouth dropping open, Blaine reflects in a panic over their conversation. He’d been attentive, talking about the music and complimenting her on her necklace and then getting into more personal matters... Was that flirting? He looks out over the room in dismay. He doesn’t mean to be flirting. She just seemed interesting, and he knows how important accessories are after so many years with Kurt...Suddenly the face of a small but glorious savior appears beyond Kelly. It’s Rachel.“Blaine!” she says, sweeping around Kelly to take his side.“Hi, Rachel,” he says around the mixture of relief and guilt roiling in his stomach.“I’m Kelly,” Kelly says.Rachel ignores her. “I wondered where you were, sweetie.” She leans up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek and then slides her arm through his in a quite obviously possessive gesture. She does it just as well as Kurt does. “I was looking for you. It’s time for us to go home.”Kelly looks between Blaine and Rachel. “I thought you said you were gay.”“Sorry,” Blaine says helplessly, not sure what to say but absolutely sure he would like to get out of there with Rachel before the situation becomes more uncomfortable. “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”“He’s so sweet,” Rachel says. “He never knows what to say when someone comes onto him.”Kelly stands up a little straighter and says acidly to Rachel, “You should know he’s been flirting with me all night.”Rachel just laughs. “I’m sure he couldn’t help it.” she says to Kelly, patting Blaine’s arm. “Come on, Blaine.”“Thank you so much,” Blaine says under his breath as Rachel leads him away. “I told her I was gay, and she said she didn’t care. And now she thinks I was lying.”“We’re definitely going to have to teach you what to do when women are hitting on you,” she tells him.“I didn’t even know she was,” Blaine says, his heart heavy. Why doesn’t he know these things? He feels so foolish.Rachel pats his arm again. “I know. Now let’s find Kurt. He’s been looking for you.”“That sounds wonderful,” Blaine says with feeling. At least he knows what to do when Kurt is flirting with him. And he’s definitely allowed to go home with him at the end of the night. 9. Gay for youSitting at the kitchen table, Kurt slowly stirs the oatmeal mixture as it cools. He’s making a batch of his oatmeal face mask, though in reality he doesn’t remember what he put in it or how long he’s been stirring.In front of the couch, Blaine bends more deeply into his lunge, his thigh muscles - bared by the tight, tiny, bright red shorts he is wearing, paired with a green shirt in honor of the season - flexing with the motion. His ass flexes, too, and Kurt’s eyes trace its muscular curve, taut and strong, the perfect shape for his hands to grab onto.Kurt stirs a little more vigorously, and Blaine switches legs and lunges again. His body bends in a beautiful stretch, the power in every inch of it visible to Kurt’s eyes.Blaine and Sam have a gym membership and go together a couple of times a week, but between their sessions Blaine likes to do an intense pilates and stretching regime in the living room. Though he often does it when he’s alone in the apartment, with classes being over Kurt is home today to see Blaine twist and sweat his way through his routine.Blaine stands up and then leans forward over his toes, his ass up in the air, and Kurt clutches the bowl to his chest and fervently thinks he should make an effort to be home more often.He wouldn’t consider himself to be an ass-man, particularly. It’s not the first thing he notices in a man, not even the thing he likes the most after bright eyes and a good sense of style. He likes every part of Blaine, really.He likes Blaine’s strong, muscular arms, which are conveniently on display thanks to his tank top. He likes the width of Blaine’s shoulders, currently damp with sweat and flexing in smooth and distracting movements. He likes the solid strength of Blaine’s back beneath the clinging material of his shirt, the tendons of his neck, the small of his back, the trim line of his waist. He likes the curve of Blaine’s calves and the thickness of his legs where they disappear into his shorts. It’s all beautiful. It’s all tempting and touchable.Letting out a sigh, Kurt tips his head as Blaine bends over his toes again. All of him is simply gorgeous, Kurt thinks, but his ass, oh, his ass is definitely a high point. Not too small or flat, perfect in a tight pair of pants, even more perfect in those small shorts, the bulge of his cock and balls so visible between his legs and the seam at the back fitting snugly along his cleft, defining it, emphasizing it, making Kurt visualize what Blaine looks like bent over without the shorts, open and ready for him, begging to be touched -“Wow,” Sam says, dropping into the chair beside Kurt, and Kurt nearly fumbles the bowl onto the floor in his surprise.“I’m - uh - “ Kurt stammers, trying very hard to pull his eyes away from Blaine as he drops down to the floor to start doing push-ups. Kurt’s face is hot, and as embarrassed as he should be about it he simply cannot make himself look away from Blaine. “I’m making an oatmeal mask.”Sam peers into the bowl and makes a disappointed noise. “I was hoping it was cookies.”“Sorry,” Kurt manages to say.“Not a problem. Maybe later. When you aren’t so distracted.”“He’s - “ Kurt clears his throat and runs a flat hand along the edge of his open collar; suddenly his shirt feels very tight. His pants, too, but that’s been true for a while now. “I mean - ““Dude,” Sam says gently. He pats Kurt on the shoulder. “I get it. Look at him.”Kurt lets out a light, giddy laugh and lets go of the spoon to rest his elbows on the table. “I am.”Sam nods. “I would, too. I’m kind of regretting not taking him up on his offer when he had a crush on me. I mean, the ass alone. Really impressive.”“Yeah,” Kurt sighs out, watching its tight silhouette as Blaine pushes himself up off the floor and lowers himself back down again over and over.The only reason Kurt doesn’t want to be under him in that very moment is that then he couldn’t see him as well.Sam pats his shoulder again and says, “You’re a lucky man.”“I really am.” 10. EpistolaryKurt to Blaine: Did you pick up toothpaste?Blaine to Kurt: Do we need toothpaste?Kurt to Blaine: We do if you didn’t pick up any.Blaine to Kurt: I didn’t know we needed it.Kurt to Blaine: So that’s a no.Blaine to Kurt: Yes.Blaine to Kurt: Yes, that’s a no. I didn’t get toothpaste.Blaine to Kurt: I got more eggnog, though! :DKurt to Blaine: :) I’ll stop and get toothpaste on my way home.Blaine to Kurt: Cinnamon flavored?? xoKurt to Blaine: Fine. Because I love you. xoxoBlaine to Kurt: I love it when you taste like cinnamon. xoxoxoKurt to Blaine: Are you escalating the xos on purpose?Kurt to Blaine: If so: xoxoxoxoBlaine to Kurt: Come home and brush your teeth with cinnamon toothpaste, and I’ll xo you so much you lose count.Blaine to Kurt: xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoKurt to Blaine: How much eggnog have you had?Blaine to Kurt: None! Rachel made hot toddies. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo Kurt, come home!Kurt to Blaine: Leaving now. <3 11. Superhero AU“What if you wore it off your face?” Kurt asks from behind Rachel, his hands in her hair as they look at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Or just partly up? You could curl the ends into a pretty cascade.”Rachel turns her head to a three-quarter profile, not dislodging Kurt’s hold on her hair. “Is that dramatic enough with the dress?”There’s a crash from the other room.“Beware, evildoers! Nightbird and the Blond Chameleon are here to save Christmas!” Sam yells.Rachel and Kurt peer as one out of the bathroom door to see Sam in a suit striking a pose by the kitchen table and Blaine in a black and blue costume with a cape leaping over the back of one of the chairs. They’re both wearing silver garlands as headbands.Kurt and Rachel stare for a moment as Blaine spins, the fabric of his cape flowing elegantly behind him.Bits of garland float and drift in his wake.“I think it will be fine,” Kurt tells Rachel, drawing her back in front of the mirror. “Especially if we find something sparkly to hold it back.”There’s another crash. They both flinch, but neither one of them makes a move to see what happened. When Blaine and Sam are in costume, anything can happen. It’s best not to ask.It’s just Tuesday. 12. CurtainficMost of the time, Blaine loves their privacy curtain. When it’s pushed back, it makes the loft look spacious and airy; when it’s pulled closed, it blocks out most of the light from the apartment and muffles the worst of the sound.Santana and Rachel usually respect it and leave them alone if it’s closed, at least after the time Santana snuck in late at night to find them having fallen asleep naked and she screeched about being blinded by so much of Kurt’s pale skin for the better part of a week afterwards. And the drawn curtain makes things feel cozy and comfortable, like a big, bedroom-shaped tent, this month lit from outside by sparkly multi-colored lights that make everything that much more magical.The sound of Kurt pulling it shut on its rings makes Blaine’s heart leap in his chest every night, communal space turning into their space with a flick of Kurt’s elegant hand.The problem is, though, that it’s still only a thin barrier of cloth between their room and their friends.Blaine loves their friends. He loves living with them. He loves that Sam and Dani and Elliott and Artie are around so much, popping up for odd meals or just to hang out on the couch all afternoon. He loves that his casa is their casa, however the saying goes in Spanish. How much they all share of their lives warms something deep into his core. It makes him feel at home in a group in a way he’s always wanted. In some ways, this apartment feels more like home and family than his parents’ house ever did.But sometimes Blaine wants to be loud. Or he wants Kurt to be loud. Or he just wants to be very, very quiet and take a nice nap with his wonderful, hard-working, exhausted fiancé, who has just worked an extra long shift at the diner to help make enough money to afford the gifts he wants to buy this season and still go home to Ohio for a couple of days before New Year’s.Blaine trails his fingers through Kurt’s hair and feels Kurt’s go that much more limp against his side. Draped over him, Kurt makes a low, muffled sound of exhaustion and misery.“Dashing through the snow!” Rachel sings in the other room, and Kurt jerks at the sound of her voice.“In a one-horse open sleigh!” Dani follows.It’s loud enough that it feels like they’re right beside their bed.Blaine squeezes his eyes shut and keeps petting Kurt’s hair, though he knows it’s entirely futile. This nap isn’t going to happen. Even if he blew Kurt to help him relax, one of his best weapons in his fight against Kurt’s sometimes frantic sleeplessness, he knows Kurt wouldn’t be able to fall asleep afterwards with the impromptu sing-a-long going on.It might be worth a try anyway. Or it would be if he thought he could actually concentrate on the task with the sound of Christmas caroling in his ears.The four-part harmony they get going for the refrain is actually pretty nice, Blaine thinks, draping his free arm over his eyes and sighing in frustration. But wow, can’t they do it in Sam’s apartment for once?Blaine pets Kurt’s thick hair and presses a kiss to his temple. “Want me to dig out the extra strong ear plugs?” he asks. They’re too stiff to be comfortable to wear every day, but this seems like a worthwhile reason to use them.“I would trade every bit of couture I own for a set of walls and a door,” Kurt mutters against Blaine’s chest and rolls onto his back to let Blaine get up. 13. Body swapWrapped in his bathrobe after his shower, Kurt pokes listlessly through his ties. He has so many of them in so many patterns that he usually finds exciting and clever, but tonight they all feel boring. They feel expected. They feel dull.Kurt turns to look at his racks of clothing. Maybe he should wear an outfit that doesn’t require a tie, but Isabelle just gave him that Tom Ford blazer, and he was really wanting to wear it to karaoke night tonight. It’s festive and new, perfect for the holiday season, and even better he looks incredible in it and kind of wants to make Blaine’s eyes smoulder when he sees him.He sighs and goes back to sorting through his accessories. He just needs to get over himself and pick a tie. Blaine knows all about tie angst and will love him just the same.A thought sparks in his brain, and Kurt chews on his lip as he slowly turns toward the chest of drawers Blaine uses for most of his clothes. He walks over to it and pulls open the squeaky upper drawer. Inside are bow tie after bow tie, all pressed and lined up neatly like a rainbow of delightful, dapper options just waiting for him.He and Blaine don’t really share their wardrobes; they’re built differently enough that most of their clothes wouldn’t fit right on the other, and their styles aren’t all that compatible. Kurt’s statement pieces have a harder edge; Blaine gravitates toward looks that are more traditional than Kurt likes to wear. Even when they like the same kind of accessory - like ties - the details are so very different: simple, colorful stripes for Blaine and edgier, dark colors with metallic accents for Kurt. So they keep their clothes separate and just enjoy looking at each other’s choices.But, Kurt thinks, as he breathlessly touches his fingertips to the ties, bright and so very Blaine, one of these wouldn’t be expected at all.No, he could make quite a statement going out of his comfort zone and into Blaine’s instead.And he wonders with an anticipatory twist of his stomach if Blaine’s eyes might flash even darker at the thought that Kurt’s wrapped in something of his all night long. 14. Dominance/submission“No,” Blaine says.Kurt lifts his eyebrows. “What do you mean no?”“I don’t like it,” Blaine says, staring unhappily at the supposedly sweet but actually creepy Christmas elf figurine with its rictus smile and serial killer eyes. “I don’t want it in the apartment.”“But I like it,” Kurt replies. “It’s cute. And vintage.”Blaine has to look away from the elf where it sits on the kitchen table, and he draws himself up a little taller. “It’s terrifying. I’m going to have nightmares.”“But I like it,” Kurt says again, this time a little more firmly. He crosses his arms over his chest.“And I don’t.” Blaine crosses his arms over his chest, too.Kurt stares him down.A part of Blaine really wants to give in. He wants Kurt to be happy. He wants Kurt to have everything he wants. He wants Kurt to smile at him instead of giving him this disapproving glare, the one he most often shoots at Santana. Blaine can feel his spine softening in his back, ready for him to say yes to Kurt, because he loves him that much.On the other hand, the elf is horrifying and scary, and Blaine really will have nightmares if it’s sitting somewhere in the loft. He’s not even sure he’s going to want to be here alone with it.Blaine squares his shoulders and adds, “I live here, too.”There’s a long moment of tense silence as Kurt stares at him through narrowed eyes and Blaine stands his ground and stares right back.It could go either way. If there’s one thing he’s learned about them living together it’s that while they try to care for each other, they both have strong opinions and tend to be sure they’re right. Neither of them likes to compromise when it’s important. Blaine knows from the thumping of his heart and the storminess of Kurt’s expression that this could escalate into a blow-out of an argument and fast. It could end in a stalemate that leads to resentful silence and a chilly bed tonight.But he also knows that they’re equal partners and they both have a say, and that means that Blaine gets to put his foot down and be in charge some of the time.Kurt lifts his chin mulishly, and Blaine wonders for a second if Kurt really is going to put the need to have everything his way over Blaine’s wishes about a stupid but hideous little Christmas elf... but then Kurt drops his gaze, picks up the figurine, and gives it a sad look before tucking back in the shopping bag.“Okay,” Kurt says with a sigh. “I’ll send it to Carole. She’ll love it.”The prospect of going home to Ohio with Kurt for a few days suddenly gets a lot less exciting for Blaine if he’s going to have to be on the lookout for that statue in the Hudson-Hummel house, but at least it won’t be here.“Thank you,” Blaine says with a relieved smile. He resists the urge to bounce up onto his toes, because nobody likes a poor winner. Still... no elf!Kurt leans in to press a kiss to his cheek and says, “I love you.” Then he rustles around in his bag again like he’s looking for something. “But I’m keeping the vintage musical snowglobe, no matter what you say.”“Does it have an elf in it?” Blaine asks in some trepidation.“No,” Kurt says. “Just a landscape.” He scrunches his nose a little, thinking. “There’s a train.”Blaine’s shoulders drop, and he smiles at him without reservation. “Trains are good. I like trains.”Kurt makes an amused noise and says, “I’m so glad you approve.” 15. Hurt/comfortKurt hums to himself as he cuts a swath of thick, metallic paper from the roll and places it down on the bed in front of his crossed legs. His phone is playing Christmas music beside him, the apartment smells wonderful from whatever Santana and Dani are making for dinner, and his pile of beautifully wrapped presents is growing on the far side of the bed. He admires them with satisfaction for a moment before picking up the red mohair sweater he had found for Santana, tight enough that she’ll wear it but soft and warm enough that it’ll serve her well in these New York winters. It’s not actually colder here than in Lima, but they’re outside so much more, walking everywhere in the frigid winter air.Kurt loves New York, but he looks forward to being rich and famous enough that he can have a driver.Folding the sweater in tissue, Kurt places the bundle in the center of the paper, wraps the edges neatly around it, and holds it all in position with one hand while pulling a piece of tape from the dispenser. He sticks it in place, but as he turns the package so that he can fold up the other edges a sharp line of fire along the pad of his finger makes him jump and pull his hand back with a jerk.“Ow,” he says, sticking his finger into his mouth automatically as it stings and burns. He sucks on it, tasting the burst of copper on his tongue, and then he pulls his hand back to take a look at the papercut.There’s a slice in his finger nearly an inch long, and blood wells up into the cut as he watches. He sticks his finger back into his mouth.“Fuck,” he says around his finger and tries to disentangle himself one-handed from the carefully arranged prison of wrapping supplies and presents he’s built around himself. It’s not graceful or all that successful. Up on his knees, he lunges forward to catch the toppling pile of gifts before they tumble off the bed and says again, with feeling, “Fuck.” A roll of wrapping paper clatters to the floor on the other side of him.“Kurt?” Blaine asks with concern from outside the drawn curtain. “Are you okay?”“Yeah.” Kurt glares down at his still-bleeding finger. “Just a nasty papercut.”Blaine hesitates for a second and then asks, “Do you need help?”Kurt sinks back down in the only safe spot on the bed with a sigh. He’s not getting out of this room without a disaster happening.All of Blaine’s presents are already wrapped, so he admits, “I could really use a bandaid.” He presses against the cut with his thumb and winces at the discomfort; that’ll teach him to buy the expensive wrapping paper. No good deed goes unpunished, just like the song says.“I’ll be right back.” Blaine’s footsteps hurry across the apartment, and a minute later they return, pausing outside the curtain again. “Is it safe for me to come in?”“Yes.”Blaine carefully slips inside, checking that the curtain is closed before coming over to the bed. He lights up at the pile of presents in a moment of excitement before his brows draw together with the seriousness of the situation. He shifts the bandaid and tube of antibiotic ointment into one hand and reaches out with the other. “Let me see?”“I can do it,” Kurt says, but Blaine just stands there with his hand out.“Let me help, Kurt,” Blaine insists gently.Something in his chest melting a little at the gesture - because he is perfectly capable of handling the cut on his own but somehow he’s lucky enough that he doesn’t have to - Kurt extends his hand and watches as Blaine oh-so-carefully cradles it in his palm and examines the cut for a moment.“Ow,” Blaine says in sympathy before squeezing out a bit of ointment and wrapping the bandaid around Kurt’s finger, neatly and not too tightly. He works intently, his head bent and his fingers warm and sure on Kurt’s hand, like it’s important, like Kurt’s important.Kurt’s not sure if the cut has stopped hurting or if his inability to breathe has shut off some of the vital systems in his body, but the way Blaine looks up at him, warm-eyed and concerned, makes it feel like nothing in the world hurts at all for that few seconds.“How’s that?” Blaine asks, smoothing his thumb over the edge of the bandage.Kurt knows his heart is spread across his face, every bit of his happiness at being cared about visible when he says, “Perfect. Thank you.”Blaine smiles back like he’s delighted by Kurt’s reaction and raises Kurt’s hand to his lips. “Any time.” 16. Snowed inWhen Blaine was little, he hated winter storms.It wasn’t the threat of thunder or icy roadways. It wasn’t the way they turned his father cranky and made him get home even later than usual from work. It wasn’t the way he was chilled through waiting for the bus on the days he had to go to school.It was the boredom. That’s why he hated winter storms.If it was sleeting or snowing, his mother insisted it was too cold for him to go out and play, so he used to have to stay inside and amuse himself quietly instead of being able to run, jump, and explore the way he wanted to. Storm days meant long, dull hours of claustrophobia, no riding his bike around the cul-de-sac with his friends, no swinging high up into the sky on the swing set in the back yard, not even building snowmen or sledding, though those might come the next day if he was lucky and they got so much snow school was canceled.No, stormy days in the winter meant feeling trapped, isolated, and alone. They made the world feel so small, just the walls of his house and his family inside with him, cut off from everything else. It was like the rest of the world was pushed away, too far to reach. He’d sit at the cold window, watching the water fall outside, and wish and wish and wish for it to stop.Now, though, as the freezing rain and snow splatter and hiss against the loft’s windows, part of Blaine wants the storm never to end.Now the dark skies and the water against the windows is insulation, protection, keeping Santana stuck at work, Rachel at rehearsal, and Kurt from going out to run last minute errands, keeping people out and sound in.There’s only Kurt and Blaine and the storm outside.The world is still small, but it’s beautifully so. It’s just them. It’s just Kurt’s cock hot and heavy in Blaine’s mouth, Kurt’s hands carding helplessly in Blaine’s hair, Kurt’s low moans and the susurration of bare skin against their sheets in Blaine’s ears, all kept in, kept close by the blanket of bad weather around them.The world is small. It’s intimate. It’s breath and skin and warm light from the lamp pooling on Kurt’s chest and down his stomach. It’s Kurt’s soft requests for more as loud as a shout. It’s Blaine’s racing pulse like thunder in his ears. The world is nothing but this apartment, this bed, this man.Kurt gasps as Blaine takes him deeper into his mouth, almost into his throat, and curls his fingers in Blaine’s hair in greedy gratitude. His body is slick with sweat, and Blaine slides his hand up Kurt’s stomach and chest just to feel the tension in him, the desire, the passion, all of it for him. Every part of Kurt’s razor sharp mind and graceful body, so often scattered by his work or his many plans, seems caught in this moment, drawn in and focused only toward where Blaine touches him. “Love this,” Kurt says, rocking up into his mouth in little hitches of his hips the way he always does when he’s too close to stop himself. He twists his fingers in Blaine’s sweaty hair, gently, gently, panting with each slick movement along Blaine’s tongue. “Love you. Blaine.”Blaine swallows around him and works him faster but not quite fast enough to make him spill, not yet.Instead he draws it out as long as he can, loving him and enjoying him, pouring every bit of himself into the action as the sleet dances against the windows and the city is paused all around them, and thinks this is everything in the world.There’s nothing else. Nothing close. Nothing that matters but them.He wouldn’t mind if the storm lasted forever. 17. BondageKurt twists his arm up behind his back and reaches as high up as he can. No luck. He tries the other hand. As limber as he is, he’s not even close.He tries to touch the clasp from above, but his fingers brush against the metal without quite gaining purchase on it.Turning around, he cranes his neck over his shoulder to get a better look at the back of the vest. He has to admire how it sits on him - it makes the span of his shoulders look amazing - but he’s been wearing it all day and would really like it off now, thank you very much, and he can’t quite reach to unfasten the buckle at his shoulderblades.“This is why you don’t buy clothes from an up and coming designer, no matter how much you love them,” Kurt mutters to himself. “They’re more into the aesthetics than the practicalities.”Kurt drops his hands to his sides and glares at his reflection. He’d wiggled the vest on over his head that morning and fastened the buckle at his waist afterwards, but no matter how he is squirming and twisting he can’t quite manage to reverse the motion without the vest getting caught somewhere. It’s something about the shape of the arm holes or the snug, perfect fit of the chest.His expression softens in the mirror. It really does fit him beautifully.He shakes his head and strains up behind him again and utterly fails to reach the buckle. He bends forward and pulls at the vest’s shoulders more vigorously, managing to slide them a few inches up his arms... where it sticks again, this time trapping his arms up over his head.“Oh, for - ” Kurt drops his head for a moment and takes a steadying breath. He can’t stay like this all night. He tries to lower his arms, and nothing happens.He tries again. Nothing happens but some creative swearing.Gritting his teeth, he wiggles and twists, fighting to get the vest to slide back into place.“Hi?” Blaine says slowly from the doorway to their room. His eyes widen in concern. “Everything okay in here?”“Blaine,” Kurt says in relief, somehow managing to drop his arms and not look like a kindergartener caught in his shirt. “Would you please help me take this off? I cannot get out of it to save my life.”Blaine’s eyebrows rise in surprise, but he’s laughing as he strolls over. “I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever said no to helping you out of your clothes.”Kurt turns to present him with the stupid, gorgeous back of his vest. “Only when we’re in a rush and it’s faster if I do it. But that’s more of a recreational thing. This time you’ll be saving me.”Pausing with his hands on the buckle, Blaine murmurs in Kurt’s ear, “Will you give me a reward for coming to your rescue?”“Besides not having to see me wear the same outfit for the rest of my life?” Kurt asks, unable to hold back a little shiver at the puff of breath against the side of his throat.Blaine laughs again, ducking his head to press a kiss to the nape of Kurt’s neck before tugging the buckle free.He doesn’t ask for more of a reward, but Kurt gives him one, anyway, offering him a suitably grateful kiss... after he sets aside the entrapping vest. 18. Fertility ritualSitting beside Kurt in his favorite spot on their couch, Blaine wonders as they stare at Santana if he’s had too much to drink. Or maybe not enough to drink; he’s only had a few sips. Whatever the answer is, clearly he is not at the right state of inebriation for what’s happening.Santana straddles Dani’s lap, her arms extended up over her head, and writhes in the air above her. Her skirt, which was already quite short to begin with, slips higher up her thighs as she moves.Blaine’s eyes widen as Santana pulls the clip from her hair and leans back so that it cascades all the way down behind her to brush Dani’s knees. She trails her fingers through it, her hips swaying back and forth, and then runs her hands down her sides in a practiced, seductive motion.“Hmm,” Dani says, watching her girlfriend with laughing eyes. It’s not just the sparkling lights above her that are making them glitter. “You said one word, movie title...”“Mm hmm.” Santana puts her hands on the back of the chair by Dani’s head and leans forward, her cleavage almost brushing Dani’s face and her ass angled out toward the rest of the group.“I know the answer, Santana!” Rachel insists from the other side of the room, looking pointedly away at the Christmas tree instead of the scene unfolding in front of them all.“Nope.” With a wink at Dani, Santana pops open a button of her sweater. “My teammate has to guess.”Tapping her finger on her chin, Dani hums in obviously feigned confusion and says, “I’m still not sure. Keep going.”“You guys have a really interesting way of playing Christmas Eve charades,” Elliott says in a strangled voice from the other side of Kurt.“All right, which one of you put Striptease in the jar of clues?” Kurt asks the room with sharp disapproval.“Me,” Artie says, leaning forward in his wheelchair as Santana shimmies and rolls against her girlfriend. “And I’m definitely not sorry.”“Yeah, dude, that was genius,” Sam says and offers him a blind but surprisingly accurate high-five. His eyes are similarly fixed on the scene in front of them.Blaine swallows as Santana bends back over Dani and undoes another button, exposing the tank top she’s wearing beneath her sweater. It’s not that he’s attracted to her, obviously, but she really is very pretty, and it’s hard not to be drawn into how much Dani is enjoying the display.“Charades are awesome!” Dani says, laughing and putting her hands on Santana’s hips as she bumps and grinds to the music in her head.“Oh, yeah,” is Santana’s purring reply.“Isn’t there a time limit on how long she has to guess?” Rachel asks, still not looking.“Yeah, but Santana’s the official timekeeper,” Elliott says.“And that was our first mistake,” Kurt mutters. He picks a piece of lint off of his sweater with a sharp, judgmental motion.“It’s kind of sweet,” Blaine says, because it is, the way they’re grinning at each other so happily. They’re really cute together, their eyes sparkling and their movements too fond to be salacious. Of course, he’s also not the target audience for her display, but he’d like to think that even if he were he’d still find it sweet.“Santana, can you please finish your lesbian mating dance so the rest of us can play the game we invited everyone here for?” Kurt asks.“Hold your horses,” Santana tells him, sliding down to sit on Dani’s lap, still moving her upper body. “I haven’t seen her in days, and I’m having fun. You’ll get to act out Broadway Back Door Boyfriends for your boy soon enough.”“Santana!” Rachel cries as Blaine’s face goes hot.It’s hard not to picture Kurt performing the same sort of dance on his lap, even though it would be weird in front of all of their friends.Blaine looks down at his hands and tries not to think about Kurt’s hips when he shimmies and grinds...“Is that a real movie?” Sam asks.“That sounds kind of good, actually,” Elliott says thoughtfully.“These clues were supposed to be family friendly!” Rachel says, sitting straight up in her chair in frustration.Santana leans against Dani and laughs, the act apparently over but not her amusement. “We’re all family, and that sounds really friendly...”In an abrupt motion that makes Blaine sway in surprise on his cushion, Kurt stands and announces with a brisk clap of his hands, “Okay! I think it’s time for Christmas cookies!”“Wanky,” Santana drawls and curls a lock of Dani’s hair around her finger.“What?” Dani asks her. “How is that wanky?”“I don’t know,” Santana says with a shrug. “I just wanted to say it.”Dani smiles more widely and leans in to kiss her with quite a bit of affectionate enthusiasm.Blaine hears Artie make a soft, appreciative sound under his breath.“If this turns into an all-out orgy, I call dibs on Sam,” Elliott says and reaches for his drink.“This is not turning into - “ Rachel begins.“Come on, Blaine,” Kurt says, stepping over Elliott’s long legs. “Help me plate the cookies.”Blaine glances between Rachel’s angry face, Santana’s amused one, and the kind of glazed look in Artie’s eyes. They won’t be getting back to charades any time soon.“Okay,” he replies and quickly follows him to the relative safety of the loft’s kitchen. 19. Fuck or dieKurt sighs contentedly to himself late that night as he slides under the covers on his side of the bed. His side. He has a side, because Blaine lives here, too. Blaine has his own side, his own towels, his own everything in this life he’s sharing with Kurt.Rolling onto his hip, Kurt reaches out to find Blaine’s hand beneath the blankets. Somehow it’s always there waiting for him. Somehow their fingers always thread easily together. Somehow Blaine’s eyes are always already on him, unnaturally dark, half in shadow in the dim streetlight filtering in through the window.“It was a nice night,” Kurt says, twining his fingers with Blaine’s and snuggling down into the bed. He’s tired, but a warm energy thrums in him, too, something contented and open.“It was.” Blaine smiles at him, his expression going sweet and soft. “Everyone seemed really happy.”“And the cookies were excellent,” Kurt prompts shamelessly.Breathing out a soft laugh, Blaine says, “And your cookies were excellent, Kurt.”Kurt smiles back for a moment - his body heavy with that bone-deep satisfaction of a night well-spent with people he really does love and whom he knows love him, too - before saying to the one whom he loves and who loves him best of all, “I love living with you here, doing all of this with you. Even with the threat of Santana being shirtless always hanging over our heads.”Something in Blaine’s face melts even further, and he smooths his thumb over the back of Kurt’s hand beneath the covers. “I love living with you, too,” he replies. “And I’m not afraid of Santana.”“Don’t let her hear that. She’ll up her game. Try to drive you out for good.”Blaine slides closer, his breath warm against Kurt’s face. “I’m not afraid of that, either,” he says softly.“No?” Kurt slips his arm around Blaine’s warm waist and tips his face toward him for a kiss, though none comes.“No,” Blaine tells him, less than an inch away. “Nothing’s going to drive me away from you. I love you. And I love that we get to spend every night together.”Kurt’s heart fills even more, making him feel buoyant and yet solid, grounded, sure. “Me, too,” he promises. “I love you, too.”Blaine’s smile is wide and filled with a kind of innocent joy, but the kiss he gives Kurt is anything but sweet. It’s neither soft nor tentative but deep and searching, eager, needy, and Kurt closes his eyes and with the simmering need of a night of light drinking and not enough touching throws himself into it.There’s no reason not to. He has Blaine, he loves him, and they’re together. There’s no reason to hold back at all.They kiss and kiss until Blaine pushes Kurt onto his back and climbs on top of him with a hoarse groan, until their lips are swollen and their jaws are sore, until their shirts are off and their skin is sweaty, until their bodies are restless and their breathing is ragged, until Kurt’s hands are beneath Blaine’s pajamas, caressing and kneading his firm ass, and their cocks are rubbing hard against each other, kept apart by increasingly frustrating layers of fabric.“Blaine,” Kurt says, not knowing quite what he needs apart from him. That much he knows. That much he’s utterly certain of, every bit of his body straining toward him.It feels as necessary to life as breathing, as necessary to life as performing to be near him. He loves him so much, from his tender heart to his passion for music to his inability to remember from week to week which is the washing machine with the ineffectual rinse cycle.Kurt gets to be with Blaine every night now, every day, but instead of just getting used to touching him and loving him it simply makes him want it more.It’s a hunger that’s never going to be sated, he’s realizing, but in a way just having that kind of huge, boundless need for Blaine is a joy in itself, because it means so much to him, to his life that he gets to feel it and because he knows Blaine feels that way about him, too. They’ll always be hungry for everything about each other. Always.“Fuck me,” Blaine says against Kurt’s mouth. “Fuck me,” he says against Kurt’s ear. “Fuck me,” he says against Kurt’s throat and jaw and chin. “Please?”“Blaine,” Kurt says again, squeezing his ass without conscious thought but with definite approval, and Blaine laughs as he pulls away to flops to the side on his stomach to dig for the supplies.Kurt shimmies out of his pajama bottoms as Blaine does the same, but then instead of coming back Blaine stays there, lifting onto his hands and knees and looking at Kurt over his shoulder with challenge and love and giddy anticipation.Kurt doesn’t hesitate. He bends over him and kisses Blaine’s shoulders, his back, the line of his spine and the curve of his ass as they both breathe through waves of need as he opens him up and gets him ready.And when Kurt fits himself between Blaine’s legs and slowly, smoothly, insistently slides home into the welcoming heat of Blaine’s body, Blaine drops his head low and lets out a long breath as he flexes and relaxes around him. “Kurt,” he says, and it sounds so much like yes.It’s easy to move in Blaine, to find a rhythm, not just because he and Blaine know so well how to be with each other, not just because Blaine knows how to dip his spine and ride back onto him to make them both gasp and laugh at how right it feels, not just because Blaine is beautiful and responsive and his. It’s easy for Kurt to move in Blaine because every part of him wants to be with him, as close to him as possible, and every part of Blaine wants him there, too.It’s not just sex, though it is that - sweat and sinew, muscle and bone, panting breaths and low words, sharp, desperate thrusts that drive them both wild before they slow down, honey sweet, to draw out the pleasure longer, each deep, demanding press of Kurt’s cock into Blaine’s willing body winding them tight with how much they both just want it, want more of it, want all of it until there’s nothing in the world but their bodies spiraling higher and sharper with need - but also love. Love for each other, love for the many ways they can express it, love for getting to learn about it all together.Because part of every day is new, part of every night is new, part of every touch is new, and the parts that are becoming familiar are just as wonderful.Kurt leans over Blaine’s back, mouthing at his shoulder blade as he digs his knees in and fucks into him harder, listening to the demands of his body and the increasingly throaty moans Blaine isn’t able to stifle. He can feel the tension in Blaine’s muscles, the way he’s snapping his hips back to take each thrust, the red hot hardness of Blaine’s cock as Kurt palms over it below him.“God, oh god, oh Kurt,” Blaine says hoarsely, falling onto his elbows as Kurt curls his hand around Blaine’s erection. The angle splays Blaine’s legs wider, pushes Kurt into him deeper, and strips away the last of Kurt’s control.He just wants Blaine. He wants him like this, under him and with him, he wants his gorgeous body and his huge heart, he wants to hold him and touch him, he wants to make him come, he wants to come in him, he wants to drive them both over that edge, because every amazing thing that they can do alone is better when they are together, including this.Kurt fucks into him again and again, gritting his teeth as he bottoms out against Blaine’s perfect ass and wishes despite all the laws of anatomy and the universe that he could keep going even deeper, feeling more of him, feeling Blaine take him that much more inside. But still, this is amazing. So good. So good.“I’m - Kurt - “ Blaine’s hand joins his on his erection, and together they stroke him hard and fast until Blaine’s shaking and squeezing around him and coming all over their joined hands and the rumpled sheets beneath them.Blaine sinks down onto the pillow, and Kurt braces one hand on Blaine’s hip and the other beside Blaine’s open, smiling face and feels it all, feels everything, feels the tightness of Blaine’s body around him and the warmth of his smile, feels the way Blaine stretches, spreads his legs even more, and just lets him take his pleasure, and if everything else about Blaine and being together weren’t already perfect - which it is, it always is - the simple way Blaine keeps letting him in even after he’s already gotten what he needs would push Kurt beyond his limits.For most of his life, Kurt hasn’t had a partner like this by his side, so generous and full of love, and now even as it can still shock him he doesn’t know how he was really living without having this, too.“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine murmurs, and he sounds so blissed out and happy that it catches Kurt right under his heart and breaks him open.Kurt chokes back his groan as he coils like a spring and comes, hips jerking through his release as he collapses forward, pushes deep, and lets himself go.He pants against Blaine’s back, curls his arm along Blaine’s to find his hand, and squeezes his eyes shut in joy, because even though he knows this dizzying afterglow will only last so long this sureness in him, the rightness of being with Blaine, that he knows will last forever. 20. SoulmatesThe lights on the Christmas tree glow red, green, and gold, lighting up the metallic strands of garland and catching in shining fragments of glitter on the ornaments. On the couch, Blaine drinks his coffee and watches the ornament Kurt bought him - a pair of red sunglasses made from blown glass - spin in the teasing tendril of air from a nearby draft.The living room is a disaster area of crumpled wrapping paper, discarded bows, and open boxes. Presents are piled on the floor in uneven heaps by wherever they were unwrapped. There are empty mugs and crumb-filled plates on the coffee table from their breakfast of Rachel’s sour cream coffee cake and Kurt’s leftover Christmas cookies.It’s a rare moment of silence after a boisterous morning of presents and friendship. Santana is taking a shower, Rachel is calling her dads, and Sam and the others haven’t arrived yet for their promised Christmas brunch.It’s nice. Peaceful. Despite the chaos, surprisingly beautiful.Blaine takes another sip of coffee and leans into the warmth of Kurt’s shoulder beside him. Kurt looks up from the book in his lap - a retrospective from the Costume Institute Blaine had bought him - and smiles over at him, everything about him relaxed and open in a way Blaine loves so much.“I’m still not sure that bow tie goes with your pajamas,” Kurt says fondly, reaching up to touch the new striped tie he had given Blaine, which Blaine had immediately secured around his throat.“Yes, it does. It’s Christmas.” Blaine reaches out for Kurt’s fingers, feels them fit into his like the perfect key to the lock of his heart, and brings them down to rest on his thigh.Kurt’s smile rises warmer into his eyes, bright beneath the rumpled fall of his morning hair. He’s the most beautiful thing in the world, and Blaine turns to him like a plant reaching for the sun when Kurt leans in for a kiss.“Merry Christmas, Blaine,” Kurt tells him, soft and just for him.“Merry Christmas,” Blaine says and holds his hand close and his heart closer as he goes back to watching the lights dance on the tree.
1003858	Pacific Rim Ficlets	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": null, "Characters": "Hannibal Chau, Newton Geiszler, Hermann Gottlieb, Mako Mori, Raleigh Becket, Hercules Hansen, Tendo Choi, Baby Kaiju (Pacific Rim), Sasha Kaidanovsky, Aleksis Kaidanovsky", "Fandom": "Pacific Rim (2013)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by hobbitdragon", "chapters": "33/?", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-14T00:00:00", "words": "20,564", "Additional Tags": "PTSD, Family, Nonsexual Relationship, Violence, Mental Health Issues, Grief/Mourning, Team Hot Dads, Emotional Manipulation, Bondage, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Tattoos, Jewish Character, Pegging, Femdom, Verbal Degradation, Threesome - M/M/M, First Time Together, Trans Character, trans!Hermann, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Fisting, Torture, Blood, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kaiju!Newt, Kaiju!Hannibal, Kaijuification, Trans!Newt, Strap-Ons, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Sex Toys, Sickfic, needleplay, Sadism, emotional catharsis, Self-Harm, Painplay, Masochism, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Hannibal Chau/Newton Geiszler, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, Raleigh Becket/Mako Mori, Tendo Choi/Hercules Hansen, Hannibal Chau/Hermann Gottlieb, Aleksis Kaidanovsky/Sasha Kaidanovsky, Hannibal Chau/Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, Newton Geiszler/Kaiju, Hermann Gottlieb/Hercules Hansen", "Series": "Pacific Rim fics", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "Gen, M/M, Other, Multi", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	There’s Color Where Once There Was Black And White Herc/Tendo Rating: PG-13/Teen Prompt: There's color where once was black and white/There's moonbeams where there was only night/I knew then and there you were the one : Pacific Rim, no particular pairing in mind :D * Herc knew there would never be anyone else like Stacker. This wasn’t the overzealous wretchedness of a teenager after a first breakup, or even the crushed despair of a aging divcorcé after a separation. It was simple fact—Stacker had been a singular entity, the fixed point, and now he was gone. The place he had filled inside Herc would never be filled again, and there would never be anyone else like him.Knowing this hurt Herc every moment of every day.But the thing was, Tendo didn’t try to take Stacker’s place. His presence didn’t even dampen the grief. Tendo remained very much himself, snarky and self-assured in a wholly different way from Stacker’s calm certainty. Stacker, serious as he had been, had never been much for joking. Tendo made Herc laugh, even when he could hardly make himself breathe around the tears. Stacker had never been one for displays of attraction, either, instead opting to communicate what he needed through solemn declarations or wordless touch, guiding Herc into positions that told him exactly how Stacker felt. Tendo bit his lip and grinned looking at Herc, waggling his eyebrows and sighing through his nose to indicate how attractive he found the other man. And Stacker had always shown Herc how to cope, how to bear up, how to master himself and be better. But Tendo didn’t give a shit if Herc was a mess, if he went nonverbal and shaky with grief at unpredictable intervals, or if he had nightmares or flashbacks. Tendo just said “Hey big guy, ain’t no thing if you’re a hot mess, we all are. I’ll get you a drink and we can have comfort sex after you finish crying. Fuck knows I love burly men all smudgy with tears.”Tendo was nothing like Stacker and could never take his place. But to his surprise, Herc discovered this was just fine. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Redemption Under a Dirty Hood Rating: Mature. Trigger warning for fairly explicit descriptions of torture. Prompt: Well now Im no hero That's understood All the redemption I can offer, girl Is beneath this dirty hood. Pacific Rim. Newt/Hannibal The excitement of being a rockstar lasted all of a month before the shininess of it wore off and left reporters asking Newt questions he suddenly didn’t want to answer anymore. And then Newt discovered it kind of sucked to be a rockstar because he had to keep doing the interviews so the k-science program would get the funding it needed. The chemical burns took a month to heal, and Hannibal’s in-house doctors told him it was a miracle he’d escaped being infected with Blue. Hannibal merely shrugged—whether Blue or a heart attack, he figured he’d die soon enough anyway, and he doubted anyone would mourn him. But a temporary reprieve meant more time to do the things he liked, so he did them with his customary panache. Always grab life by the balls was Hannibal’s motto. After a month Newt remembered that Stacker had gone to Hannibal for funding, and now that Newt was pretty sure he was gonna have to break K-science away from the PPDC and get all his funding himself, he figured why not try the same trick a second time? Plus, the mobster was kinda hot, pinging all Newt’s Daddy buttons. If Newt was lucky, he figured he could get some sex out of this as well as funding. Hannibal listened for a while, answered back like he was seriously considering the proposal, kept Newt talking till he got a proper read on the guy. Then he laughed at the little man’s offer of cloned kaiju tissues. Newt misunderstood him and puffed up like an angry kitten, shooting off his mouth at high speed and increasing pitch. "Nah, kid, shut up and listen for a minute. Pentecost, he knew what he was getting into with me, and he knew how to disguise my contributions under a huge paper-trail. He’s like me, he was a man who could read people like books and figure out the ending before he got there. But you wouldn’t know what I was if I fucked you with it."Newt went bright red all the way out to his ears but just planted his hands on his skinny little hips like a dumbass and tried to prove how big he thought he was. "Are you hitting on me? Because if you want my ass in exchange for services, dude, you coulda just said you wanted a piece of this."Instead of answering, Hannibal gestured for Newt to follow him down to the basement, where he’d left his best information retrieval specialists/reputation enhancing personnel to show a particularly feisty competitor how things were done in Hong Kong. All three people in the room looked up at Newt and Hannibal when they entered, though in the case of the man tied to the dentist’s chair, it was more that he lifted his head at the noise. Hannibal knew he couldn't see anything through the dirty hood they had over him.Hannibal scanned the man quickly—he was missing two fingers now, and the rest looked broken enough that he probably wished he was missing them. A stuttered plea in Mandarin got no response from Hannibal, but behind him Newt let out a strangled sound. "See that, son? Now, we know that will never be you, because you aren’t trying to horn into my territory. But if you wanna know what I’m like, go take a good look at that guy. He knows now.” And with a nod at his employees, he pushed Newt forward. Newt slipped on the blood-slick tiles, but he went forward on his own after that, hands crammed into his pockets as one of the torturers asked a question. When the inquiry didn’t get the desired answer, the effort expended to punish the prisoner was minimal, just a grab and squeeze of one mangled limb. Newt backed away fast at that, out of the room. "I’ve got blood all over my boots, shit, is he gonna die? You’re not gonna kill him, right? Is it incriminating if I’ve got blood all over my boots? Can I be implicated because I saw that?? Fuck, I—I looked you up and everything said you didn’t deal in flesh or street drugs, so I figured—"Hannibal closed the thick door to the interrogation chamber and wrapped a heavy arm around Newt’s tiny shoulders. "You figured I was a pretty good guy, for a dealer? Yeah, kid, I am. This is what a good guy looks like in my line of work, because you’re right, I don’t deal in flesh or street drugs, and I make sure no one else does on my turf. I call that my contribution to charity.” They walked for a ways in silence—the cleaners would be through later to get the bloodstains up from the floors."So I take it this is a ‘no’ on the offer of funding," Newt quavered after a moment.Hannibal snorted, one corner of his mouth crooking up. "Save yourself the pain and just fill out some grant applications, kid. You saved the goddamn world, you don’t need to prove you’re a tough guy by hooking up with the likes of me.""Also a no to the sex, then."Hannibal laughed. “My dick ain’t gonna make your daddy love you, or make you feel like a big man, or whatever it is you’re looking for here.”"It did it for you, though, didn’t it?"Hannibal stopped, pushing the smaller man up against the wall and giving him a tight-mouthed look through the shades. Geiszler blinked up at him, all wide eyes and scruff like a hapless stray who had wandered in off the streets. Hannibal could feel the scientist’s heartbeat hammering under his knuckles. He wondered if Pentecost, too, had been trying to get Newt killed by sending him out to the Bone Slums. "No kid, it didn’t," Hannibal growled, not sure why he was admitting it. Something about the nerd ground at his nerves, and almost he wanted to fuck him just to show him who was boss. But Hannibal didn’t deal in flesh, and he made sure the professionals whose services he bought left him safe and well-paid. He’d been there himself in his youth.So he shoved Newt toward the exit.“Get out before you slip and fall onto your issues.”As Newt walked out the doors, glancing nervously over his shoulder, Hannibal thought, You need a leash, but even if you had one, you’d chew right through it. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Burn Your Bridges Down Rating: Gen Prompt: Come sail your ships around me / And burn your bridges down / We make a little history, baby / Every time you come around - Nick Cave, The Ship Song Pacific Rim please! (if you’re taking pairing requests I’m quite fond of Mako/Raleigh) Raleigh had, perhaps, forcibly forgotten that being in a Shatterdome was almost like having a family again. He thought now that he had also hidden all of his grief at leaving the PPDC under his grief for Yancy. The pain of one had been so great that it had been easy to pretend he hadn’t cared when he lost even the pretense of a family. But Mako hid nothing from herself and she forgot nothing, either. For her, the Shatterdome was not just like a family, they were her family. She had grown up in Shatterdomes, taken the shape of them into her heart and built her love around what battle and military stricture would allow. Raleigh watched her as she monitored Herc’s alcohol consumption as one would with a beloved uncle. He saw the bitter, sobs that racked her at Chuck’s funeral, the kind of tears one would cry for an estranged brother. During the ceremony she held Herc’s hand as if to share strength between them. Raleigh saw, too, the smug smile Mako hid from sight when Newt and Hermann announced their engagement, like they were eccentric cousins of whom she was fond and from whom she had seen this coming for a long time. And he saw the pain in her face as they all parted ways, drifting apart across the globe, her family scattering and more broken than ever. In Raleigh it was an old wound, scabbed over and turned into bitterness and resignation, but seeing it in her woke the dense, breathless throb of it anew. They waved at Herc when they saw him to the airport, sending him back to Australia, and Newt and Hermann when they left for London.Afterward, Mako’s body was stiff and tight as he’d never seen her before, nothing like the loose-limbed warrior he knew and much more like a scared child in need of an adult. And toward Raleigh himself…."What are we?" he asked her one day after another exhausting press junket had left them drained. She turned her dark eyes upon him with a questioning look, the blue in her hair now faded to teal. "You and I," Raleigh explained, seating himself on the bed to pul his shirt off and she unlaced her boots. "We sleep side by side because neither of us can stand waking up to silence. We kiss but we don’t fuck. You know how I feel about you, and I know how you feel about me, but we’re not...."One corner of her mouth crooked up in a strange, wistful smile as she moved close on silent socked feet. He sat down on the bed and stared at the shape of her toes under the black standard-issue cotton blend, avoiding her eyes. But she climbed up onto his lap to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her nose in his hair. Her inhalation rustled behind his ear, the exhale hot on his scalp. "We’re family. Is it enough? Are you happy?"Raleigh’s arms were up and around her before he thought. Her ribs pressed hard and small under his forearms, fingers reaching all the way around her so he had to fold them in her armpits. "Yes," he whispered, voice breaking with the intensity of longing at last fulfilled. "Yes." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Easy to Please But Hard to Impress Rating: R/Adult for implied sex and sexual situations. Warning for disrespect of Jewish practices by a Jew. (Not quite sure how to warn for what's going on here, lemme know if you have better phrasing) Prompt: Pacific Rim: "Warsaw" by Dessa, "Easy to please/But hard to impress/Im in a mood, new shoes, and a bulletproof dress," or "But I got a thing for long shots/Yes, yes, naysayers got the wrong job/Best bet when you think they got the wrong odds," or really anything from that song. Newt expected tattoos, but not these tattoos. Hannibal’s neck and forearms were bare, but past that he had most of a suit going. Snakes and apples and fig leaves wound up his calves, then morphed into wheat sheaves and multi-winged cherubim. The graceful lines of Hebrew filled every bare space. On Hannibal's back a long-haired man stood tied, at his feet a woman bathed in black-and-white moonlight, her wet hair draping long and fluid into rivulets of ink down Hannibal’s hip. Beside her stood another woman, holding the bloody head of a man in a basket under her arm. Newt’s sunday-school learning had lurked unheeded in back of his mind for years now, but as he traced his gaze over the bared flesh the old stories awoke, dredging up names like Samson and Judith and Bathsheba.The sweat cooled over the images and Hannibal pulled out, reaching down to keep the condom from doing anything awkward. Newt gasped, body raw from the prolonged sex and empty after being so filled.After throwing the rubber away, the big man stretched himself out on the even bigger bed, the mood lighting of the red lamps glimmering on his edges. "I wouldn’t have pegged you for the religious type," Newt grinned, running a finger through the splatters of semen still wet on his chest and belly. "I’m not. What about you? You’re sporting quite the homage yourself.""Avowed atheist, because if God exists he’s a total fucking douchebag. But the kaiju....they’re the closest I’ve ever felt to anything truly awesome and incomprehensible, you know?"Newt mentally kicked himself at this—Way to ruin the afterglow with weird topics of conversation. But Hannibal hooked a finger around Newt’s chin, turning his face so he had to look up into the man’s one remaining unmarred blue eye. Hannibal loomed over him, pushing up to pin Newt’s other wrist to the mattress before bending close to open Newt’s mouth with his own. Newt moaned into it, curling up against Hannibal’s side and still feeling the throb of him deep inside. When they parted, Newt’s lips hurt, scraped raw by teeth and stubble. "Yeah, kid, I know. Why do you think I took a shine to you?""You fucked me just for my ink?" Newt wasn’t one to look a gift fuck in the mouth, so to speak, and Hannibal was good. But he couldn’t help the little surge of disappointment that went through him at the thought. "Nahh. I fucked you because of why you got it. Takes a lot to get my attention these days, but this? This’ll do it. I know devotion when I see it, and you even survived meeting one of the bastards face to face and still got more ink to commemorate it.” He reached down with one hand to caress Newt’s left thigh, still itching from the imprint of Otachi’s face and body there. Newt grinned, bashful, feeling far more naked than his mere skin should have allowed. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Autoclave Rating: teen at maximum, probably gen. Warning for a situation of forced medication. Prompt: "I am this great unstable mass of blood and foam. And no one in [his] right mind would call my home [his] home. My heart's an autoclave." - Autoclave by the Mountain Goats, Pacific Rim, Newt/Hermann. Newt knows no one will ever want him as a lover because he’s no catch despite his six doctorates and ridiculous IQ. Twenty years and thirty different partners probably count as scientific proof at this point, and he no longer thinks of his unlovability as a hypothesis but a tested theory with a repeatable outcome. The fact that he thinks of Hermann as one of those thirty is something even Newt, blammermouth that he is, tells no one. He’d been in love with Hermann for almost the entirety of the four years they’d spent writing to each other. Though his disgust and rage and disappointment at the other man have since piled upon those initial glowing feelings of mutual desire, they haven’t been snuffed out. Newt loves to be right about everything but this, the fact that he's impossible to want, and he hates Hermann’s younger self for telling him not to make promises that would inevitably be broken. Before then he'd loved proving Hermann right. After that....Newt burns the love out of people, slowly expunging all tolerance, affection, and compassion with his sheer noise and fury. With almost surgical precision, he somehow leaves everyone he loves sterile and hateful. Even Hermann only tolerates Newt when he’s medicated—a year into working together, no longer satisfied with filing endless complaints, Hermann had brought the issue directly to Pentecost. Pentecost had quietly informed Newt to either take his meds or lose his position in the ‘dome. Newt still forgets his meds at least one day a week, but what he takes is apparently enough to keep him from mania or the worst pits of depression now. Newt still can’t think without talking, can’t talk without twitching, can’t twitch without wanting to make music. And even medicated he spends every cent he earns on ink and has thousands of dollars of credit card debt he’s been running from for years. He forgets to eat and sleep and bathe and never notices he’s put his foot in his mouth till far too late.Some days he can’t blame anyone for not wanting him. Others, he hates the world. And on some rare days, he wishes he just knew how to feel human enough to connect with warm skin and tender feelings. Time has worn down his self-righteous bitterness at all of his exes into a kind of resigned, fierce loneliness that Newt feels under his collarbones, in his wrists, through the insides of his thighs, and within the palms of his hands. If no one else will ever want him, then fine, he’ll want himself. He jerks off with a level of creativity and commitment that he dedicates to nothing else aside from his research, but it’s not the same as sex and it never will be. After the drift, after sealing the Breach, after the celebration and its ensuing hangover, when the lab must be packed up and all his hoarded samples either shipped or discarded or sold, Hermann sits him down. "We won’t live together, Newton," he says with his customary expression of mild disdain. Newt just snorts, because of course they won’t, why the fuck would Hermann even bother to say this? But Hermann’s spindly fingers clutch pale-knuckled at the top of his cane, and the man shifts as though his hip is hurting him. "We won’t live together," he repeats, swallowing, "but I was thinking maybe we could....live in the same city. Look for work in a similar region, at least."Newt stares into the awkward, angular face, with its overripe mouth and wide brown eyes, and it is as though none of the last decade has happened. It’s the exact face that greeted Newt at the Berlin airport, skittish and fearful of fitting a body to Hermann's textual amour for the first time. Newt had, of course, swamped Hermann in selfies in various states of dress and undress, but they hadn’t contained his stature, his scent, the bumps of his moles and ink. Most importantly, they hadn’t contained the steaming mess of Newt’s heart. From that Hermann had first flinched as though stung and then withdrawn himself behind a wall of numbers and condescension.Newt’s heart stumbled and flipped at the intensifying color in Hermann's familiar face, now lined with age and stress as it hadn’t been before. "You sure that’s a good idea?" he asked, trying for once to be responsible and respectful as Hermann had so often begged him to do. Hermann’s diffident smile, all pinched lips and flared nostrils, hurt Newt too look at. "Yes. I rather think that after all this time and disaster, you have quite drained the poison from me."Scientific proof, Newt chided himself, to keep his hopes down. You can’t argue with thirty people and twenty years. So Newt only snorted and contradicted his labmate."No, we’ll be in each other’s hair again in a minute, just watch.""Of course we will. You’re an irritating manchild and I’m a neurotic disaster. But allow me at least the credit of knowing what I want."I want you, hovered unspoken between them, and Newt exhaled, legs jittering. "Yeah all right, I guess I can do that." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- What’ll I Do Without You? Rating: Teen? content warning for mild drug use and behaviors that might to some qualify as mild self-harm? Prompt: What'll I do without you around, my words wont pun, my pennies won't pound, oh and my frisbee flies to the ground, what'll I do without you. Newt/Hermann * The silence of Newt’s Boston apartment oppresses him, so he floods it with the thunder of music from his throbbing speakers and subwoofer. The pain of breathing in air that doesn’t smell of chalk and ammonia makes him grit his teeth, so he fills it with smoke even though he hasn’t wanted THC or nicotine in more than five years. The way his mind winds itself around images of Hermann brings the panic high in Newt’s chest and limbs, so Newt fills his waking moments with movies and paper-writing. It’s not enough to pretend that he doesn’t need Hermann, but it gets him through the days. Three weeks into his new life, Newt's phone rings and he hits the appropriate button without looking, tucking it against one ear as he pounds away at the keyboard in pursuit of another article. "Newt here, what’s up.""Ah, hello," comes the accented voice that haunts Newt’s half-conscious moments, nervous and tinny from across the ocean. Newt freezes, stare blanking as though the computer screen has been replaced by a wall. "Is now a good time? I just wanted to see how you were doing."Newt laughs, not knowing what else to do, and doesn’t say I’ve been shitty as hell, because I can’t forget your fucking beautiful frog mouth and the squeak of your chalk on the board and a zillion other little details I never thought I gave a shit about till you were gone. "Fine," he says instead. "Gonna start teaching as soon as the fall semester starts up, so I’m grinding out as much publishable material as I can in the meantime. You?"They make awkward smalltalk for a few minutes, and when Hermann hangs up Newt closes his eyes and bites into the palm of his hand to keep himself from crying. In an act of supreme emotional self-harm, Newt calls Hermann back the next day. The other man sounds sleepy, as if he might be in bed, but Newt opens his mouth and out pours all the details of the articles he’s been writing. When he finishes, Hermann tells him about the equations he’s been working on, which might in a few years lead to Breach technology of their own. You’re fucking brilliant, I hate you for being this way, Newt thinks to himself, and catches himself smiling into the phone as he pokes fun at Hermann. "Would ours have a barcode-reader too? Does that mean you could finally fulfill your lifelong dream of becoming a readable set of numbers?""Ha bloody ha," Hermann snarls, and Newt buries his face in his pillow and tries to choke himself with it when they hang up. But Hermann calls again three days later, and Newt calls again the day after that, and soon it’s an almost daily event. The listen to the background noises of each other’s lives, to Newt's coffeemaker and the bubble of his bong, the clack of keyboards and the hum of the vacuum cleaner. They talk when their voices are still rough from sleep, too loud from teaching an auditorium of students, and half-drowned by the sound of traffic around them. "Except when we were in the Seattle and Anchorage Shatterdomes, I’ve never been to the States," Hermann admits one day, after a long but comfortable silence between them. "I was thinking perhaps I could....I could visit? During spring break, if you were amenable."Newt’s heart turns over in his chest with excitement and fear, as it has not done for this man in over a decade. Not since the letters were replaced with actual physical bodies and their passionate conjecture replaced with awkward, grating reality. "Yeah," Newt breathes, eyes fluttering closed even as the bitter freezing wind whips and howls at the windows. "Yeah, I’m amenable." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- A Pain That I’m Used To Rating: Teen. Content warning for clear dynamics of abuse and emotional manipulation, mentions of past abuse/stalking, and no happy ending in sight. Prompt: There's a hole in your soul like an animal/With no conscience, repentance unknown/Close your eyes, pay the price for your paradise/Devils feed on the seeds that are sown - "Pain That I'm Used To", by Depeche Mode. Hannibal/Newt, please! <3 Newt ignores the worry that shows in the shining whites of Hermann’s eyes as he snatches his leather coat from the back of his chair and heads out into the city. He ignores his father’s chiding during their monthly phone call, admonishing him not to get mixed up in bad crowds, the offensive implication that Newt is an idiot for stooping even lower than his usual low standards. He ignores the dressing-down Herc gives him when the marshall finds out about the relationship, about how the PPDC is trying to drag its reputation out of the muck and if anyone finds out one of their leading scientists is fraternizing with a known mob boss….Newt ignores the way Hannibal laughs at him and ruffles his hair every time Newt tries to talk about his own life. He ignores the way Hannibal keeps a gun under his pillow and several knives in the nightstand alongside the lube and condoms. Newt ignores the fact that Hannibal’s bedroom is inescapable because it only releases with a code he doesn’t tell Newt. He ignores the possessive way Hannibal starts to touch him in front of other people, the way he calls Newt out to his base more and more often. Newt tries hard to ignore the cost of the presents Hannibal gives him, though it’s hard not to think about it. Newt ignores it all because it’s just casual between them. When they’d started having sex, Hannibal had clearly stated that he wasn’t the type for ‘all that touchy-feely crap’, wasn’t the type to let a pretty face or a tight ass get under his skin. Hannibal isn’t like any of Newt’s exes, who had all seemed like sweet young men till they got attached. Every one of them had been crazy about Newt, clingy and wild when he didn’t call, needing constant shows of commitment and affection lest they go off the deep end. Newt still has nightmares sometimes about the guy who’d followed him around for months and sent those creepy letters to his father and uncle.But Hannibal isn’t like that. He fucks Newt hard and rough, and listens intently whenever Newt says anything about the kaiju that might be good for business, and otherwise seems uninvested. And he fucks Newt better than anyone else has ever done before, harder and longer, leaves him aching and with his rushing head emptied out like an overdrawn bank account. Newt can’t get enough of it, hasn’t been wanted by anyone in years, hasn’t felt this high with anything other than drugs in his whole life. Ignoring the thoughts and voices gets easier and easier with more practice, so when Hannibal tells Newt he’s moving in and leaving behind the PPDC for good, he goes with it and can’t believe he’s so lucky. I guess I charmed him, Newt tells himself. I am pretty rad. How cool is it that I managed to seduce Hannibal fucking Chau?After a month Hannibal gets him a new phone that doesn’t have his old numbers in it, but all Newt does is smile and kiss his boyfriend in thanks. A month after that, Newt never leaves the Bone Slums, though he still answers emails from Hermann and various other professional contacts. "I’m gonna retire from the business soon, what with supply drying up like it has," Hannibal announces six months out. "Get us a nice place in Europe somewhere so I can spoil you in style."Newt’s stomach does a strange flip. All his friends—insofar as he has friends—are here in the Hong Kong Shatterdome. Even if he never sees them anymore, he doesn’t like the idea of not being able to if he wanted. "It sounds great, we’d be close to my family in Germany. Dad and Uncle Gunther moved back there after I graduated college."Hannibal grimaces, showing his golden teeth, and he runs a big hand around the back of Newt’s neck."Why would you want to see them anyway? Your old man doesn’t respect you, and your uncle sounds like a real jerk. They don’t get you like I do."Newt nods, leaning into Hannibal. He ignores the way his palms sweat as they grip into the bigger man’s jacket. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The Fear Rating: Adult. Trigger warnings for mentions of spousal murder and child emotional abuse along with allusions to other forms of abuse and violence. I've written Hannibal here as having issues of psychological development with episodic periods of dissociation. Prompt: For the song lyric meme: Pacific Rim, Hannibal(/Newt, optional) - I wanna be rich and I want lots of money / I don't care about clever, I don't care about funny / I want loads of clothes and fuckloads of diamonds / I heard people die while they're trying to find them. Sometimes a fear creeps up over Hannibal that he is nothing more than the ringmaster his clothes make him look like, that his life has been more than sixty years of acting out a role for an extended audience. When the doubt steals over him, his body becomes confusing, an agglomeration of flesh that seems to belong to someone other than him. Or it is, perhaps, a mere employee several steps down the chain of command who sends him messages to which he dispassionately reacts. In these moments, Hannibal cannot fathom anything more confusing and wrongheaded than spending his time in this damp, soft, weak cage of flesh and bone. Sometimes he wishes to escape it, spring from its confines like a kaiju from the Breach. Sometimes, every few months or so, these episodes expand from minutes into hours and days. In those times, it occurs to him that he is nothing, he is nameless and unreal, and that nothing he has can possibly give him any meaning—and once this realization has him in its grip, he will do anything just to feel like a person again. The tattoos on his hands are proof of one such incident, scars from knife-fights evidence of others, but at least antibiotics have long since cleared out the venereal infections he got. Now, however, in the position of power to which he has clawed himself in his age, he can indulge the absolute worst of himself. He only once killed a man while in that state, but he’s tortured plenty that his position has cast across his path, and even he doesn’t like to think about what he did to that ex who tried to make love to him in this state. Sometimes Hannibal looks in the mirror and can’t imagine that the picture he sees there is him. The monster there has shining teeth and huge hands and a face that even his mother only loved perhaps half the time. It is no wonder, he thinks, that he ended up where he did, sitting atop the festering sore of the Asian black market. These vulnerable bodies are worthless and meaningless anyway, so it’s no matter if he destroys a few more, perhaps even his own. Perhaps even the whole world will fall apart soon, torn to pieces by the creatures whose husks he sells. People stumble into and out of his life, always wanting something—money, erections, a kaiju brain—and trusting anyone is like trying to hold water in a sieve. They want something and once they have it, they leave, and he’s tired of playing the game of withholding to try to get them to stay. The exchange of orgasms, or money, or bloodshed, it all ends up the same in the end. It is during such times when he thinks of his mother the most. Beautiful woman, she had been, when her latest husband killed her. She’d gotten pregnant at fifteen, had Hannibal at sixteen, and spent the rest of her short life trying to make up for the error. She’d made the best of an angry family and sent Hannibal to his grandfather to learn Hebrew and speak the old language, working three jobs to try to pay for her son’s necessities.Hannibal can never be sure, now, if he’s glad she’s dead. He’s not glad about how she died—he’s had the man killed since—but when he’s in the fear Hannibal can never be sure if she would be ashamed of him. Half the time he knows that if she could see him now, she would tell him once more that he is a worthless mistake who ruined her life. The other half, he is certain that with his money and power and influence, he could finally have had the sweet mother who held him against her perfumed bosom and told him he was her beautiful boy no matter what the other children called him at school. In his lucid moments, Hannibal knows that this, too, is the same bargaining game he hates so much. But he plays it anyway, over and over again, because when he's so empty the thoughts rush in to fill him. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- He Keeps Me Warm Rating: Teen. Content warning for nonsexual bondage and a brief mention of a blowjob. Prompt: "She says I smell like safety and home / I named both of her eyes 'Forever' and 'Please Don't Go' / I could be a morning sunrise all the time, all the time yeah / This could be good, this could be good/ And I can't change, even if I tried/ Even if I wanted too" -She Keeps Me Warm by Mary Lambert, Pacific Rim, Newt/Hermann Hermann learns that Newt must be tied up tight before he can relax. The rope Newt brings him, like English classes long ago in school, leave Hermann feeling confused and angry as he fumbles the lengths over and over again. So he has instead found other ways to manage Newt.Hermann has never thought of himself as kinky. Indeed, for much of his life he has not had enough of a sex life to grow bored of even the most vanilla, prosaic aspects of physical intimacy. But Newt kissed him as soon as they were out of LOCCENT, blew him voraciously in the shower right after that (choking and half-drowned and begging Hermann Please please please whenever he pulled off) and then curled around Hermann’s still-damp side to murmur, “If you want this to work, there’s something that’ll probably help.”The first time Hermann binds Newton it is with the man’s spare ties. Hermann thinks this is a much more fruitful use of the horrid things. As soon as all the knots are in place, ugly and poorly-executed as they are, Newt squirms a little and then relaxes all at once with a sweet-faced laugh that makes him look very young.It is like seeing a whole new person in his lover’s skin. This Newt is pliant, sweet, open, affectionate and charming. They watch movies together with Newt’s arms and legs wrapped tight in ace bandages. Sometimes Hermann binds Newton’s limbs and then brings a meal to their rooms, where he feeds Newt by hand. When he does this even Hermann, diffident and nervous as he is about this whole situation, cannot doubt the adoration and gratitude he sees in the man’s eyes.Newt loves it when Hermann sits close beside him when he is tied, loves to bury his face in Hermann’s sweater-vests or his lap and beam as though this were the fulfillment of all his dreams. Perhaps it is, and the possibility aches in Hermann’s guts, because it means that if he had known ten years ago, if Newt had trusted him enough to ask, if Hermann had been experienced enough to seem like a suitable person in whom to confide such a desire....It does not feel kinky, not after the first few times. It does not even feel particularly sexual, though of course they do sometimes have sex with Newt ‘secured’, as he calls it. "I tie myself up some nights in order to sleep," Newt confides one evening, lying peaceful against Hermann’s side with his wrists and ankles fixed to each other with cuffs of leather and metal. "And when I get panic attacks, I’ll spend hours learning new knots and just working through them. Even as a kid I’d use my father’s sock garters, my uncle’s belts, spare phone cords, anything I could get my hands on.""What is it about this that so gratifies you?" Hermann asks, careful to show nothing but curiosity in his voice. Newt laughs at this, a low chuckle that is nothing like his usual manic giggle. "Dunno, man. Just feels safe. Like most of the time I feel like I’m gonna burst apart, there’s so much going on in my skull that I don’t even know what I’m thinking. I only feel right when I’m playing music, stoned, getting inked, or tied up, you know?"Hermann suppresses a sigh—Newt’s heinous penchant for music (or his attempts at it anyway, as Hermann does not deign to give that racket the title of ‘music’) is a long-standing sore spot between them. The tattoos, too, Hermann has only grudgingly come to respect. Newt’s careless attitude toward the impact of his body modifications on others is still as intolerable as ever, of course. And of the intoxicants, Hermann has no tolerance whatsoever. But this, Newt quiet and happy and craving Hermann’s touch without the aid of drugs or alcohol or noise or even drift technology, is a perfect option to which Hermann has adapted like the kaiju to Earth. "Is it…." he fumbles with the words, not wanting to misstep. "I just hope it’s me you care for, not the fact that I’m willing to do this.”Newt squirms, rolling himself onto one shoulder so he can reach Hermann’s cheek with his mouth. He kisses a line to the thin pale mouth, which he captures as well as he can from his awkward position. Hermann turns his head to help him. "Dude," Newt says when they break apart at last. "I was mad for you when you were just scribbled handwriting on printer paper. If you’d said this was too fucked up for you we’d have figured out something else. I’d have gotten couples therapy for you, Herms, and given how much I hate shrinks, that says a lot."Hermann can’t keep the pink out of his cheeks or the warm glow from his belly. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Tiny Steps Forward Rating: teen at most? Warning for brief allusions to invasive childhood medical procedures. Newt also blames himself for a situation that is only half his fault. Prompt: "After one long season of waiting, after one long season of wanting. I am breaking open. My insides are pink and raw, and it hurts me when I move my jaw, but I am taking tiny steps forward. And I feel sure that my wounds will heal, and I will bloom here in my room, with a little water and a little bit of sunlight and a little bit of tender mercy, tender mercy." - Absolute Lithpops Effect by the Mountain Goats Newt/Hermann. The drift is two-directional, yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s equal. Everyone who has studied the Jaeger teams knows this, knows that some pilots are better at avoidance and blocking, and some are just more open. One needs only to have seen the Hansens interact to know too that sharing a headspace doesn’t necessarily create intimacy. Newt has never experienced a walk of shame like this before, and he's miffed because he hasn't even gotten laid first. The hallways from LOCCENT to the residential portion of the ‘dome have now become the longest, most awkward silence of Newt’s life. He wonders if the both of them are trying to find words or if he’s alone in this discomfort. Newt feels flayed, as raw and exposed as though Hermann’s presence were a biting wind. There had been little flashes of Hermann’s past in the drift, but mostly it had been Newt before they’d tumbled together into the Hive. Newt has to fight down the impulse to sprint away from his limping colleague, just run until Hermann can’t catch up and never look back. Newt’s always been a relatively open book, he’s got nothing to be ashamed of, but this, this...."We could both use a shower," Hermann says at last. "I thought perhaps you might—ah, this is perhaps too presumptuous of me, I may have misinterpreted—""I might what?" Newt asks, voice scratchy with tension. He is desperate to know what Hermann thinks he might have misinterpreted. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Hermann’s shoulder slump. "I thought perhaps you might wish to join me in mine," Hermann admits in a tone of defeat. "I am afforded a tub due to my disability, after all. It is no grand jacuzzi, but there is just enough room for two if they are not of unusual stature. If the offer is offensive to you, though, I beg you to just—"Newt stops in his tracks, hand whipping out to grab Hermann’s sleeve and pull him around. "Dude!" Newt exclaims, a good all-purpose word. "Dude. Are you coming on to me again? Seriously? After all these fucking years?”Hermann’s face crumples, eyes falling and his mouth making a tight little downward curve of grief. "I beg your pardon, I should not have presumed—"Newt is on him before he can finish the sentence, clutching at his face and pushing him up against he wall to crush their mouths together. He can’t help the noises he makes, desperate little whining sounds that are half terror that Hermann will pull away and half overwhelmed joy. For a few awful seconds Hermann stands frozen against Newt’s lips and belly, and then one shaking hand grips into the battered leather of Newt’s jacket. "You fucking chalky bastard, do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted that," Newt grits out when they separate, digging his forehead into Hermann’s godawfully sharp collarbone. He feels the man swallow, throat flexing against his ear. “I could venture a rough guess at over a decade, but to become more precise I would need more information.”Once they are in Hermann’s room, Newt waits for Hermann to undress at his own halting pace. Newt settles himself into the steaming water, hot enough that his genitals flinch and his nipples peak until acclimates. Newt tries not to stare as the other man disrobes, tries to stop his mouth from watering at every inch of exposed flesh. He fails. When Hermann pushes his trousers and pants down over his jagged hipbones, Newt feels like everything worth keeping inside him has poured out over the floor. He feels like he’s five years old and watching his mother drive away again, hardly able to control the impulse to grasp at his beloved. Newt can’t keep his eyes off, can’t keep from kicking himself because the last entire fucking decade is his own goddamn fault. He’d sworn so many times in those endless emails and letters that he would want Hermann no matter what. He’d prepared himself for buck teeth and pimples and all manner of ugliness, prepared himself for awkward conversation like so many of the other nerds he’d met and fucked in grad school. He hadn’t been prepared for the icy wall he’d met, so unlike the vulnerable boy he’d for whom he'd fallen in print. Newt hadn’t been prepared for the glassy eyes and the beautiful mouth Hermann wouldn’t let him touch, for the composed intellectual who was nothing like his brilliant, neurotic mess of a penpal. In retrospect, knowing Hermann as he does now, Newt thinks he should have expected it. Hermann had told him a hundred times that he panicked and withdrew when under pressure, wasn’t any good at being touched, had flashbacks of surgery and physical therapy and examinations. Newt just hadn’t thought it would manifest in that cold-faced distance. He could have handled just about anything else, he thought, anything but that. He can see the battle in Hermann’s face now, mouth and brows flickering between smooth impassivity and clenched fear. Newt grinds his teeth together to keep himself from saying anything stupid this time around, forces his hands down against the porcelain of the tub so he doesn’t clutch at Hermann like a needy child, and lets his lanky colleague settle himself into the water and between Newt’s legs with slow, cautious movements that look to be as much about his bad leg as they are about avoiding Newt’s gaze. Once seated, Hermann doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself, so Newt reaches for the shampoo and begins to wash his own filthy hair. Hermann follows suit and Newt can’t imagine anything more beautiful than watching the skin shift over the flesh of his ribs and back. He’s too nervous and exhausted to be hard, but the feeling of Hermann between his knees is enough to lift his heart rate. Cleaner, Newt reaches out a cautious hand, cupping Hermann’s elbow. "If you want, you could like totally come back here."Hermann freezes for a moment, face blank in profile and not even breathing. Then he pulls in a shuddering gasp, and nods. Newt has to unclench his aching jaw again to kiss Hermann’s ear when he settles down against the wet surface of Newt’s chest. He locks his hands together under Hermann’s skinny chest, noting the thin smattering of pale hairs over the breastbone, and then they both relax into the warmth. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Feel Your Poison Running Through Me Rating: Explicit/Adult. Warning for consensual verbal degradation (including misogynist/whorephobic/homophobic language) and play with abuser-type headspaces. Prompt: Song Lyric Prompt: Sasha/Aleksis, "Voodoo Child" by Rogue Traders; You're like Voodoo, baby/Your kisses are cold/Feel your poison running through me/Let me never grow old (bonus points for pegging/DOM!Sasha) Sasha has a place she sometimes goes inside her head when they fuck. Aleksis doesn’t quite understand it but he thinks that perhaps it is the sharp edge of something a little broken inside her. He loves it nonetheless, just like he loves all of her. He knows she dislikes that place because it reminds her of things she’d rather forget, but he loves it for her and she can feel it through the drift. When she goes to that place, they’re no longer just Sasha and Aleksis in the bedroom. She is someone else, something else—and often she is a man. "You think you’re so big, little boy? You think you can strut around like you own this place? You are nothing, you’re nothing but a thing to be used. I’ll show you how to walk in my territory, you worthless little cunt.”He never fights back because then she might real force and that would be dangerous. She could easily take him down if he made her do it, so he always goes wherever she pushes him, acts scared and ashamed, and she eats it right up. A few slaps in the face will put him right down so he’s cowering against the bed, begging her not to hurt him worse. "You’re my whore and you won’t forget it! Other people have had you before, haven’t they, and I’ll have you again whenever I want. Face down, offer me that hole of yours, it’s nothing special to protect.”He has learned to undress quickly for her when she’s in this state. Once he wasn’t fast enough in presenting himself for her and she knifed his trousers right off him. He’d liked those khakis so now he fumbles with his belt as soon as she starts talking this way. "That’s right, you’re well-trained, aren’t you. You know you’ve only got one thing I want, and it’s not that ugly face of yours."She often calls him ugly when she’s like this, but he knows it doesn’t mean anything, because the rest of the time he is her handsome prince, her beautiful man. Besides, he likes it. And when she pushes into him, raw and hard and almost too rough, it’s pure bliss. "Your cunt is fucking made for this, isn’t it you dirty faggot, made to eat up my cock. You’re lucky I give you the fuckings you crave or you’d probably sit on anything long enough just to fill up."Aleksis nods, face down on the bed. She says a lot of wrong things in that place of hers, but this, at least, almost feels true—he really would do anything to feel her moving inside him like this, pumping into him hard and digging her long nails into his hips. They always leave little crescent marks she likes to lick once she’s done. Aleksis wants every part of Sasha—her hatred, the broken places inside her, the cock that goes with them—and will take them over and over and over again.Afterwards when she kisses him, she is as close to uncertain as he ever sees her. He loves that also, and opens his mouth for her to let her tongue inside him too. "You’re my queen and I’ll love you till I die," he tells her, so she will know she has not hurt him. He’ll go into death with her, of that he is certain. By comparison, the dark places inside her aren't frightening. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- I Know Your Stairs and Your Doorway Rating: adult/explicit. Warning for brief ableist language. This has basically nothing to do with the original song, but whatever! XD Prompt: I know your window and I know its late//I know your stairs and your doorway//I walk down your street and past your gate//I stand by the light at the four way--Tom Waits, Downtown Train. (Hannibal/Hermann/Newt in any configuration or, alternately, Newt/Hermann/Tendo :3)) Hannibal is not convinced that the ugly little professor with the limp will be anything other than a dead fish in bed. The man in question sits uncomfortable in one of Hannibal’s easy chairs, eyes fixed on the floor and looking like he’s scared even the furniture might kill him. Hannibal tries to focus on the dork’s shoes, though, handsome oxfords that don’t go with the rest of his unforgivable outfit. Hannibal appreciates taste in shoes even if nothing else about this twerp is the least tempting, so he lets Newt convince him that a threesome is a good idea. Inwardly, Hannibal reminds himself that this is what he gets for sticking his dick in crazy—more crazy. Fifteen minutes later, however, he has to concede that Newt does, in fact, have a point. Hermann naked is an entirely different beast than Hermann in his godawful clothes. Hermann naked is all lithe limbs and pale, translucent skin. What’s more, though Hannibal has been with a lot of people over the years, he has only rarely seen anyone behave like blowing him is a religious experience. But that’s what it looks like on Hermann, all wide worshipful eyes and deep-throated moans and those long fingers clutching at him like a holy relic, half reverent and half desperate. Newt smirks at them both from the bed, his face amply expressing his Told you so. By the time even Hannibal’s balls are soaked with spit and Newt’s little friend is squirming in his seat from not being allowed to touch himself, Hannibal decides that it’s time to see if Hermann really is all he’s cracked up to be as a bottom. Newt had advertised his colleague in the most exuberant of terms—Hermann’s ass could turn the Pope gay if he isn’t already, could probably even squeeze public healthcare out of Republicans! Gottlieb doesn’t feel exceptional around Hannibal’s fingers, but his responsiveness is anything but typical. Newt himself takes to bottoming with particular zeal, but Gottlieb is something else—he whines and fucks himself back and begs for more, please, more, in that swanky accent of his, slender hips trembling with barely-contained impatience. And when Hannibal finally seats himself in the other man’s body, Gottlieb appears to lose his damn mind. He clamps down on the cock inside him like it might run away if he doesn’t grab it tight and his eyes roll up into his head like this is an exorcism rather than a fuck. He wails like he’s been stabbed but his heels dig into Hannibal’s buttocks to keep him in place. And that’s when he starts up a stream of the weirdest dirty-talk Hannibal has ever heard. "Newton you bloody hellacious genius, may the saints smile upon you for this oh for the love of the Lord sir your cockerel is the most, the biggest—dear Lord if you don’t fuck me I will expire, you simply must—"Hannibal can’t keep the grin off his face and neither can Newt, but hey, a guy likes to feel like his efforts are appreciated. After a while Newt shuts Hermann up with his cock. Mostly shuts him up anyway, because the noise doesn’t stop, just the words. Hannibal thinks to himself that yes, he is definitely balls-deep in crazy, but this is at least a brand he can get behind. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- I Love You Cuz You Make Me Feel Much Better Than I Am Rating: Mature-ish. Warning for Hannibal being himself in the worst possible way. Prompt: Pacific Rim, Hannibal/Newt - Some people think it's a power trip, but I don't give a damn / I love you 'cause you make me feel much better than I am / I love you 'cause you worry, you're always taking pills / You always watch the evening news and it always gives you chills / I love you 'cause you're shaking, and 'cause you're always tense - "Better Than I Am" Three Dead Trolls In A Baggie Getting Newt to put out is like shooting fish in a barrel. With a nuclear bomb. Newt’s got Daddy and Mommy issues and probably Uncle, Aunt, and Grandpa issues too, so he’s achingly ready to accept anyone of the right age who will give him even the smallest drop of the attention he craves. It’s obvious too that it’s been so long since anyone touched him that he’d roll over for a dog if it asked him politely enough. (Or a kaiju—probably especially for that, come to think of it.) Worse yet, Newt actually likes the fact that Hannibal is a mobster who could break his neck with one hand. The kid pops a boner every time Hannibal pulls a knife or a gun and then comes back for seconds. There’s flirting with danger and then there’s deep-throating it before it can even buy you a drink, and Newt’s doing the latter and drooling on himself while he does it. The kid thinks he’s got the ‘nads to call Hannibal a one-eyed bitch and get away with it, but really all he’s got is that desperate look Hannibal loves so much. He doesn’t have to work hard with people like Newt, they’ll manipulate themselves for him and all he has to do is sit back and enjoy the ride. Newt won’t expect roses or phonecalls or even to have his dick touched occasionally while Hannibal fucks him, Newt's far too delighted that anyone wants him at all. Newt couldn’t survive his way out of a wet paper bag and it’s nothing short of a miracle that he’s lived this long. And Hannibal is nothing if not willing to take advantage of opportunity. So all he has to say is “Babe, I’m pretty sure you were made for me” and Newt is his, his, all his. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- If You Touch Me I Think I’ll Scream Rating: Teen. Prompt: "If you touch me/ Well I just think I'll scream/ 'Cause it's been so long/ Since someone challenged me/ And made me think, about the way things are/ Made me think, about the way they could be." "Touch Me I'm Going to Scream Pt. 2" by My Morning Jacket. Newt/Hermann. *"You all right, dude? You’re shaking.""Yes I’m fine, I’m—" Hermann stops himself, realizing all at once that in fact his leg is in quite a lot of pain and he can hardly breathe through the terror. The silence stretches between them and finally Newt withdraws his hand from Hermann’s boxers, pushing himself up onto one elbow. Hermann turns his face away. "Normally you’re totally all about telling me how I’ve fucked something up, so this silent treatment is kinda weirding me out.""It’s just...." Hermann begins, and then swallows hard, searching for how to put words to the maelstrom in his head. "It’s just that, that it’s been so easy to assume that we were meant to be at each others’ throats, that there wasn’t another option, and that I, I was not meant to be....” Hermann chokes on the words, and suddenly there are tears in his eyes. In his peripheral vision Hermann can see Newt’s face tensing into an expression of distress and Hermann has to close his eyes to avoid it because he can’t handle Newt actually displaying concern for him. "You weren’t meant to be what, Hermann?"Where has this behavior even come from? Newt hasn’t cared about Hermann’s feelings in years. "That I wasn’t meant to be touched!" Hermann snaps at last, glowering up at his bedmate. "I’m not meant to be wanted!""That’s pretty fucked up, dude."Hermann snorts, a sharp huff of air, but it gets a smile from Newt. "Look, Herms, I know I’ve treated you basically like shit for a while now. I can’t take it back. But you do this thing where you jab at me until I literally can’t help but do anything else. It’s like you expect it so intensely that you make it happen."Hermann grimaced. “So the last ten years of your behavior are my fault, I see how it is.”"No, that’s not—see, you’re doing it again! Look, probably someone better than me wouldn’t rise to this shit. But you could stand to make it a little easier to love you.""To—oh. I, I didn’t think that you—" Hermann bit his lip. "Oh. Oh. And now I’ve gone and ruined our first sexual encounter, too.”"Nah man, after being in your head today I could probably spring another bone if you so much as breathe on me."Hermann turned toward Newt at this, and found Newt smiling at him through his broken glasses. A few heartbeats passed with them just looking at each other, and then Newt nuzzled into Hermann’s neck. "I’m pretty sure that actually you’re meant to make me spring boners all over the damn place and want to fuck you legless.""I need my legs, such as they are," Hermann protested, cheeks flushing. "Nah man, unless you’re spreading them to let me blow you, legs are so overrated."This was just flowery bedroom nonsense, endorphins and oxytocin talking, of that much Hermann was certain. But for now at least, he let himself believe. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- I Got a Perfect Body But Sometimes I Forget Rating: Adult/Explicit. Warning for moments of dysphoria and fear of transphobia. This turned out pornier than anticipated??? Prompt: "I got a perfect body, but sometimes I forget/ I got a perfect body, 'cause my eyelashes catch my sweat, yes they do, they do..." (Regina Spektor, "Folding Chair") Pacific Rim, Hermann-centric (possibly a trans Hermann :D?) (--any working-to-body-positive-Hermann) Hermann figured that he could be forgiven for this. It wasn't that he needed forgiveness for thinking of his colleague such an unprofessional, inappropriate way—Newton was exactly the sort of self-centered narcissist who’d crow about till the end of the world if he ever found out—but for thinking of Newton in this way. If a God existed, Hermann thought He/She/Ze/They must surely frown upon Hermann for having such very poor judgment in choosing wank fodder. But it got him off, reliably, so that was that. His index finger started up a small circle over his shaft, around and around and around like his thoughts spinning with thoughts Newton’s mouth. How the stubble would feel between Hermann’s thighs. How the lips would wrap around Hermann and suck, thus finally putting that blasted overactive tongue to good use. If he even likes men wouldn’t like men like you. The thought brought Hermann to a dead halt and he blinked at the ceiling, air shuddering out of him. Stupid stupid stupid, of course he wouldn’t want you, with a bad leg and a— Hermann pushed the thoughts away, inhaled, and soldiered on, this time stretching his fingers down a little lower. They met frictionless damp folds, curled up, and—yes, there. He rocked against his palm, wrist tense with effort. If he wouldn’t want me because of this then fuck him. Fuck him, fuck him. That brought up another whole slough of images. Newt on all fours, hole spread for the strap-on Hermann had convinced himself to buy in a moment of hopeful idiocy. The wretched, high-pitched noises Newton would make, the way he wouldn’t be able to keep still because he never could even when not spitted on a cock. He’d try to speed it up but Hermann would hold him in place, dig his thumbs into the soft flesh of Newton’s backside and pull him open to see....Hermann’s thighs squirmed around his forearm, near-hairless and slippery with sweat. He turned his head to bite down onto the pillow to muffle the uncontrollable whimper as he came, clamping around pruned digits. Afterward he lay staring up at the ceiling, idly swirling his own fluids from perineum to glans and back again. My little secret. He’ll never know how wet he makes me, and wouldn’t he just love to know. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- I Was An Angel Looking to Get Fucked Hard Rating: Adult/Explicit Prompt: In the land of Gods and Monsters / I was an Angel / Looking to get fucked hard / Like a groupie incognito posing as a real singer / Life imitates art (Gods and Monsters by Lana Del Rey) Newt/Kaiju His brain spins, trying to figure out what organ is touching him, trying to find words for it when it doesn’t have a mammalian counterpart. It’s a tongue, it’s a cock, it’s a finger, it’s an ear, he doesn’t even know. He desperately wants to test it, dissolve it into solution and see what it’s made of, cut it open and look inside, poke it to watch it squirm, sing to it to see if it will sing back. He does the next best thing and opens his mouth, so that at least he’s getting new information on one front. Taste: milky-sour, faintly sweet, almost like almonds. A surprise. Possible chemical composition to result in this flavor: acids, sugars, toxins? Who knows. He can’t tell where he is anymore, if this is Otachi and she has taken him into her mouth, if it’s Vore and he’s been made into a chaser for Hannibal, or if he’s still in his lab and there was more in that suspension fluid than ammonia. What he knows is that he’s warm, his body prickling with sweat (or is that acid) and when he squirms and sucks he slips deeper into the....something. He’s covered in the kaiju anyway, he’s tattooed them into himself on purpose, so what’s a little more literalism?There’s a ridge of some kind and he rubs himself on it helplessly, curious. It’s just information, dude, he’s a scientist, it’s okay, it’s okay. Just as it opens him to slide in he wakes to find himself rocking against his body pillow. Bleary, he hauls himself out of bed for a dildo and lube. This is what I get for working four days without time to jerk off. But it’s more than that and he knows it. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- A Red Right Hand Prompt: He's a god, he's a man,he's a ghost, he's a guru//They're whispering his name through this disappearing land//But hidden in his coat is a red right hand--Nick Cave and the Bad Seed, "Red Right Hand" (Gen with Hannibal doing shady, creepy shit.) Rating: Adult/Disturbing? STRONG WARNING for implied torture and bodily harm. Could be interpreted as consensual if you want to see it that way, but could just as easily not be. Hahaha you wanted gen but you’re NOT GETTING IT TODAY, WHOOPS Hannibal strips the gloves off, throws them in the trash. The needles and razors he drops into a sharps container—cruelty he can do but sloppiness he can’t abide. Normally he doesn’t do this sort of thing himself anymore, has people to do it for him well away from his nice suits, but the kid wouldn’t talk and well, this time it was personal. "One-eyed bitch is right," he murmurs, to remind Geiszler of why he’s here and who he fucked with. "Your depth perception is a little off," Geiszler grinds out, tremors running up and down his frame now. "Unless you meant to hit muscle with those last ones?”Hannibal watches the way Newt’s thighs are clamped together and utterly still while around them everything in his body quakes. His eyes are closed now but the image of them huge and wide with white showing all the way around that bloodshot iris has made a home for itself in Hannibal’s mind. "If you’re still funnin’ with me then I didn’t go deep enough." Hannibal puts on another pair of gloves and opens up another packet of tools, which clatter on the metal tray.The noise Newt makes might be a sob, might be a growl, but the tears running down his cheeks say more than his tone. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Does He Tell You You’re Pretty Rating: Gen. Content warning for emotional abuse and deeply awful parent/child dynamics as well as mentions of child neglect. Prompt: "When everything's ending, where do your day dreams lay down? / Does he tell you you're pretty, listen and not make a sound? / And where, where do you go? / Just need to cry; well i will be homewhat, what makes us strong? / What makes us brave? / Or leaves us alone? / For all this time, all this time, all this time..." Noah Gundersen – The first song. Please something sad but fluffy of Hermann / Newt. :) These days with the help of medication very little forces Newt into this state where he can’t move, lungs frozen in place and nails digging into the palms of his hand. His thoughts race but his body stands hard and small and still behind Hermann’s chair. But Lars Gottlieb, he can push Newt to this every time. "Dear Hermann," Hermann reads aloud, his voice dull and monotone, nothing like his usual theatrical drama. "I shouldn’t have had to hear this from others, I should have heard this from my son, but people tell me that you were instrumental in sealing the Breach. I would say congratulations but I’m sure you’ve heard that already, so I’ll say what probably no one else has the decency to tell you: If you had turned half of the initiative and engineering genius I gave you on the Wall instead of those bloody great tin cans, we would not be dealing with the fallout of having irradiated half the Pacific. We would not be looking at the extinction of fifty percent or more of all known marine species and untold damage to the city of Hong Kong. If you had stood by me as was your duty, none of this would have been necessary. How does it feel, knowing that your childish insistence on being right has caused one of the greatest mass-extinctions since the asteroid? If you had been a proper son and held this family together, used the gifts that God and I spent such time and energy to bestow upon you—""I don’t need to hear the rest of this utter fucking bullshit," Newt grits out. Carefully, slowly, he forces himself to breathe, a deep in and out, and then he walks across the lab and into the bathroom. Once there he kicks the wall over and over again and screams "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU WORTHLESS PUSTULE OF KAIJU SHIT" until his throat hurts. When Newt is able to compose himself, he comes back into the lab and finds Hermann unmoved, eyes staring ahead but clearly not even seeing the computer screen anymore. Newt isn’t sure his colleague has breathed in the last five minutes, and wonders if it’s possible to be so upset that you unintentionally invent organic stasis. "Hey Herms, Hermann baby. Come on, let’s get you out of that chair. Yeah like that, lean on me, I’ve got your cane if you need it, we’re just going over to the couch. Just like that, curl up on me, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, don’t apologize, it’s okay if you get my shirt wet, it’s probably grody anyway from kaiju juices—er, not that grody, don’t worry--”"My father, Newton, my own father,” Hermann whimpers, knuckles white on the tattoo of Yamarashi. “Not even saving the world is enough for him. That finally proves it—I thought maybe, maybe if I turned out to be right he might finally see and we could....but if not even this, then there’s nothing.”"You can’t talk to someone whose brain is made of shit, dude. Might as well talk to an actual turd.""He’s always done this," Hermann continued, as though he hadn't heard. "He always delayed and denied until other people got hurt and then blamed them for being in a state. When I was little the doctors told him I’d need treatment to fix my hip and spine but he said I’d grow out of it. My mother begged and pleaded but he wore her down. Always the same argument—a waste of money and effort, it’ll clear up on its own if we let it take its course. Now it’s not just me but the whole world: I’ll use a cane for the rest of my life and millions are dead because he convinced them to cut our funding again and again...."Hermann trailed off and Newt babbled into the silence. "He’s a shit father and an even shitter human being, Herms, we know this. Has he ever told you what a beautiful fucking genius you are? Of course not. But I’m telling you you’re pretty as fuck and you’ve got a huge brain and I love you. He’s a fuckwad and we’ll block his email. We could probably even write code to auto-detect his diction so that if he makes new emails we can block those too and you won’t even have to see them. We’ll make sure he can’t get to you again, yeah?""I believe that’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me," Hermann sniffled, and wiped his nose on Newt’s tie. Ordinarily Newt would have called a foul on this, but he held it in this time. I need to step up my game, he realized, if he only thinks I'll be sweet after an email like that. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The Spaces Between My Fingers Rating: Gen. Angsty. Prompt: I lie awake and miss you/Cause I'll doze off safe and soundly/But I'll miss your arms around me/Cause I wish you were here/I'll watch the night turn light blue/But it's not the same without you/Cause it takes two to whisper quietly/The silence isn't so bad/Til I look at my hands and feel sad/Cause the spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly/ (Vanilla Twilight, Owl City) Pacific Rim- Something with Newton? Or Hercules maybe? Hercules Hansen fills his hands with others things: pens to do the endless paperwork, the rustling documents Stacker left behind, a microphone at the wake, Max’s warm wrinkles, the freezer-cold bottle of vodka the Russian techs gave him. When he’s not doing his duty he trains one-handed in the Kwoon till his palm aches and stings around the bo, punches the practice dummies till his knuckles blister and his shoulder screams, and swallows over and over again to keep it all down. Down in his guts where it belongs, buried under the soft pink parts of him that keep him alive even though they are dead. He keeps it down, covers it with military fatigues, straps it in under the heavy boots and the cast for his arm. Get a grip, he tells himself. You can’t lose it now. Keep it together, keep it in, nobody wants to see a grown man cry. You’re the Marshall now, you’ve gotta be in control. Herc holds onto everything he can to fill the spaces where his lover and his son should have been. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- It Takes No Match to Give Me a Spark Rating: Mature Content warning: Sex and surprise infection that nobody is into when it happens, mention of STIs. No song prompt for this one, but the title is taken from "A Good Horse" by The Cardigans. Newt doesn’t even know he has them till it’s too late. He’s been religiously cataloguing the changes, of course, because they’re basically the raddest thing which has ever happened to him. Nothing is missed--physical, hormonal, psychological alterations, all are noted down in the laboratory logs in detail with second opinions from Hermann. Alongside their notes go photographs, measurements, and readings from tissue samples. Newt is rapidly on his way to becoming his own dissertation research and he couldn’t be happier.Well, except for the fact that Hermann now refuses to fuck him, but that’s all right because then Hannibal said yes instead.For once thinking about something other than his patchwork DNA, Newt’s eyes roll back into his head, he thinks he’s screaming but he can’t really tell, the tendrils around his crotch are almost buzzing with tension, and his body feels like it’s been designed specifically for this, being fucked through the mattress by one of the finest cocks Newt has ever seen. He’s lit up inside and out, glowing bright enough to combat the reddish mood lighting Hannibal has going on in his bedroom, every nerve ending between his legs singing with pleasure.He digs his heels into Hannibal’s buttocks and clutches the big man’s shoulders as he comes, soaking them both with his spending, and that’s when it happens. Hannibal jerks in his arms with a grunt that sounds different from the low noises of pleasure and approval he’s been making before, his thrust stutters, and a sudden harsh exhalation leaves him. For a split second Newt doesn’t even notice, too overwhelmed by the way he’s clenching around that magnificent shaft, and then for another split second he just thinks Hannibal has come.“The hell, kid, wha’di’you....jussss....”Hannibal trails off, collapsing onto Newt, and that’s when Newt realizes something has gone horribly wrong.“Big guy?” he asks, tapping Hannibal on the back with a finger. When he gets no response, that’s when the panic sets in. Newt’s heartbeat still hasn’t calmed down from the climax, but now there’s a frantic edge to the racing of his pulse. He tries to drop his feet to the covers, and realizes witha jolt that his wrists and heels are attached to Hannibal.It takes Newt a second to find the right angle to get the spurs out. He studies them over the sweaty shoulder: curved fanglike protrusions that had till now hidden under the thick scale protecting the inside of his wrists. The venom grooves on the inside of the spurs are still leaking a clear fluid as Newt moves his wrists, and he'd desperately love a sample of it, but now is not the moment.Carefully he pushes his heels down to unlatch the raptor-like half-moons from Hannibal’s buttocks. Squirming and shimmying out from under the deadweight, Newt checks the big man’s pulse and breathing (both even and strong) before he allows himself to start crying. He’s glad there’s no one to see it, and even gladder his cell phone is still in the pocket of his jeans so he can call for aid from the Shatterdome, because Newt doesn’t fancy going out and telling Chau’s trigger-happy flunkies that he just accidentally infected, impregnated, or assassinated their boss.The coma lasts a week, the same as Newt’s did, and by the time Hannibal comes around the transformation is almost complete. Newt, loitering around the bedside writing up notes, is ready for him.“Kid, what the hell--”“I swear this is the first time I’ve ever given anyone an STI, and it’s not even my fault this time since I didn’t know that would happen!”Hannibal looks at his hands, now bluish-gray except for glowing teal swirls that run up his arms. He grimaces, and the motion shows off his new fangs and the split along the middle of his lower jaw.“Goddamnit,” he growls after a long, pregnant pause. “My momma is gonna be furious, she always told me to watch what I put my dick in.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- I'll Be Your Educational Lover Title taken from "Freeek" by George Michaels. Rating: Adult/explicit. Content warning for POV character (Hannibal) not knowing much about trans bodies. Small though he is, Newt is nothing if not brash and demanding. As soon as he has himself slicked and the harness adjusted to sit right upon his hips, he hooks a hand behind the back of each of Hannibal’s knees, lifts them, and pushes till they’re as close to the big man’s chest as they’ll go.“I’m not a bendy little faggot like you, and I’m not as young as I used to be. You won’t get acrobatics from me,” Hannibal observes, but without any real rancor.“Hold this for me,” Newt says, grabbing Hannibal’s left hand and placing it atop the corresponding knee. Hannibal rolls his eyes at the presumption but goes along with it so Newt can position the slicked dildo with the freed hand.Hannibal has to hand it to the kid, at least he’s got skills where it counts. He knows not to jam it in and hope for the best, unlike some of the idiots Hannibal fucked in his younger and more tolerant years. Newt eases it in slow, watching for discomfort, and Hannibal’s approval at once increases. Unlike most guys, Newt isn’t distracted by the feeling of entering his partner either, so his focus remains solely on Hannibal. The green eyes dart up and down, intent on watching both Hannibal’s face and the thick seven inches of silicone rapidly disappearing inside him.Two days ago Hannibal had been leery when the word ‘trans’ had first popped out of the kid’s mouth along with a gush of explanation containing phrases like ‘no surgery down there’ and ‘bonus hole’. But he’d taken Hannibal like a champ, and Hannibal had been forced to admit it was nice to be able to fuck a guy, enjoy the scrape of mutual stubble between their mouths, and not have to do anything more to get the kid ready than put on a condom and a bit of lube. No worrying about enemas or fingering him open or anything, just that hot slick slide that Hannibal likes so much.And now--Newt’s pushing into him with Hannibal’s favorite size, as promised, and how often does that happen on a guy of Newt’s build? It doesn’t even feel any different from the real thing.Hannibal grins. He thinks he could get used to this. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- anonymous asked: Newt has a cold. Hermann is surprisingly not grossed out by this. In fact, he's almost... gentle. This is not quite what you wanted, I’m pretty sure. Oh well! Content warning: mention of past child abuse/neglect, casual/joking ableist language and a creatively disgusting insult from Newt. Rating: Teen, if that. At first Newt sucked on cough drops and hoped it was just the San Francisco Shatterdome’s air conditioning drying out his sinuses. The next day, however, the scratchy pain turned into a hacking cough, which then turned into a wheezing rattle. He worked through it for another nine hours anyway, too intent on his latest tissue samples. He arrived home with watering eyes and a voice already ragged with coughing. Hermann took one look at him and a look of panic washed over his face. “Oh good lord, you’ve caught the cold going around? Don’t even think about touching me, I don’t want it! What are you supposed to do for colds? Is it Vitamin C or D? Or was it magnesium….” He backed away across the kitchen before opening cupboards in a frantic flurry of action. “Calm down buddy,” Newt rasped out before doubling over in another series of spasms, trying to get up phlegm that just wouldn’t budge. “You’re making me look normal with this display of neuroticism. Just open up a can of soup and put it in the microwave! And get me a cup of tea, too. And a popsicle." Collapsing face-first into the bed and not caring if he drooled on the covers, Newt listened as Hermann moved around the kitchen. Rushing water, the wet plop of a can’s contents gushing into a ceramic bowl, the tings and plonks of a spoon stirred in a mug. And then a few minutes later, Hermann arrived with a tray cradled on his spare arm. Newt rolled over, grinning. He gave a wet sniffle as he sat up, trying to remember where he’d put the last few kerchiefs Hermann always tried to give him. The man whined so much when Newt blew his nose on his own shirts. “There, you didn’t even die preparing this,” Newt joked, picking up the spoon as Hermann settled the tray onto the quilt. “No need to freak out, was there? Anyway you never get sick, you’re always taking so many vitamins and you’re obsessed with proper sleep.” Hermann looked away, seated in a fretful little knot beside Newt, who ate his way through the soup. Patiently he waited for Hermann to spill—the man always did when he looked like this. “I just….” Hermann began tentatively. “I’m not sure how to take care of someone sick, and I’m worried I’ll muck this up. It’s one of those things partners are supposed to do, I know that, but….My father always just told me not to be such a baby when I’d get ill and wouldn’t let my mother anywhere near me lest she catch it too. She was forbidden to even enter my room until I’d been well for several days.” Newt carefully set down the silverware, rubbed his face, and made himself not start screaming, just like he did every time Hermann talked about his childhood. They’d only been living together a month, having decided to do so after they Hong Kong ‘Dome had been shut down for repairs and a few of the others reopened. Newt hadn’t thought it would make much of a difference, as they’d shared space for almost a decade now, but it had rapidly become apparent that the fact that they hadn’t been dating before made all the difference in the world….at least to Hermann. They just kept finding things about living with a partner that Hermann was sure he’d fuck up, and every time another one arose he had to be reassured. Like now. “Lars is pustulent urethra,” Newt stated at last, with some feeling. This got a grimace from Hermann, disgusted as he always was by Newt’s choice insults, but at least it took his mind off the man himself. “Look babe, it’s not complicated. I’ll finish my soup and tea, and then you’ll bring me a popsicle—and the vibrator. I think I left it in front of the TV in the living room.” Hermann knew enough by now not to ask why the vibrator was in the living room, but he gave Newt a worried look anyway. “I’m really not in the mood for sex right now—” he began, but Newt cut him off. “For my sinus headache. I’m going to use it on my face, not my junk.” “Oh! Oh. Right.” By the time Newt had collapsed into the blankets, already half asleep and most of his face pleasantly numb from vibration, Hermann had assumed the role of caretaker with aplomb. He strutted around the bedroom, obviously pleased with himself for having thought of picking up Newt’s clothes all on his own. Then he laid a gentle hand on Newt’s forehead, feeling for a temperature, before he pulled the blankets the rest of the way over Newt and turned on the white noise machine. Newt smiled into the pillow. He hated being ill, but he could stand to see Hermann puffed up with his own importance like this. As long as it wasn’t about winning a science argument with Newt, Newt loved seeing Hermann happy. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- airyairyquitecontrary asked: Newt and the utterly excessive masturbation. I’m pretty sure this isn’t what you meant, but it’s what immediately sprang to mind at your prompt. ^^” Rating: Teen/Mature? ————- The night after the world didn’t end, Newt pulled the box out from under his bed and stared at it. The cracked lenses of his glasses showed him a rainbow of dildos and sleeves of various sizes and species—most of them based on kaiju. The thought made him feel ill, now. He hastily lidded the box again and thrust it back into the dusty, cluttered recesses under the metal frame, resolving to put it in the Shatterdome free pile as soon as possible. So Newt finagled his wallet out of the pocket of his very tight pants (how he’d managed to keep hold of the thing through the day he’d just had, he’d never know), went online, and ordered fast shipping on a whole lot of new silicone. He maxed out his card doing it, but whatever, he’d just saved the world and he’d find some way to make this a business expense if he had to. He deserved a goddamn treat after what he’d just done! The huge package arrived two days later; the postal system of Hong Kong was wrecked like everything else but he’d had one of the PPDC choppers pick it up from another office along with their shipments of supplies. Now he had a (relatively) clean bill of health and talk of several awards coming his way, Newt sealed himself into his room to celebrate. Human dick and pussy from now on, he promised himself. I’m gonna fuck myself back into proper homo sapien shape. He didn’t re-emerge till dinner the next day. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- thaxted asked: Hermann as a virtuoso sadist, preferably topping Stacker or Hannibal, and bonus if it gets mathematical. It’s not Stacker OR Hannibal, but I met your other two criteria amply I think. ;) Rating: not sure. There’s no sex, but there is a Strong Content Warning for explicitly described needleplay with blood and consensual sadism/masochism. The bottom in this scene is also using pain as a vehicle for emotional catharsis. DO NOT READ if this will disturb you. __________ Herc went rigid, the muscles of his arms bulging with the pressure he exerted on the ropes holding him down. Undisturbed, Hermann finished pushing the needle through the skin of the man’s stomach. When the bevel was safely embedded in Herc’s flesh where it couldn’t prick anyone else, the bigger man relaxed in a sudden rush, hands trembling. “Bloody hell, Doctor Gottlieb,” he panted, voice ragged from screaming. Herc had been waiting for this all week, just barely making it through the days with the knowledge that on Sunday he could let it all go and justfeel. He’d shaved from the neck down this morning, and the marks would comfort him through the grueling week to come before they could do it again. “Do you need a break? Some water?” Hermann’s face was all concern, even as one latex-covered finger played with the knot of needles over Herc’s left nipple. Though light, the pressure made Herc squirm and clench his jaw, eyes wide with pain. Their movements wafted the smell of surgical disinfectant up to Herc’s nose. When Hermann stopped, Herc lifted his head and surveyed himself. Blood trailed down his sides and into his armpit from a few of the pink plastic hubs. The hollow metal had, of course, been designed to screw into a syringe, but now it meant that it let the blood right out of him whenever one hit a vessel. The Fibonacci spiral started in a hot-button of needles on Herc’s left pectoral and would end curving over the crest of his left hip. The spacing and arrangement was perfect. He’d always known the mathematician was obsessive, everything on his side of the lab freakishly neat and orderly. It figured the same principle would apply to him as a sadist as well. “How many needles left?” Herc asked, unsure of what he wanted the answer to be—many, or few. “To finish the planned arc? Oh, thirty at the least, maybe more. We’ve only used a hundred so far, and I’ve got two more boxes.” And he smiled, running a nail over the raised flesh where metal pushed Herc’s skin up. The Marshall whimpered, tears springing back into his eyes. “Water, he croaked. “Then finish your piece.” And if that’s not enough, he told himself, you can still do my legs and my back. I’m not ready to be numb and alone again yet. Let me cry just a little longer. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- anonymous asked: I'm a huge fan of both Best Cock On The Block (and the drabble that preceded it) and Made To Measure and being the greedy wanton creature I am it's got me wishing for a another combination: trans!Newt/cis!Hermann (male or female, author's choice!) Rating: Adult/explicit. Total PWP. Includes a brief discussion of genital language, for those who find that triggering. ________ They half fell through the door to Newt’s room, Hermann pushing the door closed with one trembling arm. He didn’t want to fuss over cranking it locked, but in the back of his mind he worried that someone would barge in and see them in a compromising position. His leg, unreliable at the best of times, always shook when he was aroused, and now, with his erection grinding against Newt’s belly, Newt’s hands around his ass were the only thing keeping him upright. “Okay Herms, lemme give you the lowdown,” Newt stated when their mouths broke apart for a moment. His breath was hot against Hermann’s collarbones and smelled faintly of the pasta they’d eaten for dinner. Hermann was so turned on that the scent made him want to put his tongue back in Newt’s mouth to see if he could taste it, even though he had already established quite conclusively that he could not. And besides, it would be rude to interrupt. “It’s not a pussy or a snatch or a vulva or anything else. I have a dick and a front hole. If you’re using your mouth it’s a blowjob rather than going down on me, you got that?” Hermann nodded. Remembering a few simple words wasn’t exactly a mental challenge compared to, say, trying to calculate the structure of the Breach. Besides, at that point he’d have agreed to call Newt’s genitals almost anything to be allowed to touch them. “Do you want me to blow you?” “No,” Newt grinned. “That’s for afterward when I’m feeling lazy and want to come again. What I want is to ride you like a mechanical bull.” “What?” Hermann stared in horror, uncertain what this alarming simile was supposed to mean. Five minutes later, however, it apparently meant Newt laying Hermann out on his bed, stripping him out of his pants and leaving them hanging around his knees, pulling a condom out of the nightstand, and sliding it onto him in a few smooth strokes before suckling the tip with a puckish smirk. Then it meant Newt climbing on top, straddling Hermann’s skinny hips while he wondered where to put his hands, and before Hermann had figured it out, seating himself with a wolfish grin and the press of his ass against Hermann’s balls. “Oh hell—” Hermann swore, overwhelmed by the hot clench of Newt’s flesh all around him. He’d fantasized often over the last decade since he’d met Newt, still babyfaced and barely able to grow a few hairs of his own beard, fantasized more than he would ever have wanted to admit outside the Drift. But Hermann hadn’t ever imagined this would really happen to him. “Who knew you were hiding such a nice cock all these years?” Newt wondered aloud, hopefully rhetorically. Hermann didn’t feel like admitting right then that his last sexual encounter had been five years ago during Tendo Choi’s celebratory homosexual going-away party before he’d settled down with Allison. “Do I?” he gasped instead as Newt lifted off and dropped again, and felt himself blush at the inane question. His endowment was at the higher end of average size, it was true, but nothing exceptional. Adequate, he had always thought. Finally Hermann settled for placing his hands on Newt’s hips, stroking his thumbs into the soft dimples over Newt’s hipbones. Newt chuckled, working himself in tight little circles now so he only let perhaps an inch or two out. Hermann whimpered. “Yes, and I’m never letting you out of bed now. I’m going to ride you hard and put you away wet every night if you let me.” Fine by me! was all Hermann could think. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- anonymous asked: Newt/Hannibal or Newt/Hermann/Hannibal: "Hands up if you think you’re gonna save us now / Before we shoot the messenger for talking too loud / We’ll keep you on the run / We get what we want" - The Temper Trap - "Rabbit Hole" Rating: Adult/Explicit. Content warning: Hannibal is not a very good practitioner of informed consent in this fic. Everybody ends up consenting, but that’s mostly by accident rather than design on Hannibal’s part. May be triggering for some. _____ Hermann stood frozen outside the lab, just out of sight beyond the threshold of the huge doors, listening. For the first few seconds were disbelief: Are those sex noises? Surely not. Why on earth would anyone want to fuck in our lab? It’s hardly the most comfortable place in which to have an intimate tête-a-tête, so why there? It has to be something else. The seconds after that were disgusted realization: It is sex, it can’t be anything else. And is that Newton? You selfish, immature little prick, I am never, ever going to let you live this down. The seconds after that were mortified self-awareness: So that’s what Newton sounds like when he’s being vigorously fucked on a piece of our office furniture. I have an erection. This then turned into even greater mortification: I thought neither of us was getting laid. I suppose it’s just me, then. Loser Hermann, as always. Which then turned into curiosity: Who could he possibly be sleeping with? No one in the Shatterdome will have him, I’m sure! I’ll just peek around the corner to see…. Which was how Hermann ended up leaning around the doorway of the laboratory he shared with his colleague of ten years, watching him get hammered with ever greater intensity on Hermann’s own desk by an older gentleman with white hair and a significant facial scar. This was when Newt happened to turn his head in Hermann’s direction. The moment in which they locked eyes stretched between them like a piano wire, taut and humming, until it snapped. “Hermann!” Newt squealed. The older man stopped at once, turning to see what the fuss was about. Hermann then found himself the object of two of the most intense stares he’d ever received. One second ticked by, then another, until the unknown man broke the silence and Newt looked away. “This him, babe?” Newt nodded, face now hidden in his hands. The big man rolled his eyes and gestured Hermann over. “I know you’re prone to putting your foot in your mouth so I’m gonna fix this for you, honey. Mister Hermann Gottlieb? I am Hannibal Chau. Come over here and see what I’m doing.” Hermann, who had stood stock still in shock at the indication that he shouldapproach the scene, started at the name. In the file Pentecost had shown them there had been no face, just a rough description. This was who Newton was sleeping with, apparently without telling Hermann, on Hermann’s private property? He didn’t dare refuse a known mob boss, however, so he shuffled over, eyes fixed on the floor. “Look, buddy. I don’t know you, and maybe you think this is awkward. I don’t care what you think, because I’m going to tell you anyway. See my dick? It’s big, I don’t do that false modesty thing. Enough to satisfy anyone, wouldn’t you say? And I know how to use it.” He demonstrated with a shallow thrust upward that got an electric jolt from Newt and a whinnying noise. Hermann found his eyes drawn to where they’d been directed despite all his efforts to keep them virtuously down on the ground where they belonged. The endowment in question was, in fact, big. Newt’s body visibly stretched around it as Hannibal shifted his stance. “And you see Newt here? He’s got the tightest, sweetest little ass anyone could ask for. Made for taking cock. But you know what? Despite the fact that he's got me, he still talks about you all the time. I make him share his fantasies, see, and most of them are about you. So if you’re straight, or just not interested, I think now’s the time to get that off your chest, don’t you?” Hannibal’s tone indicated this wasn’t a suggestion. Hermann swallowed, sure he’d somehow gone to sleep in his quarters and this was some bizarre combination of a wet dream and a nightmare. Newt’s face was still half-hidden by one bicep, but he dropped the other shaking hand down to wrap around Hannibal’s bulging, muscular forearm. “I….I….” Hermann stammered, Newt’s naked, tattooed body filling his vision. He stood there open-mouthed until a big hand wrapped around his chin and pulled his face up so he found himself fixed in a single-eyed blue scowl. “Mister Gottlieb, you are either going to join in and put Newt out of his misery, or you are going to walk out now. Am I clear?” “Very,” Hermann whimpered. The grip abruptly released and he looked down again, seeking Newt’s eyes for permission. Newt, now peeking up at him from around his own elbow, nodded. Slowly, Hermann licked his lips, bent down, and took Newt in his mouth. The sound Newt made at the contact would be forever graven into Hermann’s memory as one of the hottest things he’d ever heard. “Atta boy,” Hannibal said above him, and started to move again. His thrusts slid Newt in and out of Hermann’s mouth, which watered at the salty taste till his spit ran down Newt's flesh. Distantly Hermann was aware that Hannibal was still very much a mobster and this was a Problem. But for now, he was very, very glad he’d forgotten his sports coat in the lab. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Hannibal looked Hermann up and down, and Newt could see the distaste on his face. Inwardly he cringed—Hermann was an acquired taste, visually, Newt knew that, he’d thought Hermann was fumpy at first too. Newt now knew for a fact that Hermann was a fucking sex god who could wear even Newt out, but the problem was that it didn’t show. And to Hannibal, who was all about showmanship and making a glittering first impression, someone like Hermann was doomed to go over like a lead balloon.Finally, after five silent seconds that felt to Newt like an eternity in Hell, Hannibal sighed, his gaze dropped, and his mouth pursed into a knot.“Nice shoes,” he said at last. “You’re a thin streak of piss and dressed even worse, but a man with good taste in shoes I can work with.”Pink color flooded Hermann’s cheeks, and Newt was pretty sure that if he hadn’t been engaged to Newt, he’d have stormed out right then.“You, sir,” Hermann enunciated, “are a glorified snake-oil salesman dressed like the ugly offspring of a circus ringleader and a pimp, but your shoes also have a certain….flare.”The two men eyeballed each other while Newt sweated through his shirt. Just when Newt was starting to worry they’d both end up knifed, Hannibal gave Hermann a golden smile, leaning his weight on one hip and reaching out to clap Hermann on the back.“You’ve got backbone! Arright Newt, I can see why you like him. Come in, boys.”Given that first meeting, Newt thought, he really shouldn’t have ended up here. But here he was—blindfolded and wearing nothing but a heavy leather collar on all fours on the cold marble of Hannibal’s dining room floor. His sweaty palms stuck to the smooth surface as he came forward, pulled gently onward by the leash.“I’m pretty sure this is how you were meant to be,” Hermann drawled, erotic complacency dripping for every syllable. “You bent over a microscope is all very well, but this is better.”The remark got a laugh from Hannibal, and judging by the location of their voices they had to be right next to each other.Newt’s questing fingertips ran into something, and he fumbled over it—Hannibal’s foot, by the feel of the cool metal plates and the soft fabric above it. When Newt felt up Hannibal’s shin, however, he ran into another shoe and ankle. It took several seconds before Newt put two and two together to get four. “Hermann! You’re—”“In his lap, yes. Now it’s time you stopped talking, darling. I don’t think his shoes have been polished since at least this morning, and you’ve got a perfectly serviceable tongue.”This, Newt thought, was the definition of test outcomes contradicting the initial hypothesis. It was also either the worst possible outcome or totally fucking badass genius results. As he bent down, Newt decided that if it turned out to be the former, he’d blame it all on Hannibal. But if it turned out to be the latter, he was going to take full credit. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The virulency of Blue was infamous. Tendo’s story alone had been enough to fascinate Newt in a morbid kind of way. Certain types of the Blue could kill within hours, the toxins destroying carbon-based life-forms quickly and efficiently. As they were designed to do.Hannibal had just gotten home from Europe, where he’d been talking to German buyers of Otachi’s wing membranes. His cologne washed over Newt as the big man reached around Newt’s chest, kissing the top of the tattoos on his neck. Newt was elbow-deep in one of Otachi’s throat glands, but that had never stopped him from arguing with Hermann and it didn’t stop him from turning his head to kiss Hannibal now.“Hey there, Shortstack,” Hannibal purred. “What say you ditch your gloves, lemme get on a pair of my own, and you show me how much you missed me?” Newt was just about to agree when Hannibal flicked a thumbnail across Newt’s nipple.Normally that would have been just peachy. But the truth was, he really had missed Hannibal and had wanted to do something nice for him, so he’d gone out and gotten his nipples pierced. When the fingernail met the gold post, the white-hot pain made Newt jerk hard in the big man’s grip and the scalpel in his hand slid two inches farther than it should have.He felt it push against his finger and knew what had happened. But the human brain was a magnificent thing, capable of incredible denial, so for the several seconds it took for the sensation of the cut to sink in, Newt dared to hope. But the second flare of agony dashed the delusion on the rocks of reality. “I’ve just sliced through the glove and into my hand,” Newt stated in a small voice, very still in Hannibal’s arms. “I know you’ve got some of the best decontaminants that aren’t even on the market—?”“Shit,” was all the big man said before he was out of the room shouting orders. Gingerly, scared to see what he knew he’d find, Newt pulled his hands out. Blue kaiju blood mixed with his own red to make a rather beautiful purple hue, at least. Peeling the glove off, he surveyed the damage while his stomach turned over, and distantly he felt the panic response begin to rev up, heart rate elevating.He’d cut down to the bone and through a small vein, red rivulets running down his hand. Newt stood frozen, unable to believe that after so many years in contact with specimens he had at last exposed himself to Blue—after the Breach had been sealed. Would he be the last person to die this way?As he watched, however, the bleeding stopped. That’s good, he thought. I won’t faint of bloodloss. Probably hyperventilation instead. Dully he stared at his forefinger, and then blinked, because the cut was sealing up. While he watched, the gouge grew shallower and shallower and then there was no dip under all the blood.I’m hallucinating, he thought, and went slowly over to the sink to wash his hand. Which he should have done anyway to limit his exposure, he knew, but shock was a helluva thing. When he washed his hand—gingerly, he could still vividly remember the little white glimmer of bone—there was no cut. None at all. The spot itched terribly, and there was a faint pink mark, but that was it.In a noisy mass, Hannibal and several of his medical crew came back into the room, surrounding Newt. When they saw his hand, the resulting uproar lasted for hours, and the tests Hannibal had the doctors run on him took longer still. But by a little after 1AM, Newt had a sample jar full of the contents of the gland and an ostensibly-consenting test subject with a recently-bloodied face. Newt didn’t ask where he’d come from or if he really wanted to do this, Hannibal had a lot of enemies who’d rather ‘volunteer’ for something that might kill them rather than winding up very certainly dead in a gutter somewhere. Newt found the best policy was never to ask those kind of questions, especially with Hannibal looming over him waiting for him to test the stuff.With exaggerated care Newt scooped a few drops onto one gloved fingertip before pressing it into the cut over the man’s eyes. Everyone held their breath until, with slow grace, like watching a flower unbloom, the bruising disappeared, the swelling went down, and the split eyebrow sealed itself.“Baby, you’re gonna make us so much money,” Hannibal breathed.“All because I got my nipples pierced,” Newt replied. It figured. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Newt had gone to extreme lengths to ensure that no one could love him without loving the kaiju too. There was no concealing of it anymore: if it had even been just one arm or one leg there might have been some workaround, some way of keeping the obsession concealed at least for a one-night stand. But with a full-body suit spanning every inch of his flesh from neck to wrists to ankles (with the notable exception of his genitals and a thin strip of bare pink flesh in the cleft between his buttocks, which were made even more obscene by the contrast) to love Newt (even temporarily and under the most generous and euphemistic definition of “love”) was to love the kaiju.Hermann cared very much about Newt, but he did not love kaiju. Hermann took what he felt was quite a sensible approach to the beasts, which was to believe that xenocidal giant monsters could stay right away from his planet, thank you very much. The kaiju's biotechnological capabilities were of great interest, it was true, but that only went so far in commending them to him. Especially given that all their science seemed to be dedicated to destroying Hermann and everyone he cared about.Newt’s voice, high-pitched and breaky even at the best of times, jumped an octave as Hermann lined himself up and pushed in. He sighed as he hilted himself in Newt’s tight, fluttering hole; Bonesquid glared up at him from Newt’s trembling shoulderblades, scaly tentacles trailing down over the biologist’s sacrum. If Hermann recalled correctly, portions of Bonesquid's entrails had ended up on his side of the lab a few years prior. It was enough to put a lesser man right off his stroke. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Sex with Hermann was like fucking two different men. Or maybe three.When they stuck to mutual masturbation, handjobs, and blowjobs, Hermann was very much himself, which was to say, close-mouthed, self-assured, and businesslike. Sessions of this type tended to end quickly. At first Newt wondered if it was because Hermann liked these activities less, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Finally it occurred to Newt that these were less intimate, and thus less of a challenge for his distant partner.Hermann on top, however, was sweet, attentive, generous, and unsure of himself. He needed prompting to feel comfortable going harder or faster, reassurance that he felt good inside Newt, and reminders of how very enthusiastic Newt’s consent was. This Hermann bit his lip very sweetly while fucking, and made little mewling noises behind his teeth, and had to be coaxed with every kind of squeezing and writhing and moaning on Newt's part in order to make any noise beyond that.And then there was Hermann bottoming.This Hermann shouted commands at Newt. He was exacting, demanding, and very vocal about what he wanted. If Newt wasn’t doing it right, he was liable to be grabbed by the hair and dragged into a better angle with a growl of frustration. The only time Hermann got rough in bed was when he was being fucked--he dug his nails into Newt’s back and arms, bit any body part that got in range, and when Hermann got close to orgasm he started calling Newton every foul name he could think of, including some archaic ones Newt had to look up later.Newt loved it all. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- It's two days after the end of the world and Newt, Hermann suddenly discovers, has no concept of personal space. Or propriety. Hermann's standing at his blackboard, trying to work out the barcode-mechanism of the Breach, when Newt presses up against him from behind. Hermann hadn't even heard him come into the lab, hadn't expected him in today at all, had expected him to be hungover and in some female tech's bed."Hey there.""I'm working!" comes the automatic response, but work is the defense he always uses when he's scared and Newt probably knows that, now. Knows Hermann is scared and confused by this sudden change of the distance between them. He braces himself against the board with one hand as Newt nuzzles into his neck before placing a sucking kiss just above Hermann's collar. Hermann's bad knee goes weak, and the only way he can keep himself up is to lean even harder on his cane."Yeah, and you fantasize about me fucking you against this blackboard."Hermann's cheeks burn as the vessels in his face dilate. Strange that increased bloodflow should cause such a sensation, he thinks. He's wanted this so badly, was sure Newt was straight, didn't expect this to happen so easily after so long. It feels like a dream."You weren't supposed to see that," he protests half-heartedly, because he never gets what he wants, doesn't know what to do with this."Yeah but I did and I love it. You know what I want though?""What," Hermann breathes, unable to contain his curiosity. One of Newt's arms is curled around Hermann's ribs and the other is at the front of his trousers, rubbing him slowly hard. "I want you to fuck me. I'm super tight, it hurts when I'm fucked, and I love that. I want you to hurt me on your cock. Coming is difficult for me--thanks brain meds--but you could make me come if you pounded my prostate hard enough. Face-down on the bed works best, just so you know, and you can pin my wrists in that position too. And then I want you to keep right on fucking me after I've finished, when I'm so oversensitive it hurts. I want you to fucking use my ass, I don't want you to even think about my pleasure. I wanna fuckin' ache when I sit down the whole next day, and while I do I want you to fuck me again before lunch, to make it hurt worse."Hermann closes his eyes, left hand balling into a fist in the chalk-dust and the other clenching around the head of his cane as he bites his lip. He is fully hard now, and Newt traces the head with his fingers. "Using Drift-material against me like this is beyond unprofessional, Dr. Geiszler," he grits out, but he doesn't mean it and they both know it. Newt chuckles and Hermann goes on, "And you have to be the only man pushy enough to turn a foul-mouthed masochistic fantasy like that into a way to control me.""I know. I'm brilliant, you love it."Hermann does. He really, really does. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- It's a week after the closing of the Breach and Hermann is terrified the first time they get naked together, hands shaking and eyes fixed to the ground. "Hey babe," Newt says, trying to be reassuring, but reassuring has never been his strong point. This gets him a sudden sharp glare, Hermann's hands frozen at the buttons of his shirt. "Don't ever call me babe again.""Right, right, sorry, didn't think." Didn't think that hey, people probably called Hermann that before, because he must have been so, so beautiful. He had probably gotten it all the time. Those lips, those eyes....Newt realizes he's gotten lost staring at Hermann's mouth, while Hermann is staring back at him big-eyed and obviously scared. "Hey dude. Look, I already know what you've got, what are you scared I'm going to see? It can't possibly be as bad as what I've got under my clothes."This doesn't have the effect Newt wanted. Instead Hermann's gaze drops again, and he finishes unbuttoning his fussy shirt. It occurs to Newt (not for the first time this week) that there is a reason Hermann's always so covered, so buttoned up, so prim and proper and precise. Being the transgender son of Lars 'Fucking Horrible' Gottlieb is probably enough to make anyone into Hermann. The memories alone are enough to make Newt want to take a lighter to his legs, the last blank canvas he has left, but he doesn't and won't because Hermann made him swear in the helicopter ride back to the Shatterdome that if they survived that Newt would never hurt himself again. I'll go with you to the tattoo artist to finish your suit, whatever it takes. Just don't do it again. Please. I couldn't take it. And Newt had agreed, promised they'd go together, how could he not after what he'd seen in the Drift? If no one ever hurt Hermann again, it would be too soon. The last thing Newt wants is for the hurt to come from him. A minute passes in silence, and then Hermann is naked, all the way naked, sitting on the bed shaking. The scars on his chest are pale with age, as are the ones on his leg, and he's so fucking beautiful that Newt can't breathe. There's so much glorious milk-white skin traced with barely-visible blue veins, the thinnest dusting of dark hair on the center of his flat chest, and a little trail of wisps leading down to the thick bush between his thighs. Newt stands in his boxer-briefs, trying to swallow down all the spit that has flooded his mouth. Control yourself, we're just gonna cuddle, that's all he can handle for now, that's all he asked for. "Come on, under the covers buddy, you're making me cold just looking at you."They get under the blankets (plain and dark blue and characteristically Hermann) and Newt immediately turns onto his side, pressing himself against as much of Hermann as he can. "God you're gorgeous," he can't help but whisper. Hermann goes all pink at this, and curls his long fingers around Newt's arm, stroking the tattoos that cover over the burn scars. "Can I kiss you?" Hermann asks, his voice tight like he's sure the answer is going to be no."Fuck yes," is the answer, of course it is, Hermann hasn't kissed him since yesterday and Newt might die if he has to wait any longer. Hermann's mouth is so warm, so wet, so soft, and so hesitant. No one's touched him, not since he came out. Newt knows this. And everything that came before transition might as well not count as sex because it was so awful. I'll figure out how to slow down for you, promise, Newt thinks. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- batsbrains : Newt/Hannibal with Wedding planner AU + Trans, genderqueer, nonbinary interpretations AU Hannibal stares at the small man seated in the chair across his desk. "Did you really just hit on me while in the process of hiring me to plan your wedding?" Dr. Newton Geiszler grins. “Of course I did! My impending husband’s got a girlfriend, but I haven’t had anyone on the side in ages. And a silver fox like you?” The small man’s face curls into a smile that could only be called lecherous. Hannibal keeps his face carefully blank. In this business he sees some very strange aspects of human behavior, but this interaction takes this month's proverbial cake. "I would prefer to keep our relationship professional," Hannibal says mildly. "Gotcha," Newt replies. "It can wait till after the wedding then. I like lots of foreplay anyway." "I really doubt I’m what you’re looking for, except professionally," Hannibal says gently, shifting so that the heavy piercings through his labia sit a little more comfortably. It unfortunately also shifts the thick barbell resting along the shaft of his cock, and all the sudden Hannibal can’t avoid thinking about where hands as small as Dr. Geiszler’s might fit. But the Doctor just raises an eyebrow at him and grins. “Is that false modesty or an implied no? I honestly can’t tell. Because from where I’m sitting, you are a prime slab of American beefcake, and I’m not easy to shock. What is it, you’re super-kinky or straight or what? Because if you’re straight, then I guess I oughtta let you know that you give off some really confusing gay vibes.” At this Hannibal can’t help but snort, rubbing his face so that he pushes his round spectacles up his nose. "Ah—thank you for the compliment. But I don’t think it’d be professional to sleep with a client. I have a reputation to think of." Dr. Geiszler deflates for a moment, shoulders sagging and his mouth falling slack as his eyes go wide. But he rallies quickly, the strangely vulnerable look fading off his face. “Arright, got it. Professional, that’s us. So I’m thinking light green and electric blue for the color scheme—” * When Dr. Gottlieb comes in with Dr. Geiszler for the first time, Hannibal only just manages not to stare. Hannibal isn't sure what he’d expected from a man who’d marry Dr. Geiszler and have a girlfriend on the side, but Dr. Gottlieb isn’t it—middling height, skinny, with his glasses on a string. And more importantly, he’s obviously trans, from the way he hunches to hide the binder he’s wearing to the luscious mouth that must have made him very pretty before testosterone. Dr. Gottlieb takes one look around the office, with its photographs on the wall of past events planned by Chau Weddings, sighs deeply, and rolls his eyes. "I told you we should have eloped, Newton. Vanessa would gladly have taken care of all your reptiles, and then we wouldn’t have to deal with this ridiculous—" "Shut up, Herms, you know my dads would never have let us live it down and your mother would have died of despair." Dr. Gottlieb looks Hannibal over, and Hannibal gently extends a hand. "Hannibal Greenspan at your service, Dr. Gottlieb. I’ll try to make the planning process as painless for you as possible." Hermann takes the hand, full mouth pursed up tight. Then he turns to Newt. “I see what you mean, he is rather your type, isn’t he. Just with more of a brain than you. Honestly, Newton, he’s very nearly an employee.” The shorter man goes bright pink, grinning ruefully. Hannibal looks at him, and thinks, Why not. Been a while since I did anything regrettable.
1057702	Keeping Warmth	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Jade Harley, Karkat Vantas", "Fandom": "Homestuck", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by gummysnakes", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-25T00:00:00", "words": "1,881", "Additional Tags": "Smut, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, Bulges and Nooks, Bulges, Nooks, Pajamas & Sleepwear, Winter, Blow Jobs, Breast Fucking, Breasts, Wow", "Relationship": "Jade Harley/Karkat Vantas", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The bright glow of the TV filled the dark room with plenty of light. Enough light that Karkat and Jade were able to see each other as they snuggled under the comfortable glow of the screen, and the pleasant warmth of their shared blanket. Outside, the snow was falling down harder, and there was no doubt that the majority of their friends were either asleep or doing something similar. The living room was the perfect place to be at this time.Karkat felt Jade's hand tighten as it held his, as yet another charming reminder that she was his, and that he was hers."I love you," she whispered, yawning as she rested her head against his shoulder."I love you too, Jade," said Karkat. "So fucking much… you know that, right?"She grinned and hummed softly, feeling Karkat plant several kisses on her neck and cheek. She returned them shortly, and she trailed her hands down to his pajama pants, as if teasing him with her gentle fingers."It's so coooold…" she whined. "Maybe we can warm up some other way…?"He blushed as he always did, grabbing her wrist. "For fuck's sake, Jade, you've been as horny as a Barkbeast lately…""You haven't been complaining," she winked, sliding her other hand down his chest. "Hmmmm…?"He loved it when she did that. It was a huge turn on to feel Jade's fingers dance across his chest, and she knew it very well. He rubbed her leg through her own pajamas."Well if you're gonna put me in the mood too," he trailed off."The movie was getting a little boring anyway," she said, lifting off her nightshirt and exposing her breasts, dropping it onto the floor. She moved a finger suggestively through the carpet beneath them, and slid them up to Karkat's leg."I can't resist those bedroom eyes," said Karkat, smirking himself now."I want you right here and right now, babe," whispered Jade. Karkat was already on her, pinning her down to the ground and pressing his lips to hers. She moaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around him.Karkat brought his hands down to her breasts, playing and fondling with them in order to draw more moans from her. He pinched her nipples and twisted them, knowing full well how much she enjoyed that. Jade pulled away from the kiss and panted softly."You're making me fog up my glasses…" she said. "Bad boy…""I'll show you a fucking bad-" said Karkat, biting her neck and making her gasp with surprise and pleasure. Jade used this time to wiggle out of her pants, letting herself be completely naked, as she wasn't wearing underwear. She bit her lip, groaning as Karkat's teeth made contact with her neck."N-Not too hard," she urged. "I need your mouth somewhere else, Karkat…"He pulled his teeth off of her and rubbed her sides, setting her down onto her back. "Get down, babe…"Jade blushed and giggled. "Yes sir~"Karkat rubbed her legs and dragged his tongue around Jade's moist pussy, flicking it around before attempting to slide it inside. He licked at her folds before dragging his tongue across her clit. Jade's blush intensified, and she held his head down."Good boy, Karkat," she teased, feeling Karkat's tongue invade her private spaces. She gasped softly and continued to moan, as Karkat's tongue invaded her pussy. He slid his tongue deeper inside, wiggling it as best as he could, rubbing Jade's legs all the while. She squirmed around, at the mercy of his mouth and hands.Karkat began to suck softly at her clit, moving his hands closer to her hole and spreading her wider. Jade's whimpering turned him on immensely, and spurred him to continue."J-Just like that, Karkat," moaned Jade, moving a hand to her mouth, biting it softly. "It feels so good when you do that…"Karkat continued to lick and suck at her clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout her pussy and causing her to pant. She groaned and swore quietly, feeling herself heat up.Karkat felt Jade start to grind her hips against his face, rubbing her pussy on his mouth in a constant thrusting motion. He could already taste some of her sweet juices, moaning as they hit his taste buds. She was getting wetter and wetter, heavily turned on by her boyfriend's mouth movements."K-Karkat," squeaked Jade. "F-Fuuuck, Karkat!"She yelped in pleasure, moaning his name as she reached her climax, rocking against him. She came hard, getting her juices all over his mouth and face, and shook with euphoria as her orgasm reached its peak. She arched her back, and then fell backwards as she began to breathe heavily."Oh fuck…" she panted. "Oh shit… that felt so fucking good, baby…"She frowned a little. "I wish I didn't finish so soon…""It's not over yet," said Karkat, pulling his mouth from her pussy. "We're just getting started…"He dropped his pants, showing his erect bulge, which was more than ready for action. Jade sat up, moving away her blanket."Ooh, gimme…"Karkat sat down on the couch, looking down at Jade, who was on her knees already getting to work on Karkat's shaft. She licked it up and down, making sure it was wet enough for her to stroke without difficulty. Once she ensured that his cock was covered in her saliva, she took it in her hand and rubbed him up and down, feeling him throb inside of her hand."Oh… shit…" moaned Karkat, watching Jade smile as she stroked his bulge. She licked the tip, moving her hand in a repeating motion, listening for his sighs of pleasure.She sucked the head of his bulge, feeling the hot flesh slip into her mouth and pulsate as if begging for her attention. She bobbed her head, sucking him off as she made small sounds of love and pleasure. This was her favorite way to please Karkat."Jade…" moaned Karkat, watching in awe as she moved her head up and down on his shaft, slurping and sucking him. She stroked the base of his cock, moving her head lower and lower until she took all of him inside of her mouth. Jade deepthroated Karkat and held onto his legs, moaning as her mouth was filled by his girth.She pulled away from his cock with a wry smile, stroking his bulge while she looked up at him."It's so cute when you make those noises…" she teased. Karkat laughed softly, biting his lip. Jade slid his bulge between her breasts, squeezing it between her fleshy mounds. She knew that Karkat enjoyed this as well, and had no qualms about giving him this sort of treatment.She moved her breasts up and down for him, feeling his hot bulge between them. She bent down low to suck and kiss at his cock whenever it was within mouth distance, and let her breasts take care of the stroking. She grunted a bit, moving them quicker for him."Fuuuck," growled Karkat. "I'll cum soon if you keep doing that shit…""Good!" she said, continuing her titjob. She hummed softly, listening to the soft slapping sound that was produced whenever he thrust his hips up into her mounds. Judging from Karkat's moans escalating in volume, he was close. She thought momentarily if she should finish him off with her breasts or go back to using her mouth. Decisions, decisions…She slipped his cock out of her breasts and went back to her eager sucking, feeling his hips pound and fuck her mouth deeply. She almost choked, but she continued to suck him as best as she could. The pounding her mouth was receiving was causing another sound. A wet slap was produced with every thrust into her mouth as he pumped into her face, and soon enough, Karkat's loud moaned signaled his orgasm.He cursed much more frequently, and unloaded his genetic material deep into Jade's mouth. Having been very familiar with the amount of cum Karkat produced, she immediately drank it all down before it overflowed in her mouth, moaning as his genetic material slid all the way down her throat, warming her up even more.Karkat slowed his thrusts and slid his bulge out of her mouth, sighing deeply with pleasure."Fuck, Jade," he moaned. "That shit was amazing."She licked her lips and smiled at the compliment, lying back down on the carpeted floor and stretching. Karkat joined her, and after a brief makeout session, they were ready once more. Karkat slid his bulge into her nook at the sound of her begging, and she groaned with pleasure as he occupied her entire space."Perfect fit," she whispered. "Fuck me, Karkat…"He didn't need to be told twice. He pushed his bulge deep into her pussy, backing out and pushing it back in before he exited her. Jade wrapped her arms around him, spreading her legs more as she felt him deep inside of her. She gasped as he thrusted deeply into her, picking up just a bit of speed."Fuck, you feel so good…" moaned Karkat. "Always so fucking tight…""You're stretching me a little…" groaned Jade. "Can you f-feel it…?"Karkat nodded and continued his thrusts, moaning with her as he thrust into her pussy. Outside, the snow began to fall harder, and the wind was picking up."Oh baby…" she cooed. "Give it to me, Karkat…"He growled with pleasure and continued thrusting into her, moaning at the intense pleasure they were sharing. He bent his head down low to lick her neck, making her giggle. She clawed at his back, taking his hard pounding as her tongue went slack. She couldn't stop moaning."Oh fuck, Jade," moaned Karkat. "Fucking take it…"Karkat bit her neck once more, leaving a mark and causing her to pant with pleasure."H-Harder, please!" she begged. Karkat grunted and fucked her deeper and faster, smelling the sex and sweat that filled the air. Their passion was spreading all throughout the room, and it turned him on excessively."Fuck… Jade…!" cursed Karkat. "I'm gonna cum!"He pounded into her a few more times, reaching orgasm with her as she screamed and achieved her climax once more. Karkat filled Jade's pussy with his cum, feeling his bulge throb as he released inside of her. He felt Jade grip his cock and milk him as her orgasm tore through her body, and she felt her fluids mix with his. She screamed and moaned, clawing deeper into his back. After a minute, she collapsed once more, panting.Karkat lay still, his thrusts slowing to a stop as he breathed heavily with her. It was silent except for their labored breaths and the wind blowing outside."I love you so much…" said Jade. "Karkat…"He kissed her softly. "I love you too, Jade…"She smiled softly. "Carry me to bed?" Karkat snuggled into her neck."Sure, once the feeling returns to my fucking legs, I think I can get that done."Jade giggled and moved her fingers through his hair. "You sure complain a lot for someone who just fucked his girlfriend's brains out, you fuckass…" She brought him down for another, much longer kiss, holding him close.
1080142	never too late	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Tommy Merlyn, Oliver Queen", "Fandom": "Arrow (TV 2012)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by unholyconfessions (orphan_account)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-12T00:00:00", "words": "437", "Additional Tags": "Pre-Slash, Hallucinations, Spoilers", "Relationship": "Tommy Merlyn/Oliver Queen", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Oliver takes a breath and holds it, letting his fingers curl into fists as a ghostly presence makes itself known behind him. He doesn’t dare look over his shoulder. Not yet.“You made it,” Tommy’s voice resonates in the room, a soft whisper to Oliver’s back. “You saved Roy.”Staring up at the starless sky, Oliver nods, says, “I did.”There’s a chuckle, a featherlike sound that Oliver’s only ever heard from Tommy and Tommy alone, before all there is left is Oliver’s own breathing. That—the fact that he is, indeed, the only person breathing in that room—is both fascinating and terrifying. Tommy feels real, almost palpable; Oliver can smell his cologne, can feel the bore of his eyes on his shoulders as if he were there, standing in Oliver’s room in the middle of the night. Alive.“I knew you would.”Oliver smiles at the fondness in Tommy’s voice, pauses just before turning around to face him. He didn’t think they would end up this close, too close, but there he is—in Tommy’s personal space, breathing in the air that would be the same as Tommy’s if this weren’t a hallucination. He curses himself, taking a step back to put some distance between them, and waits for his hands to stop shaking.“I did it for you,” is what he eventually says, mustering up the courage to let his eyes meet Tommy’s lifeless ones. “I did it because you were there. Roy could’ve died if it weren’t for you, Tommy. I could’ve died.” Tommy smiles, the way he used to, and Oliver can pinpoint the precise moment the knot in his throat comes undone. “You saved me,” Oliver says, “and I couldn’t save you.”The smile doesn’t budge, not one bit, and Tommy takes a step forward, invading Oliver’s personal space again. “You weren’t supposed to.”Oliver has the sudden itch to reach out, to drag his fingers through Tommy skin and see if there’s still heat there, but he can’t move. He can’t bear the thought that his hand might go right through Tommy’s body, or that Tommy’s image might dissipate as soon as Oliver tries to touch.“I was too late, Tommy. I was too late to save you.”Tommy is the one that reaches out, eventually, and his fingers are warm as they wrap around Oliver’s wrist. There’s a small moment in which his thumb skims up inside the sleeve of Oliver’s shirt, caressing, that Oliver is afraid it might burn through his skin. He closes his eyes, letting his forehead fall against Tommy’s, and then the heat is gone.
1017279	Just Say It	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "James T. Kirk, Leonard McCoy", "Fandom": "Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by Corrie71", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-25T00:00:00", "words": "766", "Additional Tags": "PWP, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Oral Sex, Anal Sex", "Relationship": "James T. Kirk/Leonard McCoy", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“It’s good for you not to get what you want, every now and then.” Bones says to Jim, his eyes heavy lidded and dark with lust. Above his head, his hands are loosely tied to the bedpost in Jim’s quarters. The bonds aren’t tight and he could free himself easily if he wished. He is splayed out on the soft ebony silk sheets, his head cushioned by Jim’s ridiculous mountain of pillows, naked but not cold. Jim keeps his quarters warm on account of Bones’ Georgia blood. Naked, Jim kneels between his splayed thighs, a half grin on his handsome face. “If you just say it, I’ll give you what you want.” Jim says, rocking his hips, pressing his rigid length of himself against Bones. Bones rocks his own hips in response, arching up toward his lover, but keeps his lips firmly closed, smirking. Jim grabs Bones hips, in a tight, bruising grip, holding him still. “That’s cheating.” “Learned it from you, darlin.’” At the nickname, Jim shudders against him and Bones wraps his legs around Jim’s waist, pulling him closer, seeking friction and heat. “You want it too. Just give it to me already.” “Just say it.” Jim begs. Bones shakes his head, biting his lip. Hazel eyes lock on blue, both enjoying their battle of wills, well matched in every way. They may have stayed stalemated all night but for the beeping comm. “Saved by the bell.” Bones unwraps his legs from around Jim’s hips so he could stand to respond. With a sigh, Jim rolls away from him and slaps at the comm, frustration written on his face. “Captain, could you report to the bridge?” At Spock’s cool, logical voice, Jim leans over and unties the silk restraints holding Bones hostage. “Be there in five, Spock. Kirk out.” “I’ll get you to say it.” He promises his lover darkly, tugging on his clothes and boots. “We’ll see about that.” Bones laughs as Jim gives him a smacking kiss on the lips and heads out the door. Since his lover has gone to the bridge to look at who knows what for who knows how long, McCoy dresses and reports to sickbay for a bit. It’s slow, just a few minor injuries. He settles with his paperwork and warm cup of coffee when Jim interrupts on the comm. “Medbay, report to the bridge.” “Aye, Captain.” McCoy drawls it, exaggerating the vowels almost ridiculously just to make Jim squirm in his big, plush Captain’s chair. Later that day, in the mess hall, Bones finishes his meal before Jim, which is no surprise as the blonde chatters a mile a minute about the new planet they are orbiting. “I mean, it might have dilithum ore. Wouldn’t that be great, Bones?” Bones saunters away with his tray, a cheeky two fingered salute, and a cheery “Aye, Captain.” And Jim can’t get up from the table for 10 minutes. Bones is pretty sure getting dragged planetside on the away team is Jim’s idea of retribution. He orders the medical team after they beam down: “Bones, gather some data on these plants while we explore that outcropping over this way.” “Aye, Captain.” Bones smiles and winks at him before turning to the foliage. Jim swallows and storms off with his team. Shockingly, they make it back to the ship uninjured and in one piece, an Enterprise first. That night in Jim’s quarters, a naked Bones greets Jim at the door by slamming him up against the wall and holding his wrists pinned above his head before devouring his mouth in a deep kiss. He rocks his hips against Jim, both of them moaning at the friction, needy and desperate from their delayed release. None too gently, Bones pulls Jim over to the bed and undresses him quickly and efficiently. He pushes him down on the bed and without any prior warning, crawls onto the bed and sucks him into his mouth. Bones pauses only for lubricant before using his mouth, tongue, and fingers to take Jim apart. Under his very capable and talented hands, Jim is reduced to a gibbering, babbling, trembling, incoherent mess. Bones pulls off with an obscene pop and whispers, “You have to tell me what you want, darlin.’” “Fuck me, Bones. Please.” Jim begs desperately and Bones flips Jim onto his stomach before positioning himself behind Jim, who writhes, clenching his fists in the sheets, burying his head in the pillow, moaning, desperate, out of his mind with desire and need. Just before he buries himself to the hilt in Jim, Bones whispers, “Aye, Captain.”
1016594	An Oceans Treasures are	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": null, "Characters": "Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Ezekiel (Supernatural)", "Fandom": "Supernatural", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Sijglind", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-24T00:00:00", "words": "597", "Additional Tags": "Pre-Slash, implied wincest", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "Gen, M/M", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	"Psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent." Zachariah about Sam and Dean Ezekiel remembers his brother Zachariah walking around heaven, mumbling under his breath about the Winchesters. He remembers irritation showing in the hard lines on Zachariah's face, his pinched expression when he cursed their brothers' True Vessels, throwing around words as irrationally, erotically, codependent.He remembers Castiel speaking of the love between those two brothers, those humans. How strong it was, how absolute, how pure. Castiel spoke of soulmates and feelings so powerful they could make a mortal man overpower the archangel possessing his body.Back then, Ezekiel had not been able to comprehend. Of course, he had sided with Castiel to protect His creation, yet he had not believed humans were capable of such strong emotions, such bonds.Now, he understands. Sam's soul is a battlefield. It's flayed and battered and bruised, bleeding and mangled. There is a war going on inside this man, guilt and regret and pain, grief and loss everywhere he looks, turning the world into muted grays and blacks with flashes of crimson. Where those feelings are strongest, Ezekiel can smell, taste and feel the rot, heady and cloying. It seeps through him and he suffers the shared pain as if its his own, sharp like shards of broken glass. He does not dwell here for long and buries deeper instead.If Sam's soul is an ocean, then the surface is littered with decaying carcasses. The water would be brown and muddy here, the foam of an ugly yellow, and it would reek of death.However, would one wade inside deeper until their head is submerged, they would find seemingly another world.Ezekiel dives.He leaves the pain and self-loathing behind, casts it off and opens his eyes to a world of brilliant color and wonderful smells. This is were Dean resides inside Sam, and the sight is beautiful. It's marvelous—bright greens and warm yellows, rich blues. It's like standing in Eden and watching the first humans frolicking through His lands. But Ezekiel does not see Adam and Eve here. Instead he sees Sam and Dean, and it's not a garden they're in.It's the car, the Impala, he thinks it's called, the black, purring monstrosity of a machine that has long since stopped being a means of transport to become a home. Dean sits in the driver's seat with Sam at his side, and music is playing from the speakers, a bit muted and scratchy but they do not care. Sam's smile is content, his eyes are closed, and his fingers tap a rhythm against his denim-clad thigh.Dean is grinning broadly, eyes sometimes leaving the road to look at his brother, and then they're full of warmth, of sweet affection, softness. When Sam looks back at him, his eyes are awed, filled with a kind of love that makes the one Lucifer had shown for Him look weak and inferior.Ezekiel watches them from the backseat.He sees them touching, apparently unwittingly. Their thighs push against each other, fingers brush and linger, gazes lock and hold.He likes it here. It feels like being wrapped in one of his siblings' grace—it's warm and soft and full of comfort, and washes through him like his Father's breath, reviving shocks of electricity dancing beneath the surface.So Ezekiel leans back into the leather of the bench and drinks it in, lets the love heal and strengthen him like the waters of heaven while he watches the bright world rush by on the outside as the two brothers talk and laugh and touch.
1048651	My Boyfriends The	{ "Archive Warning": "Underage Sex", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by BexStylinson", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-17T00:00:00", "words": "2,631", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Larry Stylinson, larry - Relationship", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction, Harry Styles - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	"Harry, my boss wants me to go away for the weekend on a business trip, is that alright?" Harry's mum asks "Yeah of course mum" Harry replies with a smile on his face. "Do you want to go stay with grandma or do you want Louis to come stay here?" "Louis!" Harry practically screams "Haha, I thought so. I'll give him a call up and see if he'd be able to watch over you." Harry's mum states as she walks into the kitchen to call Louis.Harry knows that Louis will say yes to looking after him, I mean after all he is his baby sitter. Harry absolutely adores Louis, Harry thinks he's so hot and sexy but also thinks he's so adorable and sweet. His thoughts are basically contained with Louis Louis Louis, because that's all Harry ever thought about. You can't exactly blame the lad can you? he's only 14 and well he's completely smitten towards his boyfriend, it's just so adorable.Harry is sitting on the edge of the sofa waiting for his mum to come back and say Louis is looking after him, he knows he will be anyways, but Louis does have stuff on over the weekend, but he wouldn't refuse to look after his boyfriend for the weekend, would he? "HARRY, Oh there you are darling, I thought you had went upstairs" Harry's mum shouts as she comes downstairs. "No mum I'm still sitting here" Harry smiles, his dimples showing as he waits impatiently for an answer. "Good news, Louis said he can look after you and that he'd be over in an hour, I have to leave in about 10 minutes. Will you be alright on your own until he gets here?" "Of course mum, I'll just sit and watch TV" Harry says, being truthful, well partly. He'll run around trying to make everything perfect for Louis coming over, like he always does, and then watch TV. "HUN THAT'S ME AWAY" Harry's mum shouts from the door. Harry screams a massive "BYEEEEEEEEE" as he runs to the door to give his mum and goodbye kiss and cuddle. "You be good for Louis now, Harry I mean it" His mum said while pointing her finger and acting all tough, when really she knows fine Harry will behave, well she thinks. Harry and Louis never really behave.. they haven't done anything too bad, just the casual kiss here and there with a couple of 'little favours' but nothing major, even though Harry's mum didn't know anything about it. "Of course mum, I'm always good for Louis" Harry smiles before getting one last goodbye to his mum. It was true, Harry was always good for Louis, and it was about time that changed.Harry made sure everything was perfect for Louis coming over, his room was tidy and his bed was made, there wasn't a single thing lying around on the floor, everything was perfect. He really wanted this weekend to be something special, just him and Louis, alone, for the weekend, it will be amazing. Since he's planning everything out, knowing what they'll need, where it's going to be for when they need it, everything's in a certain place, hopefully he's planned it out right and nothing will go wrong.Harry was just lazing around on the sofa, eating a bag of crisps and watching TV when he heard the door bell go, obviously knowing it will be Louis, he quickly ran to the door opening it and flinging his arms around Louis waist, hugging him tightly. "Well someone's excited to see me" Louis laughed as he gently hugged Harry back, removing him from around his waist so they can get inside. "So you missed me then?" Louis says cockily as they sit down on the sofa, Harry lying along the sofa with his head in Louis lap, Louis running his hands through Harry's curls. "I always miss you Lou" Harry says with the cutest little smile ever, showing off his dimples. "Aren't you just the sweetest little thing, I missed you too" Lou replies as he plants a small kiss to Harry's lips, causing Harry to giggle.This is what Harry wanted to change about how him and Louis were together, Louis had this affect on Harry, where he'd go all sappy and adorable, even though in his head he was picturing fucking Louis brains out. Harry wanted to show Louis how bad he can actually be, and tonight was the perfect night. "Do you want to watch a movie, or play video games?" Louis asks. "I'd much rather have a make out session" Harry winks before moving himself into Louis lap so that he's looking at him while straddling him. Louis eyes light up with glee and surprise. "Woah Haz, a-are you sure that's what you want?" Louis replies while raising an eyebrow at his younger boyfriend. Harry didn't answer the question, instead he just leaned forward, attaching his lips to his boyfriends in a heated yet passionate kiss, with their tongues fighting together, and hands linked together at their sides, everything was so perfect, and it was just about to get even better.Harry knew exactly where he was taking this, and knew exactly what was going to happen as he started moving his bum back and forth on Louis lap, grinding down and disconnecting his hand from Louis' to let it roam over Louis tanned stomach under his t-shirt causing Louis to let out a moan into Harry's mouth making Harry smirk, he's getting exactly what he wants. "Haz, s-stop" Louis moans out as he holds Harry's hips still and detaches his lips from Harry's. "Don't you want me Lou?" Harry asks as he puts on his puppy dog sad eyes. "No no of course I want you babe" Louis says as he strokes his thumb over Harry's cheek "It's just are you sure you want to?" "Oh god Lou yes, of course I want to. I've wanted to for ages, but I've been waiting for the perfect moment and it's here, so can we please?" Harry says getting all excited and bouncing around on Louis lap a little, causing Louis to let out another moan. "Of course baby, Just tell me if you want to stop okay?" Louis says before planting another kiss to Harry's lips as he starts to take of Harry's T-shirt, Harry doing the same with Louis, only breaking the kiss for a second to throw their shirts on the floor.Harry was so hard and he couldn't take it anymore, he climbed off Louis Lap and took his sweats and boxers off and threw them onto the floor before dropping to his knees and looking up and Louis. Louis took the hint and stood up, taking his sweats and boxers off.Harry couldn't help but bite his lip as he checked his boyfriend out. He would never get used to seeing Louis naked. Harry put both of his hands on either side of Louis hips, pushing him back onto the sofa and spreading Louis legs, allowing Harry to crawl in between.Harry wanted to make his boyfriend remember this night forever, and that's exactly what he was going to do. He'd been planning their first time for ages, learning things and researching things to make everything go perfectly, because well Harry hadn't really done anything like this before and because he wasn't very experienced and Louis had to show him what to do at first, he wanted to surprise Louis, give him something that Louis hadn't taught him.Harry wrapped his hand around the base of Louis length, slowly sliding his hand up to the tip before flicking his wrist and running his thumb over the slit, earning a low moan from Louis, he couldn't help but smirk as he started moving his hand up and down, flicking his wrist every now and then before lowering his mouth down to the tip and licking over the slit. Harry could feel Louis shudder under him and he loved it. He took the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around, slowly taking Louis in inch by inch.Harry could feel the tip of Louis cock at the back of his throat, causing him to gag a little as he hollowed out his checks and bobbed his head in a slow rhythum as he sucked. He increased the speed of his bobs as he grew more accustomed to the sensation. Louis couldn't stop himself as he thrusted forward causing Harry to gag and mumble around his dick. Louis let out a loud moan as Harry hummed around him again, sucking harder and running his tongue over the slit on every upward bob. Louis moved his hands into Harry hair, tugging slightly to recieve more mumbles from the younger lad. Louis was a moaning mess as he felt the familiar feeling of his stomach bubble "Haz, I'm not gonna last long" Louis breathed out "Come for me babe" Harry mumbled around Louis cock, sending him overboard. "fuckfuckfuckfuckHarrryyy" Louis moaned as he shot his liqiud down Harry's throat, Harry swallowing the lot.. Harry continued to suck him through his orgasm before pulling off and licking his lips. Louis couldn't believe what had just happened. "Haz, where did you learn that?" Louis asked as Harry sat back down on his lap. "I've been looking up a thing or two" Harry replies with a wink "Well you sure did an amazing job, that's the best Blowjob I've ever had" Louis smiled as he pecked his boyfriend on the lips.Harry was still incredably hard, and Harry still had plans for tonight. Harry pressed his lips to his boyfriends in a slow and tender kiss, quickly turning into a messy and lustful one, Harry removed his lips from Louis and started kissing along his jawline, up to behind his ear before kissing down his neck. Harry could feel Louis becoming hard again, he was getting exactly what he wanted. As Harry bit down on Louis neck, sucking on the skin before licking it over and biting down again, he could feel Louis riggle underneath him, he could feel his hot breath against his neck and he loved it. Harry couldn't wait any longer as he started to grind his bum down against Louis crotch once again, earning a whimper from Louis. Harry lifted two fingers up to his boyfriends mouth and whispered in his ear "Suck" in a low and sexy voice, Louis obeying Harrys command, took his fingers into his mouth and began covering them in his saliva, licking every inch before Harry removed his fingers and lowered them down between his legs, running a finger over the rim of his asshole, Harry shuddered before slowly sliding a finger in. It felt weird at first but soon he began rocking himself back onto his finger, adding in another as he looked his boyfriend right in the eye before biting his lip.Louis was so turned on for the second time tonight, and he knew exactly what Harry wanted. "Remove your fingers babe" Louis requested as he slicked up his own fingers before sliding two into Harry, Harry couldn't help but let out a moan as Louis began to scissor him, the amount of pleasure mixed with pain he was feeling, it felt incredible. Harry began grinding his hips down on Louis fingers as Louis added in a third finger. "C'mon Louis, I'm ready" Harry breathed out as Louis removed his fingers. Harry got up from Louis lap and went over to the drawer at the side of the sofa where he'd put lube and a condom earlier, he picked it up and gave it to Louis who was surprised, and also shocked at how Harry had everything ready but didn't say anything, instead he opened the condom packet and slid on the condom before lubing himself up. Harry climbed back into Louis lap so his knees were on either side of Louis thighs and his hands were placed on the back of the sofa on each side of Louis head.Harry guided himself down onto the tip of Louis dick before slowly taking him in. When Louis was fully inside Harry, Harry's face scrunched up at the amount of pain he was feeling, he felt like he was being split in half. "Do you want me to pull out?" Louis asked feeling concerened that he's hurting Harry. "No, j-just let me get used to it" Harry replied before grinding his hips. He let out a small moan as he slowly started to lift himself up before lowering himself down again, speeding up his pace slightly. Louis let out a low moan as he began to thrust up, causing Harry to let out a mumble "Fuck Louis oh my god right there, don't stop" Louis thrusted into Harry's prostate over and over again, Harry changed his position so he was laying against Louis chest, letting Louis do all the work. "You like that don't you?" Louis said "Mhmm" Was all Harry could reply with "You're such a little cock slut Harry, you love the feeling of being filled don't you?" "I love it so much Lou, d-don't stop oh god Louis fuck me harder" Harry moaned.Louis had always been a dirty talker, Harry had found that out the first time he gave him a handjob, it was one of his kinks, and Harry absolutely adored it. Harry could feel himself reaching his orgasm, and he knew Louis was too, Louis thrusts were getting sloppy and messy. Harry removed himself from Louis chest to attach their lips together in another sloppy kiss, Louis moved his hand up to Harry's cock and started jerking him off in time with his thrusts, Harry couldn't last any longer and shot spurt after spurt of white liquid over Louis hand and stomach. Feeling Harry's ass clench around his dick, Louis released his load inside the condom, thrusting himself and Harry through their orgasms. Harry lay still on Louis for a couple of minutes as they regained their breathing back to normal before Louis slowly pulled out and let Harry get up. Harry was feeling a little sore, but didn't complain because he just had the best sex ever. "Louis that was amazing" Harry said as he sat, in a very awkward position next to Louis, whimpering at the pain." Louis nodded before laughing and saying "Carefull love, that's gonna hurt for a while, c'mon lets go get cleaned up" Louis picked Harry up bridal style and carried him up to the bathroom, setting him down on the floor before turning on the sink taps and grabbing a face cloth from inside the shower. Louis quickly wet it before wiping himself and Harry down. Once they were cleaned up, Louis carried Harry back downstairs to the sofa, grabbing a blanket and laying down on the sofa with Harry laying next to him, cuddled into his side. Louis wrapped his arm around Harry as Harry laid his head on Louis chest,entwining their hands and legs together. Louis tossed the blanket over the two off them so they were cozy before kissing Harry's head. "You know Lou, I've been planning our first time for a while" Harry says with a yawn. "Really?" Louis asked "Yeah, I wanted it to be perfect" Harry admited "And was it?" "No, it was way more than perfect" Louis couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he pecked Harry's lips. "You should reallly get some sleep now Haz" Louis said quietly as he ran his fingers through Harry's hair "Mhmhmm, I love you Lou" was all Harry could say before he started to drift off to sleep. "I love you too Haz"
1020477	Na 85 ghorko na 15 --	{ "Archive Warning": null, "Category": null, "Characters": "Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale, Scott McCall, Sheriff Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Danny Māhealani, Jackson Whittemore", "Fandom": "Teen Wolf (TV)", "Language": "Русский", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Tiferet (taubenblautiferet)", "chapters": "2/?", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-27T00:00:00", "words": "13,378", "Additional Tags": "Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Русский \| Russian, Pre-Slash, Безоборотневая АУ, Without Werewolves", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Chris Argent (one-sided), Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore", "Series": "Шоколадная серия", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage Sex", "Categories": "F/M, M/M", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Плохие новости: обстановка дома накаляется. Отец не меньше пяти раз за эту неделю (что на два раза больше, чем на прошлой) «деликатно» и «ненавязчиво» (черта с два) поинтересовался у Стайлза, чем бы тот хотел заниматься, и это явно имело отношение к его будущему. К колледжу. К кошмарному и ужасно ответственному выбору.Ну, шериф Стилински хотя бы не начал раскладывать везде программки с рекламой колледжей. Родители Гринберга именно так и поступают. Ха-ха, наивные. По мнению Стайлза, из этого парня получится разве что высококвалифицированный мусорщик, причем не такой, как Пит-мусорщик в «Ужасе Аркхема» (1), вооруженный пистолетом сорок пятого калибра и «Томми-ганом», а такой, как придурочный Билли, который забирает у них отходы по субботам.Ладно. Плевать на Гринберга. На программки, которые рассылают колледжи, тоже плевать. Тем более, Стайлз точно знает, кем хочет быть. Правда, отец вряд ли одобрит его решение. Нет, никакого стриптиза и блестящих наклеек для сосков (парни-танцоры тоже ими пользуются? Надо узнать. Или не надо. Но это могло быть прикольно. Кто-то, наверно, держит собственное производство таких наклеек. Вот идиоты!), никакой варки метамфетаминов (после того, как об этом сняли сериал, это стало чересчур попсовым), ничего странного и противозаконного.Стайлз всего лишь хочет быть Дереком Хейлом. Он может даже составить список «Десять причин, почему кто угодно захотел бы стать Дереком Хейлом» и сделать об этом презентацию. Стайлз буквально видит это: проектор транслирует на экран слайды с изображением Дерека в куртке, Дерека в обтягивающей футболке и, наконец, Дерека с обнаженным торсом, сидящие в темной и душной комнате зрители ахают, вздыхают и пытаются подобрать слюни, а сам Стайлз с видом опытного шоумена (скорее Ричарда Симмонса, чем Джесси Джеймса) рассказывает им о преимуществах вождения «Шевроле Камаро» и о том, как сделать пресс стальным за две недели – или за сколько там его надо накачать, чтобы поразить всеобщее воображение?..Стайлз прекрасно понимает, что все это – полная ерунда. И что кожаная куртка не сделает его брутальней (ну, или сделает, но не сильно, да и вообще, на нее сначала надо накопить, а если отец увяжется в магазин вместе со Стайлзом, то ему, скорее всего, купят теплую и дурацкую парку, потому что это удобно и выгодно). И что ему в жизни не накачать такие мышцы (все его попытки преуспеть в спорте привели лишь к тому, что он стал еще более жилистым); даже протеиновые коктейли не помогут. И что заработать на «Камаро» ему удастся, только если он решится поставить себе имплантаты грудей, отрастит длинные волосы, сделает эпиляцию всего, что пониже пупка, и научится делать тайский массаж. Но Дерек… Черт. Он просто-таки ходячая мотивация. Как забитый от макушки до пяток татуировками рок-музыкант, агитирующий с экрана на строгое вегетарианство и спасение гренландских китов. Стоит Дереку только появиться, как все взгляды тут же устремляются к нему – так, будто он направление «север» в компасе, а глаза окружающих – намагниченные стрелки. Это прикольно, и в то же время ужасно раздражает. Не Дерека (ему просто плевать), Стайлза. Зависть – не самое лучшее чувство, и Стайлз рад бы не завидовать, но, похоже, не может. Но он честно старается. Он же не завидует долбанному Уитмору, у которого есть двое любящих родителей, блестящий «Порше», статус капитана школьной команды по лакроссу и (богоподобная-сверкающая-единственная в своем роде) Лидия. Лидия Мартин встречается с этим самовлюбленным засранцем, но Стайлз ничего, ничего не чувствует по этому поводу!.. Ну, может, кроме разочарования. И тоски. И ощущения глубокой несправедливости. Однако он не находит в себе и следа зависти.Наверно, с ним что-то не так, но Стайлз освоился с ролью «местного долбанутого». Ему уже не хочется никому доказывать, что он «свой в доску» и такой же, как его сверстники, − даже себе. Поэтому, пока все вокруг мечтают о чем-то конструктивном и исполнимом, вроде обучения в ЭмАйТи или работы на Уолл-стрит, он просто хочет быть Дереком Хейлом. Сильно, по-настоящему хочет.* * *После обеда в шоколатерии царит что-то вроде мертвого сезона. Не то, чтобы и в обед особенно много посетителей – большая часть потенциальных покупателей на работе. Разве что забегают дети, у которых закончились занятия. Школьники берут самое дешевое, на что хватает карманных денег − что-то такое, что можно съесть по дороге домой. Стайлз предлагал Дереку начать готовить маффины или гигантские печеньки с шоколадными каплями и орехами (все, от чего дети без ума), но тот только смотрел на него, как на идиота и рычал, что не станет возиться с печеньками. Вот придурок. Все любят печеньки.Еще в шоколатерию иногда заплывает офисный планктон. Хотя формально планктон не плавает. Этих, по всей видимости, заносит неким одним им ощутимым бизнес-течением. «Деловым костюмам» не нужно ничего, кроме кофе на вынос. Некоторые проявляют индивидуальность и заказывают чай.Так вот, если в обед с посетителями не густо, то после него их просто нет.Стайлз изнывает от скуки. Обычно его – в меру своих способностей – развлекает дядя Питер. Точнее, Стайлзу он никакой не дядя, а мистер Хейл, но называть его так язык не поворачивается. Это все равно, что называть Дерека… мистером Хейлом. Довольно нелепо. Как бы там ни было, сегодня дяди Питера нет. Не прошло и недели нытья и стенаний, как Дереку удалось отправить его к зубному врачу. Судя по тому, что Хейл-младший пришел в шоколатерию на час позже, чем обычно, он самолично отвез Питера на прием и, может статься, даже довел его до кабинета – или, скорее, дотащил и запихнул внутрь. Хейлы – странная семейка. Дядя изображает из себя Люциуса Малфоя без тросточки и боится стоматологов до полуобморочного состояния, племянник считает, что густая щетина и навыки общения пещерного человека превращают его в секс-символ эпохи. И, что самое печальное, он не так уж не прав.Стайлз трет удручающе-гладкий подбородок и наблюдает за тем, как вяло, будто нехотя, перемещается минутная стрелка. М-да.Дверь открывается. Стайлз нервно дергается, переходя из расслабленного и апатичного состояния в состояние нервное и боеготовное. Он должен быть вежливым и компетентным, и располагающим, и готовым помочь, и вежливым (это было?), и бодрым, и улыбчивым. Поэтому Стайлз расплывается в улыбке, искренне надеясь, что с таким лицом не похож на Шелдона Купера, со скрипом изображающего гостеприимство.В общем-то, мог бы так не стараться. Это всего лишь МакКол.Стайлз не против визитов Скотта (все-таки, он его лучший друг… Наверно. Они могут считаться лучшими друзьями, если до этого не тусовались вместе почти полмесяца?), но после того, как в первое посещение шоколатерии МакКола угостили пирожным за счет заведения, он стал появляться тут подозрительно часто. Наверняка выжидал бесплатную вкусняшку. Стайлзу не жалко для Скотта пирожных (тем более то, что досталось ему в прошлый раз, оказалось некондицией), но мысль о том, что прожорливый МакКол ошивается рядом только ради еды, не дает ему покоя. Раньше Скотт что-то не горел желанием проводить все свое свободное время со Стайлзом. Ах да, у него же появилась девушка, и он почему-то решил, что обязан пастись остаток жизни у ее ног. Круто, что сказать, но – никакой братанской солидарности.− Привет, − МакКол машет рукой, будто и не стоит в паре метров от Стайлза. – Я вот проходил мимо и решил…− Питера нет, − отрезает Стайлз. – Халявных пирожных тоже нет. Тут только я и мое уныние. И Дерек. И его уныние… Да тут просто демографический взрыв!− А я не… того, − обижается Скотт. – Я прячусь от тренера.История «Стайлз и лакросс» была короткой и до боли печальной, зато теперь Стайлз может позволить себе немного ехидства:− Конечно, разве Кексику придет в голову искать тебя в нашем пряничном домике?Скотт моргает, не понимая иронии.− Сделаешь мне латте? – просит он, отвлекшись от слишком сложной для него сентенции.Стайлз окидывает его проницательным взглядом.− За деньги. И не за какие-нибудь шведские кроны или золотые пуговицы. За настоящие американские доллары! – да, у него плохо получается быть суровым, он в курсе. У кого угодно возникли бы с этим проблемы, будь у него детское лицо, дурацкий вздернутый нос и стрижка «под машинку».Скотт делает лицо щенка, у которого отобрали любимый тапок для кусания. У щенков бывают лица? Физиономии? Морды?.. − У меня есть десять долларов, − оскорблено замечает Скотт.− Серьезно? – Стайлз приподнимает брови. – Да ты богач, чувак! Так уж и быть, приготовлю кофе для нового Конрада Хилтона (2).− А можешь сделать тыквенный латте?− У нас тут что, по-твоему, «Старбакс»? Мой максимум – залить все к чертям ореховым сиропом.МакКол радостно кивает, давая понять, что совсем не против орехового сиропа.Стайлз включает кофемашину и терпеливо ждет, пока молочная пена с шипением льется в подставленный стакан.− Ты сделал химию? – орет Скотт, стараясь перекричать звуки, издаваемые кофемашиной.− Нет. Жду, знаешь ли, божественного озарения.Кофемашина замолкает. Несколько секунд в шоколатерии безраздельно царит тишина, а потом с кухни начинают доноситься странные звуки. Как если бы кто-то изрыгал проклятия, только без проклятий. Типичный «деловой тон» Дерека Хейла. Стайлз и Скотт совсем притихают, незаметно для себя начав прислушиваться к происходящему за стеной, поэтому внезапный рев: «БЛАСТ ФРИЗЕР!» − едва не подбрасывает их в воздух. Парни обмениваются «Это-Очень-Странно» взглядами и слегка расслабляются, но рокочущее: «ГРЕБАНЫЙ БЛАСТ ФРИЗЕР, ЧЕРТ ВОЗЬМИ!» − вновь заставляет их вздрогнуть.− Твой хмурый начальник что, вызывает покемона? – интересуется Скотт с дебильной улыбкой.Ах, если бы.− Нет, всего лишь пытается заказать по телефону аппарат шоковой заморозки с доставкой, − отвечает Стайлз и мысленно поражается, как умно выглядит, говоря это. Он рулит в теме. Он – Стайлз Стилински, повелитель шоколада!..Типа того.− Аппарат шоковой заморозки?− Ну да. Такая штуковина, заставляет шоколад застывать за несколько минут. Стоит дочерта. Продается на сайте бластфризер-точка-ком. Или я ошибаюсь, а наш общий знакомый «Я − крутой небритый мэн» прямо сейчас пытается обзавестись ледяной пушкой, возглавить оппозицию и разрушить исторически сложившийся политический строй. К несчастью, именно в этот момент «крутой небритый мэн» появляется в торговом зале. Причем он – разумеется! – сверкает классической трехдневной щетиной, но вот крутым его можно назвать с большой натяжкой – фартук в цветочек обладает магической силой нивелировать сексуальную притягательность развитых грудных мышц и гигантских бицепсов.Или нет.− Стайлз, − зовет Дерек, исподлобья глядя на Скотта. Такой неприкрытый «я не доверяю чужакам» взгляд от парня, управляющего местом общественного (в своем роде) питания. Просто потрясающе.− Я сейчас, чувак, − торопливо бросает Стайлз другу, выбираясь из-за прилавка. – Теперь мастер покемонов вызывает меня.Он подходит к Хейлу (вот странно, они почти одного роста, а все равно кажется, что Дерек нависает над ним, как скала в Глейшер Пойнт) и выжидающе смотрит на него.− Какого черта ты треплешься с приятелем на рабочем месте? – шипит Дерек.− Может, это потому, что мне больше нечем заняться? – Стайлз глубоко вдыхает. Когда он сердится, его ноздри раздуваются. Это выглядит просто смешно, но, э-э, он не может контролировать свои ноздри. К тому же, они живут в свободной стране. Его ноздри имеют право делать что хотят. – Стайлз помыл посуду и расфасовал шоколад. Стайлз устал, но тут даже некому подменить его, чтобы он ушел на перерыв. Стайлзу нужен отдых.Дерек смотрит на него с усталым раздражением.− Прекрати говорить о себе в третьем лице.− О, да ладно!.. Вот, − он поднимает руки с двумя поднятыми большими пальцами и указывает ими на себя, − этому парню нужен отдых.Дерек приподнимает одну бровь. Он бы сошел за героя крутого шпионского боевика, если бы не богомерзкий фартук в цветочек, который наверняка притащил Питер. Сто пудов, это был он. Больше некому.− Ты все еще говоришь о себе в третьем лице, Стайлз.− Очень грустно. Действительно. Я полон раскаяния. А знаешь, почему это происходит? Потому, что я устал и истощен. Мне нужно пообедать. Ну же… − он бросает на Дерека заискивающий взгляд.Тот около минуты изображает мыслительный процесс, а после выдает:− Позвоню Питеру, он купит тебе бургер. Съешь его на улице, чтобы шоколад не пропах пикулями.Стайлз вытаращивается на него с недоверием и хмыкает:− Конечно, почему бы не выгнать меня на холод и не напичкать трансжирами?.. − Не хочешь бургер – не надо, − отзывается Дерек так недовольно, будто его оскорбили в лучших чувствах. То есть, как обычно.− Фу. Кто тебе сказал, что я не хочу? Я только… А, ладно. Просто забудь. Забудь. Ты забыл?Дерек бросает на Стайлза тоскливый взгляд и разворачивается, чтобы удалиться в кухню. Застывает. Поворачивается обратно и цедит предупреждающим тоном:− Не болтай с этим, − кивает он в сторону Скотта. Тот слишком занят своим не-тыквенным латте, чтобы заметить, что впал в немилость.Стайлз беспомощно оглядывается на друга.− Я не могу вообще с ним не разговаривать! Он посетитель, а я должен обслуживать посетителей…Дерек внимательно смотрит на него.− Ты же не проститутка, чтобы кого-то обслуживать, − заявляет он непонятным тоном, словно сам не определился, шутит он или выбрасывает в атмосферу излишки своего раздражения. − Придумай что-нибудь, − после этого Хейл наконец удаляется.− И мистер Долбанутый покидает сцену, − комментирует Стайлз вполголоса.− А? – Скотт запоздало отрывается от кружки с кофе. Он иногда такой тормоз, что Стайлз просто диву дается.− Ничего, пей, не отвлекайся.Стайлз снова думает, как же, черт побери, ему скучно. Мучительно скучно. Безумно скучно. Просто ску-у-у-учно. Он представлял себе работу в шоколатерии более веселой. Все-таки это одно из самых очаровательных мест на земле – каким-то образом угрюмость Хейла-младшего его не коснулась. Наверно, так вышло потому, что номинально шоколатерия принадлежала сестре Дерека, которую Стайлз ни разу не видел. Он мог бы сказать: «Зато я много о ней слышал», − но это была бы чистой воды ложь. Все, что он знал о далекой и неведомой Лоре Хейл, − так это то, что она жила в Нью-Йорке, имела диплом шоколатье и, заручившись поддержкой семьи, несколько лет назад создала с нуля это место. Именно она выбрала цветовую схему (апельсиновый с белым) и дизайн (тут и там на стенах были забавные минималистичные иллюстрации, изображавшие мальчика и волка, похожего на большую зубастую мышь), и даже название – «Я, волк и шоколадки». Поначалу оно казалось Стайлзу странноватым, только потом он узнал из интернета, что так называется книга для детей, созданная французской художницей Дельфиной Перре, и картинки на стенах – тоже оттуда. Далекая незнакомая Лора становилась все более интригующей. Дерек, как ни странно, тоже. Ему бы больше подошло руководить заведением с черными, обитыми кожей стенами, к которым тут и там приделаны крепления для наручников. Или чем-то вроде закрытого байкерского бара, куда пускают только мускулистых типов подозрительного вида, чьи тела в равной мере покрыты татуировками и густой растительностью. В любом случае, в милом девочковом кафе, пропитанном запахами шоколада и ванили – кафе с оранжевыми стенами, которое в солнечный день просто светится изнутри, − Хейл-младший смотрится неуместно, словно хмурая великовозрастная Дороти, заброшенная ураганом в светлую и благополучную страну Оз, где в помине не было ни Злых Ведьм, ни связанного с ними кризиса. Даже дядя Питер более гармонично вливается в обстановку шоколатерии. Он, конечно, богат на странности, и в голове у него приют для бездомных тараканов, зато он прилично одевается, исправно бреется и в целом производит впечатление респектабельного джентльмена – пока не открывает рот…Стайлз моргает. Ох, не к добру он вспомнил про Питера. Вспомнишь Хейла-старшего – вот и он. Парень рывком поднимает голову и смотрит через зал в окошко на двери шоколатерии. Точно, на крыльце появляется кто-то в подозрительно знакомом кожаном плаще.− Доброго дня, мои сладкие! – салютует дядя Питер с порога.Скотт резко выпрямляется на стуле, как будто проглотил жердь или там клюшку для лакросса.− Привет, дядя Пит, − Стайлз приветственно взмахивает рукой и тут же зажимает себе рот. Ненадолго. – Питер. Мистер Хейл. Сэр?.. Как прошел визит к стоматологу?Улыбка, не умещающаяся на лице Хейла, говорит, что посещение врача прошло весьма удачно. К счастью, Стайлз не покупается на нее. Это ошибка новичка, а Стайлз проработал в шоколатерии уже неделю. Он быстро учится, честно. − Это было ужасно! – воодушевленно начинает Питер с интонациями капризной примадонны слегка за пятьдесят. – Все началось с того, что Дерек притащил меня туда чуть свет. Девушка в регистратуре почему-то была уверена, что нельзя вот так просто явиться без записи и сразу попасть к Крису, но я сказал, что мы с ним давние знакомые, а потом у Дерека случился очередной приступ… э-э… ненависти к людям, поэтому нас пропустили без очереди. Вернее, меня. Дерек просто разогнал своим мрачным видом всех пациентов, сидевших перед кабинетом, и ушел. Золото, а не племянник.− К Крису? – Скотт сводит брови в недоумении. – Кто такой Крис?Питер Хейл изображает удивление.− Крис Арджент. Из «Арджент-Дент».Стайлз переглядывается со Скоттом, чувствуя себя героем ситкома с закадровым смехом.− Это родственник чокнутой Кейт Арджент, которая в прошлом году слетела с катушек и просверлила насквозь щеку одному из пациентов? – внезапно вспоминает он.МакКол и дядя Питер выглядят пораженными его обширными познаниями.− Ну что? Зря я, что ли, по-вашему, прослушиваю полицейскую волну?Питер ухмыляется с такой гордостью, будто самолично научил Стайлза совать нос практически во все, так или иначе связанное с органами правопорядка Бейкон Хиллз.− Да, было дело. Хех, а я еще помню те времена, когда Дерек сох по ней!Стайлз уже предвкушает порцию эксклюзивных и нелицеприятных фактов о своем начальнике, но все равно не может сдержать удивленный возглас. Дерек – сох? А выглядит он так, будто в принципе не может по кому-то сохнуть. Разве что сушиться – в качалке.− У Дерека есть сердце? Как много нового можно узнать в погожий октябрьский денек…− У Дерека есть член, и в былые времена он использовал его по назначению более активно, − дядя Питер внимательно смотрит сначала на Стайлза, потом на Скотта. – Так, стоп. Я обсуждаю личную жизнь племянника с малолетками… И почему вы здесь так рано? Решили забить на образование и нажиться на пагубном влиянии общества потребления?Скотт явно ничего не понимает (кроме эпизода про член, который – эпизод, а не член, хотя… э-э, ладно – Стайлз теперь не может выкинуть из головы), но торопится ответить:− Я прогуливаю тренировку.Питер вытягивает губы и многозначительно причмокивает.− С тобой все понятно, Эйнштейн. А ты что скажешь в свое оправдание, Стилински?− Я выбрал предметы так, чтобы дважды в неделю занятия у меня были только с утра. Гениально, правда? Хоть и пришлось записаться в класс по гончарному мастерству. Не уверен, что это даже настоящий предмет. Его ведет какой-то скользкий тип, который всегда носит жилетку. Даже летом. В жару, − Стайлз переводит дыхание. – Ну, я сам этого не видел, но мне рассказывали.Взгляд Питера Хейла становится расфокусированным, будто он засыпает на ходу. Стайлз понимает, что пора прикрыть лавочку. То есть, рот. Но это не так-то просто. Он еще не все рассказал. Мир еще не знает о его успехах в классе гончарного мастерства. Вернее, не-то-чтобы-успехах. Как-то на одном из занятий он соорудил лингам, что страшно не понравилось Мистеру Жилетке. В ответ на все возмущения и угрозы быть отправленным к директору Стайлз отвечал, что у них здесь свобода вероисповедания, и он может поклоняться чему хочет, хоть большому глиняному пенису, и никто не имеет права запретить ему это…… возможно, это не лучшая тема для разговора.Вон, Дерек, выползший из кухни на звук голосов, несомненно думает так же.Младший Хейл просто стоит и молчит, обозревая обстановку. По нему так сразу не скажешь, раздражен ли он, опечален или, наоборот, рад. Стайлз пару раз видел, как он улыбался – так вот, один раз это случилось, когда маленький мальчик упал с велосипеда и кувыркнулся через руль. Жуткий, жуткий человек. Стайлз сам не знает, зачем согласился работать на Хейла. Наверно, надеялся, что и к нему прилепится хотя бы часть дерековой клевости, и на него тоже начнут обращать внимание девочки. На парня, который продает шоколад и всякие сладкие штуки. Как же.И почему Дереку его профессия не мешает быть секс-бомбой? Наверно, он скрывает от всех, чем на самом деле занимается. Представляется вроде: «Дерек Хейл, наемный убийца», − и не пользуется душем в тренажерном зале, чтобы хоть как-то перебить запах шоколада.− Как зуб? – хмурится Дерек, придирчиво высматривая изменения в дядиной внешности.− Как новый! Я снова могу есть мороженое и пить горячее!..− Что сказал Крис?Питер поднимает взгляд к потолку, припоминая.− Может, что-то вроде: «Снова будешь завтракать одной только карамелью – убью»? А, не, это было в прошлый раз… В общем, не помню. Схожу завтра к зубной больнице, встану под окнами Криса и буду облизывать леденец, пока он не освежит мою память.Стайлз чувствует, как его лицо вытягивается. А ведь его не так-то просто удивить. Это скорее он – тот, кто обычно всех удивляет. Хоть и по чистой случайности, но…− Это какой-то эвфемизм? Про память?− Эвфемизм? – встревает Скотт. – Это то же самое, что и «эфемерный»?− Ты-то откуда знаешь такие слова? – восхищается Стайлз. Должно быть, компьютерное приложение для пополнения лексикона все-таки несет в себе хоть какой-то смысл. – Ты для них еще маленький.Скотт надувается.− Ничего себе! Я занимался сексом уже тринадцать раз, и…− Ты что, считаешь… О боже! Боже! – вот теперь Стайлзу точно нужно восстановить душевное равновесие. И взять перерыв. И съесть мерзкий бургер. Как только Эллисон согласилась встречаться со Скоттом? У нее в голове случилось затмение, которое длится до сих пор? – Ничего не хочу больше слышать… Сейчас. Вечером по скайпу расскажешь во всех грязных подробностях.Он так поражен деталями интимной жизни своего лучшего друга и дяди Питера (в смысле, не их общей интимной жизни, такого бы он точно не вынес), что даже забывает о Дереке, который все еще стоит у двери на кухню, сложив руки на груди прямо поверх идиотского фартука. Определенно, Стайлз забывает о нем очень зря, и в один миг понимает это, когда случайно сталкивается с ним взглядом. Дерек имеет свойство превращаться в бомбу с подожженным огнепроводным шнуром. Иногда. Не слишком часто. Пару-тройку раз в день.И вот сейчас он как раз в том самом состоянии.Охо-хо.− Господа… − тихо и не слишком уверенно обращается он к собравшимся, но его уже не слушают – Скотта осеняет, что у его возлюбленной тоже фамилия Арджент, а значит, чокнутая Кейт наверняка и ее родственница, как и Крис. Последнее открытие вызывает у дяди Питера особенный интерес, и теперь он расспрашивает МакКола, как именно выглядит отец Элиссон.− Такой небритый?− Да, − оживленно кивает Скотт.− Одевается как бомж?− Д…Да?.. – Скотт уже не так уверен в своем ответе.− Лю-у-уди… − Стайлз предпринимает еще одну попытку обратить на себя внимание, но…− Вечно недоволен, прямо как эта морда? – Хейл-старший машет в сторону Дерека, неумолимо приближающегося к точке кипения.… нет.Стайлз всерьез озадачен вопросом, почему все всегда его игнорируют. Наверное, это проклятие. В детстве он не уступил в автобусе место старушке с дурным глазом, или вроде того…− Ага. Точно. Как-то он предлагал мне пиво, чтобы что-то там проверить, − жалуется Скотт. Вот теперь Стайлз готов поклясться, что глаза Дерека вспыхивают красным. Нет, у него, конечно, очень живое воображение, но сейчас он не выдумывает. Ну, разве что слегка преувеличивает. Или у него галлюцинации от передоза аддералом. Сколько таблеток он сегодня выпил? Одну? Точно одну?Дерек медленно открывает рот и…− Скотт, то, что ты избегаешь Кексика… тренера, не решит твоих проблем, подними задницу и дуй на стадион, − Стайлз выхватывает полупустую кружку с кофе из-под носа МакКола, нервно косясь в сторону младшего Хейла, − дядя Питер… то есть, просто Питер… Сэр?... При всем уважении, ешьте поменьше сладкого и не доводите гомосексуальными намеками человека, чья сестра раскроила кому-то щеку и находится на принудительном лечении, я сделаю вам кофе со сливками без сахара, если согласитесь подождать в своем кабинете, а сейчас мне пора скрыться там, где тихо, темно и стоит целая гора грязной посуды!..Дерек неожиданно расплывается в ухмылке и удаляется обратно на кухню – очевидно, весьма довольный собой.Стайлз приостанавливает свою бурную деятельность и выдыхает. Отлично, счетчик бешенства обнулен, можно жить дальше. Скотт хлопает круглыми глазами. Изобрази он такое на кастинге фильма «Человек-сова», точно получил бы главную роль. Без вариантов. Дядя Питер присвистывает и пару раз хлопает в ладоши.− Что? – с самодовольной улыбкой спрашивает Стайлз. Сейчас он всего лишь администратор торгового зала, способный быстро успокоить начальника, страдающего вспышками немотивированной агрессии, зато в будущем – потенциальный спаситель мира.Зря он, что ли, носит трусы с символикой Бэтмена?..* * Практически всю субботу Стайлз тратит на уговоры Дерека отпустить его пораньше. У отца ночное дежурство (почему все его ночные дежурства выпадают на выходные? Больше никто не горит желанием сидеть в участке с красными глазами, пока весь мир наслаждается законным отдыхом?), а значит, Стайлзу было бы неплохо освободиться около семи, рвануть домой и сверх быстро состряпать нормальный ужин, который шериф Стилински возьмет с собой, чтобы уныло сжевать после полуночи. Если этого не сделать, он, конечно же, проигнорирует те органические яблоки, что Стайлз всегда оставляет на видном месте с запиской «Я – вкусный и полезный перекус, возьми меня с собой», а позже, когда захочет есть на работе, воспользуется доставкой, и курьер уж точно привезет ему не овощной салат и вегетарианский гамбургер. Черт. В общем, Стайлзу нужно домой к семи, проблема лишь в одном – объяснить это Дереку. Что весьма непросто. Потому, что Дерек не хочет никого слушать, и потому, что субботним вечером в шоколатерии остались лишь они двое, а значит, не на кого переложить обязанности Стайлза . Но, в основном, потому, что Дерек не хочет никого слушать.С утра Стайлз еще верил в силу своего убеждения, ближе к полудню разочаровался в себе и в жизни (разочаровываться в Хейле не было смысла, Стайлз знал, на что шел), а после четырех уже укоренился в мысли, что не выберется на свободу до самого закрытия шоколатерии, но не мог остановиться. Для него всегда было проблемой притормозить, особенно – притормозить вовремя.Вот поэтому Стайлз подпирает спиной кухонный косяк, пока Дерек горит на производстве. На самом деле, он уже приготовил конфеты на продажу, и теперь просто экспериментирует. Собирается расширять ассортимент или типа того.− Дерек. Дерек. Де-е-ерек. Стилински вызывает Хейла. Хейл, как слышите, прием?Стайлз повторяет это так долго, что забывает, с какой целью твердит одно и то же.− Что? – Дерек наконец отрывает взгляд от шоколадной массы.А действительно, что? Стайлз мучительно пытается вспомнить. Так. Нужно проследить цепочку мыслей от конца к началу. О чем он только что думал? Нет, он не может сосредоточиться, когда этот Шоколатье-Из-Ада так на него таращится, и нет, его нельзя есть.Стайлз, соберись, давай… А, точно! Расширение производства, эксперименты и обед, точнее, поздний ужин для отца.− Можно я уйду?− Да, − фыркает Дерек. – Иди в зал, Стайлз.Сначала Стайлзу слышится что-то не то, поэтому он приоткрывает рот в негодовании, но тут же закрывает его. О. Клево, он так заработался, что слышит оскорбления там, где их нет.− Мне нужно домой.− Твой рабочий день еще не кончился, − Дерек даже ухом не ведет. Конечно, шоколад много интересней. Он весь такой темный и, похоже, достиг рабочей температуры. Шик-блеск-красота.− Но сейчас суббота!− Самое время поработать.− Вечер субботы!− Время влюбленных парочек и длинных чеков. − И крохотных чаевых!..− Стайлз… − Дерек снова поднимает голову, и его взгляд не сулит ничего – то есть, совершенно ничего – хорошего.Стайлз неосознанно облизывает губы.− Ты вообще видел зал сейчас? Там пусто. Пусто! Как… как… Как в кабинете Харриса после звонка с урока, − не похоже, что это тонкое сравнение впечатляет Хейла. Стайлз трет лицо. – О, ты не знаешь Харриса. Ну, это наш препод по химии, с вот таким лицом и ужасно мерзкий. Не важно. Знаешь, в шоколатерии сейчас только мы двое, и никто даже не заметит, если ты вдруг решишь закрыться пораньше… − Дерек притаскивает откуда-то огромную миску с крендельками, и Стайлз внезапно для самого себя замолкает – до того самого момента, пока не осознает, что не в силах больше сдерживать новую порцию рвущихся с языка вопросов. − А что ты вообще делаешь? У нас в меню есть что-то с крендельками? Или ты собираешься есть крендельки? Есть крендельки и смотреть футбол? Ты смотришь футбол? Американский? Европейский?Сохраняя таинственное молчание, Дерек глазирует крендельки шоколадом и посыпает их крупной морской солью. Стайлз таращится на это действо во все глаза.− И что в итоге получится? – с сомнением спрашивает он.− Несладкие брецели в шоколаде «Уила 85%» с морской солью.− Э-э, логично. А это вообще можно есть?Дерек награждает Стайлза взглядом «Я поджарю тебя на какао-масле до золотистой корочки». Стилински вздыхает. Когда на тебя так смотрят по сто раз на дню, перестаешь верить в реальность невербальных угроз… Как минимум, в реальность их исполнения. Это вам не богатый засранец Уитмор. Тот сказал, что побьет – значит, побьет. В торговом зале хлопает дверь. Она делает это по-особенному, с причмокиванием.Лицо Дерека становится о-очень выразительным.− Ладно, ладно, оставайся со своими кренделями… − бормочет Стайлз, возвращаясь на рабочее место.Это не пара с потенциально-длинным чеком. И не одинокая сорокалетняя женщина с хорошей помадой. И не студентка-сладкоежка, у которой от вида клубнично-шоколадных сердец на палочке загораются глаза. В общем, визитер не из тех, кто мог бы сделать большой заказ.У витрины неловко мнется кудрявый парень из их школы. Стайлз несколько раз видел его на играх за первенство чего-то там по лакроссу, когда приходил поддержать Скотта, навечно застрявшего на скамейке запасных. Возможно, он даже знает его фамилию. Лайхи? Лэхью?− Привет, − говорит парень и нервно взмахивает рукой. – Дерек тут?− Привет, − улыбается Стайлз. − Да, Дерек здесь. Разрабатывает новое секретное оружие, чтобы уничтожить Сенат.Взгляд кудрявого перемещается с лица Стайлза на нечто, находящееся у него за спиной. Стайлз почти чувствует теплое дыхание на своей шее.− Он стоит позади меня, да? – без особой надежды осведомляется он.Кудрявый кивает с абсолютно потерянным видом.Стайлз опускает плечи.− Дерек… Сколько можно говорить, что нельзя так бесшумно передвигаться?! Нормальных людей это пугает. Меня, например. Мне страшно, когда кто-то подбирается ко мне сзади и дышит в затылок.Хейл определенно его игнорирует – потому, что в ответ ему доводится услышать только одно:− Айзек.Словно камень откололся от вершины скалы и полетел в пропасть.Кудрявый весь как-то съеживается, хотя на самом деле не предпринимает даже попытки пошевелиться.− Дерек, − отвечает он, и, что удивительно, его голос совсем не такой слабый и дрожащий, каким мог бы быть.Стайлз остро ощущает себя лишним. В общем-то, подобное положение дел для него не в новинку: именно так он чувствовал себя на уроках физкультуры и тренировках по лакроссу, на всех школьных праздниках, где ему довелось побывать, и на одной частной вечеринке, приглашение на которую попало в его шкафчик по ошибке. Даже в тот раз, когда Скотт взял его с собой в кино на свидание с Элиссон, ему было не настолько неловко, как сейчас.− Э-э, парни, вы что, встречались когда-то? – говорит Стайлз и, лишь закончив фразу, понимает, что да, он действительно произнес это вслух.Айзек вскидывает голову, картинно приоткрывает рот и таращится на Стилински в оскорбленном недоумении. Проверять, как там Дерек воспринял неуместный вопрос, Стайлзу и вовсе не хочется. Но надо. Он прикрывает один глаз, словно боится, что его ударят, а другой скашивает в сторону начальника. Эм. Дерек стоит, как стоял, и ничего по его физиономии не прочитаешь.Теперь Стайлз почему-то чувствует себя так, как бывает, когда умирают его любимые герои в сериалах. Или когда самые крутые актеры уходят из каста… Ну, не суть. Это странное и пугающее ощущение утраты без каких-либо очевидно-весомых причин. Как будто ты потерял что-то важное, но так до конца и не понял, что именно.− Я, знаете, пойду, шоколад расфасую, кто-то же должен его расфасовать, он там стоит в коробке уже три дня, а я… Я пойду, − ему нужно прорепетировать безмолвный уход. Повторить раз сто и научиться. Он может. Он справится. Он же исправно пьет таблетки!..− Стайлз, − и почему каждый раз, когда Дерек окликает его, превращается для Стайлза в лезвие, вошедшее в бок, ровненько между ребер? То самое мгновение, когда боли еще нет, но осознание, что она будет, уже тут как тут. Как-то в детстве Стайлз распорол себе левую ягодицу половинкой затупившихся ножниц. С тех пор он знает все о боли и о том, насколько невозможное возможно.− Яухожуменянетяушел, − выдает Стилински на одном дыхании. Он слишком взволнован, чтобы делать паузы между словами.− Можешь идти домой, − говорит Дерек, и это звучит мягко. И очень подозрительно. И мягко. – Айзек поработает за тебя.«Он хочет заняться с ним сексом на витрине! – думает Стайлз в ужасе. – На моей прекрасной витрине, которую я каждый день полирую!» Он сам не знает, откуда эта безумная идея появилась в его голове. Это реально пугает. Как и испачканная в порыве страсти витрина.И он не хочет теперь никуда уходить. Просто из принципа.Вот только отец и доставка…Стайлз прищуривается с видом «Я все про вас знаю». Конечно, он не знает ни хрена, но у него есть интуиция и необъяснимое чувство утраты. А еще Дерек похож на человека, готового трахать все, что шевелится. Этому «всему» даже не обязательно быть женского пола… или совершеннолетним.Стайлз делает очередное неожиданное открытие: ему почему-то не хватает дяди Питера. Не вообще, а конкретно сейчас, здесь, в этом моменте. Питер Хейл сумел бы разрядить обстановку… Или сделал все еще более неловким благодаря своим неуместным двусмысленностям.− Ладно. О’кей. Я… − Стайлз все-таки заставляет себя сдвинуться с места. Это трудно, он как чертов неповоротливый манекен в натуральную величину, а ведь нужно еще и вещи забрать.В подсобке, где хранится шоколад и по какой-то нелепой иронии (либо от недостатка места) стоит вешалка для одежды персонала, Стайлз натягивает на себя толстовку, потом куртку, и долго борется с молниями. У него какая-то чертовщина с руками. Пальцы гнутся с трудом, как обмороженные. Стайлз раз за разом пробует застегнуться, но у него ничего не выходит.Когда он вываливается обратно в торговый зал, Айзек достает с верхнего стеллажа коробку с бумажными пакетами для упаковки и пачку наклеек с названиями марок шоколада. Будет расфасовывать. Дерек сидит в углу за столом – тем самым, что так облюбовал Питер – с бутылкой пива и миской извращенских шоколадно-соленых кренделей. Не похоже, что Хейл и его гость (или кто он там) собираются устроить разнузданную оргию среди выставленной на продажу продукции.Стайлза как будто отпускает.− Субботний вечер, да? – говорит он самое банальное, что приходит ему в голову, подбирается к Дереку, без спроса запускает руку в посудину с кренделями (они холодные и не липкие – Боже, храни бласт фризер!) и, схватив столько, сколько поместилось в горсти, убегает.Сухие соленые штучки он поедает по дороге к джипу. Действительно, совсем не сладко. Бархатно-горько, остро-солено и приятно хрустит.Пора переименовать шоколатерию и трансформировать ее в бар.Стайлз успевает домой вовремя и готовит запеканку из сладкого картофеля, а также салат из свежих овощей. Отец, как и всегда, не в восторге от салата, но против запеканки ничего не имеет. Складывая контейнеры с ужином в сумку, шериф Стилински вслух мечтает о капкейках из пекарни в центре, но это не выпечка, а целые чертовы острова из холестерина и сахара. Стайлз думает, что ему просто необходимо научиться печь диетические морковные кексы и заменять сливочное масло на яблочное пюре везде, где только можно. Это ненадолго отвлекает его от мыслей о вечернем инциденте в шоколатерии. Потом он играет в X-box. Это тоже отвлекает.Однако когда он ложится спать, отвлекать его больше нечему. * *В воскресенье у Стайлза, как ни странно, выходной. Что ж, он усердно трудился с понедельника по субботу, так что может позволить себе ничего не делать… Или косить лужайку перед домом и протирать всюду пыль, и готовить полезный органический обед, и отговаривать отца от воскресного похода в «Бургер Кинг», и искать для него подходящую пару от тридцати пяти до сорока пяти (на самом деле Стайлз думает, что его папа мог бы уделять побольше внимания Мелиссе МакКол, потому что она славная и добрая, и готовит вкусную лазанью). В общем, свободное время у него появляется только под вечер, и то лишь потому, что Скотт в очередной раз динамит его с «Хейло»-турниром. Стайлз не слишком расстроен этим обстоятельством (хотя, вообще-то, это ложь, откровенная и наглая), но, если уж начистоту, перед ним начинает вырисовываться новая проблема, и что с ней делать – совершенно непонятно. Стайлз любит игнорировать проблемы, потому что большая часть из них – надуманные, и имеют свойство рассасываться самостоятельно (это – научно подтвержденный факт, так считает википедия). Правда, есть вещи, которые лучше не игнорировать: счета за дом, или там странные новообразования на коже. У Стайлза нет проблем ни с тем, ни с другим, но есть – с чем-то еще. Вероятно. Похоже на то. В общем, он совершенно не представляет, что происходит, поэтому открывает страницу гугла и набирает поисковый запрос.Гугл – очень полезная вещь, когда нужно добыть сведения. Жаль только, есть вещи, которые нельзя узнать через поисковые машины.Ответ на этот вопрос гугл не знает. Вернее, знает, и даже несколько, но это неправильные ответы. Они либо глупые, либо банальные, либо слишком расплывчатые. Все совсем не то. Стайлзу нужно знать точно.Нужно спросить кого-то… осведомленного. Того, кто в теме. Стайлз знает всего одну кандидатуру на роль его собственной Опры Уинфри. Остаток воскресенья, бесконечная ночь и утро понедельника по ощущениям тянутся полгода. Стайлз едва может ждать. Он физически не приспособлен к ожиданию. У него уже дергаются правое веко и, для симметрии, левая кисть. За завтраком (если так можно назвать время споров «Тебе нужно сократить потребление кофеина! – Но я люблю кофеин!» и практически ритуальное отнимание друг у друга кружек с кофе) отец натягивает свое самое доброжелательное (и вкрадчивое) выражение лица и спрашивает, не подсел ли Стайлз на крэк. Что за глупый вопрос! У Стайлза и так есть неограниченный доступ к препарату, содержащему смесь амфетаминов. Ему хватает этого для веселья (и для того, чтобы не бегать по стенам в худшие дни своей одинокой, лишенной секса жизни).Впрочем, ему действительно стоит сбавить обороты. И выспаться. И перестать качать ногой и чесаться. Но Стайлз же не виноват, что он на взводе.В обеденный перерыв он выбегает во двор, чтобы убедиться, что Скотт с Элиссон жуют свои сэндвичи на свежем воздухе, а после, порядком запыхавшись, возвращается в буфет и плюхается за стол Денни. Обычно голубой как небо вратарь «Медведей Бейкон Хиллз» ест в компании кретинского Уитмора, но сегодня тот ушел раньше – вылизать в очередной раз свой «Порше» или показать какой-нибудь дурехе, какие у него большие бицепсы (богоподобная-сверкающая-единственная в своем роде Лидия не дуреха, но ей бицепсы Уитмора нужны постольку поскольку – как и он сам. Это все для поддержания статуса. Да, Стайлз в это верит).Денни поднимает взгляд от тарелки.«Главное – быть спокойным и обстоятельным», − думает Стайлз, но его уши уже пылают, как два хеллуинских фонаря, поэтому он заявляет первое, что приходит в голову:− Че как? Денни вздыхает и возвращается к еде.− Слушай, чувак, я, конечно, понимаю, что ты крутой, а я – нет, но у меня к тебе вопрос. Можешь на него ответить?Денни поджимает губы.− Это «Армани».− Что? – разевает рот Стайлз.− Мой парфюм. «Армани».− А. Да без разницы. Слушай… Ты же… того, да?− Того? – Денни выглядит так, будто столкнулся с опасным сумасшедшим.Ну, Стайлз плохо спал последние два дня, и у него дергается веко. Он бы и сам испугался, если бы случайно встретился с собой.− Ты – гей, − говорит он прямо, и, боже, на его ушах действительно можно жарить яичницу для бездомных.− А у тебя – дурацкая стрижка, − отвечает Денни как ни в чем не бывало.О, да он же нормальный тип! И почему Уитмор с ним тусуется?..− Мне нужна твоя помощь. То есть, помощь гея.− Эту стрижку уже ничего не исправит.− Ой, да оставь ты ее в покое!.. У меня есть вопрос.− Еще один? Помимо моей ориентации? – похоже, Денни очень хочет уйти.− А то ж. Думаешь, я бы решился подойти к тебе, только чтобы узнать… Ладно. Так. Сейчас. Мне нужно сосредоточиться… − Стайлз так волнуется, что начинает буквально захлебываться словами, в то время как его мысли разбегаются кто куда. − Вопрос, вопрос… Да! Слушай, как понять, что кому-то нравятся парни?Денни приподнимает брови, отчего его выражение лица становится одновременно хитрым и слегка издевательским.− Ты имел в виду, что тебе нравятся парни? – переспрашивает он.Стайлз оглядывается по сторонам. Это просто чудо, что вокруг этого проклятого столика не собралась толпа любопытствующих.− Нет, я имел в виду, что кому-то нравятся парни. Кому-то, кого зовут не Стайлз Стилински.Денни прищуривается. О, ну просто сама проницательность.− Ты подмигиваешь, когда говоришь «кому-то».Стайлз ощупывает свой глаз с дергающимся веком. Нужно найти способ заставить его прекратить делать это раньше, чем Стайлзу найдут друга, и да, это будет тот самый тип друзей, которые рады увидеть тебя без штанов, прикованным к батарее и рыдающим.− Я не подмигиваю. У меня нервный тик. Или передозировка аддералом. Или я схожу с ума и на самом деле тебе подмигиваю… Но, скорее, нет. Наверно, стоит поблагодарить бога, что у меня еще не проявился синдром Туретта.− Ладно, сделаю вид, что действительно поверил, − сообщает Денни (в основном для того, чтобы избежать лишних подробностей), − но зачем тебе это?− Ну, я подозреваю кое-кого, и это меня беспокоит, − осторожно начинает Стайлз. – Хочешь поговорить об этом?− Э-э… Нет?− Но ты мне поможешь?− Как?Стайлз округляет глаза. Это непроизвольная реакция на удивление; он надеется, что хотя бы сейчас не выглядит так, будто пытается соблазнить кого-то самым нелепым образом.− Ну-у… Расскажешь мне, как определить, что кто-то предпочитает хот-доги гамбургерам. Э-э. Ты вообще понял, что я сказал? Потому что я сам не понял. Так ты мне поможешь? Что мне делать? Куда смотреть? На что обращать внимание?..Денни снова вздыхает. Стайлзу становится его жаль. Почти.− О ком вообще речь?− О моем… кузене?Денни выглядит удивленным.− У тебя есть кузен?− Э-э… Да. Он раньше жил в Нью-Йорке, а теперь переехал, потому что у него хроническая депрессия, и психолог посоветовал ему сменить обстановку, − если бы проводили чемпионат мира по вранью, Стайлз занял бы на нем одно из призовых мест.Звенит звонок. Припозднившиеся ученики торопливо покидают буфет.− Это все очень трогательно, но я пойду… − Денни намеревается встать, но Стайлз хватает его за руку.− Пожалуйста-пожалуйста-пожалуйста, скажи мне хоть что-нибудь дельное! Хоть один совет, мастер…Денни размышляет пару секунд и смягчается:− Я могу посмотреть на него и сказать, что пеленгует мой гей-радар.О нет. Нет-нет-нет-нет-нет. Пятьсот тысяч раз нет. Плохая идея. Достаточно один раз показать Денни Дерека, и тот забронирует себе один из столиков в шоколатерии на год вперед. А если у них что-то получится? Не то, чтобы Стайлза все это волновало, но… Нет. Просто нет и все тут. Даже если шоколатерия станет модным среди геев местом, и они начнут ходить туда на свидания, чем невероятно повысят продажи и престижность заведения в целом.− М-м-м… Знаешь, это, типа, плохая идея, у него случаются приступы бешенства, и вообще, он не любит незнакомых.− И зачем тебе тогда знать об его ориентации? – искренне недоумевает Денни.− Что? – хлопает глазами Стайлз. Вот блин. И почему он не потрудился придумать ответ на этот вопрос заранее?..− Я думал, ты хочешь устроить его личную жизнь, − объясняет Денни.− Так и есть. Но это случится только когда он справится с депрессией или начнет принимать таблетки. Или когда мир рухнет. Так как мне в итоге узнать…− Спросить его?− Не могу!− Он смотрит на задницы других парней?− Э… Не знаю. Нет. − Флиртует с мужчинами?− Он говорит как Робокоп. Не уверен, что в него вообще заложена программа флирта.− Следит за собой?− Он переодевает футболку каждый день. Это считается?− Ну, тогда поздравляю, он натурал, − выносит вердикт Денни и недовольно осведомляется: − Могу я, наконец, пойти на литературу?− Да. Конечно. Америка тебя не забудет! – Стайлз вскакивает со стула и устремляется к выходу из буфета, но Денни почему-то вновь оказывается рядом с ним.− С чего ты вообще взял, что твой кузен – гей? – зачем-то спрашивает он.− Ты же вроде опаздываешь на литературу… − начинает Стайлз, но практически сразу приходит к мысли о том, что лучше все быстро и доступно объяснить, и тогда от него отвяжутся. – Ладно. К нему пришел парень, и…Денни недоверчиво смотрит на него сверху вниз.− Парень? Что за парень?Стайлз открывает рот, но тут же захлопывает его, громко клацнув зубами. Потому что тот самый парень, о котором они говорят, роется в шкафчике в другом конце коридора.− Просто парень. Все, я побежал! – бросает Стайлз и, оставив чрезвычайно удивленного Денни одного, несется к ряду шкафчиков и стоящему рядом с ним кудрявому. Он и сам не знает, зачем. Это тот самый вид деятельности, когда просто нужно продолжать начатое, не вдаваясь в размышления, потому что как только задумаешься, какого черта творишь, − нападет мандраж.− Привет! – обращается Стайлз к кудрявому. Его приветствие должно звучать уверенно и расслабленно, но, разумеется, черта с два оно так звучит. Вероятно, потому что Стайлз так взвинчен, что готов развалиться на сотню маленьких себя и расползтись по всем углам – подальше от грядущего позора. – Я тут проходил мимо, увидел тебя, дай, думаю, подойду и поздороваюсь. Тебя зовут Айзек?Кудрявый кивает, напряженно глядя на Стайлза.− Привет, Айзек. А я Стайлз. Ты меня видел в шоколатерии, так? Я работаю у Дерека. А ты? Какие отношения связывают тебя с Дереком? Он твой друг? Куратор в сообществе анонимных игроманов? Бывший парень? Вы уже делали это? У него большой член? Говорят, у накачанных парней снизу часто не все так впечатляюще, это что-то типа реакции компенсации…Айзек закрывает шкафчик и снова смотрит на Стайлза. Стилински все еще ждет, когда его разорвет на сто частей и разметает по всему школьному коридору. Только это его и спасет. Хотя есть еще вариант, что его голова загорится, подожжет одежду, а потом он весь превратиться в живой факел и так закончит свою не слишком долгую и в высшей мере нелепую жизнь. Что, в общем-то, не так уж плохо. Во всяком случае, подобный исход спасет Стайлза от необходимости продолжать этот диалог (который он сам и начал). Бум! Отличное время для внезапного самовозгорания.− Привет, Стайлз, − улыбается Айзек. − Я тебя знаю. Ты в прошлом году был запасным в команде по лакроссу, и на игре не смог забить мяч с расстояния пяти футов до ворот.Стайлз чувствует, как дрожит нижняя губа. Да что ж сегодня за день такой?..− Да-а, но это не главное мое достоинство. А что касается тебя…− Я не парень Дерека, − объявляет Айзек, и Стайлз бы многое отдал за то, чтобы его выражение лица не было таким сияющим. – Ни бывший, ни настоящий. Я – кондитер в его шоколатерии.− О-о-о, − заставляет себя выдавить Стайлз. Это редкий случай, когда у него нет слов. Вообще ни одного. Только «О-о-о».− И не волнуйся, член у Дерека что надо, − Айзек ободряюще похлопывает его по плечу и неторопливо удаляется.Стайлз продолжает стоять с потерянным видом, таращась ему вслед, и судорожно ищет слова. Ему нужно что-то сказать. Просто жизненно необходимо. В солнечном сплетении странно давит, как будто там наполняют гелием воздушный шар. Может быть, Стайлз очень рад, просто сам еще этого не понимает. Или у него проблемы с пищеварением на почве стресса. Или это чувство вызывают слова, которые застряли у него глубоко внутри и теперь не хотят выходить. Так вообще бывает?..− О-о-о, − снова тянет Стайлз. Не совсем ясно описывает ситуацию, но ничего лучше в таком состоянии ему все равно не подобрать.После этого он расплывается в счастливой (придурочной) улыбке и идет на экономику. Губа больше не дрожит, веко не дергается. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- В среду Дерек появляется в шоколатерии под вечер и на своих двоих. В смысле, не преодолевает пешком крохотное расстояние от не-их парковки (у них почему-то нет парковки, и причина этого до сих пор остается для Стайлза загадкой) до кафе-слэш-магазина, а приходит откуда-то издалека, вероятно – с остановки. Стайлз устанавливает это по каплям дождя на его кожаной куртке. Да, он мог бы быть американским Шерлоком Холмсом, если бы школа и зарабатывание денег не отнимали столько времени, так необходимого на изготовление люминола в домашних условиях.− Твою крошку снова разбили? – спрашивает Стайлз со всем возможным участием.Дерек предупреждающе двигает челюстью.− Нет.− Угнали?− Нет.− Банк отобрал ее за невыплату кредита для малого бизнеса?Как ни удивительно, Хейл усмехается – в своей манере, то есть недружелюбно:− Хорошая попытка, но нет.После этого Дерек снимает куртку и уходит в подсобку за фартуком. Стайлз пожимает плечами.Среда – длинный тоскливый день. Стайлз приехал на работу только после трех (школу пока никто не отменил), но за какие-то пару-тройку часов успел вымотаться сверх меры. Ничегонеделанье, как известно, очень утомляет. Стайлз успевает заново наполнить опустевшие банки с чаем, кофе и какао, сделать целую стаю оригами-журавлей из салфеток (Айзек, узрев птичье семейство на витрине, предлагает раздавать их покупателям, но никто к ним не заходит), пробует помочь на производстве, обжигается, оказывается выпровоженным в зал, где и развлекает себя чтением «Грозового перевала» и тем, что дает имена чашкам, блюдцам и, заодно, кофемашине, потому что все они – одна большая и дружная семья. − Эй, детишки, дядя Пит вернулся! – в шоколатерии материализуется Питер Хейл с дипломатом в одной руке и коробкой пончиков в другой.Похоже, он только что вырвался с какой-то супер-важной встречи по поводу гигантской партии шоколадных медальонов с логотипом компании. Заказчики собрались украшать ими пирожные на банкете в честь своего пятилетия в большом бизнесе.− Дядя Пит! – вяло машет ему Стайлз из-за прилавка. – Кофе?− Кофе! – радостно соглашается Хейл. – Всем кофе. Кроме тебя. Ты и так обычно слишком активный… Но не сегодня. Что не так, дорогуша?− Скукота, − жалуется Стайлз несмотря на то, что появление Хейла-старшего несколько разгоняет вселенскую тоску. – К нам никто не заходит. Ни-кто. Это не круто.− Еще как не круто, − соглашается дядя Питер. – Скушай пончик, он тебя порадует. Хотя нет, сначала позови Угрюмого и Кудрявого, а то они обидятся.«Угрюмый» и «Кудрявый» приходят сами – Стайлз не успевает даже добежать до кухни. Все усаживаются вокруг столика, на который Питер определил коробку с пончиками, только Стайлз мечется между посудной полкой, кофемашиной и кулером.− Мы варили мармелад! – восторженно рассказывает Айзек. – Он с пектином, чисто веганский. А еще Дерек придумал шоколад с васаби!− Не я. Японцы, − прозаично замечает Хейл-младший.− У тебя прямо дар создавать несъедобности, − хмыкает Стайлз. – Мы, простые люди, предпочитаем молочный шоколад с орехами.Дерек не удостаивает его ответом, и Стайлз выдыхает с облегчением. Ему совсем не хочется бесить Хейла, но он только этим и занимается, словно хочет поставить личный рекорд. Нужно как-то развивать свое чувство самосохранения.Кофе и чай для всех наконец-то готовы; Питер торжественно открывает коробку с пончиками. Стайлз пожирает глазами пухлые румяные колечки, покрытые глазурью и сладкой посыпкой. У тех, что с шоколадной глазурью и сахарными звездочками, внутри карамель. Они – его любимые. Есть еще с розовой глазурью и кремом «Адвокат», с карамельной глазурью и посыпкой из имбирного печенья, а также шоколадно-банановые. Ну, что поделать, Стайлз разбирается в пончиках. В конце концов, его отец – шериф. Не ясно, откуда взялся стереотип о том, что копы обожают пончики, но, честно говоря, он на сто процентов правдив. Ладно, сто процентов – это перебор, но девяносто – точно. Не стоит забывать о девушках-полицейских на диете (хотя и они любят пончики глубоко в душе и мечтают о них, поглощая зеленый смузи на завтрак, обед и ужин).Пока Питер рассказывает о встрече с клиентами (или, скорее, разыгрывает ее по ролям), Стайлз подцепляет свой любимый пончик с карамелью, аккуратно отковыривает от него сахарные звезды, облизывает их с одной стороны и лепит на футболку на манер погон – по три на каждое плечо. Закончив, он обводит собравшихся ужасно гордым взглядом:− Смотрите, я − генерал-лейтенант!− Налепи еще парочку, и тебя повысят, − добродушно усмехается Питер Хейл. – А потом, так уж и быть, Дерек сподобится отдать тебе честь.Дерек хищно сужает глаза и тренирует на любимом родственнике взгляд, способный уничтожить Звезду Смерти. Его дядя только очаровательно улыбается и продолжает повествование о том, какими правдами и неправдами ему удалось получить заказ на шоколадные медальоны.Это удивительно хороший вечер, когда Стайлз чувствует себя как дома или даже в кругу семьи (похоже, он всю свою жизнь подсознательно мечтал о большой и разношерстной семье, потому как, в итоге, получил именно такую – хоть и не в прямом смысле). Покупатели до последнего продолжают их игнорировать, только перед закрытием заглядывает продрогшая девушка в поисках спасительного огненного кофе на вынос. Стайлз делает ей огромный латте макиатто с шоколадной крошкой, дарит последний пончик, который уже никто не в силах съесть, и в придачу вручает одну из своих оригами-птиц. Девушка благодарит его не меньше пятисот раз и уходит весьма довольная.− Иногда мне нравится моя работа, − улыбается Стайлз ей вслед. – Чувствую себя полезным.Дерек, направляющийся мимо него в сторону подсобки, насмешливо фыркает и даже не пытается сделать это тихо. Стайлз недовольно поджимает губы, но долго дуться у него не получается. Спустя минуту он уже плетется за Хейлом в подсобку, хотя это совсем не из-за Хейла. Шоколатерия закрывается, а его вещи, между прочим, тоже там.− Тебя подвезти? – спрашивает он, наблюдая, как Дерек переобувается в «уличные» кеды.− Нет, − глухо отвечает тот.− Но ты не на машине, − удивляется Стайлз.− Я в курсе, − Дерек встает так резко, что чуть не сталкивается с замешкавшимся Стилински.− Я могу отвезти тебя, куда захочешь. Могу даже высадить за два квартала от твоего дома. Я не буду запоминать название улицы, и маршрут, и, знаешь, я не из тех больных сталкеров, которые сидят под окнами с биноклем и… У меня даже бинокля нет. У отца есть, но он не даст. Серьезно, чувак, почему ты не хочешь, чтобы я тебя подбросил? – после этой тирады Стайлзу почему-то становится грустно. Он еще более непривлекателен, чем думал, раз парень, которого он по-дружески предлагает доставить домой (а что тут такого?), отказывается от этого просто из принципа.Дерек не отвечает. Просто сгребает куртку с вешалки и, проходя мимо Стайлза, легонько дует ему в лицо. Стайлз морщит нос. Не то чтобы это неприятно… Но это не ответ!После ужасно быстрого и неловкого прощания с дядей Питером и Айзеком Стайлз вываливается из дверей шоколатерии, застряв одной рукой в рукаве куртки, и с неудовольствием отмечает, что Дерек (если вон та черная фигура в другом конце улицы на самом деле он) успел уйти довольно далеко. Ха. Пусть катится. Стайлз идет к джипу (или бежит), плюхается за руль и бьет по газам. И да, он едет не в сторону дома, а за Дереком гребаным Хейлом. Вдруг снова начнется дождь, а у Дерека даже зонта нет. Стайлз совсем не хочет, чтобы его нелюдимый начальник простыл. Не факт, что он в принципе может заболеть (Дерек такой мрачный, что микробы боятся подлетать к нему слишком близко), но рисковать не стоит.Дерек идет по улице. Не слишком быстро. Стайлз следует за ним на джипе. Ужасающе медленно. Ну и кто тут теперь не сталкер?Дерек направляется не к остановке. Он минует перекресток, сворачивает налево, преодолевает не меньше квартала (Стайлз думает, что он заметил его, поэтому просто издевается) и берет курс на заведение со старой, обшарпанной вывеской, аляповато украшенной неоновыми трубками. Это бар. Стайлз готов поклясться, что это бар. Что еще может выглядеть так жутко и таинственно одновременно?..Стайлз паркуется на полупустой стоянке и с интересом разглядывает вывеску. Чтобы прочитать что-то на ней, нужно приложить усилие. Или даже применить навык прорицания. Стайлз глушит мотор, вынимает ключ из замка зажигания, и внезапно пугается самого себя. Он что, серьезно?..О да. Он серьезно.У Стайлза нет с собой даже поддельного удостоверения. Его не пустят в бар, с его-то внешностью. Его не будут пускать туда даже после совершеннолетия, потому что (Стилински готов поклясться) и в свои двадцать один он будет выглядеть щуплым и бледным придурком. Стайлз нервно хихикает, шагая к пугающей темной двери под не менее пугающей нечитаемой вывеской.Как ни странно, внутри бара все довольно… обычно. Стайлз готовится наблюдать как минимум шабаш, но видит то же, что, так или иначе, можно встретить во всех остальных барах страны: раритетные музыкальные автоматы, пьяных девиц и бармена, наполняющего бокалы страждущих и, заодно, развлекающего их разговорами. Ничего особенного. Стайлз крутит головой, выискивая взглядом Дерека. Это не так-то просто: черные кожанки – хит сезона. В конце концов, Хейл обнаруживается сидящим сбоку за барной стойкой. Его не сразу можно разглядеть за металлической колонной для розлива пива. Впрочем, никакая колонна не дает ему возможности скрыться от группки девушек за столиком в центре зала. Дамы, в основном, заняты тем, что томно вздыхают, теребят волосы и потягивают разноцветные коктейли, бросая жаркие взгляды в сторону Дерека. Стайлз видел такое миллион раз: оказываясь в опасной близости от Хейла-младшего, повальное большинство представительниц прекрасного пола моментально глупеют и превращаются в хихикающие, манерные копии самих себя, способные только нести чушь и надувать губки. Можно было бы и привыкнуть, но… Что-то темное разливается у Стайлза внутри, и ему от этого почти больно. Это наверняка что-то жуткое, вроде зависти или… ревности. Точно, жуткое. Поэтому лучше оставить это в покое и дать ему выветриться. Исчезнуть.Стайлз решительно идет вперед, к столику с томными и пьяными девицами, подтаскивает дополнительный стул и бесцеремонно садится. Взгляды обескураженных подобной наглостью дам разом обращаются к нему.− Прекрасный вечер, не правда ли? – заявляет Стайлз. Он сам не знает, почему говорит это. Он бы рад промолчать (а возможность запустить время в обратной перемотке, как пленку VHS, сделала бы его счастливейшим человеком в мире), но его не в меру широкий (и болтливый) рот вышел из-под контроля и творит, что пожелает. Возможно, Стайлз пропустил из-за всех этих посиделок и игры в Джеймса Бонда вечерний прием аддерала. – Что пьете? – он хватает первый попавшийся бокал, отхлебывает оттуда. – Клюква, значит. «Космополитен» всегда в моде. А это что, корица?Брюнетка, которой, очевидно, и принадлежит бокал, таращится на него с комичной смесью удивления и ужаса.Да, наверно, с воровством напитков он перегнул, но черт, эти вечерние пончики так настойчиво просят пить!− Чем заняты? Сохнете по этому красавчику? Знаю я этот тип парней, − вот теперь уже Стайлза откровенно несет, − ни кола, ни двора, пока не стукнет пятьдесят, а после – съемная квартира и выходные перед телеком, под пивко и почесывание яиц.В нескольких шагах от этого буйства фантазии Стилински Дерек спокойно попивает что-то похожее на «Сазерак» (1), не подозревая о том, насколько мрачное будущее ему пророчат.− Нет, допустим, даже если у него есть крутая машина, которую он – тут и гением быть не надо – у кого-то угнал, может, в другом штате, но все же… Живет-то он явно не в пентхаусе в центре, а в каком-нибудь сгоревшем доме на окраине, потому что, знаете, за сгоревшие дома не обязательно платить аренду, и, хотя в них не бывает ни света, ни воды, они вполне себе подходят…Стайлза так захватывает собственная история про Дерека-из-сгоревшего-дома, что он пропускает момент, когда реальный Дерек, разом опрокинув в себя остатки алкоголя, спрыгивает с барного стула и уже через мгновение нависает над столиком, близкими к экстазу девушками и Стайлзом. Особенно над Стайлзом.− … для жизни, − машинально заканчивает фразу Стилински, и как раз вовремя – его хватают за воротник куртки (а так же байковой рубашки и майки) и поднимают с насиженного места.Девицы впечатленно охают.− Приветики, − взмахивает рукой Стайлз, потому что самое время что-то сказать или сделать, или испариться, оставив после себя облачко сиреневого дыма.Дерек медленно придвигает свое лицо к его, будто хочет поцеловать (о боже-боже-боже), его ноздри трепещут, и он резко отстраняется, одновременно с этим разжав руки. Стайлз покачивается, но каким-то образом остается стоять. Даже странно. В любой идиотской комедии, на которую похожа его жизнь, он рухнул бы спиной на стол с напитками, пока девушки скакали бы вокруг с визгами.− К стойке! Живо! – командует Дерек шепотом, а может, он и вовсе не шевелит губами, пока вибрирующий, похожий на далекие раскаты грома голос звучит из его солнечного сплетения.Стайлз послушно плетется к барной стойке и кое-как забирается на дереков стул за пивной колонной. − Какого черта? – Хейл почему-то не спешит садиться. Он стоит напротив Стайлза и сверлит его взглядом.− Ну прости, что поселил тебя в сгоревшем доме, − бурчит Стилински. – В следующий раз придумаю что-нибудь повеселей. −Что? – брови Дерека поднимаются, опускаются и поднимаются снова.Где-то есть театр теней, а здесь – театр бровей.Стайлз снова начинает хихикать.Пончики явно были… с чем-то.Интересно, почему Дерек не смеется?− Ты пил! – провозглашает Хейл своим самым строгим тоном.− Э-э… Людям надо пить, чтобы…− Ты пил алкоголь! – Господи, это Дерек Хейл или его новый папа?− Глоточек, − Стайлз показывает на пальцах, сколько примерно выпил. – И мы в баре. Тут все пьют.− Тебе семнадцать! – цедит Дерек страшным шепотом.− Ну, не шестнадцать же, − Стайлз склонен относиться к этому философски.Тщательно выбрав момент для эпического появления, к ним обращается бармен:− Еще что-нибудь, господа?− «Кровавую Мэри»! – орет Стайлз очень громко – на случай, если Дерек вздумает его перебить. Хейл почему-то молчит и неприятно ухмыляется.Бармен жестом показывает: «О’кей», − и уходит.Стайлз вне себя от гордости, и с трудом сдерживается, чтобы не начать прыгать на стуле.− Ты видел, видел? Он даже не спросил, сколько мне лет! Не попросил мои права! Я все-таки выгляжу крутым и взрослым!Дерек вздыхает и усаживается на стул рядом. Вытягивает откуда-то зубочистку и начинает крутить ее в пальцах. Тем временем возвращается удивительно сговорчивый бармен с «Кровавой Мэри». Стайлз, не сдержав ликования, расплывается в улыбке от уха до уха, отпивает свой вожделенный взрослый коктейль и…− Эй, тебя что, не учили, что в «Кровавую Мэри» добавляют водку?Стайлз с негодованием смотрит на бокал. Выглядит тот вполне канонично – соляной ободок по краю, внутри – кроваво-красное месиво, из которого торчит стебель сельдерея. Вот только, черт возьми, в кроваво-красном месиве нет ни капли алкоголя. Это гребаный томатный сок!Он, конечно, тоже вкусный, но…Бармен подмигивает Стайлзу и уходит.− Вот же з-з-за… конопослушный, − ругается Стилински.Дерек прилагает немыслимые усилия, чтобы не заржать. Круто, что сказать.− Что ты тут делаешь? – спрашивает Стайлз серьезно.Дерек изгибает бровь.− Напиваюсь?− Коктейлем?− Пью, − исправляется Хейл.− В среду?− Ты надоедливый.− А ты – странный, − Стайлза так просто не заткнешь. – Только странные пьют вечером среды в одиночестве. И алкоголики. Ты алкоголик?− Нет, − Дерек не выглядит смущенным. – Но думаю им стать. Если ты не замолчишь.− Тогда я буду болтать вечно. Ве-е-ечно. Я спасу тебя от мук алкогольной зависимости. Ты еще будешь мне благодарен!..Дерек подает сигнал бармену. Тот с готовностью подходит к нему.− Виски «Дюарс».− Ему ничего не надо! – возмущается Стайлз. – Налейте и ему сок!Дерек косится на него и едва заметно качает головой: фокус не прокатит.Ходить в бары совсем не весело, если у тебя нет даже поддельного удостоверения, и если компанию тебе составляет кто-то настолько социальной ущербный, как Хейл-младший. Он уже давно мог бы склеить себе девчонку (да хоть бы одну из тех, что сидят за столиком в центре) и наслаждаться ее обществом… Но нет же!Стайлз вспоминает свои недавние подозрения в потом, что Дерека женский пол не интересует в принципе. О, ну вот, он снова об этом думает. А ведь казалось, что он с этим разобрался. С историей про Айзека, который не-парень-Хейла, и всей этой чепухой.Надо было попросить Денни просканировать Дерека этим его геевычисляющим взглядом.Дереку приносят виски, он просто вливает его в себя, будто это подкрашенная карамельным колером водичка, спрашивает, сколько с него и «с этого» (Стайлз не сразу понимает, что «этот», собственно говоря, − он сам), небрежно кидает на стойку деньги и стаскивает Стайлза со стула.− Э-э-эй! Я еще не допил, − упирается парень, но Хейл непоколебим.− Мы уходим, − объявляет он непререкаемым тоном, хватает Стайлза за запястье и тянет к выходу.− Почему ты снова меня куда-то тащишь? – Стайлз пытается вывернуться, но черт, ручищи у этого типа – как тиски. Бедные-несчастные стайлзовы запястья. – Хэй, мистер Угрюмая Физиономия, слышал что-нибудь о свободе передвижения? О Конституции? О правах несовершеннолетних? О моем отце-шерифе?Последнее, кажется, было запрещенным приемом, но Дерека это не особенно задевает. Как бы там ни было, он снисходит до ответа, только когда они оказываются на улице, где пахнет свежестью и сырым асфальтом, а не прогорклым маслом для фритюра и сигаретным дымом.− Стайлз… − рявкает Хейл, отдергивая ладонь от руки парня. – А твой отец-шериф знает, где ты проводишь вечера?Стайлз чувствует себя уязвленным. Не так уж сложно пробудить в нем чувство вины. Он убежден, что недостаточно хорошо заботился о маме (конечно, он был маленьким, но разве это оправдание?), а потом ее не стало. Теперь он вырос, из родных у него только отец, но Стайлз все равно заставляет его расстраиваться и волноваться по пустякам – и это притом, что шериф Стилински каждое разочарование или неудачу стремится заесть картошкой фри с сырным соусом, в котором, по большому счету, и сыра-то нет, один запах. Даже туповатый МакКол при таком раскладе получается куда лучшим сыном. Он начал подрабатывать раньше Стайлза, и никогда не срывался в безумные приключения по собственной инициативе (хотя, чего уж там, для него и влезть в соседский сад – безумное приключение).Стайлз окончательно расстраивается, и вдруг понимает, что Дерек тоже применил запрещенный прием. Забавно, а выглядело так, будто SSS-Combo Дерека должно быть на порядок круче.− По крайней мере, я не отправился снова в лес ночью, чтобы искать трупы похищенных детей, − немного резко отвечает Стайлз. Это нормально, что он пытается защищаться. Нормально же?..Дерек распахивает глаза, будто видит его впервые. Стайлз мрачно усмехается. Ну да, его имя – Стайлз Стилински, и от него куча проблем.И трупы детей он так и не нашел. Как минимум потому, что дети оказались вполне себе живыми и здоровыми, когда патрульные из соседнего штата обнаружили их через три дня после того, как была выслана разнарядка о пропаже.− Пожалуй, поеду домой, − говорит Стайлз, прилагая невероятные усилия, чтобы его голос не звучал расстроено.− Так будет лучше, − соглашается Дерек.Стайлз кивает ему:− До завтра?Хейл склоняет голову в ответ.Вот и поговорили.Стайлз бредет к джипу, залезает в него, пытается завести мотор. Тот издает чихающие звуки и, разумеется, не заводится.Дерек все еще стоит посреди парковки и смотрит на Стайлза – точнее, на джип. Который не собирается в ближайшее время стать хорошим мальчиком и сдвинуться с места. Черт. Черт.− Ну давай, − бормочет Стайлз, предпринимая еще одну попытку завести машину. – Он и так думает, что я дебил! Пожалуйста, не позволяй ему увериться в этом…Чихание мотора становится каким-то совсем уж угрожающим.Стайлз оставляет его в покое, откидывается спиной на сидение и запрокидывает голову. Трет лицо. Отличненько. Все деньги, заработанные за этот месяц, пойдут на ремонт его крошки, и да, он в курсе, что ей сто лет в обед, и она дышит на ладан, вот только не у всех папаши – известные адвокаты, которым купить сынуле «Порше» − как нефиг делать.В боковое стекло ненавязчиво стучат. Это Дерек. Или маньяк-педофил, который выманивает из сломанных тачек подростков, которые не вернулись домой до одиннадцати. Нет, все-таки Дерек. − Проблемы? – спрашивает он, когда Стайлз открывает дверь, чтобы выбраться наружу. Не останется же он ночевать в машине.− Нет. Никаких. Просто решил прогуляться. Пять кварталов до дома – знаешь, такой ненавязчивый вечерний моцион, − Стайлз и не подозревал, что так близок к истерике. Ну, ему жалко джип. И себя. И семейный бюджет. И отца.Как-то все безрадостно получается…− Я тебя провожу, − заявляет Дерек.− Вот еще, − отзывается Стайлз, хотя, на самом деле, ему ужасно, просто невыносимо хочется, чтобы Хейл действительно пошел с ним. Потому что идти так далеко. И скучно. И на улице уже темно. И если Стайлз потащится домой один, ему придется позвонить домой и объяснить, почему он будет поздно, пока у отца не началась паника «Где мое безмозглое чадо?!!!», а уж если он объяснит, у отца наверняка начнется паника «Безмозглое чадо одно в большом городе ночью!!!», и он еще кинется его спасать, не выспится, явится на дежурство сонным, словит шальную пулю… Зато фраза «Я задержался на работе, джип не завелся, но мой начальник меня проводит» решает многие проблемы.− В какой стороне ты живешь? – осведомляется Дерек раздраженно, будто готовится к долгим препираниям.− В той, − задает направление Стайлз, но тут же начинает сомневаться. – Наверно. Я так думаю, знаешь, никогда раньше тут не был, поэтому…Дерек издает странный звук, что-то вроде рычания, и просто идет туда, куда ему указали. Стайлз оглядывается на джип, мысленно говорит: «Я вернусь за тобой утром, не грусти», − и бежит за своим неожиданным спутником. Довольно долго они идут в тишине. Дерека это, видимо, вполне устраивает. На его лице даже появляется некое подобие довольного выражения, хотя, возможно, именно виски настроил его на нужный лад. Стайлз сосредоточенно шагает рядом (предположительно-пьяный Дерек Хейл почти такой же быстрый, как трезвый Дерек Хейл). Поначалу молчание не тревожит его, но чем дальше, тем сильнее ему кажется, что и оно звучит как-то напряженно, словно тяжелая вибрирующая тишина после того, как кто-то нечаянно нажал на фортепиано клавишу «ля» субконтроктавы. Нет, Стайлз не умеет играть на фортепиано, зато как-то от нечего делать прочитал про октавное деление звукового диапазона. До сих пор от полученного знания не было никакой пользы.− Тебе нравится то, что ты делаешь? – тихо произносит Стайлз. Он попробует заговорить, а там… Не выйдет – значит, не выйдет.− Что? – Дерек поворачивается к нему, немного рассеянный.− Шоколатерия твоей сестры. Тебя все устраивает?Дерек еще какое-то время искоса смотрит на него, а после вздыхает.− Думаешь, я буду говорить об этом с тобой?Стайлз кусает нижнюю губу. Нужно отшутиться. Нужно сказать что-то такое, что…− Думаю, будешь.− Самоуверенный сопляк, − хмыкает Хейл, опускает на его голову тяжелую теплую ладонь и слегка толкает. Стайлз смеется – скорее оттого, как ему вдруг становится спокойно и хорошо, чем потому, что Дерек сделал что-то действительно забавное. − Ты не похож на человека, который готовит сладости, − продолжает он, просмеявшись.− Вот как?− Ты похож скорее на… Джейсона Борна?− По-твоему, я бывший сотрудник ЦРУ, потерявший память?Стайлз кивает.− В лучшем случае. Лицо Дерека приобретает неопределенное выражение, но Стайлз почему-то готов поклясться, что его начальник польщен в глубине души.− Я бы хотел быть кем-нибудь другим, − после паузы начинает Хейл, − но не знаю – кем. У меня нет возможности заниматься свободным поиском. Хватит и одной ищущей на нашу семью.− Скучаешь по Лоре? – с пониманием отзывается Стайлз.Дерек лишь едва заметно пожимает плечами.Стайлз мысленно бьет себя по голове – каким же идиотом надо быть, чтобы спросить такое? Конечно, Дерек скучает.− Если бы у меня была сестра, я бы с ней не расставался, − продолжает Стайлз несколько уверенней. – Если бы она уехала куда-то, то звонил бы ей каждый день. Наверно. Если бы мы с ней были друзьями. Но, думаю, мы были бы. Мы с отцом почти друзья. И мама тоже была отличным другом, хоть она и мама… да. Мы по воскресеньям выбирались на пикники все вместе, играли в дурацкий мини-гольф, клеили самодельных воздушных змеев, которые не летали, потому что, в общем, нужно было купить одного нормального змея в магазине и не заниматься такой фигней, хоть это и весело. Отец тогда не занимал должность шерифа, у него было больше свободного времени… для всего. Это теперь у него нет лишних полчаса, чтобы заехать на обед… Неважно. Ну, у нас же, типа, была хорошая атмосфера в семье, так? Думаю, мы с сестрой бы любили друг друга. Не как какие-нибудь отморозки из сериала, которые грызутся из-за любой мелочи, вроде того, кто первый займет ванную.− Думаю, у тебя была сестра-близнец, − задумчиво произносит Дерек, − но ты поглотил ее еще в утробе матери, и потому говоришь за двоих.− Ну спасибо, − надувается Стайлз, решив навсегда забросить попытки разговорить Хейла. – Конечно, Стайлз – зло…Он опускает взгляд на носки своих кед, а после – поднимает его к небу и немедленно забывает о том, что намеревался не начинать беседу с Дереком первым больше никогда-никогда-никогда ни за что на свете, даже если солнце потухнет, и мимо в облаке пыли промчатся всадники апокалипсиса.− Ух ты! Смотри, полнолуние! – он указывает на небо, где, за призрачной, отсвечивающей зеленоватым пеленой облаков мерцает луна – такая огромная, что кажется, если хорошенько подпрыгнуть, можно коснуться ее кончиками пальцев.Дерек медленно поднимает голову и с непонятной грустью и в то же время заворожено смотрит на круглый бледный диск на небе.− Круто, − бормочет Стайлз. – Как думаешь, сфоткать для инстаграмма? Все хочу зарегиться там, но, знаешь, все же выкладывают свои фотки, а я не такой чтобы… ну, ты понял, и этот мой нос… Как думаешь, если я буду собирать фотографии луны, у меня вообще будут подписчики?Дерек с трудом отрывает взгляд от луны и переводит его на Стайлза. Хейл все еще выглядит так, будто на него наложили заклятье или вроде того. Стайлз припоминает что-то о том, что на некоторых психически нестабильных полнолуния оказывают странное воздействие, и невольно передергивает плечами. Он просто надеется, что Дерек невротик, а не опасный сумасшедший, который скрывает от всех свою болезнь до тех самых пор, пока не наступает обострение, и он выходит на улицы, чтобы убивать. А может, он и напивался в баре среди недели для того, чтобы заглушить зов кровавой луны?..− Дерек? – тихо зовет Стайлз, не совсем уверенный в том, что поступает правильно. Возможно, ему стоило бы вот прямо сейчас рвануть вверх по улице и не дожидаться того момента, когда шестеренки в голове Хейла провернуться и встанут как надо.− М-м?− Выглядишь… э-э… странновато, − Дерек все еще смотрит так, будто напротив него не Стайлз, а, по меньшей мере, источник волшебной силы. Стайлз делает полшага назад, надеясь, что это не слишком заметно. Хотя, конечно же, нет, не с его текучей пластикой бронтозавра.− Да, я в курсе, − соглашается Дерек, и, боже, даже его голос звучит непривычно. Тихо и низко, и так рокочуще – как будто поток воды переворачивает каменные глыбы.Стайлз ловит себя на том, что хочет положить ладонь на пресс Дерека и почувствовать, как вибрирует в его диафрагме, когда он так говорит.Ну и желаньице.− У меня такие большие уши, чтобы лучше тебя слышать, − продолжает Дерек вкрадчиво.Стайлз чувствует, как короткие волоски на шее встают дыбом. Во рту становится сухо, сердце делает один оглушительно громкий, тяжелый удар, будто собирается пробить грудную клетку, а потом заходится мелкой и частой пульсацией, как при панической атаке.Если Дерек вот так странно смотрит на Стайлза, будто тот – большой вкусный стейк (с кровью, да, ха-ха), да еще и цитирует Шарля Перро, надо делать ноги. Вот только Стайлз не может сдвинуться с места. И, если на то пошло, ему совсем не хочется никуда убегать. Даже если Дерек его съест.− И такие большие… − взгляд Стайлза как нельзя вовремя утыкается в рельефную грудь Хейла, − глаза, − это должно было прозвучать, как шутка, но Стилински и сам понимает – вышло не смешно, а все потому, что его голос предательски дрожит.Хейл ухмыляется, и в этой его усмешке нет почти ничего от того Дерека, которого Стайлз знает. Честно, в ней побольше будет от маньяков из психологических триллеров. Или от тех парней из жесткого порно, одетых лишь в кожаную сбрую, что ждут юных трепетных мальчиков за занавеской в ванной (и плевать, что в этом совсем нет логики). Да, точно, скорее от вторых, чем от первых.Дерек шагает к Стайлзу. Стайлз лихорадочно думает, что это − последний шанс на спасение, нужно немедленно развернуться и припустить со всей дури, но продолжает стоять как вкопанный, и ему так страшно, и в животе так тянет от неясного предвкушения, что, в конце концов, он закрывает глаза, перестав дышать от напряжения, и сдается на милость судьбы. Сейчас Хейл приблизится к нему, а потом обжигающе горячий рот накроет губы Стайлза, шершавый язык, на котором все еще хранится привкус виски, грубо протиснется между его зубов, а мощная, обтянутая джинсой нога – между его колен, и…− Люблю полнолуния… − слышится глубокомысленный голос Дерека.Стайлз вздрагивает, будто его ледяной водой окатили, и распахивает глаза.Боже. Боже. Бо-о-оже.Никто не собирается его есть или насиловать – а также бесцеремонно лапать и целовать взасос. Когда, пару раз глотнув ртом прохладный ночной воздух, Стайлз все-таки собирается в кучу и делает это (такое очевидное) открытие, он готов застонать в голос. О нет. Нет. Хуже и быть не может, но, похоже, он только что замечтался (о чем-то, предполагавшем надругательство над ним) наяву, и у него встало.Бум! Очередной прекрасный момент для самовозгорания. Стайлз не сомневается, что его член будет полыхать особенно бодро… ну, потому что в некотором роде он уже это делает.Радует лишь одно: кретинский Хейл стоит к нему боком и таращится наверх, будто небесная канцелярия спонтанно организовала там гигантский кинотеатр.− М-да… − выдыхает Стайлз, засовывая руки в карманы мешковатой куртки и насколько возможно сильно оттягивая ее спереди. Впрочем, его тут же посещает идея, что так его состояние становится еще очевидней − просто потому, что найдется мало уникумов, желающих, чтобы их верхняя одежда выглядела как переносная сауна. – Луна красивая. Большая. Круглая. Белая. Ну, точнее, желто-зеленая… М-да.Они стоят на месте еще пару минут: Дерек бестолково пялится в небо, Стайлз глубоко дышит, стараясь успокоиться, и надеется, что выглядит хотя бы в половину не так нелепо, как чувствует себя.− Все это, конечно, очень здорово, но, может, продолжим наше увлекательное путешествие? – предлагает Стайлз, когда от прохладного ночного воздуха и затянувшейся паузы ему становится совсем неуютно.Дерек кивает, не смотря в его сторону.Остаток дороги до дома Стилински (очень, очень долгой дороги) они преодолевают молча. Временами Стайлз мечтает научиться трансгрессировать, временами его начинает клонить в сон. Дерек отчего-то становится все мрачнее и мрачнее, и грозовые тучи едва ли не сгущаются над его головой. Стайлз опасается предпринимать еще одну попытку что-то выяснить. Прошлая привела к слишком уж неожиданным последствиям.У подъездной дорожки стайлзова дома они останавливаются.− Я пойду, − говорит Стайлз вместо прощания, но это отчего-то звучит как вопрос. Хотя и не должно. Ему совсем не нужно разрешение Дерека ничего-не-видящего-дальше-собственного-носа Хейла, чтобы пойти домой.Они же не в шоколатерии.− Угу, − мычит Дерек, смотря на Стайлза в упор. Как будто хочет еще что-то сказать, но не может. Заклинило.Стайлз медлит. Ему хочется дождаться продолжения фразы – потому что, он готов поклясться на что угодно (кроме джипа и красной толстовки, и набора инвентаря для лакросса, который он за каким-то чертом до сих пор хранит, потому что, облачившись в форму и взяв клюшку, он выглядит так, будто на самом деле подает большие надежды), продолжение будет.Ну, или было бы, если бы события дурацкой жизни Стилински разворачивались в каком-нибудь не слишком интеллектуальном сериале для подростков. Тогда бы Дерек со Стайлзом неловко помялись бы еще пару минут, обмениваясь ничего не значащими репликами, а потом присосались бы друг к другу и сгорали в порыве страсти (или что там обычно делают в таком случае сериальные люди под драматическую музыку?), пока внезапно не сработали бы распылители для полива или кто-то из соседей не посигналил бы, чтобы прервать это торжество вечной любви.Дерек по-прежнему стоит напротив него и чего-то ждет − наверно, когда Стайлз наконец соизволит зайти в дом. Поняв, что и Стайлз чего-то ждет, Хейл вопросительно приподнимает брови. Жаль, что это не сериал для подростков.− До завтра, − вконец отчаявшись, кивает Дереку Стайлз и бредет к дому.В одном из окон второго этажа видно, как шериф Стилински ходит по комнате. Ну вот, уже так поздно, а он все еще не спит.− Спи… хорошо, − скрипучим, каким-то чужим голосом бросает Дерек в спину Стайлзу.Стайлз оборачивается и долго наблюдает за тем, как его работодатель и, по совместительству, повелитель странностей идет вниз по улице.* * *Пожелание Дерека не сбывается.Стайлз знает, что оно не сбудется, еще до того, как ложится в постель. А приняв горизонтальное положение и опустив голову на подушку, лишь еще больше уверяется в этом. Хорошо спать после такого? Нифига! Стайлзу трудно заставить себя лежать спокойно, стоит ли говорить о сне?..− Ахаха, Стайлз, ты такой идиот, − говорит он сам себе вполголоса, смотря в темный потолок. Ему нужно поговорить с кем-то, рассказать о своем эпическом провале, который настолько ужасен, что, честно говоря, лучше бы вообще промолчать о нем, чтобы ни одна живая душа не узнала… Это ведь был провал? Стайлз повел себя, как слюнявый герой романтической комедии – весь потянулся вперед, прикрыл глаза, едва губы трубочкой не сложил… И что его ждало? Облом. Самый обломный облом в истории Бейкон Хиллз. Даже тот облом, который Стайлзу пришлось пережить с Лидией, тянет на второе место, потому что эту «прогулку под луной» не переплюнет ничто. Ни-что. О, хотя постойте, переплюнет! Если Стайлз на работе или где-нибудь еще, где роится неисчислимое множество народу, кончит в штаны от случайного прикосновения Дерека или тому подобной фигни, а кто-то быстрый и предприимчивый снимет его на смартфон и выложит потом в сеть, это, несомненно, будет покруче практически невинного случайного стояка…Стайлз, не в силах вынести ужасающих видений, издает звук, до стыдного похожий на хныканье, и опускает подушку себе на лицо. Нет, он совсем не хочет задохнуться. Или хочет. Он еще не решил. Потом – после того, как он облажается еще раз (а он облажается) – будет уже поздно, и даже если он покончит с собой тогда (при условии, что не запорет и это), все в любом случае будут помнить его как «того самого парня, что спустил при всех».Боже, с ним это даже не случилось. Зачем он вообще о таком думает?..Стайлзу становится жарко под подушкой, поэтому, закончив с самобичеванием, он возвращает ее обратно под голову. Вот. Намного лучше.В конце концов, все не так катастрофично, как ему казалось поначалу. Дерек даже не заметил великий провал Стайлза. Не заметил же? Вроде нет. Или, по крайней мере, не подал вида, что тоже неплохо. Хотя… как посмотреть. Стайлз начинает подозревать, что он не интересен не только противоположному полу, но и вообще никому. Никто его не замечает. Никто не замечает даже его потугов понравиться. Правда, он не слишком пытался понравиться Дереку… Лидии – да, но Дереку… Да он даже не начинал!Стайлз неожиданно для самого себя подрывается с кровати и несется к ноутбуку.Вот! Точно! Может, в этом все дело? Стайлз не старался. Просто стоял там, одетый в эти свои дурацкие шмотки (они ужасно удобные, но ведь никто, ни один крутой парень в кино про крутых парней не ходит в удобной одежде), делал идиотское лицо и прикрывал глаза, когда, по его мнению, наступил самый подходящий момент для поцелуя. Разве так добиваются чьего-то внимания? Разумеется, нет.Пальцы Стилински успевают набрать в строке поиска «как добиться внимания па…», когда Стайлз наконец прозревает.− О, ну круто, − оторопело говорит он. Потому что – ну да, круто. То, чем он сейчас занимается – слишком круто, и не в хорошем смысле.Это же самый настоящий вынос мозга!− Я гей, − произносит Стайлз, пристально разглядывая незаконченный поисковый запрос. Можно было бы соврать себе и придумать, например, что ему хотелось узнать «как добиться внимания папы» (так как, в общем, немного внимания со стороны шерифа Стилински – тоже неплохо), но все равно в глубине души он будет знать, что это неправда. – Стайлз Стилински – гей. Да. Здравствуйте, меня зовут Стайлз Стилински, и я гей, − говорит он «официальным тоном», которым собирается давать интервью после выхода своей гениальной книги… или гениального фильма… или чего-то другого, несомненно гениального, к чему он приложит руку (ведь он же долбанутый! Долбанутые просто обязаны быть гениями, иначе зачем им такое счастье?). – Да, мне сорок три, и я одинок, потому что, знаете, все, кому я когда-либо готов был отдать свое сердце… и девственность… не пишите про девственность, это не для прессы… так вот, все меня игнорировали. Даже странно, что вы не игнорируете меня. Наверно, это потому, что я вас не хочу, − здесь он должен обаятельно и бархатисто посмеяться. Или хотя бы обаятельно. Ладно, черт с ним, он посмеется, как умеет, все равно читатели воображаемой газеты из далекого будущего его не услышат. − Хотя, возможно, еще и потому, что мой новый детектив «Клыкастый месяц» стал бестселлером, а мне заплатили столько, что я смог купить себе квартиру в Нью-Йорке и новый старый джип, потому что у меня такая фишка – ездить на старых джипах… И, знаете, про квартиру и джип, пожалуй, не пишите тоже.Стайлз закрывает лицо рукой. О да, такими темпами он и на своем интервью через двадцать шесть наполненных одиночеством, разговорами с собой и унылой мастурбацией лет облажается. Как пить дать. А почти-пятидесятилетний Хейл, чей пресс все еще вполне впечатляющ, и сорокатрехлетняя Лидия, сделавшая первую в жизни подтяжку лица, от души над ним посмеются. Но, может, Лидия и не будет смеяться. Из-за ботокса, конечно.Ладно. Все это будет нескоро, и, может, к тому времени Стайлз научится не болтать всякую чушь. Или наоборот, чушь принесет ему популярность и станет его отличительной особенностью. Вот это было бы здорово…Мечты о далеком будущем успокаивают Стайза. Он закрывает компьютер и вновь укладывается в кровать. Нужно выспаться. Завтра будет большой день. Стайлз поговорит с Денни и уж на этот раз выяснит все, что только сможет: о себе, о Дереке, о всевозможных трюках и уловках, способных привлечь внимание кого-то очень симпатичного и сексуального к кому-то очень обычному и не слишком привлекательному… Глаза слипаются. Стайлз едва успевает удивиться этому – надо же, а он только приготовился изучать потолок своей комнаты до самого утра, − как засыпает.Ему снится, как он, сорокатрехлетний, но по-прежнему щуплый, с глупым подростковым лицом и кучей родинок там и сям, сидит перед телевизором, а на экране определенно не пятидесятилетний Дерек в заставке какого-то сериала высокохудожественно обмазывает себя вязкой темной массой – не то мазутом, не то растопленным шоколадом. На коленях у Стайлза лежит газета, открытая как раз на там, где главный редактор отдела современного искусства госпожа Уиттмор-Мартин пишет о том, какого поразительного успеха подчас добиваются детективщики, на протяжении всей жизни занимавшиеся сексом лишь со своей правой рукой. Сорокатрехлетний Стайлз вздыхает и, послюнявив палец, переворачивает страницу.
1094167	Eruri Week	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Erwin Smith", "Fandom": "Shingeki no Kyojin \| Attack on Titan", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by SavDeFuq", "chapters": "1/?", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-22T00:00:00", "words": "1,795", "Additional Tags": "AU, Alternate Universe, snk, attack on titan - Freeform, definitely not safe for work or anywhere else, old men yaois", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "eruri, Levi/Erwin Smith, Levi & Erwin Smith, irvin smith/levi", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	They hadn’t been living together long, but Hanji and Levi’s apartment was unusually, incredibly organized, at least for two college students. What little space they had to store their belongings was compulsively arranged to allow maximum living space. Levi was glad that the crumbling building at least had an elevator, clunky and precarious as it was, and that he and Hanji were on the sixth floor because it allowed the snow on Levi’s docs to melt on the way up. Levi fished through his coat pockets for the key to their door and twisted it as deftly as his still frozen fingers would allow. Once he was inside, he set several grocery bags on the ground and unlaced his shoes. They had thrown a pre-Christmas party which had seen Hanji’s frantic attempts to make Christmas cookies from scratch, more alcohol consumption than usual, and the half hazard construction of their Christmas tree. Levi prayed that the disaster was no longer decorating the place, because he had accidentally invited Erwin over for Christmas eve and Levi was nervous enough already. One look at the living room and kitchen after he set his shoes in the corner was enough, and Levi heaved a huge sigh. Contrary to what everyone thought, he didn’t particularly enjoy cleaning. It was therapeutic, but Levi was always the one doing it, even the few times he had visited Erwin’s penthouse apartment all the way uptown. Suffice it to say that the place was a clusterfuck. Hanji’s biology books and notes were strewn about the coffee table alongside a tape dispenser and scissors. Frilly notebook paper edges adorned one arm of the couch like snow, and rolled out wrapping paper sat next to their Christmas tree of choice. The tree was made entirely of beer cans donated by Mike, Petra, Auruo, Nanaba, and their other friends. Standing at five feet, it was almost as tall as Levi himself, who thought it looked trashy, but still liked it a little. Sort of. Still, the place looked like a war zone and thank god that Erwin wasn’t there to see it. What kind of impression was that to make? Levi thought he’d die of embarrassment.“Hanji?” Levi called, but there was no answer. He shifted the weight of the plastic grocery bags from one hand to the other and walked toward the bathroom. Hanji was there, headphones on, lip syncing into a hairbrush.“H a n j i!!!” “Huh? What? Oh, hey Levi!” Hanji pulled the big headphones off of their head and set them on the toilet lid. “What the hell is with this nasty apartment?” “Sorry!” Hanji smiled and pinned their hair up in a clip. “I can help you clean, if you want.”“Don’t worry about it. I, uh…I have to ask you a favor.”“Yeah?” “I need you to go out for a few hours tonight.”“Not a problem! Mike invited me over, I didn’t tell you?” Hanji continued fixing their hair, which Levi almost never saw them do, and as he turned around so he could get to work he was thankful that they didn’t ask him why.“Wait a second, why?”Levi thought too soon, apparently.“Uh. Well, Erwin is coming over.”“Really?!” Hanji nearly screeched. “Finally! Geez you’ve been seeing him for how long, now? He’s finally showing up, sir mystery man. Damn, can I stay to meet him at least?”“No. And he's not a mystery man, he just works a lot.”“Party pooper.” Levi said nothing as Hanji giggled and replaced their headphones. He stashed the empty plastic bags behind one beige cabinet door and got to work. There was a measuring bowl in the sink with cookie goo all over it, and again, Levi sighed. The cloudy water in the bowl did nothing for his nerves. “Sooooo…” Hanji rested their elbows on the counter, slightly raised above the sink. Levi scowled. They were wearing his obnoxiously red Christmas sweater, with the words ‘Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal’ emblazoned on the front. At least it was an improvement from the green Rudolph one they had worn last night to the party, complete with a light up nose and knitted pom-pom snow clouds. “So what?”“Sooooo did you invite him, or did he ask to see our humble abode?” “Dammit Hanji, I don’t wanna explain it.”“I want you to!” They smiled.“I accidentally invited him.” “How do you accidentally invite someone to your apartment?” Hanji checked the time on their flip phone. “Well, he said he declined his parents’ invitation to visit them in L.A. and I let it slip that I wasn’t doing anything, since Mike’s party was on the twenty-third, and that I’d probably be alone tonight, and then he smiled and I asked him.” Levi admitted.“That doesn’t sound accidental.”“Well it was. And…” Levi looked up at the kitchen clock, which read 6:15. “And he’s gunna be here in 45 minutes.”“Ah, the pull of a lover’s smile.”“Shut. Up.” “I’m outta here.” Hange smiled, pulled their boots on and left, which gave Levi exactly forty five minutes to finish the dishes and hop in the shower, the rest of the apartment be damned. It looked as if it was going to be an evening of mess related humiliation. Levi pulled on the cleanest clothes he had, and combed his hair. Not a second after he finished, his phone buzzed. Erwin had texted him ‘I’m in the lobby’, and Levi figured that the man was probably already thinking what a dump the place was. He certainly would after he walked through the door. Levi yanked on his boots but didn’t bother to lace them, and half-ran, half-tripped down the stairs. There was no waiting for the elevator. “Hi.” He said to Erwin when he spotted him. Little snowflakes decorated Erwin’s hair and eyelashes, though Levi hadn’t noticed that it had begun to snow until then. “I’m on the sixth floor,” he said as he punched the button to call the elevator, “and this thing is slow as fuck.”“It’s fine, Levi.” The way Erwin said his name sent chills up Levi’s spine that had nothing to do with the draft in the lobby. “Thank you for inviting me.”“No problem. There’s no food. I mean, I bought some but…?” it came out as more of a question than a statement.“That’s not a problem.” Erwin smiled sincerely.Levi twisted the key in the lock again, having sealed the door, even though he was only gone for a few minutes. He didn’t want to be too careful. He’d lived in shitty places before and didn’t take chances like that anymore. He slid his shoes off and put them on top of the newspaper; Erwin did the same. “You can throw your coat on the couch or something.” Erwin smirked as he removed his scarf and left it and his coat neatly over the couch arm. “That’s a rather unique tree.” He smirked.“Oh. Yeah. My roommate and our friends made it.” Levi took a few steps away from it so his height and its height weren’t so glaringly similar. “It’s certainly better than mine.” “I’m sorry it’s such a fucking dump.” The words were out of Levi before he could restrain them. “My roommate and I had a party and there was no time.”“If it bothers you, I can help.”“No, no way. It’s fine.”“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” Erwin smiled again. His complete honesty jarred Levi, sometimes. “If we both do it, it’ll pass quicker.”To Levi, there was no such thing as a “quick” cleaning job, but for the sake of appeasing his too-nice, too-honest boyfriend, he nodded. Levi was surprised at how many excuses two people had to touch each other when they were working on the same job. In the living room as they looked around on the floor for stray strips of wrapping paper, Erwin bumped against Levi a few times. Their hands brushed and they met one another’s gaze a few times; Levi was always the first to break it, and as he lay several wine bottles in his spotless sink, Erwin’s arms found their place around Levi’s waist from behind. “See? Not so long.” “Thanks.” Levi didn’t know why he was at a loss for words. He was still a little embarrassed about the disaster, but perhaps more so because Erwin could read him so easily. It wasn’t so much the things Levi said as it was the way he said them, if he said them. If he didn’t, well, both Erwin and Levi were frequent speakers of body language.“So,” Erwin started.“So?”“Your roommate isn’t here?” Erwin’s voice was near a whisper as he pressed his lips against the back of Levi’s neck. “Nope. They’ll probably be home super fucking late.” Levi’s voice shook a little, but he let himself ease into Erwin’s backward embrace and allowed the man to trail soft kisses down his neck and between his unfortunately clothed shoulders. Levi turned around and met Erwin’s gaze. The spark between them ignited a soft fire in the pit of Levi’s stomach, but then, it always did. As he wondered whether it did the same for Erwin, their lips clashed together roughly. Erwin pulled Levi as close as he could, but their difference in stature wasn’t exactly ideal for kissing. Levi couldn’t stand on his tip toes forever and Erwin couldn't awkwardly half-bend-down for very long. A few languid kisses later Erwin gently lifted Levi onto the counter beside the sink. The warmth in Levi’s abdomen spread through the rest of his body and set his stomach to roiling. He could feel his face getting warm and his pants were becoming distinctly uncomfortable under the pressure of his erection. Levi let one of his hands rest on the other's chest and gently ran his fingers through Erwin's hair. Even the stubble on the back of the other man's neck was soft. Erwin had his arms around Levi's waist still, and rubbed lazy circles on Levi's back with one of his thumbs as their lips parted. Both sensations at once were enough to send Levi over the edge and he allowed a quiet moan to escape against Erwin's lips. Both of them kissed as if it would be their last chance to do so, as if nothing else mattered at all. Levi slid forward a little and wrapped his legs around Erwin's waist, his growing erection be damned. He tilted his head back so Erwin could nip at the soft skin beneath his ear and behind him, the window showed that the snow was coming down heavily. If it stayed like that, Hanji probably wouldn't come home at all.
1014971	Vo slavu Rodiny i Bogha	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Original Work", "Language": "Русский", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Rubin_Red", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-23T00:00:00", "words": "5,274", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Москва, год 20ХХ. – Эй, куда прешь?! – крикнула Таня, и посигналила. – Вот уроды, подрезают. Ну конечно, сегодня все несутся в центр. Черт, мы уже опаздываем. Марина искоса глянула на свою подругу и снова отвернулась. В центре всегда были пробки, а по воскресеньям теперь особенная толчея. Даже в метро не лучше. Люди будто с ума сошли, хотя, наверное, так оно и есть. Наконец Таня притормозила у обочины. – Ладно, дальше пешком пройдем, иначе точно к началу опоздаем, вся Тверская стоит, а Моховая вообще перекрыта. Ты чего там застряла? – Ничего, иду, – тихо проговорила Марина и нехотя вылезла из салона, зябко поежилась. На улице почти лето, на удивление теплый апрель, а внутри пробирало холодом – в последнее время почти постоянно. Таня торопилась и подгоняла. Марине же хотелось развернуться и бежать домой, запереться в квартире и представить, что все хорошо, что она живет не в Москве, а где-нибудь в глухой деревне, куда еще не добралась вся эта прекрасная цивилизация. Но она не могла так поступить. Они нырнули в переход, толпа пронесла их через Манежную площадь, и через арку они попали на Красную – гордость москвичей и когда-то основное место туристического паломничества. Людской поток тек к центру, к Лобному месту. Люди стояли в ожидании, окружив плотным кольцом возвышение. Таня схватила Марину за руку и потащила вглубь, всех расталкивая и огрызаясь на недовольных. В итоге они оказались почти у самой каменной ограды. Высокий бортик не позволял заглянуть внутрь, но ничего интересного там и так не было – обычная площадка с невысоким пьедесталом по центру. Не так давно это место перестало быть всего лишь архитектурным памятником, теперь у него было иное предназначение. Народ зашумел и расступился под напором полицейских, прокладывавшим путь для патриарха Гавриила. Всем было интересно увидеть главу Церкви вблизи, детей поднимали повыше, чтобы им было лучше видно. Стоило патриарху подняться на возвышение, как вокруг все замолчали, боясь даже словом обмолвиться. – Доброго дня, дети мои, – обратился патриарх к людям. – С каждым разом вас все больше приходит, и от этого мое сердце наполняется счастьем. Нет большей радости для служителя нашей великой Церкви, чем видеть что люди наконец осознали, что важнее всего. А именно – Бог и соблюдение заповедей Его. Патриарх вещал в микрофон, и его голос разносился по всей площади. Установленные по периметру динамики позволяли каждому услышать все до последнего слова. Марина покосилась на свою подругу. Та смотрела на патриарха с благоговением, сжимая в ладони крестик. И не она одна. Многие почитали патриарха как святого. – Одновременно с радостью, – продолжал меж тем патриарх, – в моем сердце и грусть от того, что придется сейчас сделать. Но зло нужно искоренять. Дьявол бродит среди нас! Он изыскивает всевозможные способы, чтобы отвратить истинного православного от веры. Опасайтесь, дети мои! Будьте начеку! Осмотритесь вокруг, не пробралось ли зло в ваше окружение! Глаза патриарха Гавриила едва ли не горели священным огнем. Марина подумала, что ему только широко распахнутых крыльев не хватает, чтобы окончательно походить на архангела, открывающего тайное знание Бога. – Каждый человек от рождения грешен, но чистыми помыслами, исправным служением Богу и своей Родине он может искупить свой первородный грех. Иисус принес великую жертву ради вас, помните об этом. Давайте помолимся, прежде чем приступим к экзекуции. Патриарх опустился на колени и все люди на площади тут же последовали его примеру. Марина посмотрела вокруг, на склоненные головы и ей хотелось вскочить и закричать во весь голос. Неважно что, лишь бы встряхнуть всех этих людей, вынужденных следовать установленным правилам. Но, наверное, она слишком труслива. Многие с радостью и рвением, достойным лучшего применения, исполняли положенные ритуалы. Таня пнула ее локтем в бок и сурово посмотрела. Марина тут же опустила голову и сложила ладони в молитвенном жесте. Патриарх проговаривал слова молитвы "Отче наш", и шепот вокруг вторил ему. Марине казалось, что эти звуки больше похожи на копошение насекомых. Ее даже передернуло. – … и не введи нас в искушение, но избавь нас от лукавого, – с этими словами патриарх трижды перекрестился и поднялся. Затем он дал знак одному из своих прислужников. Внимание людей сосредоточилось на веренице идущих мужчин. Полицейские удерживали натиск толпы, но чем ближе мужчины подходили к Лобному месту, тем сложнее получалось удерживать толпу. Тишина нарушилась чьим-то криком, который будто сигналом послужил для остальных. Со всех сторон послышались ругательства и проклятия. Ненависть буквально сгустилась над головами арестованных, идущих на экзекуцию. Их завели на возвышение и пристегнули наручниками к кольцам на ограждении Лобного места. В этот раз их было немного – двенадцать человек. Разного возраста, комплекции. Одеты они были, как и полагалось для этого мероприятия: длинные женские ночные рубашки. Такие на рынках продаются или в палатках, уродливые и бесформенные. Когда-то Марина подобную рубашку покупала своей бабушке. Теперь, наверное, их никто не покупает для себя. – Посмотрите на этих… мужчин, – с намеренной заминкой произнес патриарх. – Обычные с виду, таких вы встречаете каждый день на улицах нашей страны, на работе или в магазине. Но внутри них поселился грех, самый страшный. Они предавались содомии. Вглядитесь в их лица! Они несчастны и слишком слабы, чтобы противостоять дьявольским козням. Они потворствовали своим низменным потребностям, своей похоти. Они намеренно шли по ложному пути и так и не раскаялись. Они попрали мораль нашего государства, наплевали на заповеди Господни. Мы должны поступить, как сам Господь – излил огонь на головы жителей Содома. Это наш долг, дети мои. – Ты только посмотри на них, – зашипела на ухо Таня. – Моральные уроды. Марина ничего не ответила, она лишь смотрела на мужчин, которых привели для экзекуции. Кто-то держался, смотрел вдаль и игнорировал происходящее, кто-то плакал и дрожал, а один усмехался, презрительно и гордо глядя на толпу. – Сашка, – вдруг прошептала Марина и тут же закрыла рот рукой, оглядываясь, никто ли не услышал, что она узнала одного из приговоренных. Но ее услышали и недовольно зашикали. – Ты чего? – наклонилась к ней Таня. – Сашка… – снова повторила Марина, все еще не веря, что один из стоящих на Лобном месте ее бывший одноклассник. – Узнала кого-то? – и поскольку Марина не ответила, Таня проследила ее взгляд. – Да, неприятно. – Господи, как же так?.. – Чего ревешь, дура? Жалеешь, что ли, этого педика? Туда ему и дорога, уроду! Марину отвлек голос патриарха, зачитывающего имена приговоренных, места их работы и адреса проживания. Все должны знать, кто эти грешники, где жили и чем занимались. А потом патриарх спустился с возвышения и махнул рукой. Двое людей в огнестойких пожарных костюмах поднялись и облили приговоренных бензином. Осталось лишь поджечь. Эта честь принадлежала патриарху. Лобное место вспыхнуло факелом, взметнулся огонь в небо. Крики сжигаемых заживо разносились по площади, смешивались с восклицаниями, пожеланиями смерти содомитам, прославлениями Бога. Площадь буквально гудела, словно в священном экстазе. Марине казалось, что она попала в один из тех жутких фильмов о средневековье, где на кострах сжигали женщин, которых заподозрили в колдовстве. Тогда тоже Церковь выступала главным обвинителем. Минуло много столетий, а доводы остались прежними. Марина дрожала все сильнее, она задыхалась. Ужасный запах разъедал ноздри словно кислотой. Зачем они подошли так близко? Это невозможно вытерпеть. Если Бог есть на свете, как он может допускать такое? Вскоре крики стихли, патриарх Гавриил всех благословил и люди начали расходиться, а уборщики начали убирать сгоревшие трупы с Лобного места, ставшего уже черным от въевшейся в них копоти. – Ты чего застыла? – дернула Таня Марину. – Ну что, пойдем в кино? В "Пушкинском" премьера "Великой России". Эй, ты чего? Плохо? Да, запашок тот еще конечно. Ну ничего. Кофе выпьем, и все пройдет. А еще лучше, поедим. А то ты опять, наверное, голодная. До машины они добрались минут через сорок, толпа расходилась медленно и нехотя, многие бурно обсуждали экзекуцию, свои проблемы, детей, меню на ужин или программу дальнейшего развлечения. Выехать из центра снова оказалось непросто, но вскоре пробка рассосалась, и через некоторое время Таня притормозила у ресторана "Рецептор" и тут же потащила Марину внутрь. – Чего скисла? – бодро спросила Таня, когда они сели за столик. Официант тут же положил перед ними меню. – Ну? – Не люблю я это, сама знаешь. Эти казни… – Ты должна радоваться очищению нации от опухолей вроде этих гомиков. – Наверное. – Тебе жалко того?.. Ну, ты вроде узнала одного. Не жалей. Таких надо истреблять, стране только на пользу пойдет, если мы избавимся… – Перестань, – не выдержала Таня. – Давай сменим тему. – Ты такая жалостливая. Не знай я, что ты тоже против гомосексуализма, то решила бы что защищаешь их, – Таня пристально посмотрела поверх меню на свою собеседницу. – Нет, что ты, – испугалась Марина и принялась судорожно искать телефон, чтобы чем-то занять подрагивающие руки. Она улыбнулась подруге. – Ты замерзла. Нужно выпить горячего чаю или чего покрепче. Ты не за рулем, значит, можно. – Не нужно. Но Таня не стала слушать, а тут же подозвала официанта и сделала заказ, и за Марину тоже, не интересуясь, хочет ли та пасту или нет. – Я хочу написать заявление, чтобы меня перевели в отдел дознания, – сказала Таня, когда официант отошел. – Надоело с бумажками возиться. Сколько можно? Не хочешь со мной? А то тоже сидишь там со своими цифрами. Зазвонил телефон и избавил Марину от необходимости отвечать. Звонили с работы и просили подъехать сегодня вечером – бухгалтерия не справляется, а грядет конец отчетного периода. – Вот! – воскликнула Таня, когда Марина отключилась и пообещала приехать. – Видишь? Тебе даже отдохнуть в законный выходной не дают. – Это моя работа, и она мне нравится. – Ну, как знаешь. О, вот и наш заказ. Таня принялась с аппетитом поглощать стейк с кровью, а Марина старалась делать вид, что ест пасту, хотя кусок в горло не лез. Людей в ресторане было много, практически все столики заняты. То тут, то там вспыхивал смех, играла легкая музыка – обычный выходной день в столице, когда можно выйти из дому и посвятить время себе – сходить по магазинам, пообедать с друзьями или семьей. И посетить экзекуцию. Кода все стали воспринимать происходящее как само собой разумеющееся? Почему? Хотя не Марине задаваться такими вопросами. Ведь она поступает как все. Потому что страшно поступить иначе. Страшно отличаться от других, иметь иное мнение, быть другим. Это, мягко говоря, не поощряется. – Ты снова дрожишь, – Таня положила свою ладонь поверх ее и чуть сжала. Марина еле сдержалась, чтобы с отвращением не отдернуть. – Выпей. Марина послушно выпила бокал вина залпом. Она с удовольствием выпила бы коньяка, но он полгода как запрещен. Крепкие спиртные напитки пагубно влияют на человека, как и табак, который тоже уже под запретом. Патриарх Гавриил каждую неделю говорит об этом в своих напутствиях. Таня все болтала о том, как ей поскорее хочется перейти в другой отдел, работать с людьми. Обрабатывать и посылать на казнь, хотелось уточнить Марине, но она лишь кивала и ждала, когда закончится этот бесконечный обед.До "Пушкинского" они добрались быстро и успели на четырехчасовой сеанс. Давно рекламируемый фильм "Великая Россия" наконец вышел в прокат. Фойе кинотеатра было заполнено зрителями и полицейскими, следившими за порядком. Билеты удалось взять почти сразу, теперь здесь работало два десятка касс, в которых хотя и были очереди, но двигались они быстро. Перед началом сеанса всех попросили отключить мобильные телефоны и воздержаться от еды и напитков. Конечно, подумалось Марине, следует сосредоточиться на фильме, а не жевать попкорн. Сначала показали несколько роликов социальной рекламы, в том числе и о вреде гомосексуализма. Марина сглотнула, когда мелькнули кадры съемок одной из экзекуций и лицо патриарха крупным планом. Она поняла, что не сможет высидеть два часа в этом зале. Ей стало душно, тошнота подкатила к горлу. – Мне плохо, я выйду, – прошептала Марина Тане и быстро поднялась, пока та не начала спрашивать, что случилось. В очередной чертов раз! На выходе из зала ей преградил путь полицейский: – Вернитесь в зал. – Я не могу, мне плохо. Полицейский окинул ее взглядом, но с пути не сошел. Марина попыталась его обойти, но он не пускал. И она не сдержалась, согнулась пополам, и ее вывернуло прямо на его начищенные сапоги. – Какого черта! – Простите, – прошептала Марина и, воспользовавшись его замешательством, быстро протиснулась мимо и буквально побежала в туалет. Умывание холодной водой освежило, хотя трясти стало еще больше. Но нужно было взять себя в руки. И Марина взяла, а потом спокойно вышла и поехала на работу. Жизнь идет своим чередом.Марина вернулась домой за полночь, уставшая и опустошенная. Олег уже спал. Она вошла в его комнату и поцеловала в лоб, аккуратно, чтобы не разбудить. – Спокойной ночи, сынок, – прошептала она и тихо вышла, прикрыв за собой дверь. А потом заперлась в ванной и сползла по стене на пол. Наконец она осталась одна и могла дать волю своим чувствам. Этот день совершенно выбил из колеи. Только казалось, будто смирилась, хотя вернее будет сказать, закрыла глаза на происходящее. Всегда проще сделать вид, что неприятного и мерзкого не существует, отгородиться стеной от окружающей действительности, с головой погрузиться в цифры и расчеты, где все просто и логично. Но реальность тараном врывается в с трудом установленное равновесие. Сметает на пути преграды, оставляет обломки и пепел. Вот она реальность – экзекуция. Люди вокруг, жаждущие крови и смерти подобных себе, лишь немного отличающихся от остальных. Разве они заслужили смерть? Сашка заслужил? Марина закусила кулак, чтобы не заорать в голос. Сашка – ее первая любовь. Все девчонки в классе были от него без ума. Раздолбай и хулиган. А кому не нравятся плохие мальчики? У него была милая улыбка и пронзительный взгляд, слишком серьезный для шестнадцатилетнего парня. Конечно, никто не догадывался, что ему нравятся мальчики. Хотя в то время еще не казнили за гомосексуализм, однако неоднозначное отношение к геям было всегда. Они скрывали свои предпочтения. И Сашка только строил глазки девчонкам и улыбался. Марина вместе со всеми вздыхала, рисовала сердечки на полях тетради и слушала песни о безответной любви. Она недавно как раз вспоминала его, когда наткнулась на его страницу на Одноклассниках и постеснялась попроситься в друзья. Он уже не был Сашкой, теперь это уже Александр Николаевич. Марина написала его сестре и ненавязчиво расспросила. Он стал архитектором, и весьма успешным. Купил дом в Подмосковье в одном из тех элитных поселков, которые Марина видела лишь по телевизору. Был женат, в разводе, детей нет. А потом Марина выбросила его из головы, окунувшись в собственные проблемы, которых и так хватало матери-одиночке. И она не ожидала увидеть его на Лобном месте в жуткой ночной рубашке. Он не боялся. Вот что странно. Шел на смерть и не боялся, так как считал, что ему не в чем раскаиваться. И он был прав. Хотя огонь быстро выжег всю его гордость. Сложно держать лицо, когда тебя заживо сжигают. Он кричал, корчился и рвался, как и остальные. Больше не было ничего человеческого в объятых пламенем фигурах. И не было человеческого ни в одном из зрителей этого жуткого средневекового представления. Марина не могла сдержать слез. Она оплакивала Сашку, многих других сожженных на площади, свою трусость и беспомощность, будущее своего сына, который вскоре вырастет и ему придется жить в этом странном мире. Оставалось лишь молиться, чтобы его тянуло к девушкам, а не к парням. У Марины каждый раз сердце едва не останавливалось, когда она думала об этом. Вскоре он подрастет, и она станет бояться еще сильнее.*С каждым разом было все противнее смотреть на себя в зеркало. Марина даже краситься перестала, а причесывалась не глядя, затягивала волосы в хвост и шла на работу, все равно ей не перед кем красоваться. С тех пор как погиб ее муж три года назад, она сосредоточилась на своем сыне – единственном родном человеке, оставшемся у нее. Она думала, боль пройдет. Может потом так и будет. Время ведь лечит, не правда ли? А пока оставалось лишь сжимать зубы и идти вперед. Ей есть ради кого жить. Слишком многих она потеряла. Родители умерли, когда она была маленькой, почти и не помнила их, воспитывали ее бабушка и дедушка, и будто дожидались, когда она станет самостоятельной, чтобы уйти следом. А по отцовской линии не было никого – детдомовский он был. Как и муж. Это, наверное, судьба, смеялась тогда Марина. Теперь уже не было смешно. А друзья… С друзьями как-то не сложилось. Некогда ей особо было. Недавно появилась в ее жизни Таня, они случайно познакомились, когда привели своих детей в поликлинику, разговорились, обменялись телефонами. Марина потом сто раз пожалела, что встретила ее. Как после выяснилось, работала Таня в Отделе Морали и Нравственности, и занималась сортировкой поступающих к ним в огромных количествах доносах и жалобах о нарушениях. Марина ее побаивалась. А та будто и не замечала, что их дружба вовсе не искренняя и односторонняя. Хотя, может, и сама Таня не испытывала ни к кому теплых чувств. Однажды, когда поначалу Марина пыталась с ней спорить и объясняла свою точку зрения, то спросила, что бы она делала, если бы ее сын или дочь обнаружили в себе тягу к своему полу. "Я бы лично сожгла их", – ответила Таня, и Марина поняла, что свое мнение стоит оставить при себе. Она хотела отойти в сторону, пыталась избегать встреч, отговаривалась работой и массой иных причин. Но Таня была на диво настойчивой. И Марина периодически с ней встречалась. Они ходили по магазинам или в кино. Приходилось выслушивать ее бесконечные выпады о гомосексуализме и оды патриарху Гавриилу. Благо, поддерживать разговор почти не приходилось, потому что Таня слушала только себя, собеседник ей был нужен лишь "для мебели". А Марина боялась возразить ей, боялась обратить на себя пристальное внимание, боялась оказаться одной из бумаг на ее столе, что приводят на Лобное место. Конечно, сжигали не всех. Церковь вывела степени греховности. Сожжению подлежали мужчины-гомосексуалисты. Но Церковь ведь добра, она не отправляет на костер по первому доносу. Сначала с человеком, которого обвинили, священник проводит ряд бесед, объясняя, насколько губителен его грех для души и общества в целом. Ведь долг каждого мужчины и каждой женщины – воспроизвести потомство, продлить род. Если после бесед человек продолжал упорствовать в своем грехе и твердил, что он имеет право на содомию, то он подлежал казни. Патриарх Гавриил был уверен, что медикаментозно вылечить грех нельзя, нужно, чтобы человек сам преодолел свое противоестественное влечение. А душу таблетками не излечишь, а огонь целителен, он очищает. К тому же, лекарства отрицательно сказывались на репродуктивной системе. Бесплодных лечили и если лечение оказывалось безрезультатным, то таких ссылали. Также ссылке подлежали и те, кто являлся пособником обвиняемых, кто помогал им и скрывал от Церкви и правосудия. Ведь умолчать и не донести на преступника – такое же преступление. Ссылали в Сибирь. Наверное, Россия никогда не будет помнить этот прекрасный заснеженный край как островок дикой природы. Сибирь всегда была местом ссылки преступников, которые и умирали там, позабытые всеми. Женщин, после предупреждения и опять-таки бесед со священниками, заставляли в течение определенного срока выйти замуж. Как правило, давали от двух месяцев до года, в зависимости от возраста. Чем моложе, тем больше времени, поскольку детородный возраст еще позволял. Марина помнила, когда произошла первая экзекуция. На площадь тогда никого не пускали, полиция в три ряда стояла. Боялись резонанса. Но ничего не произошло. Наверное, до конца никто не верил, что подобное может произойти в современном мире. Все наблюдали происходящее в прямом эфире по ТВ. Буквально все каналы транслировали сожжение. Один из приговоренных все время кричал – проклинал своих палачей, патриарха. "Вы будете гореть в Аду!" И слова его оказались пророческими. Разве они уже не в Аду? Геенна огненная, гнев Божий… Что может быть страшнее существующей реальности? А Бог… Бог уже давно отвернулся от нас, чтобы не видеть, как с Его именем на устах преподносятся идеи, которые, казалось, должны быть навеки погребены вместе с бесчисленными жертвами. Когда Марина увидела трансляцию, то первой мыслью было, что это очередное постановочное шоу, в этот раз излишне натуралистичное и жестокое. Но, к сожалению, это была настоящая казнь. А потом общественность взорвалась. Интернет буквально кипел. Россия разделилась на два лагеря: за и против. Но шум стих, и сколько бы ни протестовали зарубежные организации, ничего не изменилось. Спустя месяц экзекуция повторилась, а после и вообще стала проводиться каждую неделю. В воскресенье в полдень на Лобном месте Красной площади происходили казни. Как-то в один момент все стали бояться и слово сказать, иначе на следующий день можешь оказаться в кресле перед блюстителем Морали. И от одного неверного слова будет зависеть жизнь. И жили в страхе, стараясь делать вид, что все в порядке. Сходили на экзекуцию, помолились и отправились по своим делам. Боялись за свои семьи, за детей. И Марина не была исключением.*Марина погасила свет в кухне и включила вытяжку над плитой, достала контейнер с мукой и запустила туда руку. На дне, завернутая в пакет, лежала пачка сигарет. Контрабанда. Иногда она покупала через знакомых втихую. Раньше она курила, а потом поневоле пришлось бросить, но иногда хотелось не столько курить – привлекала сама возможность себе это позволить. Сын спит, поэтому можно не опасаться, что он увидит и это "пагубно повлияет на его неокрепшую психику" по выражению патриарха Гавриила. От первой же затяжки повело, словно крепкого алкоголя глотнула на голодный желудок. Марина аккуратно выпустила дым в вытяжку. Звонок в дверь заставил вздрогнуть. Сердце бешено забилось. Нет, соседи не могли увидеть. В любом случае, так быстро из Отдела Морали и Нравственности приехать не смогли бы. Она быстро сунула сигарету под кран с водой, а затем выбросила в мусорное ведро под мойкой. В дверь снова настойчиво позвонили. Марина заметалась, убирая следы своего преступления: выключила вытяжку, спрятала сигареты и распахнула окно. Когда она подходила к двери, то руки подрагивали, и с трудом удалось открыть замок. Она так волновалась, что даже не догадалась выглянуть в глазок, а сразу распахнула дверь. На пороге стояла Таня и выглядела она как-то странно. Сначала Марина подумала, что та приболела, но едва присмотрелась, как поняла – Таня была пьяна. – Привет, – улыбнулась она. – Извини, что так поздно, на работе задержалась. Черт, почему у тебя такой высокий порог? Марина отступила в сторону, пропуская подругу. – Что с тобой случилось? – Дофига всего случилось. Сейчас расскажу. Но сначала мне нужно в туалет. – Туда, – указала Марина на дверь в конце коридора. Таня нетвердой походкой направилась в указанном направлении. Марина быстро прошла на кухню, еще раз все оглядела и на всякий случай побрызгала освежителем воздуха, затем включила чайник и села ждать. Таня не объявлялась почти два месяца и Марина уже понадеялась, что та нашла себе новую подругу, а ее наконец оставила в покое, но не тут-то было. – Мама, – на пороге показался Олег, потирая глаза. – Тебя разбудил звонок в дверь? – Марина приобняла его, чувствуя как внутри распирает от нежности к этому маленькому существу. Что бы она без него делала? – Ага. Кто-то пришел? – Да, сынок, к маме пришла подруга. Иди ложись. – А можно мне сока? – Конечно. Иди, я принесу. Марине не хотелось, чтобы ее сын встречался с Таней. Конечно, он ее знает, но чем меньше они общаются, тем лучше. Ему всего шесть, он пока многого не понимает, и это даже радовало Марину. Таня часто не стеснялась в выражениях при Олеге, а одернуть ее Марина не смела. Она налила в стакан сока и отнесла Олегу, пожелала ему спокойной ночи. Марина слишком мало времени с ним проводила – много работы, а сын находился под присмотром няни, на которую уходила приличная часть зарплаты, но и другого варианта не было. Приходится чем-то жертвовать. Она поцеловала сына и вышла, плотно прикрыв дверь. Когда Марина вернулась на кухню, Таня уже была там и хозяйничала в холодильнике. – Слушай, я есть хочу. Чего у тебя пожевать есть? – Бутерброд будешь? – Давай, – она села на стул в ожидании. Марина вздохнула и полезла доставать продукты, чтобы соорудить бутерброды для своей незваной гостьи. Нарезая хлеб, она размышляла, откуда Таня узнала адрес, хотя ни разу не была здесь. Но ответ напрашивался сам собой. Наверняка в отделе, где работает Таня, есть база данных с адресами. А Марина надеялась, что уж домой не придется ее приглашать. – Так что случилось? – Даже не знаю с чего начать. Ой, слушай, у меня ведь кое-что есть. Таня полезла в сумку и достала бутылку водки. Она с довольным видом водрузила ее на стол. – Откуда? – Да ладно тебе, сама знаешь, как это делается. Если запретили, то это не значит, что спиртного теперь не нет и пить все перестали. Доставай рюмки. – Не думаю, что это хорошая идея. – Правда? А у тебя здесь дымом пахнет вперемешку с освежителем воздуха. – Я… – Да ладно, я тебя не сдам, – подмигнула Таня. Марина пожала плечами и потянулась за стопками. На самом деле, она с удовольствием выпьет. Иногда такое желание накатывает напиться, чтобы хоть на некоторое время забыться. – Уверена, что тебе стоит пить? – решила еще раз уточнить Марина, потому что Таня уже наверняка не одну рюмку выпила. – Мне это просто необходимо. Марина поняла, что этот вечер затянется надолго, да еще и придется оставить Таню у себя на ночь, потому что трезветь та явно не собиралась. – Ну что, давай за мое повышение для начала, – Таня разлила водку по рюмкам и приподняла свою, выпила и тут же налила вторую. – А это за то, что я стала свободной женщиной. Марина едва не поперхнулась. – В смысле? – Я теперь такая же мать-одиночка, Мариш, – Таня залпом осушила стопку и потянулась за бутербродом. – Хлеб какой-то странный. И положила его обратно на тарелку. – Бездрожжевой, – автоматически ответила Марина. – Так что у тебя случилось? Таня вдруг всхлипнула и закрыла лицо ладонями. – Это такой ужас, – приглушенно провыла она. – Ты не представляешь. Марина даже удивилась. Что же могло так расстроить подругу, что теперь она ревела, как отличница, впервые получившая двойку? Самоуверенность Тани растворилась, будто и не было, теперь перед Мариной сидела несчастная пьяная женщина. – Господи, за что мне это? – продолжала причитать она. Марина поставила перед ней упаковку салфеток, налила водки и сунула стопку в руки. – Пей. Таня икнула и выпила, даже не поморщившись. – Дай сигарету. Марина вздохнула и полезла за заначкой. – Черт, как хорошо, – затянулась Таня и выдохнула дым в потолок. Марина и сама закурила. Она "спалилась" по полной, да еще и водки выпила. Хотя и не такое уж это тяжелое преступление – курение да выпивка. Правда, если об этом узнают, то она не только заплатит штраф, к слову, немаленький, но и в паспорте поставят штамп о нарушении. На самом деле получить такой штамп Марина очень боялась. Десять нарушений – и отберут Олега, как у матери, неспособной позаботиться о ребенке. Марина умудрилась уже три собрать, причем по глупости. Первый – когда надела блузку с недопустимым правилами вырезом. Буквально за пару дней до этого ввели новые законы относительно формы одежды, а Марина не знала. Но незнание законов не освобождает от ответственности – о чем и пришлось убедиться на собственном опыте, когда паспорт проштамповали и сделали строгий выговор. Марина тогда от стыда готова была сквозь землю провалиться и чувствовала себя последней шлюхой. Отвратительное ощущение. Второй ей поставили за то, что она задержала оплату коммунальных услуг на неделю, а третий – за нарушение комендантского часа. У нее не было разрешения находиться вне дома после одиннадцати вечера. Она тогда задержалась на работе, еле успела на метро, а вот автобус ушел без нее – и пришлось идти пешком почти два часа. Она шла осторожно, боясь попасться патрулю, но у самого дома ее и остановили. Алкоголь немного расслабил, хотя сложно было чувствовать себя свободно в компании подруги. Таня уже будто пришла в себя, докурила сигарету и потянулась за второй. Она посмотрела на Марину своими карими глазами с некрасивыми кляксами размазавшейся туши. Стало немного не по себе от этого на удивление трезвого взгляда. – Знаешь, я за Мишку замуж пошла, потому что родители наши сговорились и решили поженить нас, – начала вдруг Таня, словно решившись, что Марине можно доверять. – Мы с ним знакомы толком не были, но он казался вполне подходящей парой: образование, квартира в центре, работа приличная, да и зарабатывал он хорошо. Мы поженились, вскоре появилась Янка, а следом и Лешка. Я вот сейчас понять не могу, какого же хрена ему еще надо было. – Кому? – Мишке, мудаку этому, – зло ответила Таня. – Почему если Бог дает одно, то другое непременно отнимет? Меня повысили. Я говорила тебе, что собиралась заявление о переводе писать? Ну, так вот. Меня перевели в отдел дознания. Ты представляешь, к нам сам патриарх заходил! Он невероятный человек. Никакого высокомерия, со всеми вежлив. Он даже благословил меня на новую работу. На него молиться хочется, такая от него чистая энергия исходит. Гавриил. Как архангел. – Ты словно влюбилась, – ляпнула Марина. – Ты в своем уме? – вскинулась Таня. – Он же как икона. Перед ним преклоняться хочется. Если бы ты его увидела, то поняла о чем я. На экзекуции – это совсем не то. Он там как далекая звезда. А в другой обстановке он… Таня замолчала и вздохнула. Марина не стала уточнять, какой именно патриарх. Ей совершенно не хотелось бы встретиться лицом к лицу с ним. Он казался воплощением Дьявола, которого так сильно порицал и предостерегал от козней его. – А Янка тоже хочет по моим стопам пойти, а Лешка в полицию собирается. Через три года они уже будут полноценными членами общества. Таня перескакивала с одного на другое, что вообще было ей не свойственно. Словно она ходила вокруг да около темы, которую боялась затронуть. В таком раздрае она явно не из-за повышения или детей. Но Марина решила, что сама расспрашивать не станет. Она была не уверена, хочет ли знать, что же произошло. Однако не похоже, что у нее был выбор. – В общем, месяц назад поступила информация об одном юристе. За ним сразу же выехали. Я напросилась в рейд, хотя конечно это не моя работа. Но мне было интересно, как все это происходит. Любопытство никогда до добра не доводит. Господи, – снова заплакала Таня. Марина положила ладонь поверх ее руки, успокаивая, выказывая хоть какое-то участие. Та в ответ сжала ладонь и кивнула. – Мы приехали на съемную квартиру, где и взяли этого педика с его любовничком. И знаешь, кто это был? Мишка! Блядь, мой Мишка! Как такое вообще возможно? Марина еле удержалась. Так и хотелось сказать, что от такой, как Таня, поневоле сбежишь к мужику. Но есть вещи, которые следует замалчивать. Никто правду не любит. – Ты не представляешь, как мне было стыдно, – продолжала Таня. – Смотреть людям в глаза и видеть там жалость. У меня словно на лбу горела надпись "Мой муж – пидарас!" Начальник вечером вызвал меня к себе и начал с того, что очень доволен моим рвением и послужным списком. Поэтому дает мне возможность направить мужа на верный путь. Представляешь? Я попросила дать мне возможность поговорить с ним. Ну, знаешь, думала, может, его заставили или шантажировали. Да мало ли что? И представляешь, что эта сука мне заявила, когда я пришла к нему в камеру? "Когда меня трахал мужик, то хоть на миг получалось забыть что пришлось прикасаться к тебе". Я молча вышла и сразу же пошла к начальству и заявила, что мой муж намеренно совершил это страшное преступление и должен быть наказан по всей строгости закона. – То есть, его?.. – не смогла закончить свой вопрос Марина. – Ага, сожгли в прошлое воскресенье. Надеюсь, ему понравилось, как его задницу облизывал огонь. Я смотрела, как он дергается, словно припадочный, и радовалась. Он получил по заслугам. Мрина налила себе водки и залпом выпила. Что она могла сказать на это? Ничего. – Этот ублюдок ко мне прикасался! Я родила ему двоих детей! Была идеальной женой! А он, блядь, с мужиком трахался. Вот ведь мерзость. Я до сих пор чувствую себя такой грязной, будто в дерьме изваляли. И он жил рядом с моими детьми! У меня от одной этой мысли внутри все переворачивается. Марине еще много чего пришлось выслушать о бывшем муже Тани, но все сводилось к одному. Таня никак не могла понять, что ее, всю из себя такую замечательную, могли променять на мужчину. Если бы Марину спросили, то она бы сказала, что Таня кого угодно отвратит от женщин вообще, даже убежденного гетеросексуала. Но ее не спрашивали. В конце концов Таня выдохлась – выговорилась, отревелась, осыпала проклятиями всех кого только можно – и пришлось ее едва не тащить до дивана. И чуть позже, пытаясь уснуть, Марина все думала и думала о разговоре. Втайне она радовалась, что с Таней такое случилось. Корила себя за такие мысли и молилась, прося прощения, но считала что поделом той. Хотя мужа подруги было жаль. Сам Бог только знает, насколько сложно жить в мире, где регламентировано все, вплоть до выражения своей сексуальности. Сон долго не шел, потому что самые разнообразные мысли гнали его подальше. Больше всего она размышляла о своем сыне. Конечно, она объяснит ему, что плохо, а что хорошо, и в первую очередь будет крайне негативно отзываться о тяге к своему полу. В конечном итоге патриарх добился своего, никто даже помыслить не может о том, чтобы хотя бы пытаться выразить свои истинные чувства. Ведь кому хочется оказаться на Лобном месте? И какая мать пожелает для своего ребенка подобной участи? А кто пытается, то все знают, что того ожидает. Как там говорил патриарх Гавриил в одном из своих напутствий русскому народу? "Прежде всего мы должны позаботиться о наших детях, именно они будущее нашей страны. Долг каждого показывать достойный пример, не навязывать юным россиянам в корне неверные представления о жизни в обществе, озаренном Божьей благодатью. И мы обязаны им объяснить, что такое грех и как с ним должно бороться. Нельзя допускать, чтобы складывалось неверное мнение о семье как основе человеческого существования. Послушание и следование заповедям Господа Бога нашего – вот что должно быть приоритетно для каждого здравомыслящего человека". Ну что ж, думала Марина, в любом случае иного не остается – лишь следовать законам. Аминь. © Rubin Red. Январь, 2013.
1028849	A Magic Deeper Still	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Aragorn, Faramir", "Fandom": "TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by lindahoyland", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-02T00:00:00", "words": "3,974", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	A Magic Deeper Still – Linda HoylandThough the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know – CS Lewis – The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.Disclaimer: The Tolkien estate owns the familiar characters, only the OCs are mine. No money is being made from this story.Rating- PG13Summary- When Aragorn and Faramir visit Harad they find that magic flourishes there."At last, a few hours to ourselves!" Aragorn exclaimed in a low voice to the Steward at his side. "The Kha Khan is most welcoming, but his hospitality can be somewhat overwhelming.""I am simply thankful that he did not insist on us taking a troop of his palace guards with us on our outing," said Faramir, glancing at the two trusted guards of their own who followed at a discreet distance."At least we look less conspicuous in these robes the Kha Khan presented us with on our arrival," said Aragorn. "They feel cool to wear too.""I still feel strange wearing what resembles a woman's gown," said Faramir. "I know all the menfolk wear them here, but few have so much embroidery!""I want to experience the marketplace here as it is," said Aragorn. "Being dressed as one of the Haradrim will help.""I thought you lived here for some months many years ago?" Faramir questioned. "Did you not visit the market then?""I did, but it was very different from what it is today. The Dark Lord demanded heavy tributes and there were shortages of almost everything. Most of the stalls sold weaponry or cloth for making military uniforms. Sometimes, I found it hard to breathe; the air was rank from the stench of the human sacrifices being offered up."Faramir shuddered. "My blood freezes at the thought!" he said."That is all the more reason to enjoy the silks and spices that the merchants of Harad now sell," Aragorn replied. "Ambassador Tahir tells me that haggling with the merchants nowadays is quite an experience, which we would miss out on if they knew who we were.""If they are anything like the merchants at home, they would give us more of their wares than we could carry. Then we would need to purchase a camel to carry everything home to Gondor!"Aragorn laughed. A stall selling silks as delicate as gossamer then caught his eye and he paused to buy a length in a deep, rich shade of scarlet that he was certain would show off Arwen's raven hair to perfection. Rather to his disappointment, the merchant was too eager to make a sale to haggle with any vigour. He even offered the King a discount, which prompted Aragorn to purchase more silk in a rich, deep shade of blue."Éowyn would look fair beyond measure in the green or the blue," Faramir commented. "Sadly, she has little interest in gowns that are not practical as well as pleasing to the eye." The two men then caught sight of some very finely woven cream silk. "Maybe Éowyn would like a silk nightgown?" he mused. "I will take a roll of the cream silk," Faramir told the delighted merchant.The Steward hesitated, as he prepared to pay the merchant. "I think I will take some of the green silk too," he said. "Éowyn will need a new gown for the Mettarë celebrations, and green is her favourite hue."Aragorn beckoned to one of the guards to carry their purchases. "I need to find a gift for Eldarion," he told his friend. "My son would not thank me for dressing him in silks, though!""There are some interesting looking smaller stalls over there," said Faramir."I need to find him a gift today," said Aragorn. "I doubt that we will escape so easily again, though we can try. There is the state banquet tonight and then negotiations over the border dispute the day after. I hope they will conclude in good time so we can return home.""Maybe I can find something for Elboron too," said Faramir. "I wonder if they sell model horses in this market?""Maybe that stall can conjure one out of the desert sand for you?" Aragorn jested, with a nod towards the smallest of the displays, set a little way apart from the others. Above it hung a sign, which in the tongue of Harad read 'Everything you need to perform powerful magic'."Hardly," said Faramir. "Remember how Mithrandir could create smoke horses? Sadly, they vanished within the twinkling of an eye. Elboron would prefer something more substantial."The two men cast a curious eye over the stall, wondering what passed for magic in Harad now that the Dark Lord was no more. An assortment of jars contained what looked like dried body parts of various reptiles, there were bunches of feathers hanging up from various exotic birds and more jars filled with brightly coloured powders."I wonder if those pink feathers would make good quills?" Faramir mused. "They might amuse Éowyn or Elboron. I will buy two of the pink feathers," he told the stall holder."Very powerful love magic you have there, noble sir," said the man, as Faramir handed over the coins. "If you touch the object of your affections with one on the night of the new moon, she will be yours forever!"Faramir flushed slightly and stuffed the feathers into the folds of his robes."How about some mermaids' tears, honoured sirs? Any maid you give one to will burn with fervent desire for you." The merchant held out a tray of poor quality seed pearls."No thank you." Aragorn and Faramir both looked highly uncomfortable at the turn the conversation was taking. They turned their attention to the other wares on the stall. Of more interest to the King and Steward, were a selection of finely cut crystals which split the sun's rays into all the colours of the rainbow."Eldarion might like one of those," said Aragorn. "Master Elrond explained to me how a prism works, but to a child it indeed seems like magic.""These most rare stones make powerful healing magic, o illustrious sirs," said the merchant. "To keep their virtue you must wash them when the moon is full then dry them by the rays of the sun while reciting words of power."Aragorn struggled to repress his mirth as he haggled with the merchant over the price. If the man but knew of the virtue of the stone he wore concealed beneath his outer robe! At least, he had found a worthy opponent to haggle with. When the deal was concluded, the stone was carefully wrapped in a square of black silk before being handed to the King.By now, the two were thirsty in the heat of the afternoon and wandered over to another stall, which sold refreshments. They ordered glasses of refreshing sherbet tea, which they sipped slowly. The magic stall was in a shady corner of the marketplace so the two friends wandered back there to enjoy their drinks."Maybe I will buy one of those crystals for Elboron too?" said Faramir. "We could hang it in the nursery to catch the morning light."The merchant was now engaged in an animated discussion with a woman and paid little heed to the King and Steward."You need three peacock feathers, scales of a sand viper and a crystal forged in the fire of the holy mountain for the spell to work," said the merchant."I have only enough gold for one feather," said the woman. "Let me take what I need and I will pay you back as soon as I can, illustrious sir.""Do you take me for a fool, woman? I give you only what you can pay for!""The darwisa said my son will die if the spell is not cast. Have mercy, I beg of you!""It not my fault your son is ailing."Aragorn could listen in silence no longer. "Would it not be better to take your son to a healer, mistress?"The woman looked at him impatiently. "I paid the healer to examine my son and he took all the coin I have. He could not help me and told me to send for the darwisa. She examined my son and confirmed that he is under a curse. She told me that only magic can save him and to call her back when I had what was needed for the spell.""Maybe, I could be of some assistance, mistress? I am a healer of some experience."The woman laughed harshly. "I tell you my son has been cursed! I see from your pale skin and grey eyes that you are a tark. What do tarks know of magic? Only your terrible king, who commands the dead to obey his every whim with his enspelled sword is said to have magic amongst the tarks!" She turned back to the merchant, pulling a ring from her finger. "Take this, it is all I own, in exchange for the magic ingredients!" she begged."It is not enough," said the merchant. "Now be off with you. I have other customers waiting with good coin to spend.""I beg you, sir have mercy!" The woman flung herself to her knees.The merchant emerged from behind his stall and towered menacingly above her. "Be gone, you miserable hag!" he shouted. "You are upsetting my other customers. I will call for the Kha Khan's guards to arrest you for causing a disturbance!"The woman got up and stumbled away. Aragorn hurried after her while Faramir gestured to the guards to keep their distance. "Please, mistress, let me help you," said the King."You would give me the money to buy what I need for the spell? I will do anything, anything in return!" A gleam of hope flickered in her eyes."I have no intention of paying that merchant's extortionate prices for his dubious remedies," said Aragorn. "I will gladly visit your son and see if I can be of assistance, though.""Did you not hear me?" said the woman despairingly. "My son is under a curse! Only the most powerful magic might save him.""What manner of a curse?" asked Aragorn."Jawhar was out playing with the other lads," the woman said wearily, almost as if she considered Aragorn to be slow witted. "I've told him not to play in what is left of the temple, but he would not listen. An old man lives amongst the ruins; they say he was once a priest who offered sacrifices to the Lord of Gifts. The boys ran when they saw him, but my Jawhar tripped and fell and the old man cursed him. He managed to stumble home and tell me what had happened, and then he fell into a stupor from which I cannot wake him. He is lost to me in some dark dream. My boy, my only son is dying!" The woman burst into tears."Dry your eyes, mistress, and take me to the boy," said Aragorn. "I do not know if my magic will be powerful enough, but I can try.""You have magic?" the woman asked between sobs. "Why did you not say so before? What will your magic cost?""Nothing," said Aragorn. "I just need to speak to my assistant, and then we will come and visit your son."Aragorn returned to where Faramir was standing a little way off by the refreshments stall, to which he had just returned their glasses. Speaking in Sindarin, he swiftly informed the Steward of his plans and bade him tell their guards to follow, but keep their distance."You made out that we were wizards?" Faramir said incredulously"It was the only way she would agree to let me see her son so we must act the part.""You have spent your life under various guises, I have not.""You simply need to follow my instructions, something you always do well. I believe your father called you a wizard's pupil for following Mithrandir's teaching, so I am certain you can play your part.""Very well. I only hope you can help the poor woman and her son.""So do I."Aragorn strode off after the woman, who led the way to the poorest quarter of the town."I like this not at all," muttered one of the guards. "We should be at the King's side with our swords drawn.""The King was defending himself against far mightier enemies than a lone woman and a sick child since before you weaned," said Faramir. "Now wait here, we will call if we have need of you."The woman led the way inside a shabby hovel, its walls made from dried mud, as was customary in these parts. The single room was dimly lit by an oil lamp. At the far side of the room was a low pallet, on which a boy of about nine or ten years lay motionless. Beside him, crouched an old woman. She rose at the entry of the newcomers. "Jawhar has neither moved nor spoken since you left, Maisha," she said. "But who are these men?" She drew her shabby cloak more closely around her thin body."A tark healer and his assistant who claim to have knowledge of magic," said Maisha.The old woman snorted. "Shame on you for letting a tark cross your threshold after they slew your husband. His spirit even now is thrall to the dread King of the West! Maybe these tarks steal souls too?"Faramir could endure it no longer. "The King of the West holds no man in thrall, neither dead nor living. Neither does any Man of the West steal souls.""The tales say they do," said the old woman."The tales speak falsely," said Aragorn who was already casting a keen healer's eye over the motionless boy. "Tell me exactly what happened, Mistress Maisha," he said in a commanding tone."I'm not staying here with tark magicians," said the old woman. "I'm off before they put a curse on me too." With that, she hobbled out into the street."She is a good woman, my neighbour, but she lets her tongue run away with her," said Maisha."It matters not," said Aragorn. "Just tell me exactly what your son said when he came home." Seeing her hesitate; he added. "It will help me prepare a spell.""Jawhar stumbled through the door crying, The old priest cursed me. He said I would die ere the moon rose for desecrating the holy shrine with my presence.""And you replied?" Aragorn pressed."Alas, my son, today you will die!""Then what did the healer you summoned say?""That my boy's illness was caused by magic and that I should ask the darwisa for help. He charged me four gold pieces for his advice. I ran at once to fetch the wise woman.""And she told you?" Aragorn prompted."She charged me three gold pieces for telling me what I already knew that my boy was dying and that powerful magic alone might save him. She told me to get the ingredients so that she could perform a healing spell and then come and fetch her back.""Thank you," said Aragorn. "Now I must thoroughly examine your boy." He pulled back the shabby covers that covered the ailing child. The boy's skin was cold to his touch, but apart from a few minor scrapes and bruises, Aragorn could discover no injury to account for his condition."I need you to heat some water for me to perform my spell," he told Maisha."Can you undo the curse?""I know not, mistress, but I shall try my utmost," said Aragorn."What truly ails the boy?" Faramir asked in a low voice in Sindarin while Maisha was engaged in placing a pot upon the fire."I believe it is something akin to the Black Breath," said Aragorn."But how so? Sauron is no more.""I believe some residual evil might linger in the place where so many innocents were sacrificed," said Aragorn. "Also, words have a power of their own. Master Elrond told me that fëa and hröa are closely entwined. If the fëa believes that death is approaching the hröa can expire." He reached inside his robes for the Elessar brooch that he always wore, which he had kept concealed in the marketplace, and pinned it on the breast of his outer robe, where the gem gleamed like green fire. A sudden inspiration struck him and he unwrapped the prism and placed it on top of the unconscious boy over his heart, where it reflected the rays of the Elessar stone. "These stones work powerful magic," he told Maisha in a loud clear voice. "My assistant has feathers even more powerful than those of the peacock."Faramir rummaged inside his robe and brought out the pink feathers. At a sweeping gesture from Aragorn, he began to stroke the child's feet with them."The hot water, masters," said Maisha, appearing at the bedside with a steaming bowl."Thank you, mistress, I shall now speak a powerful incantation, then I will call your son. I want you to call him too. He knows your voice and will follow you back into the light."Aragorn raised his hands heavenwards and said in Quenya, "Hear me, Estë, healer of hurts and weariness. Look with favour of this child and restore him. Let my hands be the instrument of his healing!" He then rummaged within his robes and took out the pouch of healing herbs that he always carried and took out two dried athelas leaves and cast them into the bowl of steaming water. At once, a living freshness filled the miserable hovel.Aragorn handed the bowl to Faramir who held it in front of the boy's face. Aragorn knelt on the dusty floor and took the child's hand in one of his own. The other hand he placed on the boy's brow. "Jawhar!" he called. "Awake, the power of the curse is broken!"Jawhar stirred slightly but did not open his eyes."Awake!" cried Aragorn. "With my might, I banish the dark magic. You are freed from the evil spell. Jawhar, Jawhar, come to me, open your eyes!"Still Jawhar's eyes remained closed, though he was now breathing much more deeply and his skin no longer felt deathly cold beneath Aragorn's touch."Mistress Maisha, call your son's name and tell him the curse is banished," said Faramir urgently. He put down the bowl for a moment and waved the feathers with a sweeping gesture for an added effect."Jawhar, my son, wake up. This powerful wizard has freed you from the curse," said Maisha in a somewhat tremulous voice. Aragorn nodded his approval and Maisha repeated her words this time more strongly. Meanwhile, Aragorn continued to call the boy. "Wake up, Jawhar, no one is angry with you, the curse is broken, awake!"Jawhar's eyes finally flickered open and he regarded the strangers curiously. His eyes then fixed on his mother who had begun to weep. "Mother, I'm hungry!" he said. "Why are you crying and who are these strangers?"Maisha hugged the boy tightly."Give him something to eat," said Aragorn. "He will suffer no lasting ill effects, but should not go near the ruined temple again. It is not a wholesome place.""I will get you some bread, my son," said Maisha. "It is all we have.""You were widowed during the war, mistress?" Faramir asked. "Times have been hard for you.""My husband was a wealthy silk merchant and we lived in a fine house once, little though you might believe it." Maisha laughed bitterly. "Then the war came and my man, together with the rest of them, was forced to fight in the army of the Lord of Gifts. He fell and I lost everything. Jawhar was still in my womb when his father was slain.""I am sorry," said Faramir. "Alas, many good men lost their lives. Maybe we could help you?""I am no beggar," said Maisha. "I accept no charity. It is bad enough that I cannot pay you for your magic.""Before we leave, I will cast a spell for protection and prosperity around your house," said Aragorn. "We will do it while you fetch food and drink for your boy."Aragorn beckoned to Faramir and the two went outside."The Valar be praised you could save the child!" said Faramir."There was very little I needed to do," said the King. "It was his own mind that healed him, once I freed his thoughts. He believed the curse would kill him and his mother's belief he would die convinced him that he would all the more. That was why I needed her to call him back too. Now quickly, help me move these pebbles. We had better sing, as if we were performing some ritual."Faramir began to sing the hymn to Elbereth and Aragorn joined in as the two scooped aside the stones around a stunted bush in the courtyard behind the hovel. Aragorn then reached inside his robes for his purse and scattered the gold coins on the rocky soil. Faramir did likewise. Still singing, the two replaced the pebbles, then concluded their song."We must hurry back," said Faramir. "The moon will rise soon and the feast will be starting. The Kha Khan will send his guards to look for us.""I shall speak to the Kha Khan about the temple ruins and the malevolent old man," said Aragorn. "Other children should be saved from what was almost Jawhar's fate.""Maybe Tahir could help too?" said Faramir. "His kinsman pays heed to him. They are both anxious to return all of Harad to the worship of the benevolent moon deities."" I shall speak to him, " said Aragorn. "We have finished our work here just in time. He went back inside and found Jawhar eagerly devouring an unappetising looking crust and a mug of water. "We will take our leave now, Mistress Maisha," he said gravely, as he gathered up the prism and the feathers. "My assistant and I have performed ritual for blessing and good fortune for this house. When the moon has risen tonight, gather some pebbles from beneath the bush in your courtyard and you will not want for many days."Maisha prostrated herself at his feet in the fashion of her people. "You saved my son's life, o powerful magician!" she said. "How might I ever thank you?""I have my reward in seeing Jawhar restored to health," said Aragorn with a smile. He lightly laid a hand upon her brow in a gesture of blessing and then slipped from the house, followed by Faramir. The two guards emerged from their hiding places and the small party made their way back towards the Kha Khan's palace."This will be a fine tale to relate to Arwen when we return home," Aragorn said thoughtfully." I have been many things before in my life, but never a magician.""You may not call yourself a magician, but you have always had magic," said Faramir. "You are a child of Lúthien and her power is in you too. I perceived it from the moment I first beheld you; you are more than just a man with Melian and Lúthien as your foremothers. While you and your line endure, there will always be magic in Middle-earth."A/n In some parts of the world beliefs persist that curses can cause real damage and even kill. There have also been cases in the West where patients have died after being told they have a serious illness, even if it is treatable, simple because they believe they will die.
1037640	Bursting Bubbles aka	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Kíli, Tauriel, Ori - Character, Dori, Nori, Bofur, Dwalin, Thorin Oakenshield", "Fandom": "The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Anonymous", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-09T00:00:00", "words": "346", "Additional Tags": "Misunderstandings, Setting Things Straight, Love That Not's Actually Love, Bickering, Stubborn Dwarves", "Relationship": "Kíli & Tauriel", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Anonymous", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“Tauriel.”Said Elf paused and turned reluctantly. “What do you want?” she addressed the dark-haired Dwarf who had spoken, her voice echoing clearly in the dungeon.The Dwarf emerged from the shadows, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched with determination. “I just want to make something clear to you.” He planted his hands on his hips and announced firmly, “I do not like you and have no desire for romance. You’re an Elf and because of that difference my opinion will never change.”Tauriel’s surprise and amusement was well-hidden. However she almost lost control of it when another young voice rang out from one of the other cells.“You certainly weren’t concerned with difference in race when you flirted with that Elf in Rivendell, Kíli!”Kíli snarled. “I keep telling you, Ori: that wasn’t flirting! I smiled politely because she was gawking at me!”“Elves do not gawk,” Tauriel corrected to all in general.“But Dwarves do!” Ori unabashedly declared. “And you do, Kíli!”“You’re a Dwarf too!” Kíli reminded him grimly. “Do I have to get into your incident with Sessa?”“Sessa?” echoed an older voice. “That cloth merchant’s daughter?! Ori, you—?!”“Kíli, I want t’ hear this!” another Dwarf declared eagerly. “What’d Ori, man-fer-th’-ladies, do with Tessa?”“Sessa! Her name was Sessa, and it’s not your business, Bofur!” Ori shouted hotly.“But as your older brother, it’s my business!”“Aw, leave him alone, Dor’. I’m his older brother too, but he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it,” someone else cut in.“There, see, listen to Nori!” Ori snapped. “And why is this suddenly about me? Kíli’s the one who’s interested in Elves!”“Kíli, what is he talking about?” rumbled a voice different from the others, sharp and suspicious.“Nothing, Uncle Thorin!” Kíli yelped nervously.“Nothing’ indeed,” another Dwarf snorted. “I saw you wink at the harp-player!”“Dwalin, I did not!”Tauriel listened to the sudden burst of ruckus with amazement. As the argument continued round the group of cells, she released a small sigh and turned her back. No way was she getting involved.
1096415	What Hurts The Most	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Steve Austin (Six Million Dollar Man), Jaime Sommers, Oscar Goldman, Rudy Wells", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Gryph", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-23T00:00:00", "words": "1,606", "Additional Tags": "Happy Ending, Yuletide", "Relationship": "Jaime Sommers/Steve Austin", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Yuletide 2013", "Fandoms": "The Six Million Dollar Man, The Bionic Woman (1976)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	What hurts the most was being so close And having so much to say and watching you walk away And never knowing what could have been And not seeing that loving you is what I was tryin’ to do ~Rascal Flatts Colonel Steve Austin sat next to Jaime Sommers’ hospital bed, his hand wrapped around hers. He traced his thumb down over her wrist and back toward her fingers, feeling the strength in it; real muscles, flesh and bone and blood, built up from years of playing professional tennis. The other hand, her bionic one, lay quiescent on the other side, half-hidden by the covers. Tubing snaked from her left arm—the real one—to bags of fluid hanging above the bed. On her other side, a monitor softly bleated out the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. The right side of her chest was swathed under layers of dressings, covering the surgical site where Rudy Wells had removed a bullet.A bullet that had been meant for him.When he closed his eyes, the scene replayed again and again in vivid detail. He and Jaime were on assignment to foil the kidnapping of the daughter of the Jordanian ambassador. They had just rescued the frightened girl when the last of the kidnappers had fired at them from hiding. Steve saw the muzzle flash, heard the echo of the report just barely before he was slammed against the car by a bionically-fueled push. With her enhanced hearing, Jaime must have picked up the telltale click of the gun’s firing mechanism, giving her a split second warning before the bullet would have caught Steve square in the chest. Instead, Jaime crumpled to the ground, a bright stain of red spreading on her right shoulder, just above where her bionics began. I few more inches to her right, and she artificial arm would have taken the damage instead of her more fragile body.In his anger, Steve grabbed the first thing that came to hand—the mirror off the car—and hurled it at the gunman with pinpoint accuracy. He probably fractured the man's ribs when it hit him in the chest, but Steve was beyond caring. He rushed to Jaime's side, where Raiyah, the young Jordanian girl, knelt crying. Jaime's eyes were closed, her face so peaceful that Steve's heart leapt into his throat for a moment. But her chest rose and fell, although her breathing was rapid and shallow. He murmured a few reassurances to Raiyah, then scooped up Jaime and got both of them settled in the back seat of the car. He could already hear the police sirens heading toward the scene; they would make sure the kidnappers were apprehended. Oscar Goldman would take care of all the paperwork to get the culprits properly charged by the authorities.The scene was so eerily like the skydiving accident that had nearly claimed Jaime's life, when he had had to beg Oscar to save her with bionics, that he had been frantic by the time Rudy Wells arrived.Steve turned from pacing as soon as Rudy came out of the operating room.Rudy pulled off his surgical cap, “She's going to be fine, Steve. The bullet nicked an artery, and she lost a lot of blood.” He grabbed Steve's shoulder and squeezed it. “But she should make a full recovery.”Steve's relief was palpable as his shoulders sagged. “Thanks, Rudy. Were her bionics damaged at all?”Rudy shook his head. “No, and good thing, too. It was inches away from the nuclear power pack. Damage to that could have been devastating.”Jaime was still unconscious. The nurses who came into the room to check her vital signs sometimes looked like they were going to say something to him about leaving, but a harsh, squinty glare convinced them to stay silent. He would keep vigil at her bedside until she woke.Oscar ghosted into the room on quiet feet, a vase of roses in his hand, later in the evening after normal visiting hours were over. Being a high ranking government official had its privileges. He gently set the flowers on the bedside table before touching Steve cautiously on the shoulder, waking him from nodding off. “Hey pal,” Oscar said softly.Steve inhaled sharply and sat up straighter, causing the Naugahyde to creak beneath him. “Oscar,” he blinked owlishly, then took the proffered hand to shake. “Did the ambassador's daughter get back to her family?”“Yes, and they are very grateful. King Hussein himself called the President with a formal thank you for her safe return.” He waved the business away. “But how's our girl?”Steve's hand tightened slightly on Jaime's from the slacked grip he'd kept on it when he dozed off. “Rudy says she'll be fine.” He looked at her face like a man dying of thirst looking at a fountain. Then he shook his head. When he turned back, Oscar could see the residual fear in his eyes. “She pushed me out of the way, Oscar. I should've been the one saving her.”Before Oscar could answer, a soft voice said, “I owed you one.” Jaime's eyelids fluttered open, and she turned her head toward Steve and Oscar. At the same time, her hand tightened around the astronaut's fingers where they were tucking inside hers.Steve bolted from his chair and bent over the bed. He reached up pushed Jaime's blonde hair off of her face and tucked it behind her ear. “How are you feeling?” Next to him, Oscar leaned in closer, his expression pinched with concern.Jaime huffed, rolling her eyes. “Like I got slammed by an ace serve.” She licked her lips, looked over at Oscar. “Tell him it's not his fault, Oscar.”“I tried, but you know what a big boy scout he is,” Goldman tilted his head toward Steve. He patted Jaime's blanket-covered leg. “We were worried about you.”She smiled at Oscar, blinking owlishly to clear her vision. Then a frown creased her brow. “Can you give me and Steve a few minutes alone?”A little taken aback, Steve and Oscar exchanged a confused look. But with a final squeeze of her leg, Oscar replied, “Sure thing. I come back tomorrow after you've both,” he gave Austin a stern look, “gotten some rest. Feel better, babe.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek.“Thank you,” she said. She waited until Oscar had left and closed the door before she addressed Steve again. “Sit down, would you? You look like you are about to fall over.”Without letting go of her hand, Steve hooked the chair closer with one foot and settle back down into it. He tried to calm the galloping of his heart, unsure what she didn't want to say in front of their good friend. “What—”Before he could finish his question, Jaime clamped down on his hand, her face intent. “Steve, I—,” she paused with a slight shake of her head, “I, I remember another time when we did this, when you sat by my bedside when I woke up.” Her eyes narrowed. “After the accident, when I woke up after Rudy made me bionic.”She stopped, letting that sink in. Steve's confusion remained. “He said you'd have flashes. You did before.” He leaned forward again. “No head pain?”“No, no pain. Not like before. And it's not just flashes this time, Steve,” her tone was strident, insistent. “I think I remember... I think I remember everything.”“Everything?” Steve asked cautiously.She smiled, a slight upturning of the corners of her lips. “Yes. I remember that we were engaged. I remember sitting with your mother, planning our wedding.” She sighed, and her voice dropped to a hushed almost whisper. “But it's not just the memory, like a scene playing on a movie screen this time. I remember the feelings I had, of... of being so completely loved, being so contented.” She paused. “I remember how much I love you.”Steve swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tried to control his emotions. His expression melted from fearful concern into glowing adoration. “You do?”She chuckled softly. “Yeah, flyboy, I do. And if you still want to say that in front of all our friends and family, so do I.”Steve surged forward, pressing his lips to Jaime's with a gentle urgency. He resisted the urge to deepen it, conscious of her condition. He pulled back slightly, so he could look deep into her eyes. “Of course I do. I... when you went down, I didn't think I could stand losing you again; all I could think that I had to get you to Rudy, get you help. I don't know what I would have done—,” his voice broke. He'd already lost her not once, but twice before. First when he thought she'd died due to her bionic rejection, and again when he discovered her alive, but with no memory of him or the love they'd shared. In many ways, that second loss had hurt so much more than the first.“Oh Steve,” her chin quivered and moisture gathered in the corner of her eyes, “we're always going to have that danger in our lives; it's who you are—it's who we are. But that's why we have to grab onto that happiness with both hands while we can. Loving anyone comes with risks. But you have to do it anyway, or what's the point, y'know?”He laid his head against her chest, listening to the steady beat of the heart he held so dear. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”
1007446	The Bunker	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlie Bradbury, Kevin Tran, Ezekiel (Supernatural), Ezekiel \| Gadreel, Original Angel Character(s)", "Fandom": "Supernatural", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by PrettyMessedUpSituation (MarcelinesNightosphere)", "chapters": "11/11", "completed": "2014-09-03", "published": "2013-10-17T00:00:00", "words": "31,766", "Additional Tags": "Bottom Dean, Human Castiel, Castiel in the Bunker, Men of Letters Bunker, Fallen Angels, Canon Related, Anti-Possession Tattoos, Tattoos, Sigils, Eventual Happy Ending, because happy endings are necessary sometimes, Alley Blow Jobs, Shower Sex, Fluff and Smut, Some Humor, Dean-Centric", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Dean kicked the door shut behind him, his arms full of grocery bags. He followed Sam through the hall and into the main area of the library, where he broke off and headed into the kitchen to set down the bags and put things away. As soon as the bags hit the counter, a thunder of footsteps raced toward the library. Sam and Dean both drew their guns as from around the corner slid Kevin first, wielding a gun of his own, then Charlie. Sam lowered his weapon and Dean made a face of annoyance before putting his away. Charlie rolled her eyes and tucked hers in her side holster. “Where the hell have you guys been? What the fuck has been happening?” Kevin screamed. “Have you seen this shit about the meteor showers? We knew it had to have been something to do with you guys, because, duh,” Charlie rambled. “But we hadn’t heard anything from you for a few days so we started to worry but here you are! Yay!” She hugged Sam and then Dean, who had sauntered into the library to meet them. “Shit’s been interesting, that’s for sure,” Dean said, giving a sideways glance to Sam. Charlie catches it and gives him the ‘we’ll talk later’ look. “You guys look like hell. Especially you,” Kevin said to Sam. “Yeah, I, uh, wasn’t feeling too hot there for a few days, but things are doing okay now. I think.” “He just needs some rest,” Dean added, clapping his brother on the back, “and not in a car. Right Sammy?” “Right. So Charlie, when did you get here?” “Well like I said, I saw the meteor shower,” she began, using quote fingers, “and obviously anything that looks like the end of the world is your kind of thing, so I came. I thought maybe you guys would be here, or be here as soon as you could. Barring anyone being sent to Hell or Purgatory or whatever.” “Yeah, someone was banging at the door, which flipped me the fuck out because I didn’t know what was happening. I’d been in the war room wondering what the fuck I was supposed to do for days. I didn’t know who was alive and who might be after me, and I sure as hell didn’t want anyone finding the bunker so when I heard the banging – “ “You’d be proud. He held out for an hour of me talking to him through the door, telling him who I was, that I’d been here before, how no one had followed me – even did the TSA pat down Winchester style, silver knife and all before even letting me past the door.” “That’s our prophet,” Dean said, smiling at Kevin who still looked mildly annoyed. “What?” Kevin stood with his arms crossed looking terse. “What the fuck happened?” Sam and Dean looked at each other for a moment. The truth of the story was long and complicated, even more so for Dean. Sam nodded at Dean, who took it to mean to keep it simple, but honest. He’d have to leave a few parts out, but gave it a go. He explained the trials, how Metatron tricked Cas and cut out his grace, that all the angels were cast out – some of whom had a personal vendetta against Cas, and that Sam was pretty beat up. Charlie and Kevin listened intently, trying to process each thing as it poured from Dean’s mouth. “So where’s Cas now?” Charlie asked. “He’s on his way. I told him to come alone, but who knows if he’ll listen,” Dean said, pinching his skin in between his brow with his fingers. “All I know is I’m exhausted, I have a little food, I have alcohol, and I have my bed.” He smiled at the room, hands on his hips, waiting for someone else to bring up a current problem that he didn’t have the energy to deal with. “Why would he bring anyone with him? Who’s with him?” Kevin asked. “I don’t know,” Dean said, his hands rubbing his face. “There’s an angel BOLO for him. Some are pissed, others are just lost, and he’s guilt tripping himself into getting killed by some pissed off angel sans wings.” The frustration was boiling in his skin, he didn’t know where Cas was and if he was safe – he couldn’t keep him safe until he made it to them at the bunker. “So Cas is human. I know it’s shitty, but it’s kind of cool,” Kevin said. “Okay so anyway, good to see you, glad you’re here, I’m going to finally get some sleep and you should too.” He said it to everyone, but for the last part looked directly at Sam who was leaning, putting his weight on the back of a chair. “Goodnight guys. Seriously, sleep. You look rough.” Charlie gave them a little wave, and retreated back down the hallway to the extra rooms. Sam looked at Dean and nodded before heading off to his room, leaving Dean alone in the library. He stood straight, taking a deep breath, glad to be home. Walking back to the kitchen, he put away the few things that were in his bags and headed to his room. When he flipped on the light, he took it all in – his knives, his vinyl, his bed – and it was the first thing to make him honestly smile since they left. He hit the lights, fell onto his bed, and eventually knocked out with a stomach full of worry. Dean slept well into the next day, and didn’t wake up until the scent of bacon wafted into his room. He took a cool shower to wake him up, and pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a vintage-wash heather gray tee shirt. Taking his time with nowhere to be for once, Dean put on his deodorant and sprayed his shirt with some old cologne that one of the Men of Letters had left behind. He wasn’t sure what it was, but its oaky scent made him feel like he smelled good – classy, even. Looking in the mirror, he realized he hadn’t shaved since the day after they’d left New York, and he had healthy stubble. He didn’t bother with shaving, or with shoes, because he knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He was sure Sam would fuck with him about it, but couldn’t care. He checked his phone to see if there’d been any word from Cas, but nothing had come through. His heart sank. Not knowing where Cas was ate at him bad. He just hoped he was close. As he shuffled down the hall, the scent of food filled the air. It hit his stomach and Dean realized he hadn’t really been eating since Sam tried finishing the trials. The shitty cafeteria food at the hospital and vending machine grub was all he’d really had. When he made it into the kitchen, Charlie was dancing at the stove with her ear buds in, and Kevin was sitting at the table, his upper body sprawled out across it. Sam sat opposite Kevin, who released a snore. His face was lit up by the laptop in front of him. What the hell could he be researching now? Dean thought. He walked across the floor that slightly chilled his bare feet, but it was a refreshing feeling. “Morning, guys,” he said. Kevin softly snored, Charlie continued to put something together at the stove unaware of his presence, and Sam barely looked up. “Wow, quite the lively crew we have here.” He moved to the fridge, opening it up to find the beer he’d brought in the night before and took one out. Dean leaned against the counter and popped the top off his drink, glancing over at Charlie, who finally realized he was there. “Hey, sleeping beauty,” she lilted, pulling one of her ear buds out so she could hear. Loud alt-rock music flowed from the tiny speaker. “Did you sleep well?” “Yeah actually, I did.” Dean took a swig from his beer. “I’d say so. I almost sent Kevin in after you, but he fell back asleep, and Sam said not to bother you.” Dean furrowed his brow. “What time is it?” “Almost two.” “In the afternoon?” Dean shot a look at Sam, who didn’t even lift his head in Dean’s direction. “How long was I asleep?” He thought back to when they’d come in. It was dark but it couldn’t have been that late. But he did spend a lot of time in his dark room staring at the ceiling, worrying about Cas. “We went to bed around eleven, so you slept for probably twelve hours or so. Sam got a solid nine but could probably use more.” Charlie said this loudly enough for Sam to hear her, even if he wasn’t paying attention. “You needed it, Dean. You look a hundred times better,” Charlie added softly. “What are you making?” Dean asked. “BLT. Minus the B.” “But I smelled bacon,” Dean said, looking like a sad puppy. His mouth watered at the thought of food. “In the oven, keeping it warm. Sam made Kevin, himself, and you bacon cheeseburgers for lunch.” Charlie opened the oven and pulled out a plate, handing it to Dean with a smile. He took it eagerly and returned the grin. Dean went over to the table and sat in between Sam and Kevin. With his plate in his right hand, he pushed Kevin’s body away from him with his left arm, making Kevin fall toward his left and yet barely wake up before fast asleep again. He bit down into his cheeseburger and moaned a little. He was so grateful for this burger. Sam looked up at him finally, still weary and worn looking, but much better than four days ago, that was certain. Dean quickly looked down at his plate, swallowing the secret hiding within Sam down with his food. Sam cleared his throat. “I’ve, uh, I’ve been tracking Cas from the few phone calls you’ve gotten from him. He was in Colorado, so kind of close, right? Last call was Colorado Springs, and that was two days ago. He could be here any time.” Dean kept his eyes at his plate while he chewed. “Dean, I know you’re worried. He’s human, he’s vulnerable, he’s…he’s Cas. As long as he at least tries to get here and doesn’t freak out along the way, he should make it just fine.” “So I get to meet Cas? Finally!” Charlie said, scooting onto the edge of Kevin’s seat. “I swear this kid needs days of sleep. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks when I got here, and he really hasn’t slept since. I think now that you guys are here he feels protected or something. It’s cute. It’s like you’re his guardian –“ “Don’t,” both Sam and Dean said at the same time. “Oh, right. Yikes. Talk about a faux pas. I wish I had a time-turner about now….” Charlie stood and clapped her hands together. “So, we should party. I mean, for the time being there’s no apocalypse or other kind of world-ending scenario. You guys deserve a night off. Even if we stay here and have a movie marathon and get drunk. Or go play pool in town and do a supply run?” Charlie’s eyes were hopeful. “Come on guys, I need to get out. We need to get out. I mean look at the little prophet guy.” She gestured to Kevin, who was now face-down in a puddle of drool. “Just for a few hours. Then back to basecamp and lockdown until the whole A-Team is back together again.” Dean looked at Sam and rolled his eyes toward Charlie. “I think it’s doable. Just a few games, grab some groceries, and back underground at least until I can…until we find Cas. Or he finds us.” Charlie looked at Sam and stifled a grin. “Yay! I’m going to do some reading and check in with my peeps online and then get ready for some above ground fun.” “Should we put him to bed or something?” Sam asked, looking at Kevin. “Yeah at least a couch,” Dean said, “because he’s just going to be hurting if he stays like that.” Sam just stared at him. “Right. Yeah, I got him.” Dean stood and put his plate in the sink before scooping Kevin up and carrying him to his room. He came back to find Sam powering down the laptop. “Hey listen, why don’t you go watch the back of your eyelids for a while?” “Yeah I better. Especially if we’re going out tonight,” he chuckled. “I don’t even remember what it’s like to go shoot some pool for fun.” Sam made his way down the hall toward his room. Dean looked around the empty space, his hands clasped behind his head. At this point he was desperate for some normality, even if their version of normal was living in this expansive bunker with a great library, a treasure trove of weapons, and a war room. As long as he had his own room, his kitchen, and his brother, he was going to be just fine. “No I’m not,” he said softly aloud to no one. “Not without Cas.” He paced around the library looking at book titles, his head tilted sideways as he slowly scanned the bindings, some so old he could barely make out any print at all. By the time he’d made his slow path around the library, he wasn’t even reading the titles anymore; he was just stepping softly around the room, his mind elsewhere. Cas should have made it by now. He was close enough that if he hitched a ride, or even stole a car, he’d have been at the bunker. If he was on foot, he would have made it to at least a phone. Something must have happened. What if he was caught up with an angel – or a few? Dean’s mind started to wander, worried about every possible scenario. He pictured Cas huddled in a gutter, soaked from the rain, lost and alone. He pictured him fighting for his life against enemies that used to be his family. He pictured him bleeding, hungry, calling out to Dean for help to no avail. Dean walked quickly to Sam’s computer and booted it up. He drummed his fingers on the table while he waited, anxiety taking hold. He stood and grabbed another beer from the fridge, popping the top before returning to his seat. The laptop was finally up and running and he went through Sam’s recent searches. Just maps and number traces. Dean looked at the possible routes he would have taken to lead him directly to Lebanon, but that wasn’t a guarantee. He could have had to travel in any direction or made stops along the way. After a while Dean started to wonder if he should just go and find him, just drive and hope that like magic, like it used to be, Cas would be there on the road. Charlie walked quietly to the table, sliding into a seat, watching Dean’s tense face. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “I mean, obviously, it’s a little scary or whatever, but it’s Cas. He’ll make it.” “Yeah, I know. He’ll get here,” Dean said, trying to sound confident. “He will.” Charlie studied Dean’s face. “I know how you feel about him. I mean, obvs. But I’m here if you need to vent or have feelings.”“Feelings? I don’t have feelings,” he said unconvincingly, shifting in his chair. His discomfort of being called out on emotions was something he was unable to hide or defend, especially from Charlie. “Cas is –““If you say ‘family’ I’m going to slap you. I don’t care what Sam or Kevin or anyone else thinks, but I haven’t even seen you two together and I can tell. Whatever it is – epic bromance or more – you love Cas so get over it.”“Love?” Dean scoffed. “That’s a, uh, powerful word there, Charlie.”“Well you have powerful feelings,” she retorted. Dean shot her a terrible look. “I’m just saying. Those feelings you don’t have? I’m here if you need to…unburden yourself. With anything, not just with Cas, of course.” Dean just stared at her. “You’re my only family, Dean. You and Sam are it. Aside from my throngs of followers and minions of course.” Charlie’s bright smile broke down Dean’s tough exterior, yet again. Her voice softened. “And I hope you know how much that means to me.” After a moment of silence, Dean responded. “Yeah, you’re our family too.” A smile escaped from his lips. He looked at his watch. “So, what time do you want to leave?” “Well, we could have dinner first. Six, maybe? I know it’s early, but I’m itching to get out of here.” Charlie looked relieved just at the thought. “Kevin’s in the shower. I thought I’d make a list of grocery items to pick up, if you want to help. Or get Sam up.” “I’ll wake Sam later. Let’s get started on the list.” Dean stood up and started moving through the cabinets, calling out items they needed to Charlie and she wrote them down. Soon they had compiled enough food to last them a month, and Dean went to wake Sam. Dean took Kevin to get groceries while Sam woke up and Charlie got ready. The two of them got into the Impala and drove into town, hitting the grocery store. They split the list and made quick work of it, and within a half hour were back in the car driving back to the bunker. It took two trips to get everything in, and by the time everything was put away, it was time to head back out. The four got into the car and drove back to town. Dean pulled into the local pool hall and they began their night. Sam and Kevin ordered food and drinks while Dean and Charlie set up the table. An hour later, everyone looked so much better. Even Kevin was smiling. Sam was kicking Charlie’s ass in darts and Dean was beating Kevin so badly in their second game of pool that he started to fuck up on purpose. At ten they left the pool hall and hit the liquor store, loading up on all their favorites as if they were celebrating the end of the world. Only this time, they were celebrating just because. The group headed back to the bunker, laughing and making plans to watch bad movies and play a drinking game since Kevin had missed out on that kind of stupid experience that Charlie felt was especially necessary to partake in at least once. While they bickered on which movie it should be, Dean pulled up to the bunker and the Impala’s headlights cast a strange shadow on the stairwell as they passed. “What was that?” Sam asked, whipping his head toward the door. “I don’t know,” Dean said with a grimace. He parked and turned off the car. “Give me the flashlight,” he said to Sam, who quickly popped the glove box and threw the flashlight to his brother. Dean got out of the car with his gun and flashlight in hand and slowly rounded the car. He walked toward the stairwell until he was about ten feet from the door and raised the flashlight up into the faces of two shadows leaning against the door. They squinted and held their hands up against the blinding light. “Alright,” Dean yelled, “who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?”As his eyes adjusted, he realized standing next to the stranger was a familiar face. His eyes welled up and his voice cracked as he spoke. “Cas?” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- When Sam reached Dean’s side, his gun lowered. “Cas?” “Sam,” Cas said, his throat dry. “Dean. We were hoping you would come soon.” “Who’s we?” Sam asked, eying the woman next to Cas. “Cas is here?” Charlie asked, running up with Kevin, who was carrying all the bags of liquor. Dean moved down the stairs to the door. He grabbed Cas and hugged him. “Took you long enough,” he said through gritted teeth. His eyes were watery, his body released of all the worried tension he’d harbored for nearly a week. He was afraid to let him go, but he released his hold and clapped his back. “Guys, let’s get inside. We can talk there,” Kevin said nervously. “Who’s the chick?” “This is Isda. She’s…lost,” Cas said. Dean pushed past them and unlocked the door. “I told you to come alone.” “I…I am sorry,” Isda said. “I do not mean to intrude.” “You’re not intruding,” Cas reassured her. “I told you Dean would not be happy.” He followed Dean into the bunker, the others trailing behind him. “She’s lost Dean, that is all. She needed my help. She’s a good person. I trust her.” “Well I don’t trust as easy, Cas.” They huddled in the kitchen, Kevin emptying the bags of liquor onto the table. “Cas, this is Charlie, Charlie, Cas.” “Hi!” Charlie exclaimed. “So happy to finally meet you. Big fan. How’s being human treating ya?” “Well, hunger and thirst are more debilitating than I had thought, and sleep is just…strange. Everything is strange.” Cas’s voice was scratchy. His clothes were a little ragged and most definitely dirty. He looked as if he’d gotten into a couple scrapes along the way. A cut crossed just under his left eye, over his cheekbone. His facial hair was scruffy and slightly hid another cut across the right side of his face from the middle of his cheek to his chin. His eyes were almost desperate, but relieved at the same time. His shoulders slumped, with the same kind of relief Dean had upon seeing his friend. “I saw Castiel at a gas station. I didn’t know where I was, and I had been walking for days,” Isda explained. She was weary and worn, her brown hair in tangles, her green eyes nearly sunken into her head, dark circles deeply engraved under both. A bruise on her neck gave suggestion that she had been choked. “He was sitting on the curb looking wholly defeated, but I recognized him instantly.” “To be completely honest, Isda kept me going. I was afraid she was like the others and it took some convincing for her to gain my trust. But after we were attacked by another, I knew she was truly on my side.” Cas looked gratefully at his companion. “Why don’t we get you two cleaned up? Charlie, will you take Isda to get showered, maybe lend her some clothes?” Sam asked. Charlie nodded. She took Isda by the elbow and smiled meekly at her, obviously affected by her state. “Kevin, it’s good to see you,” Cas said, hugging the prophet. “You too, Cas. Glad you made it.” Dean cleared his throat. “Hey Cas, how about we get you cleaned up too?” Cas looked at Dean and nodded. Cas let Dean lead the way down the hall to his room where he got the water running before he picked some clothes out while Cas showered. He really needed to get some sweat pants or something. All he had were tee shirts, jeans, and cheap suits. Dean made a mental note to expand the wardrobe to include comfortable lounge-about clothes for nights like this. He hadn’t had sweat pants in his drawers since Lisa…but he stopped his mind from going there. He cracked the door to the bathroom a bit and placed the clothes on the sink. “There are clean clothes for you here whenever you’re done.” He didn’t wait for the thank you before he closed the door. The shower turned off, and Dean heard the shower curtain pull back. He left the room and went back into the kitchen where the liquor was. Cas was here. Cas was okay. He could relax now. Kevin was standing at the counter with Sam, pouring drinks and gathering beer bottles. “What are you doing?” Dean asked. “Oh, the drinking game is still on. We just now have a freshly human Cas and a fallen angel added into the mix,” Kevin answered excitedly. He carried four Solo cups into the library where the projector was set up. Sam shrugged. “He’s lightening up, I’m just rolling with it.” Dean threw his hands up. “That’s what this frat house needs. A drunk prophet.” Charlie and Isda came into the room, Isda looking much better. Her hair was wet and pulled back into a braid, wearing a black shirt that said I See Muggle People and pink flannel pajama pants. Her arms were covered in bruises as well. Dean’s heart started to soften toward her. He didn’t know her, but she was pretty roughed up and if Cas trusted her this far he should probably trust his friend’s instincts on this one. “So what movie are we watching, bitches?” Charlie asked. “Indiana Jones,” Kevin answered. “Which one?” “Raiders.” “Sweet.” “What’s happening?” Isda asked. “Oh, we’re going to watch a movie, and drink whenever certain things happen. You don’t have to, of course.” Charlie smiled protectively over her. “Grab the rest of the drinks Dean,” Kevin said. Dean rolled his eyes but grabbed what he could and brought them over into the library and went back for his own drink. Sam brought the computer over and got it set up to play the movie. Charlie had rigged it for them to watch movies. Sam poured a glass of water and brought it to Isda. When he returned to the kitchen, Dean gave him a raised eyebrow. “Shut up, I’m being nice.” “I’m just saying, a little holy communion never hurt anyone,” Dean joked. “You’re one to talk. Oh wait, your angel is sans wings these days,” Sam cut back. “Shut the fuck up, Sam.”“You look better!” Charlie said to Cas as he came down the hall.Dean jerked his head up in the direction of the library. Cas had come out, trudging tiredly. He was wearing the clothes Dean had put out – a pair of jeans that were slightly too big for him and a black Zeppelin shirt, barefoot and scruffy.“I feel much better,” Cas admitted. He stretched and when he did, his shirt came up, the jeans just hanging from his hipbones.Charlie looked over at Dean, who was staring a little too obviously. “Hey guys! Let’s get this game started!” She rushed over to the kitchen and playfully punched Dean like a heavy bag. “Your angel-human-manfriend is hella sexy. Not my type, but I can appreciate sexy when I see it and he has it.” She stood hip-to-side with Dean and leaned on him. “Dreamy. I knew it.”“Shut up.”“Seriously you should probably call dibs or something before his actual angel friend does.”“Charlie, she’s traumatized, Cas is at a loss about how to brush his teeth, and you think I’m concerned with them getting laid?”“I think you’re concerned that Cas might need someone more than you.” Charlie gazed up at Dean with a knowing look. “You can tell people to ‘shut up’ all you want, it doesn’t make the feelings go away.”Dean didn’t have anything to say. The feelings building inside him were always cooled by the chaotic world they lived in, always trying to end some sort of disaster. He didn’t have time to dwell on them. It wasn’t like anyone hadn’t noticed the intensity of their relationship. Everyone from Bobby to Balthazar had seen it and had raised an eyebrow or two if not flat out saying it. And Sam, he saw the growing intensity and just rolled with it, even if it annoyed him sometimes. But there was always this thing that separated them; Cas was an Angel of the Lord as he used to say, and Dean was just a human, the intended vessel of Michael. Hester’s words always rang in Dean’s ears though in times when he thought Cas was lost to him, that Cas was lost to Heaven the moment he plucked Dean from Hell. Those words, intended to be hurtful, were a comfort all the times Cas had left Dean or didn’t come when he called. They instilled a faith in Cas for Dean when things were darkest. He had raised him from Hell and left his mark on Dean in more ways than one. And now the great chasm that had separated them was gone.Dean watched as they started the movie. Everything about Cas seemed different. He stood with his arms crossed, his shoulders slightly hunched, like he was cold. Dean’s jeans hung off Cas’s body, leaving them baggy in places. He smiled seeing Cas in a Zeppelin shirt. When Cas turned and looked at him, Dean froze. He looked down and straightened up, not knowing how to act toward him now that they were on even ground. Cas padded across the floor toward Dean, his hair a mess from the shower, his eyes tired, but even still as smile on his face that couldn’t help but be returned. His arms still crossed, Cas stopped as he stood facing Dean.“It is so good to see you,” he gushed with his stupid grin. “It felt like we would never make it here. And then when we did and no one was here, I was worried to say the least.”“Yeah, I did my fair share of worrying too,” Dean admitted. He stared at the intricacies of Cas’s face. The cuts that didn’t heal, the aging that seemed to happen overnight with all he’d been through. He threw his arms around Cas and hugged him tight. “I’m just glad you’re here now.” Cas slowly put his arms around Dean, and it was as if they were touching for the first time. He buried his head into Dean’s neck and let out a heavy breath of relief. A sensation washed over Dean and he quickly let go of Cas, clapping him yet again on the back as he released him. “Well are you ready to get drunk and watch Raiders?”“I’m not too sure what that means,” Cas answered.Dean chuckled. “Some things never change.”He picked up his drink and threw his arm around Cas, walking with him to sit with the rest of the group. Sam was engaged in conversation with Isda while Charlie and Kevin were very much into their drinking game.“Snakes! Drink, bitches!” Charlie yelled, throwing back a shot and then clinking her beer with Kevin as he downed his.“Whip,” Dean said, knowing what was coming up.Charlie turned around and pointed at him. “Yes, Dean! Drink!”Dean smiled and downed what was in his glass and poured another. He took a glass from the center of the table and filled it too, sliding it to Cas. He smiled at Dean and took the drink. This time when Charlie yelled drink, he downed his too.Two hours later, Isda and Sam were sitting at the far end of the table nearest the kitchen while the other four were sitting at the end letting another movie play on while they played cards. Cas was laughing, which was a good sight to see. He was somehow kicking ass in Presidents and Assholes, using his power to fuck with Dean. Kevin was faring well, his face flushed and a smile permanently plastered to his face. Charlie was Team Cas, helping him come up with rules. Dean had the raw end of the deal, too many drinks ahead of everyone else. Luckily he had home court advantage in the world of alcohol and everyone else he was with were lightweights. He looked over at Sam and wondered what exactly he and Isda had been talking about this whole time when something brushed his foot. He looked down quickly and then back up at Charlie who had tried to kick him but couldn’t quite reach. He furrowed his brow.“We should do a scavenger hunt!” Charlie shouted as the game ended.“Yes!” Kevin shouted back. “I will win because I have spent too many hours in this place alone.”“Okay what are we looking for?” Dean asked.“The rarest thing in the entire bunker,” Charlie said, her eyes sparkling.Dean raised his hand. “Spear of Destiny. Know where it is. Poked Jesus. I win.” Cas cocked his head to the side in disbelief, but Dean nodded and raised his hand in an oath.“Okay, something else really rare and one of a kind that didn’t spill the blood of someone on a cross,” Charlie rephrased. She mouthed ‘cheater’ to him.Kevin jumped up. “I know a thing!” He took off running down to one of the back storage rooms.“I know a thing too,” Charlie said, looking suspicious. “But I need help reaching it. Guys, come help,” she pleaded to Cas and Dean. They eyed each other and stood up, following Charlie who was already bounding down to one of the storage rooms. When they got there, Charlie was smiling a little too hard. They were squeezed into one of the smaller storage areas. When Cas and Dean were both inside, Charlie turned and grabbed Dean first and then Cas, slapping handcuffs on them.“What the fuck, Charlie?” Dean shouted. He raised his wrist which was connected to Cas.“See I found a thing. A rare thing. And you two are going to stay in the ‘Feelings Closet’ until you’re all caught up,” she said, slowly backing out of the room.“Wait, Charlie, wait, what are you –“ Dean couldn’t finish before Charlie slammed it shut.“I’ll be back in an hour!” She shouted through the door as she locked it. “Promise. Setting my alarm. Don’t hate me!” And she was gone.Dean banged on the door for a minute, shouting for Charlie to come let him out, even using the ‘I have to pee’ excuse, but he knew she wasn’t coming, and wasn’t going to until that alarm went off in an hour. “Come on!” he yelled, hitting the door one last time. His hand tugged. He turned to see Cas rubbing his face. “Are you not upset by this at all?”“To be honest, Dean, everything lately has been so strange that this feels like normal, if there is such a thing.” Cas tried to cross his arms, but it pulled on Dean’s wrist so he just let his arms fall to his sides. “Obviously we’re stuck in the ‘Feelings Closet’ until Charlie lets us out, so we might as well sit down and catch up.”Dean rolled his eyes. Both of them sat at the same time, leaning against a cage housing some artifacts. They sat in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder. Dean had things he wanted to ask, questions he needed answers to, things he wanted to say and get off his chest, but no words came. Cas took a breath as if he was about to say something, but just let his left hand fall to the side of his thigh, his legs stretched out in front of him. Dean sat with his knees up, his left arm hanging off his left knee, the back of his right hand against Cas’s.“It’s hard,” Cas finally said, “being human. I’d been a witness, an observer for so long that I thought I had a better understanding of what this was. I was sorely mistaken.”“Yeah, I bet this mortal gig is a rough transition.”“To say the least. Did you know,” Cas started, but then chuckled to himself. “Never mind. Of course you know. You’re human.”“So this Isda chick, she’s one of the good guys?” Dean asked.“Yes, she is. She kissed me.”Dean’s head snapped to the right. “What?”Cas smiled. “Yesterday. We were looking for a ride, walking down the road and took a break. We had a bottle of water, a bag of chips, and a half of a pack of those mini-donuts you get at the gas stations between us. We just sat down a few feet from the edge of the road and ate a little. She said she was scared. She didn’t know what to do. She’s the angel of nourishment, you know? Physical, emotional, spiritual nourishment, and here she was without purpose, starving in every way. She started crying and then laughed and asked what we were going to do. I didn’t know. She stared at me, her eyes were so green after she cried – they reminded me of yours – and then she kissed me. Just out of nowhere. And it wasn’t like Meg, it was soft and salty. Of everything, the bleeding, the pain, the thirst and hunger, that act felt more human than all of those things.”“Wait, did you…on the side of the road?” Dean asked.“No, Dean. I think we were both pretty exhausted for that.” He looked at Dean’s face. “You look relieved.”Dean cleared his throat. “No, not relieved, just…on the side of the road? Anyway, go on.”“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t overcome and was forced to show restraint. She is a beautiful person, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”“No, I hadn’t,” Dean admitted. His mind hadn’t been on Isda at all. “But Sam has apparently.”“I like that she found someone here to talk to. When we first arrived, I was worried she would feel even more isolated.”“What happened to your face?” Dean asked, changing the subject.“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cas said, guilt and shame coating his words.“Fair enough.”“It does hurt, though.” His head rolled toward Dean, their faces close. “Maybe I’ll have a cool scar or two.”“Chicks dig scars.” Cas smiled. They just stared at each other, taking in each other’s faces. Dean turned a little toward Cas and reached up with his free hand, touching the sides of the cuts on Cas’s face, still a little swollen. Touching Cas felt so comforting. Dean felt his chin start to quiver, and he tried to stop it. He couldn’t walk away, so hiding his face seemed a little childish. He dropped his hand and flattened back out against the cage, tears overflowing his eyes. “I’m just so goddamn happy you’re here and you’re okay,” he spat out, his voice wavering. “Dean.” Dean refused to look back at Cas. The ‘Feelings Closet.” He was going to kill Charlie when she let them out of there. Cas jerked his wrist, the metal of the handcuffs pulling hard at his skin. “Dean. Look at me, please.” Dean looked up, blinking away more tears. He wiped his face with his free hand and looked over at Cas. “Yeah?” But Cas didn’t say anything at first. He just forced Dean to look at him, to see him. He took Dean’s hand and pressed it hard to his chest. “I’m here. I’m okay. You can relax, for now at least. You have to know that getting to you was my priority over everything so that you could see me like this. I’m temporary now. I’m not coming back if this stops beating. But I’m here.”He released Dean’s hand, which immediately went to the back of Cas’s head. Dean gripped Cas’s hair between his fingers and his face fell. “Don’t go dying on me. You’ve left me too many times that I thought I’d never see you again and now…just don’t.” Dean had nowhere to hide, nowhere he could go even if he wanted to. He was locked right there on that spot, his shoulder against the cool metal, his face down and eyes closed as in prayer, his hand on the back of Cas’s head, their foreheads touching, just knowing he was actually there. Tears started flowing down Dean’s face and he gripped his fingers tighter. Just as he was about to let go and his head tilted up, lips pressed against his. He didn’t realize what was happening; all he knew was that it felt as if he could finally breathe. The lips broke away slowly and Dean looked up.“I apologize, Dean. Was that not okay?” Cas questioned, looking extremely concerned.Dean didn’t know what to say. It was like nothing he had felt before, an extremely foreign feeling that settled over him. “No, it was…it was okay,” he finally answered. He couldn’t think, he just stared at Cas until staring wasn’t good enough anymore. He choked out “Cas” before he just acted. Talking wasn’t going to help when there were no words to explain what he was feeling. Dean reached up and touched Cas’s face before pulling him closer and kissed him gently back. Their foreheads pressed together, Dean felt his heart fluttering. He kissed Cas again, this time with more force, more urgency. It took Cas and himself by surprise with how much Dean needed this. With parted lips, he kissed Cas’s mouth like he needed this to breathe. His eyes were tightly shut, afraid to open them and it be a dream, Cas not be there with him and still not safe. But he was safe. He was right there, his tongue sliding along Dean’s, their lips moving against each other. Dean gripped Cas’s face with his hand, unable to stop touching him, unable to stop kissing him, reassuring that he had his angel, wings and grace or not.He finally came up for air, leaning back and looking around the room, at their handcuffed wrists. He heard movement outside the door. The two stood and Dean banged on the door until someone came to unlock it. Charlie stood with the door cracked enough for her head to fit in.“Are you guys ready to come out?” she asked.“If you make one joke about closets,” Dean warned. Holding up his right hand and subsequently Cas’s left along with it he said, “Can we do something about this, please?”“Okay. Hope you guys are all caught up,” Charlie said as she unlocked the cuffs. “I am off to bed. It’s late. Everyone else is asleep I think and I need my beauty rest so goodnight and don’t be mad at me,” she said. It all sounded like one word, her sentence flowing together as she skipped off down the hall.Dean’s stern look faded when she was gone. He turned back to Cas, who was rubbing his wrist. “You, uh…you want to stay in my room?” he asked. His teeth clenched in tension after he’d said it. It felt so strange and embarrassing. “Do you want me to?” Cas asked. “I would stay if you wanted me to.” His sincerity cut into Dean.“Of course I want you to.” He didn’t want to say it, but he never wanted to be without him again. Dean felt tethered to Cas, and Cas was his lifeline. The two headed to Dean’s room. When he turned on the lamp on the nightstand, a pale glow filled the concrete square. Dean closed and locked the door behind Cas, and pulled back the covers on his bed. He opened the drawer and pulled out a pill bottle and tossed it at Cas. “Take two. You’ll thank me in the morning.” Cas obliged, going to the bathroom to scoop water from the sink into his mouth to swallow the pills. He returned to Dean, pulling back the covers on the other side of the bed.“Is…is this okay?” Cas asked again. “I can sleep in the chair.”“Are you serious, Cas? After what you’ve been through I’m going to have you sleep in a shitty chair?” Dean gestured for him to get into the bed. Cas just stood there. “I’ll turn off the light. Everything’s fine. I’m good. Are you good?”“Better than ever,” Cas said flatly, his voice hiding something.Dean clicked the light off. When the two of them were both laying in the dark on their backs, Dean questioned Cas. “Are you doing okay? Is something wrong?”Cas sighed. “It’s just a lot of new in a short span of time. It’s taking a lot of getting used to.”“We’ve all been through the ringer so many times and starting over as new people. It’s just another page in the book, Cas.”“And this feeling between us, it’s just another page? Just something we go forward with without question?”“First of all,” Dean started, “feelings stay in the ‘Feelings Closet.’ But yeah, I guess. Just another starting point.”Cas turned toward Dean and propped himself up on his elbow. “I like this starting point.”Dean could barely make out Cas’s face in the dark, but he could see his eyes shining and knew he was smiling. He reached up to Cas and caressed his cheek, rubbing his thumb along his heavy stubble that was nearly a beard. His thumb led him to Cas’s mouth, passing over his bottom lip. Cas leaned down and kissed Dean gingerly on the lips. Their mouths moved slowly, savoring every bit of each other in that moment. The taste of Cas sent chills through Dean, every bit of him tingling like an exposed nerve. He couldn’t help but let a smile escape as they kissed each other.“What?” Cas said in between breaths.“Nothing. I don’t know, just, this feels good.” Dean answered, his nose running along Cas’s cheek.Cas smiled. “It does, doesn’t it?”He kissed Dean once more slowly on his mouth, then his jaw, his neck, his clavicle. He ran his hand down Dean’s side, running his fingers across the waist of Dean’s jeans until he reached the button. Dean’s head started spinning, but he pushed all the nervous thoughts from his head before they got out of control and he freaked out unnecessarily. As the zipper on his jeans slid down, he felt himself pulsing, nervousness and anticipation creating an excitement like he’d never felt. Cas’s hand folded back the left side of Dean’s jeans to the pocket and slowly placed his hand on Dean. Dean felt his entire body seize up at the touch.“You okay?” Cas whispered, looking into Dean’s eyes to make sure.Dean nodded. He took Castiel’s hand into his and slowly began to stroke his cock, Cas’s hand applying the pressure while his supplemented the movement. Dean swallowed hard, his breathing instantly intensifying. He let go of Cas’s hand and it kept moving, up and over his head, back down to the base of the shaft, slow and deliberate movements that had Dean teetering on the edge. He grabbed Cas’s face, pulling it to his and biting Cas’s bottom lip. He invaded Cas’s mouth with his tongue, his breathing getting heavier. When Cas’s head disappeared a little fear crossed Dean’s face, a fear that went away immediately when he felt Cas’s warm breath on his skin. Cas’s hand and mouth traded places, timidly at first. His mouth worked the top half of Dean while his hand moved in unison with his mouth at the base. When his hand moved and he slid his mouth down Dean until he reached the back of his throat, the moan that escaped from Dean was full and loud.Dean tapped Cas’s shoulder as if tapping out of a fight. “Stop, stop, stop,” he begged quickly. Cas moved his face toward Dean’s, but kept his hand where it was, not stopping but moving slower. “I don’t even want to know where you learned to do that.”“I saw it on –““Nope, don’t want to know. Uh-uh,” Dean quickly interrupted. His arm was behind Cas, so he pulled him close and kissed him quickly. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”“Dean I’ve been human not even a week. You honestly think I know what I’m doing?” He kissed Dean’s forehead. “You know much more than I do in this area. Just tell me what to do.”Dean was horrified at the thought. Being honest about what he wanted to try was frightening to him. But it was Cas, and he could trust Cas. He thought for a moment, brow furrowed as he contemplated if he should go for it or not. Fuck it, he thought. He rolled over to his nightstand and opened the drawer. He fished around for a minute until his hand fell on the cool plastic bottle. “Move over me,” he instructed Cas. Cas looked confused, but did as he was told. Dean opened the bottle and poured some of the contents into his hand. “Fair warning, this is probably going to be cold.” He looked down at Cas’s cock and took a sharp breath in. Oh, this is a bad idea, he thought. He wrapped his hand around Cas with his hand and stroked him with a generous amount of lubricant. Cas’s response was humorously audible. Dean shushed him and stifled a smile. He moved his legs to either side of Cas’s hips and positioned him. “Right here,” Dean said, looking Cas straight in the eyes. “Slowly, okay?” Dean breathed out slowly and nodded at Cas nervously. Cas leaned over Dean, took ahold of himself, and slowly pushed himself into Dean. Dean’s eyes grew large and he breathed in and out in quick succession.“Are you okay?” Cas said, trembling.Dean nodded. He pulled Cas’s face toward his and said, “I trust you.”He kissed him, not slowly or desperately like before, but with a passion as Cas slowly moved his hips, thrusting gently at first but moving more fervently with each movement. He slid in and out of Dean, his hips hitting against the back of Dean’s thighs, pushing deeper. On either side of Dean’s head, Cas’s hands gripped into the pillow, his fingers digging deep. The pressure pushing on Dean brought him to the brink. He grasped at Cas’s arm, his neck, something to hold on to. A bead of sweat ran from Cas’s forehead to his nose, falling onto Dean’s face. An animalistic grunt escaped him. He and Cas grabbed each other by the side of the neck, staring into one another’s eyes in the dark. Dean took ahold of his cock and began to feverishly stroke it, his eyes rolling back into his head for a moment at the sensation of dual stimulation. Cas put his mouth on Dean’s, kissing him furiously as he thrust deeply into him twice more, his teeth raking the stubble on Dean’s jaw as he came, followed by Dean, both holding back the noises desperately trying to escape their throats. Cas collapsed onto the bed next to Dean, shaking.“Holy shit,” Dean whispered as he exhaled. “Holy shit. What the fuck just happened?”“I…I can’t move my legs, let alone think right now, Dean.”The two lay in the dark, staring into nothing while they regained blood flow to their heads. Dean reached over and ran his hand through Cas’s hair. “You okay?”“That was…new,” Cas responded.“Yeah,” Dean agreed, still disbelieving what was happening. He moved his fingers in Cas’s hair, slightly damp from sweat. “Shower?” he asked.“Probably a good idea.”Dean got the water running while he cleaned himself up a bit. Cas staggered into the bathroom and slapped Dean’s ass. “Really, dude?”“It felt customary.”“Nice, Cas.”“Nice ass.”“Shut it.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Dean woke up to lips pressed to his. He didn’t even open his eyes; he just reciprocated with ease, as if he had been doing this every day for years. Despite his nervousness in the overall situation, waking up like this was the best feeling he’d had in a long time. Ultimately he felt so at peace with Cas by his side that none of the nervousness, the questioning of himself, wondering what his brother would say, none of it mattered. He was home. His hands went for Cas’s side. Again, the sensation of touching his skin removed all his anxiety. He was here, he was safe. “Morning,” he said when they paused. Cas’s hair was a mess. Dean smiled and blushed, looking down. He absentmindedly bit his lip. “Stop that,” Cas said. “Stop what?” Dean asked. “Doing that thing with your lip. And your eyes. Your eyes, Dean. And freckles. Everything about you is just beautiful.” “Beautiful? Really?” Cas’s face grew serious. “Really. It’s ridiculous how beautiful you are.” “Shut up.” Dean shoved his face in between them. “Same goes for you,” he murmured nearly undiscernibly into the pillow. “Why are you hiding your face?” Cas asked. He put his face down next to Dean’s. “Don’t hide your face. Not from me.” Dean looked up at Cas, his green eyes shining, a blush growing over the tops of his freckled cheeks. “I love you, Dean. You know that.” Dean’s cheeks just got redder, his face shoved back down into the pillow. Cas stole the pillow away from under him, but Dean just put his face in the mattress. “I love you too,” he mumbled. “Seriously, Dean?” “This is hard, okay?” Dean said, turning his face to Cas. “You don’t think this is difficult for me?” Dean’s face fell. “Of course it is. I’m sorry. Lots of new. I forget sometimes, you know?”“Forget what?”“That your wings have been clipped. That you’re flesh and bone and blood just like me. We’ve had a rough road, me and you. Not like it’s been easy with me and anyone, but we’ve been through the ringer.” Dean lay flat on his back and rubbed his hands through his hair.“Breakfast?” Cas suggested.“Yeah, breakfast. Probably more like lunch, but either way, food would be good right now.”The two climbed out of bed and got dressed. Dean tossed Cas another shirt from his drawer, which he pulled over his head quickly and slid on Dean’s jeans. He stood hunched, waiting for Dean.“You alright? You look cold. Last night too.”“I’m just not used to regulating body temperature. I’m cold, but I’ve been colder.”The image flashed again of Cas in the gutter, rained on and freezing and his heart sank. “I have a sweatshirt in the bottom drawer. Grab it.”Cas fished out the dark grey sweatshirt that was thin from wear. He’d never seen Dean wear it though, and it felt like it hadn’t been worn in many years. He slid his arms into the sleeves and turned toward Dean.“We need to get you a belt,” Dean added.“Why is that necessary?”“Because, Cas, your hipbones show when you raise your arms because the pants are too big on you.”“Is something wrong with my hipbones? Is it indecent?” Cas asked, honestly concerned he’d offended someone with his hipbones.“Yours are extremely indecent,” Dean laughed.He lifted his shirt slightly, showing his stomach and hips. “How so?”“The way they…with the…” he tried to explain, pointing with a flailing finger at the v shaped area that was only interrupted by the hanging waistline of his jeans on Cas’s body. Finally Dean gave up and spat out, “It’s just obscene. Put your shirt down.” Cas looked confused. Dean sighed, wondering just how many more years he was going to have to explain things to him. He walked over to Cas and smiled. He tried to fix Cas’s bedhead to no avail. “It’s obscene and indecent because of how sexy it is.”Cas smiled. “Okay, I can live with that. But why, if it’s sexy, should I wear a belt?”“Because it gets a rise out of me. And anyone else with eyes.” He was going to kiss him, but it felt a little strange. This felt so natural, but also was going to take some getting used to.The two went to the kitchen where Kevin and Charlie were playing cards at the table and Sam was teaching Isda how to make pancakes.“When there are bubbles all over the top, that’s when you know it’s ready to flip,” he said.“Morning,” Dean said to everyone in the room. They all responded back in various fashion. This was such a strange family, but it was his. He finally had all the people he loved under one roof. Plus an extra angel. “Isda, did you sleep well?” Cas asked.“Yes, it was very nice to sleep in a bed. Did you sleep well?” Isda returned.Cas blushed. “Um, yes. Very well. It was definitely good to be off the streets, feeling safe, comfortable, and clean.” He looked over at Dean with a smile.Charlie’s face at the subtle interaction practically lit up the entire room. “That is awesome, Cas. So, so glad you slept well.” Sam and Kevin looked at her strangely, and Dean shot her an angry look. “I mean, it’s great – Isda slept well, Cas slept well, everyone feels safe and happy – it’s all good.” Sam’s eyes widened. “Okay, Charlie.” He went back to plating pancakes. Isda started bringing plates to Charlie and Kevin, but they took them from her and carried them into the library so everyone could sit at the long table together. Dean poured drinks and brought them to the table, Isda following his lead. When they were all seated, Sam started conversation. “So get this, Isda was telling me that some angels are still searching for vessels, some have no idea what’s going on, others are intent on getting at Cas. I’m sure none of them care that Metatron Loki’d him and cut out his grace, other than the fact that he’s easier to kill. Sorry, Cas,” Sam said. Cas waved it off. “We’re not going to know who to trust even more now. And we don’t want anyone getting possessed since Hell’s running over and I’m fairly sure Crowley and every other black eyed thing out there would be thrilled to get ahold of any of us. So until we at least have a game plan, I say we hunker down and see how things play out for once.”“I’m thinking we should make one more run into town,” Kevin suggested.“What for? We’ve got food and liquor,” Sam responded.“We have some people here who can be possessed – Charlie and Cas? Don’t you think they need to get tatted up?” Kevin looked at Sam like it was obvious, surprised Sam hadn’t mentioned it before. “I don’t think Isda should be worried about that, but Charlie and Cas? Definitely. Not like it helped my mom, but it’s better than nothing.”Dean and Sam looked at each other and shrugged. “Does make sense,” Dean added. “You guys up for tattoos?”“Sure?” Charlie said. Cas just shrugged.“Well, let’s find a place and get it knocked out so we can get back here.” Dean clapped his hands as a signal for everyone to finish up and get ready to go.“Wait, tattooed?” Isda questioned.“Yeah, we’ve all – well, Sam, Kev, and I – all have anti-possession tattoos,” Dean answered, pulling down his shirt to show her.“Now that was indecent,” Cas said quietly. Dean kicked his foot under the table and everyone gave them strange looks.Everyone ate quickly and Dean washed up the dishes while Sam looked up tattoo parlors in the area. Charlie was taking inventory of things they might need if they were stuck for a while. They would split up – Sam and Kevin hitting the store while Dean and Isda accompanied Charlie and Cas to get their tattoos. Before everyone left, Sam pulled Dean aside.“Can I speak to you for a moment?” he asked.Dean shrugged, “Yeah, of course.” They walked to Dean’s room and shut the door. “Okay, what’s going on? You feeling alright?”“It’s not Sam, Dean.”“Zeke? Jesus I thought something was wrong with Sam. Can we do some sort of code word so I know it’s you, or so I can, I don’t know, ring you up when we need to talk?”“A code word would work.” He stood in silence.Dean sighed and gave up waiting on an answer. “Fine, thanks for the suggestions. Uh, how about if I need to talk to you, since you’re listening all the time anyway, I say breaker breaker and you step up to the plate?”“I can do that. Your brother is doing better Dean. He’s still weak, still has a lot of healing to do, but he is getting better. I believe that having Isda around could help him more.”“Really? Like how?”“She is the angel of nourishment. She can physically, emotionally, and spiritually heal others who are in need. Her presence is helpful to his cause.”“So just hanging around, talking to Sam – that’s working?”“You could ask her for help. Pray to her to help your brother. I’m sure especially in this situation she would abide. She likes Sam very much, and he is intrigued by her. Keep them close.”“So she can be trusted?”“I believe she can. She seems very pure.”Dean thought for a moment. “Zeke, can I ask you something?”“Yes, Dean. You may ask anything and I will do what I can to give you an answer.”“Oh it isn’t anything that heavy – meaning of life or anything – what kind of angel was Cas? You said Isda was the angel of nourishment. So, what was Cas?”Ezekiel smiled. “Castiel was an angel of solitude. He was a prince of the seventh heaven.”“The TV show?”“I’m sorry?” Ezekiel asked, confused.“Nevermind. What’s the seventh heaven?” “He was the prince of the realm of the Holiest of Heavens. When people speak of heaven, of God and the archangels, the throne of God, the highest of angels residing with him, this is the place they speak of.”Dean was beside himself. “Prince of Heaven. Like, the Heaven?”“Yes. But as I said, he is an angel of solitude. And now he is an angel no more.”“Ezekiel?” Cas said.Dean and Ezekiel looked toward the door that had quietly opened unnoticed as they spoke.“Cas –“ Dean started.“Why is Ezekiel in Sam?” Cas asked, his voice full of anxiety.“It’s okay, Cas. Zeke came in to help, remember? Well, helping kind of meant….”“Using Sam as a vessel?”“We are all wounded from the fall, brother,” Ezekiel explained. “The only way to save Sam was to take him up as my vessel. I am healing him and myself.”“Is Sam aware of this?” Cas asked Dean.“No, and we cannot breathe a word of this to him, understand? Sam finds out, he can press the eject button and both Sam and Zeke are done for. Not a damn word.” Dean’s jaw was flexed, trying to keep his voice down. “Listen, we gotta go. Zeke’s gonna slink back into Sam’s mind and Sam will be back. He won’t remember anything, and we don’t say a word. Got it?”“I don’t like this Dean,” Cas said.Dean snapped, his voice forceful. “I know Cas. I don’t like it either. I’m tired of secrets, I’m tired of lies, but when it comes to saving my brother’s life, it’s the only way.” There was a knock on the door. “Jesus, what is this, the Brady Bunch? Come in.”“No that’s okay,” Charlie’s voice came from outside the door. “We’re all ready if you guys are. I mean, take your time. Just…we’ll be in the Impala.”Dean stared at Cas. “Be there in a minute,” he called to Charlie, not breaking eye contact with Cas. His voice returned to a whisper. “You understand, right? Tell me you understand.”“Fine. I understand. I won’t say a word.” He looked at Ezekiel in Sam’s body and nodded.The three of them walked down the hall to meet the rest of the group in the car. As they reached the door, Dean turned to Ezekiel and nodded. He nodded back. “Sam, you alright there?”Sam jolted, as if coming out of a daydream. “Yeah, just…I must have zoned out. We ready to go?”“Everyone’s waiting in the car.” Dean smiled at him and pushed him toward the door. He started to follow after Sam, and Cas grabbed Dean by the hand and pulled him back. “Hey, we’ll be there in a minute,” he called after Sam who was already up the steps to ground level. Dean turned to Cas. “I know, I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I know it’s a risky move, but I had to. I had to try to save him.” Cas pulled Dean into his chest, hugging him tight.“I understand, Dean. I do. Everything is going to be fine.”Dean let Cas run his hand through his hair, consoling him. He wanted to believe that everything was going to be fine, and that they’d have a happy ending, but that’s never how his story panned out. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The sound of the tattoo gun humming was almost like music to Dean’s ears. Isda looked horrified as she watched Charlie and Cas getting their tattoos, Charlie’s on her inner elbow, Cas’s in the same place as Sam and Dean’s tattoos. “You okay there, Is?” Dean asked. “I’m…I’m fine. It just looks terribly painful.” “You’d be amazed how therapeutic it is,” he said. Isda just shook her head. Dean touched Cas’s foot that was elevated by the chair being leaned back. He gave it a squeeze when the artist was turned away, and Cas gave him a small smirk. He couldn’t wait to have him alone again, ignore everything else in the world and just be with Cas. Even though it had pissed him off, he needed to thank Charlie for the ‘Feelings Closet’ scheme. When everyone was cleaned up and Sam and Kevin returned from a supply run, they went back to the bunker and parked the Impala in the garage. Charlie stepped out of the tightly packed car into the spacious warehouse-sized room that held cars and motorcycles. “Holy shit, you could fit Serenity in here with room to spare,” she said, taking in the huge space filled with vehicles. “It’s nice for Baby to finally have a place. Plus I don’t want her sitting anywhere near the bunker’s door if we’ve got people that are looking for us.” Dean looked around himself, a huge grin spread across his face. “Pretty awesome though, huh?” “Um, yes.” They headed back to the main level where Dean started cooking dinner. Cas and Isda chatted with Sam and Kevin while Charlie helped Dean. They worked quietly for a while, listening to the non-stop chatter across the room until Charlie couldn’t take it anymore. “So, how are…things?” she asked, a smile bursting onto her face. “Things have…progressed,” Dean answered, smiling as he flattened out the burger patties. “Progressed like talking or something more?” she prodded.Dean looked up at Cas who was gesturing with his hands as he spoke. He dropped his eyes back to his task, uncontrollably smiling. “More.”“Really?” Charlie whispered in exclamation, her face erupting into an excited glow. “Ugh I’m so excited for you. Feels great huh? Years of sexual tension…I hope that it was climatic for you,” she teased.“Come on,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.“What? At least you’re getting some.”“Why don’t you make nice with the angel?”“Nah. She seems to have a lady boner for Sam. Plus she’s more friend material. But back to you. Was it hot?”“Not talking about it.”“Why not?”“Not thinking about it.”“Why not?”Dean looked back over at Cas laughing at something Kevin said. A heat came over him. “That is why,” he said to Charlie, looking down at his crotch. His jeans were tight, and even though Charlie couldn’t see anything at her angle, she got his meaning.“Gross. Gross, Dean. Go handle that. I can’t stand next to you knowing you’re…engorged.” Charlie made a face like she was going to vomit. “Go! I’ll finish up the burgers.”“I told you I didn’t want to even think about it. Dammit, Charlie.” Dean gripped the counter. Thoughts ran through his mind, remembering those amazing sensations that sent chills throughout his body. “I don’t want to interrupt him.”“Cas!” Charlie yelled. Dean smacked her arm. She turned and whispered, “What are you, twelve?”“You’re…twelve.” Dean’s words failed him as Cas strolled over, his damn jeans hanging sexily from his hips, drawing the eye.“No wonder it took you this long. Are you like this with women?”Dean didn’t have time to answer. Cas had reached them. “What’s up, Charlie?”“I think Dean wanted to talk with you. In private. Wink, wink.”“Fucking shit,” Dean whispered under his breath.“What’s happening?” Cas asked confusedly though amused, smiling at Dean’s uncomfortable stance and blushing face.“Follow me,” Dean said gruffly to Cas and turned to Charlie. “You got this?”“Yup. Be gone,” she shooed them.Dean grabbed Cas by the hand and pulled him down the hallway to his room, where he shut and locked the door. By this time Cas couldn’t help but laugh. “What is wrong with you?”“You. You are making me think things, and feel things, and want to do things –““You want to do things?” Cas asked, still chuckling.“I want to do things,” Dean repeated. “And what are these things that have you acting insane?”Dean stared Cas in the eyes for a moment, angry at him for being so fucking adorable. He hooked Cas’s shirt collar with his middle finger and pulled it down just enough to see the tattoo covered in clear plastic. He bit his lip, shut his eyes, and let go of the shirt. Dean put his hands on Cas’s shoulders and pushed him backwards against the door. He stared into Cas’s blue eyes, more intensely full of color than usual. He was fucking beautiful. He slowly leaned in, brushing his lips along Cas’s cheek. Cas’s breath hit his skin, sending waves of anticipation over him. He swallowed hard. Dean’s lips made their way to Cas’s, gently touching them. His hand wrapped around the back of Cas’s head, pulling him closer as he slowly pressed his tongue against Cas’s. Their mouths fit together perfectly, as if they were made to kiss each other. When they finally stopped to breathe, Dean pressed his forehead to Cas’s, caught his breath, and made his move. Foreheads still pressed together, Dean reached down to Cas’s waist and unbuttoned the jeans that slid off of Cas’s body with ease. “I’ve never done this,” he said.“Neither had I,” Cas said.That was enough to spur Dean’s reassurance. He kissed him once more, while he ran his hands up Cas’s shirt, feeling his body all the way back down to his hips as he moved lower, eye level with his hipbones that begged to be bitten. He placed his teeth on Cas’s skin, only just so, resting his tongue on him for a moment and ending the light bite with a kiss. His knees shoulder width apart, Dean was rested on the ground, looking up at Cas. He took Cas into his hands and licked his lips. At the sight of this, Cas’s head leaned back against the door and he shut his eyes, his dick pulsing. Dean took Cas into his mouth slowly, apprehension due to inexperience still holding him back. His uneasiness did not last long, his mouth watering at the taste of Cas’s skin. He moved his mouth forward and back, pausing every few passes to let his tongue work around the ridges on Cas’s head. Skillful at being silent, Cas swallowed and grabbed a handful of Dean’s hair, gripping it tight. He found himself lightly thrusting his hips along with the movements of Dean’s mouth. Dean grabbed hold of Cas’s shaft and held tight while Cas took Dean’s head in his hands, slow fucking his mouth until his knees buckled. He would have nearly collapsed if he hadn’t been up against the door. Cas pulled Dean up off his knees and grabbed his dick through his jeans.“Take off your shirt, take off your pants, and lean over the bed.”Cas’s calm demeanor as he said those words made Dean’s eyes widen. He couldn’t help but be turned on by it and do what he was told. He pulled his shirt over his head and took off his jeans. Cas took Dean’s face in his hands and kissed him.“Over the bed.”Dean’s stomach dropped, both excited and scared. He first opened the nightstand drawer and took the bottle, handing it to Cas. “Be generous.”Cas took the bottle and Dean lay on the bed, his stomach down on the low bed, knees on the ground. Cas ran his hand down Dean’s back, gripping his hip. His other hand applied the lubricant as he leaned over Dean on one knee. Dean breathed deeply in and exhaled slowly as Cas pushed in, filling Dean slowly. The pressure within him swelled and Dean’s eyes fluttered. He grabbed his pillow and pressed his face into it, biting down. Cas held his hands on Dean’s shoulder and head as he began to thrust smooth and steady in and out of Dean. Rolling waves of pleasure flowed over Dean’s body, Cas’s sweating palms pressing harder onto him. Cas thrust one more time and stopped, but didn’t pull himself out yet.“Get up on the bed. Hands and knees,” he breathed. “I’ll move with you.”Dean crawled onto the bed with Cas following. As soon as Dean was steady, Cas resumed his rhythm, but reached around Dean and grabbed his cock with one hand, his other on Dean’s hip. He stroked Dean again and again, his hand smoothing over him to their rocking rhythm. Dean couldn’t handle it anymore. He took his dick from Cas and into his own hands and began fiercely beating himself, with Cas taking the cue to go harder. Both hands on Dean’s hips, Cas pounded into Dean, his nails digging into his skin. Dean was moved forward, leaning the top of his head into the pillow as he let out a guttural moan. He didn’t care anymore if anyone could hear.“Oh, God, fuck me. Fuck me, Cas,” Dean said through gritted teeth. “Fuck me.” Dean’s thighs bounced off of Cas’s as he went harder and deeper. His wrist worked quickly, his dick swollen, the skin on his head shiny and stretched thin as he finally caved, his face and shoulders falling into pillow, his mouth gaped open as he came. He kept coming until after Cas stopped thrusting, breathing heavy and eyes rolled back. He couldn’t even think, the pleasure overwhelming him. The two collapsed onto the bed, trying to catch their breath. “Fucking hell.” Dean breathed.“Right. Fucking hell,” Cas agreed. Dean rolled toward him and kissed him hard on the lips.“I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m pretty damn sure I can say that for not having done this before, we’re good at this,” Dean said.“Agreed,” Cas breathed. “I can’t imagine that being ‘doing it wrong’ by any means.”Dean looked over at Cas, his eyes bright green and mouth smiling. He wiped a bead of sweat from Cas’s eyebrow. “I love you, Cas. I do.”“I know,” Cas responded. “I’ve always known. But it’s good to hear it.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Fuck, Dean thought. Cas had gone to the bathroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts for a moment. He was shocked at himself, embarrassed even, that he had told Cas he loved him. He meant it, there was no doubting that. He didn’t regret saying it at all; yet just the thought of having actually said it aloud unnerved him. He tried to shake the insecurity out of his head. It doesn’t fucking matter that I said it. His entire life he had been John’s little soldier, all of his thoughts and actions mimicked his father’s ideals. Slowly he had begun to move away from what John had ingrained in him since the night his mother died and had become a man of his own. It had taken so many years, going through hellish situations and coming out somehow alive, to become comfortable being the person he was. Dean stood and brushed away the anxieties that were pulling him away from the happiness he had felt just five minutes before. There was only one way to silence the cacophony of thoughts in his head. He went into the bathroom where Cas was brushing his teeth, smiling as soon as he saw Dean’s reflection in the mirror. He moved timidly, not accustomed to this new aspect of their relationship. In stuttered movement, he brought his arms around Cas from behind, landing his chin on Cas’s shoulder at the crook of his neck. As Cas finished brushing his teeth and stood straight again, Dean kissed his neck softly, and then returned his head to Cas’s shoulder resuming his vacant stare at the sink. Cas didn’t say a word. He breathed in deep, letting out a happy sigh. A smirk escaped Dean’s lips which brought his mind back to the present. He looked up into the mirror at Cas’s smiling face and couldn’t help but smile back. “Shower?” he asked Cas, who nodded in agreement. Dean turned on both of the showerheads on opposite ends of the wall and let the water heat up. He stepped onto the tiled floor and let the water hit his back. Cas followed, and when Dean tipped his head forward from out of the water he opened his eyes to a loving gaze. “What?” he asked Cas, who chuckled softly. “You are just so aesthetically pleasing.” “Are you saying I’m pretty?” Dean asked, his eyebrow cocked. “If that’s the word you want to use, yes. You’re even cuter when you’re wet.” Dean gave Cas his best bitch face which only made Cas laugh harder. “Well you’re…” Dean started, but couldn’t think of anything to finish. “Don’t try to turn it around on me, Dean. It has never been your strong suit.” Cas’s smile grew until he couldn’t contain it anymore. Laughing again at how adorable Dean was when he was trying to be a badass despite already actually being one, Cas rubbed his hand through Dean’s wet hair and let it rest on the back of Dean’s neck. Dean tried to look angry, but couldn’t. Anger was not something he could even fake in this moment. Not with Cas. He finally gave up and smiled back. Cas pulled Dean’s head toward his, closing the distance between them. Cas’s lips were wet and starved; the only thing satisfying them was being on Dean. He kissed back wholeheartedly, now gripping Cas’s face in his hands, through his hair. He threaded his fingers through Cas’s hair and pulled back, looking into his icy irises, pupils dilated. He brushed his lips along Cas’s jawline and bit his lower lip, then looked into Cas’s eyes with a feeling of dominance. But there was something in Cas’s eyes that melted it instantly, a mischievous flash that told him he was in trouble. Cas’s sapphire eyes penetrated into his as he felt himself slammed against the tile wall. The steam created from the dual showerheads on his left and right filled the bathroom. Cas kissed Dean’s jaw, then neck, skimming his lips down his body until he was faced with Dean’s obvious arousal. His head pushed back against the tile wall, Dean’s jaw flexed and he swallowed hard as he felt Cas’s breath against his skin. A slight moan came out as he exhaled as Cas’s mouth surrounded him, sliding slowly over his head and down his shaft. His knees nearly buckled when Cas’s tongue began osculating along with the forward and back motion of his head. There was no way to grip the walls, wet from water and steam. Dean’s hand slid down as he tried to catch onto something, but there was nothing for him to put his weight on. His head pressed harder into the wall as his knees bent, his teeth clenched tight in an attempt to keep from crying out. He ran his hand through Cas’s hair and grasped tight. Cas stroked Dean’s cock with his mouth, sucking and letting his tongue roll back and forth underneath, massaging as he voraciously pleasured Dean. Dean’s cock still in his mouth Cas moaned, finding pleasure in the act himself, sending vibrations through Dean that he wasn’t prepared for. He began to tap on Cas’s shoulder, but Cas kept going, moaning again. Dean’s vision started going black, his eyes fluttering until he shut them tight, tapping harder and faster on Cas’s shoulder for him to stop. “Cas, stop. Cas I’m going to come,” he said breathlessly. Cas ignored Dean, only stopping for a moment to lick the tip of his head, salty and smooth. He slid his mouth over Dean again and again, gripping Dean’s hip with his free hand. Dean stifled a cry but couldn’t stop the next as a sensation moved through his body, his head spinning as he came. He couldn’t think; everything he did was involuntary. He cried out oh fuck and was nearly gasping for air, his arm feeling for something, anything to hold onto as his legs began to shake. He was pulling Cas’s hair, probably too hard, but he couldn’t even tell what was happening. The only thing he knew was that Cas didn’t stop. He was still going, slower now, letting Dean come into his mouth. When he finally stopped, Cas turned his head and spit. He stood, rinsing his mouth out with water and spitting again before turning back to Dean, who was dangerously close to losing his balance. Cas steadied him and Dean shook his head, his eyes open wide. “What the fuck happened?” “I don’t know, but it looked transcendent,” Cas smiled. He grounded Dean with a kiss, all the blood slowly returning to Dean’s brain so he could focus. He looked at Cas intently, studying his face and eyes, wanting to remember every minute detail of this moment. “Hello?” someone called. The door to the bathroom was hit three times in succession by a closed fist. “What the hell is going on?” Dean’s voice cracked. “Sam?” “Yeah,” he answered, cracking the door. “Shit, Dean the door is sweating. Turn on the fan or something. Where’s Cas?” Dean’s eyes grew wide. “Ah….” He didn’t know whether to lie to his brother or to out himself, but one look at Cas’s face, fallen slightly at the thought that Dean might deny them, gave him courage. “He’s in here. With me.” Dean moved the shower curtain so he could see his brother. “You need something?” “Uh, no, not really, just wanted to see what was going on since you disappeared earlier, but never mind, I’ll talk to you later when you’re…out…of the shower,” Sam said quickly, rushing through his words. “I’ll, uh, be in the library okay?” “I’ll be out in a few.” Dean watched Sam awkwardly nod and back his head out of the bathroom before he shut the door. Dean turned off his side of the shower and turned to Cas who had already done the same. The proud look in Cas’s eyes warmed his heart. He leaned into Cas and softly kissed his lips. “You told him. Why didn’t you lie?” Cas asked. “Because there’s enough lying going on as it is. And,” he added quietly, “I love you.” He looked at the floor, circling the drain with his toe. Cas lifted his chin with a finger. “I love you, too.” “Alright, enough with this chick flick shit. Let’s go talk to Sam.” “Both of us?” “Yeah, why not? Might as well get it over with so Sam isn’t running into tables or stuttering every time he sees us.” “True. Also, do you think it’s possible for me to speak to Ezekiel?” “Uh, yeah. I’m sure. Why?” “I’d just like to speak with him.” The two toweled off, dressed, and met Sam in the library. He poured Dean a drink and handed Cas a glass of water before they sat down. “So, what’s up?” Dean asked as he took a seat. Sam chuckled. “What’s up? Seriously?” “Well you came looking for us for a reason.” “Yeah I can’t even remember now. Maybe it’ll come to me. But more importantly…you guys,” Sam said, nodding with an awkward grin on his face. “You’re a thing.” “Yeah,” Dean answered. “Well I’m not surprised, honestly it’s about time, but it did catch me off guard.” “It’s about time?” Dean repeated. “Come on, Dean. Like everyone would notice but me?” Dean looked at his brother incredulously. “I –“ “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad to see you happy.” “Where’s Isda?” Cas asked Sam. “She’s with Charlie and Kevin. They’re watching a movie in Charlie’s room,” Sam answered. Cas looked at Dean and he nodded. “Breaker, breaker,” he said quietly. “What?” Sam asked. Dean cleared his throat and repeated himself, this time a little louder. “Yes, Dean?” Ezekiel asked. “Cas wanted to chat with you.” “Castiel,” Ezekiel said warmly. “Ezekiel.” Cas’s voice as a little colder. Dean took this as a cue to leave. He stood and headed to the kitchen to grab some lunch for him and Cas. He got the plates ready and grabbed two beers from the fridge, carrying them back into the library where Cas was finishing a story about being newly human and Ezekiel was laughing about it. “I think Sam has been out long enough,” Dean mentioned when there was a break in conversation. “Of course,” Ezekiel said, his face turned serious. Sam’s body relaxed in the chair and he shook his head. “What were you saying?” “Nothing,” Dean said, taking a bite of burger. “Where’d you get food?” Dean realized how unbelievable anything he could come up with would be, so he just went for it. “The kitchen. You zoned out for a minute. How much did you have to drink last night?” he asked accusingly at Sam. “Hardly anything at all,” Sam said, confused. “You should go lay down. Maybe watch a movie.” “Maybe,” he said. Sam stood, looked at Dean and then Cas for a moment with a furrowed brow, and turned to head toward Charlie’s room. When Sam was out of earshot, Cas slid into a chair next to Dean. “We have a problem.” “What now?” Dean said with his mouth full of food. “Ezekiel is not only deemed the angel of death and transformation – he was general of God’s angelic army. He is the defender of truth in the face of deception. In no way would Ezekiel deceive anyone.” “So we have a holy lie-detector?” “No. When we were talking, we spoke of heaven and being human. I’ve spoke of these things with Ezekiel before. We spent millennia together – we had battled together.” “Spit it out, Cas.” “Dean, that is not Ezekiel.” “What do you mean that’s not Ezekiel?” Dean said, his entire body tensing up. He kept his voice low, but his anger was mounting. “Who the hell is in my brother?” “I can’t tell – I can’t be sure. I can’t see them anymore. But I think it is Elijah – also called Sandalphon, brother of Metatron.” “What?” “Metatron’s twin brother Sandalphon fought against Lucifer, absolutely relentless in the war against him. I don’t know why he would deceive you to reside in Sam.” Cas’s voice was hushed and bordering on nervous. “Although as Elijah, he did make a deal with Lilith once,” Cas added. “Again, what?” “I’m not sure, Dean. I don’t know what to say.” “If Zeke said Isda is good, that we can trust her – and that’s not Zeke – who is Isda and what side is she on?” “I want to believe her, Dean. I do.” “Yeah I want to, too.” Dean put his face in his hands and took a deep breath before looking back up at Cas. “What do we do?” Cas looked around and shrugged. “Research?” “So we just have to sit here while Heaven’s own little Hitler’s twin brother rides shotgun in Sammy and hope the reason he’s lying to us is for our benefit?” “This isn’t good, Dean.” “No shit.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Cas and Dean walked slowly through the library, scanning the bindings on the books for anything that might be helpful. Every so often, one would be removed, flipped through, and hastily put back when it held no helpful answers. As they reached the fifth stack, Dean stopped looking, and broke the silence that had begun to ring in his ears. “So, this Sandalphon guy…is he someone we should be worried about? Should we be preparing to send his ass straight to Heaven’s front door or what? Because I’m ready to kick his lying teeth in,” Dean growled through clenched teeth. Cas grabbed Dean’s arm and squeezed, trying to ground him. “Just because he’s deceived us to who he is, whoever it is, does not mean their intention is to harm us or Sam. They could just be hiding.” Dean’s jaw flexed. “Yeah, in my brother.” “Have we never lied when we thought we were doing the right thing?” Cas asked. Dean rolled his eyes, and his body relaxed. He remembered how time and time again he lied to those he loved most, hid who he was or his intentions, all because he thought he was doing what was best for them. “Fine,” he mumbled. “He gets the benefit of the doubt for now, but if we both for one second think something is wrong, he’s fucking gone. Same goes for your pal Isda.” Cas frowned, but nodded in agreement. “You’re right, Dean. Your family’s safety is what’s most important. I’ll do anything I can to keep Sam safe.” “Not just Sam, Cas,” Dean said as he exhaled, his hand wiping his face. He stood for a moment, blinking back tears that burned in their wanting to escape. “Kevin. Charlie. Sam. You,” his voice broke. “You’re all my family. I’m tired of losing people. I don’t want to lose anyone else, not here, not when we’re finally finding some kind of home. We deserve better. You all deserve better. And I brought this on us –“ Cas interrupted him. “Dean, you absolutely did not.” “You didn’t know what was happening, you were conned. I made Sam stop the trials. I let this guy in. I lied to Sam. I just – I just wanted to….” Dean leaned back against the bookshelf, sliding down until he settled on the floor. Cas knelt down, running his hand through Dean’s hair, then resting it on his shoulder in an effort to comfort him. “We did what we thought was right. We both screwed up. And we can fix this. We just need to do it one step at a time. Keeping us safe here in the bunker is the best thing for everyone. And now we need to find some answers. We’re not running, we’re not under attack – at least for the moment, we’re safe.” Cas cupped Dean’s face in his hands. “You are keeping us safe.” Dean fought himself, but finally relented to looking up to the face of the man knelt before him. He lifted a hand, placing it over the one softly resting on the left side of his face and gripped it tight. “Am I?” he asked, his eyes pleading. “Am I keeping everyone safe?” “For God’s sake,” Cas moved his face on level with Dean’s and practically shook his face as he spoke. “Dean Winchester, stop doubting yourself. You cannot hate yourself so much when you of all people on Earth have sacrificed yourself again and again for the sake of others.” He was going to stop there, but the look on Dean’s tear-soaked face was heartbreaking. He pushed his forehead against Dean’s like they had when they were locked in the storage closet, that feeling of reassurance and gratefulness flowing through. Cas took a deep breath and whispered to him, answering the unspoken question that had consumed Dean for nearly his entire life. “You are worth it.” * * * * * * Bottles in hand, Cas and Dean leaned against opposite stacks of books facing each other, pouring over books on spells, angel lore, and possession. “Hello?” Kevin called as he entered the room. “Down here,” Dean said, raising his hand and waving the beer bottle, hoping Kevin would see him sitting there in the stacks when he reached them. “Could actually use your expertise.” Kevin rounded the corner to where Dean and Cas sat and stared at the number of books piled up around them. “What are you two looking for? Is something happening?” “No, nothing to worry about,” Dean reassured him, “but it wouldn’t hurt to have a couple of things on hand, like maybe how to evict an angel from possessing a body.” “What?” “What we really need, Kevin, is a truth spell. Then the other thing,” Cas added, glaring at Dean. “But first, the truth spell.” “Should I be worried about something?” Kevin asked, looking to Dean and then Cas and back again. “Do I need to get Sam?” “No!” Cas and Dean said in unison. Dean cleared his throat. “No, just if you could give us a little break and track this down for us it would be awesome. We finally narrowed it down to this one here,” he said, handing a large book to Kevin, “and these three possible winners over there.” He pointed to Cas’s pile of books and Cas mouthed I’m sorry as he patted the stack of three four-inch thick books sitting next to him. “So…what do I do when I find one?” he asked. “Find the ingredients, and let us know,” Dean said. “Then get started on the other one.” Kevin sighed. “Can I at least have Charlie help?” Dean tilted his head and squinted an eye. “Uh, I think I’d rather keep this between us.” “Okay,” Kevin agreed. He cautiously picked up the books. “I’ll try and get it to you as soon as I can.” “Thanks Kev. You are a gentleman and a scholar.” Dean raised his bottle to him. “Oh, and Kev, if you happen to stumble upon any names of some angel that makes your prophet senses tingle, let us know that too.” Kevin nodded and sluggishly headed toward his room, lugging the tomes. Dean looked over at Cas, the two of them reflecting each other in their sitting position and sly smiles. Knees up and apart, arms hanging on them, a bottle in hand, the two had let go of all the tension and emotion of just over an hour before. “I think we earned a break.” Cas smiled. “I agree.” He put his bottle down and reached out to Dean who reached back with his free hand. As they pulled each other up to standing, Dean stumbled back against the bookshelf, nearly tripping over some ancient texts. Cas teased him. “One beer and you’re falling into the bookshelves?” “Oh yeah, you know me. I’m a lightweight,” Dean joked, kicking aside a few of the books at his feet. He looked down at Cas in his shirt and jeans, biting his lower lip as he inhaled the scent of him – the cleanliness of the shower mixed with Cas’s own smell that was so different now, and the slight tinge of his drink on his breath. Dean gazed into the startling blue eyes that looked back at him and a shock of electricity rolled like a wave through his body. He brought his eyes down slowly, looking at Cas’s lips, chest, and stomach before stopping at the top of his jeans. He hooked his fingers in the belt loops at Cas’s sides and pulled him close making Cas fall toward him in a step, landing with his chest against Dean’s. He met the intense blue eyes again, his words catching in his throat. “What’s wrong?” Cas asked, his forehead creasing with concern. “What you said earlier, that I was worth it,” he started, “do you really think I am?” His lips pressed firmly together, and his eyes welled up. “Damn it, Dean.” Cas sniffed and looked up trying not to let the tears fall, unable to escape as Dean still had him by the belt loops. He flexed his fist at his side, squeezing until Dean could see his knuckles turning white, then watched as he exploded in a tirade of whispers. “You’re never good enough are you? You can’t sacrifice yourself enough, you don’t think you deserve to be saved, you have so much hate for yourself welled up inside – but why? Let go of all the guilt and just be you. We’re all having to start over here right? Give not hating yourself for once a try.” Dean started to roll his eyes. “Don’t – don’t do that. Just stop. There is nothing we can do right now, nothing but make it through each day trying to not make any more mistakes.” Cas braced his fists on either side of Dean’s head, using the fact that he was still held there at the hips to force Dean to make the connection. He pressed against him, trying to look Dean firmly in the eye. Dean tried to step back, but already had his back against the shelf. His eyes fell, staring down at the point where their bodies met, shame and guilt weighing on him as always. He knew everything Cas said was true, but couldn’t ever bring himself to let go of the guilt, of the people that were dead because of him, of his family he had to protect at all costs – and fixing the mistakes he made along the way trying to do so. He lifted his eyes to blink back tears, but he was too late. Hot tears raced down his face, only to be brushed away by Cas’s hand. With that simple gesture, his body let go. Dean released Cas’s belt loops and put his arms around him, hugging tight to Cas as he sobbed softly. He felt Cas’s hand petting the back of his hair, consoling him with the smooth, calm movements. After a few minutes the tears stopped. Letting go of the embrace, Dean leaned back against the bookshelves again. As he moved, Cas didn’t back away. He followed, tracing Dean’s jaw with his hands until they cupped the scruff on his face and pressed his lips to Dean’s relaxed mouth that, after the touch was well received, parted easily to join the slow and deliberate movements between the two pairs of lips. Dean’s hands moved slowly, one resting on the back of Cas’s neck, the other drifting to the small of his back, pulling him close. He was lost in the kiss and the sensation of Cas’s body against his until Cas pulled away. “Sorry,” he said softly, a grin spread wide across his face. “Needed to breathe.” Dean felt his heart flutter and a chill ran through him. He smiled as he shook it off. “You want something to eat?” Cas nodded and shrugged. “I’ll make you a sandwich or something.” Cas followed Dean into the kitchen and decided on peanut butter and jelly. He sat at the table in the corner of the kitchen and thanked Dean when he brought him his sandwich on a small plate and a soda. “I wish I could see who it is in Sam,” he said under his breath. “That makes two of us.” Dean opened his beer and took a long swig. “Do you think Isda can see and just hasn’t said anything?” Cas’s brow furrowed. “That would be a terrible betrayal. Although it’s entirely possible, I don’t believe that is the case.” “Don’t believe or don’t want to think we’ve been duped yet again?” Dean asked, his eyebrow cocked. “Both,” Cas sighed. “She was damaged so much in the fall. She took a vessel, but she’s still broken. Her energy has gone into healing, and I don’t believe…I don’t want to believe…that she would be keeping secrets from me.” They sat in silence while Cas ate. Dean had his arms crossed over his chest, staring at nothing, his mind wandering as he tried to figure out a plan of action. Cas glanced at him every so often, becoming more worried about what events would transpire over the next few days. Soon Kevin would have a truth spell, and maybe a way to cast whatever angel was lurking in Sam out without hurting Sam. Soft footsteps approached the kitchen. Dean didn’t move and his blank gaze remained unbroken, but Cas’s eyes flicked up to see which one of their group was coming, watching the open doorway as he drank his soda. He saw Isda padding across the floor in socked feet. Dean looked up when she came into the kitchen, sitting up straighter and clearing his throat. “Hello Castiel. Dean,” she said quietly. “I was hungry. Charlie and Sam were watching a show and I didn’t want to disturb them, but I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she said, gesturing to the stove and refrigerator. “I’ll get you something,” Dean said, glancing over at Cas before he stood and offered his seat to Isda. “Thank you,” she said graciously. “You have no idea how incapable you feel when you’re the angel of nourishment and don’t even know how to feed yourself.” Isda slid into Dean’s seat across from Cas, her smile showing discomfort. “Is something wrong?” Cas asked. Dean looked up, listening to the conversation as he made a plate of food. Isda fidgeted nervously. “If there’s something wrong, you can tell us.” Isda sighed heavily as she allowed the sleeves of the oversized plaid shirt that was most likely Sam’s fall over her hands as she shook out her arms, then put her balled up fists in front of her mouth. Shifting in the chair, she moved her arms in front of her, laying them flat on the table, trying to gain the appearance of composure after her display of vulnerability. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Sam,” she started. She looked up at Dean. “Your brother, he is such a good man. I like him very much. He’s kind, gentle, and shows such empathy. I am glad to have found a friend in Sam.” “But?” Dean asked since Isda was reluctant to get to the point. “But,” she continued, “I know that someone dwells in him. He is not alone in his body.” Dean snapped his head over to Cas. “Do you know who it is?” he asked her, still looking at Cas to back him up in questioning. She too kept her eyes locked on Cas. Dean wasn’t sure if it was her asking him to save her, or if she was putting on an act. His trust of her was worn thin now that the idea that she might be lying was gnawing away at the back of his mind. She looked at Cas earnestly, leaning forward as she started to speak. “Did whoever it is tell you who they were?” Cas looked at Dean, as if he was wondering if he should tell her. Dean nodded, crossing the kitchen with a sandwich, chips, fruit, and a glass of water for Isda, setting it in front of her before taking a chair and moving it close to Cas for him to sit, as if they were preparing for an interrogation. “He’s called himself Ezekiel, but I know this is not true. I did not say anything to alert whoever it is that I know of their deceit, but now we’re trying to figure out who it is and why they are lying.” He paused, letting Isda take in all the information. Her eyes grew wide and a look of worry immediately came upon her face. “Do you know who it is?” Dean repeated, taking note of her increasing anxiety. “No, I do not,” Isda replied with a heavy sigh of frustration. “He is hiding, and he is deep. I would not believe it to be true if I had not felt a presence. I have not called him out. Sam is unaware?” “Sam has no idea, and I need to keep it that way. Charlie has no clue, and Kevin doesn’t know why we’re having him do this research. This is top secret level clearance required information until we have a plan,” Dean answered. Isda looked wary. “Look, Kevin is working on a truth spell and some other things that might help us out, but now that you’re on team Who the Hell Is In Sam, anything you can do to find out who it is and how to get him out without killing my brother would be most helpful.” Dean smiled through gritted teeth. “Should I go get Kevin?” Cas asked. “No, we’ll go see how he’s doing after Isda refuels.” Isda ate quickly, and the three ventured down the halls to Kevin’s room. Dean knocked and was let in, the door closing quietly behind them. Kevin had papers and books strewn across a desk and his bed, and started listing everything he had found, pointing to a book and then a symbol drawn on paper. He had a truth spell that if invoked by Dean, no one could lie to him. As Kevin dispelled this information, Dean’s eyes flickered over to Isda to see if she showed any signs of panic, but she was calm, listening to Kevin and studying the materials closest to her. A list of ingredients was made – an egg, divining oil, a white candle, and rainwater. Kevin left to head outside to collect rainwater, while Dean went to find the divining oil and a candle. Cas went to the kitchen and took an egg out of the fridge, cracking it and letting the yolk and white fall into a cup. Isda found a set of candle holders and brought them to Cas, who placed each unwashed half onto a candle holder. Kevin returned with the rainwater and filled each half with what he had found from the previous rain that had collected in leaves. Dean made his way through the kitchen with the candle and oil. He placed a few drops of divining oil into each egg, lit the candle, and then they all stood around the table. Dean and Cas each took turns passing the candle over their egg half three times while they said the incantation, speaking at the same time; “As of the earth, so let it be that all I seek be shown to me.” Each put their right index finger into the rainwater and oil inside the egg. “How long to we leave it there?” Dean asked Kevin. “Just…just carefully pick up the egg with your left hand, move over to the sink, and crush the shell over your finger,” Kevin explained, reading the spell directions from a paper he had scribbled on. Cas and Dean went to the sink and did as they were told. “Can we rinse it off?” Dean asked, looking disgusted at the slimy wetness on his finger. “No. Well, it doesn’t say. But just in case, I wouldn’t. Now you have to blow out the candle.” They complied. As the smoke rose up from the candle, the four looked at each other as if something were supposed to happen, all eyes ending on Kevin. “Okay, for the next day, anytime your finger is pointing at the truth, it will tingle.” “Tingle like Spidey-senses or tingle like I stuck my finger in a socket?” Dean asked. “I don’t know,” Kevin admitted. “But, hold on.” Kevin ran back to his room, and came running back with two books. He handed Cas and Dean books listing the names of angels, their duties, and their part in various lore. “It seems simple, right? Run your finger down the pages, and when it starts to feel tingly, we’ve got the name.” He sported a broad smile, pleased at how easy the task should be. He continued, speaking quickly in his excitement to see if it worked. “Each book has different angels, some the same, one having a few the other doesn’t and vice versa. With both of you doing it, we should find whatever truth you’re looking for pretty fast.” Dean and Cas sat down at a table in the library and opened their books. They could see Kevin and Isda in the kitchen cleaning up, and Kevin starting to make some food for himself. They went page by page, running their index fingers past names and passages. Cas chuckled. “What?” Dean asked, looking up from his book. “It works. There’s a little shock that travels up your finger. This is actually correct,” he said smiling. “What’s correct?” Cas had a look of pride and nostalgia as he answered while he kept reading. “Me.” Dean looked over to where Cas’s finger lay, and saw Castiel written in calligraphy at the head of the passage. He felt sadness for Cas, but also loved the enjoyment he seemed to get out of the novelty of having a history of his place in Heaven right before him, reading it as a human. He went back to his book, running his fingers along the pages, trying to find the truth. The pages went by without any result until he felt a jolt in his finger like a static charge, except it continued running up to his second knuckle before dissipating. He tapped the name Isda. “It looks like your girl checks out,” Dean said softly. He looked through to the kitchen and saw Isda talking with Kevin while he ate. “Why would it stop at Isda’s entry?” Cas asked. “Because I needed to know if she was honest, I guess. It definitely makes me feel a little more relaxed about the whole situation. Why did it shock you at yours?” “Maybe I just needed reminding.” Cas’s face grew serious, and he returned to his work. Dean let that one go. There had been enough feelings shared for the day. After everything was fixed with Sam, he’d find out what was worrying Cas that he wasn’t letting on. “Shit!” Dean said in a loudly in a low tone, gripping his finger and then shaking his hand. Isda and Kevin came running. “What is it?” Kevin asked. “It worked?” Isda leaned over Dean’s shoulder and read the name to herself. Her face fell and her pallor whitened further. Cas stood up and leaned over the table to see why she was so stricken. Isda began to shake. “Gael. It’s Gael. Gadriel. Father of Cain. Teacher of weapons and war. The serpent who was cast from Heaven.” “Cas, what is she talking about?” Dean said as he stood, near shouting. Cas came around the table and took Isda in his arms, trying to hold her still. “It’s okay, Isda,” he said, trying to calm her. He looked to Kevin, who was standing confused and not knowing what to do. “Kevin, please will you take Isda to the kitchen and get her some water – try to calm down any way you can.” Kevin nodded and took Cas’s place holding Isda together by hugging her to his side, practically carrying her into the kitchen. He faced Dean. “What the hell is she talking about Cas?” His breath was quickening and his face was turning red from anger. Cas stared into Dean’s troubled face and said without any uncertainty, “Dean, this will not end well.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “So who is this guy?” Dean asked, trying to not get his temper worked up. “He’s been locked away for a very long time, since the creation of man, so we don’t know much about him. All we have to go on really is the story that has been passed down,” Cas said. “That the thing hijacking my brother is some urban legend angel? How do we even deal with that?” Dean fumed, his balled up fists burring into the table. “I have no idea. And without knowing his true intentions, I don’t know how Sam will fare if we eject him.” “What do you mean ‘if’? That bedtime horror story is gone the second Kev finds some way to get him out. Sam will be okay. We’ll figure something out. But that Gael or whoever has got to go. We gotta come up with something better than a witchy lie detector if we’re gonna do something about this – and we gotta do something about this now, Cas. Now.” Cas put a hand gently on Dean’s shoulder. “We’re going to do this. Let me go talk to Isda. We’ll figure this out with Kevin – you take a breather.” Dean scoffed. “A breather?” “Or have a beer,” Cas sighed. “Take a nap. Just calm down. We will handle this, and Sam will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.” “How, Cas? We don’t know what’s going to happen. He could be ripped apart by what’s inside him in a second when it knows we’re coming for him.” Dean’s voice trembled. Had he only prolonged the inevitable? Tried to skirt Death one too many times? “Dean –“ “I know. I know, you’ll handle it.” His hands relaxed from fists to open hands palming the table, his fingers beginning to drum before he finally looked up and loosened his tense stance. “I’m going to go sit in that chair right there,” he said, pointing to a cushion-back chair in the corner of the library, “and take a nap. I’m going to cross my arms, nod off, and hope to god that when I wake up you three have come up with some brilliant strategy to save my brother.” “Okay Dean. You…rest. We will deal with this.” Cas waited for Dean to move to the chair, nodding at him as he gave him the look that Cas hated, the “I need you to do this, don’t fuck this up” look. Dean retreated to the chair, sitting and crossing his ankles and arms, setting his chin on his chest with a heavy sigh. Cas turned to Kevin and Isda, Kevin’s arm still around Isda’s shaky frame. He approached them with long soft strides, wanting to be at his friend’s side as quickly as possible without frightening her further. “It’s okay, Isda. The three of us are going to figure this out, and we’re going to remove Gadreel from Sam. We will cast him out, and then it will be up to you to save Sam.” “Up to me?” Isda asked, her voice still quivering. Pushing her initial question aside, she continued to more pressing matters. “But how will we even cast him out? Why is he there? What will he do when we try to remove him?” Dean listened from the chair feigning sleep, hearing their voices pitch up and down in a dance of panic and purpose. Soon they turned into humming, fading into the background as he went over the options he saw in his mind. What were they going to do, just ask him nicely to vacate Sam? They could call on Crowley for help, but that would only lead to more trouble. They could lock him away, interrogate him, but that could hurt Sam. So could ejecting the unwanted guest and leaving Sam nearly dead with so much widespread internal damage that he’d probably slip back into a coma. But they did have one weapon on their side – Isda. Surely if she were strong enough, she could heal Sam. But she was weak. If they could find some way to restore her energy and expel Gadriel, Gael, Gadreel, whatever his name was, they’d be golden. Still, it could take days. They may not be able to act as quickly as everyone wanted. He breathed deeply and opened his eyes, tilting his head back toward the ceiling. It took him a few seconds to hear Kevin standing right beside him saying his name. “Dean,” he said, “you there?” he asked softly. Dean nodded, sitting up in the chair. “Yeah Kev, whatcha got?” “We have an idea. The problem is, Isda’s not…well she still has her grace, which means she should have some sort of healing powers in theory, but we’re afraid to try out anything and drain whatever she has left. It’ll be hit or miss if we try to heal Sam after we cast Gadreel out. And unfortunately, there’s nothing on the tablet – any tablet – that tells us how to cast an angel out of a human.” “So what’s the plan then?” Dean asked. Kevin took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s where it gets kind of convoluted.” “Oh here’s where things get complicated? Good. Everything was crystal up until now.” Kevin rolled his eyes. “You killed Zachariah, right?” Dean nodded. “And you didn’t look away. You saw his grace, his true form as you killed him, and you didn’t go blind or die obviously.” “So?” “People just can’t do that, Dean. Didn’t you say Cas burned out your friend Pam’s eyes without even being present? Hearing or seeing an angel in their true form is enough to kill someone. But Dean, you stared Zachariah in the face and made it out alive. And you said everything rattled and glass broke when Cas tried to speak to you after raising you up from Hell, but like, your head didn’t explode.” “Okay so I can see and hear angels and not die, what’s your point?” Dean looked up at Kevin, eyebrows raised. “How does that help Sam?” “There’s this Enochian symbol, the Sigil of Ameth. It can be used to control pretty much anything except archangels, and Gadreel’s not an archangel. But it can only be used by someone who can see angels. It’s called beatific vision or something. But it’s specifically an amulet, the Sigillum Dei. Any chance you know if the Men of Letters had it laying around?” “Yeah sure, let me just go into the junk drawer of godly amulets and see what we got,” Dean said derisively. “Are you serious? Where in the hell would they even keep something like that?” “It’s pretty important, so in a vault? Not just in boxes or drawers like some things I’ve seen laying around.” “Like the Jesus spear that was laying around?” Dean said. “Down right disrespectful is what that is.” “Exactly. But this thing controls anything below archangels, so they had to know how important that was and lock it away somewhere.” “But they didn’t even believe angels existed. And if they did, they sure as hell didn’t let on.” Kevin crossed his arms. “Well that’s what we’ve got. Well, we do have another option.” “And that is?” “Carve it…onto you?” Kevin winced at his words. “Well I’ve done worse.” Kevin’s face continued to look pained. “It’s a really complicated sigil.” “Whatever. What’s step two?” “Ring of holy fire, you do the spell, Gadreel gets cast out, then Sam is….” “…broken all to hell,” Dean finished. “And we need Isda to heal him.” “Exactly.” Dean drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “What does Cas say?” “What do mean what does Cas say?” Kevin looked bewildered. “Cas says they don’t know and there’s no way of telling if this is going to work.” Cas and Isda made their way over to Kevin and Dean. Cas instinctively placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean looked up to see Cas’s worried face. “How long do we need?” Dean asked, his eyes quickly looking over to Isda before returning to Cas. “Can we try two days?” Dean sighed. “That’s a lot of time for everyone to play it cool.” Isda looked at him sympathetically, finally calm. Kevin looked at his feet. Cas looked at their small group. “We can do this. Charlie doesn’t know anything. Isda can keep interacting with Sam as usual, engaging him in conversation. Kevin can keep watch, maybe recruit Charlie in a hunting mission for the amulet. We’ve been…tucked away a lot lately, so we shouldn’t be missed if we aren’t hanging around much if it comes down to placing the sigil on you. We can do this.” “Two days,” Dean said. He slapped his hands on his thighs as he leaned forward. “Then let’s put on our happy faces.” * * * * * Dean leaned on the doorway of Sam’s room, watching his brother click away on the computer. He had just checked in on Charlie, who had racked out in an awkward position sitting up in her bed, the game she was playing paused and the TV screen dim. After turning off the television screen, but leaving her game, he settled her into her bed at a more comfortable angle and covered her up, kissing the top of her head as he tucked her in. He exhaled deeply before turning into Sam’s door. The only good thing about this situation is that it wasn’t like lying to Sam was something new. He wasn’t proud of it, but the practice would come in handy in this situation. He didn’t want to let off any vibes that might clue Gadreel in and wanted to avoid talking to him at all if possible. “Hey, brother. What’s going on in the outside world?” Dean asked Sam. Sam turned and nodded at Dean. “Hey. Not much really. Quiet. But quiet’s good, right?” “Yeah,” Dean smiled. “Quiet’s good. What are your plans for the evening? Maybe…you and Isda…” he suggested, winking. Sam chuckled. “No, Dean. I don’t think it’s like that. I mean, she’s really cute, but is that…her? You know? She’s still an angel in a vessel, right? Or is she human with angelic grace? I just don’t know and I don’t want to cross that line.” “Look at you, Mr. Do The Right Thing. She likes you though.” “I can’t even believe I’m talking to you about this.” Sam blushed, pushing his hair out of his face with his hands and holding them to his head for a moment before letting them fall to his knees. “Well this is not your normal situation. And when have our conversations ever been exactly normal?” “True, but I feel like I’m in middle school asking you for advice on how to talk to a girl. Except this girl is an angel. Literally.” “Well what do you like about her?” Dean asked. “Other than she is incredibly engaging and fascinating? There’s just this sense of calm that radiates from her. And, for all I know that could be some angel thing.” He paused. “Is, uh, that kinda thing there with Cas?” Dean’s face fell. “Well he’s human now, so…I don’t know if it’s specifically an angel thing.” “Sorry I brought it up. I don’t want to weird you out talking about it.” “It is a little weird,” Dean admitted to his brother. “It’s honestly just so good between me and him –“ Sam shut his eyes tight and shook his head. “Jesus Dean! I didn’t need to –“ “No, no, no,” Dean repealed. “Not that. Well that, but that’s not what I’m talking about. When it’s just me and him,” Dean paused and cleared his throat before he continued. “I get that feeling of calm and it’s like all the things I’ve carried have been lifted off of my shoulders.” Sam stared at Dean and smiled. “You look happy, you know?” “You know what, I am. It’s been a while.” Dean’s eyes drifted to a blank space on the wall, thinking about other times he was happy, and who was there to share it with him before shaking the thoughts away. “So why don’t you keep talking to your angel friend, be the big spoon and smell her hair or whatever you kids who aren’t having sex are doing that keeps you looking so deep into each other’s eyes,” he teased. “I’d tell you to shut the fuck up, but I’m not gonna lie. That sounds really nice.” Dean enjoyed having this moment with his brother, but he also had to lay some lines to keep the plan from derailing. “So ask her over,” he suggested. “Start a book club. Ask her about the beginning of time. Watch Game of Thrones. I’m sure she enjoys your company as much as you do hers.” “I will. You and Cas gonna hang up the Do Not Disturb sign?” Sam asked Dean, a teasing smile spreading across his face. Dean licked and bit his bottom lip out of habit, nodding. “Yeah, probably. I mean we’re locked down here in this cave cut off from the world, might as well take a little ‘us’ time.” “Us time?” Sam repeated. “Wow. Yeah, this is going to take a little getting used to.” Dean smiled and looked down. “New things take time.” He tapped the doorframe with the back of his heel, his arms crossed. He looked back up at Sam. “Well, I’m off. Be good, little brother. Go talk to her. She’s in the kitchen, I think.” “I will,” Sam promised. Dean smiled. He could feel his eyes turn glassy, filled with worry about his brother and what would transpire the next few days. Before Sam could pick up on anything, he turned and walked away – slowly at first, then quickened his pace as he rounded the corner down the hall. He got back to Cas, Kevin, and Isda in the kitchen and took Isda by the hands. Startled, she looked at Cas and Kevin to see if she should be worried, then back into Dean’s frantic eyes. Before she could ask what was going on, words started to fly from his mouth. “Listen, I know that you are scared of this angel, but you can’t be. Ignore whoever is in Sam. Just be with Sam. Watch out for him. If anything, and I mean anything, looks weird, you turn tail and get out of there and come get me. He’ll be in here in a few minutes. He’s gonna ask you if you want to come watch something or talk or whatever. Just remember that it’s Sam, Isda. Sam’s the one asking you to spend time with him. Please remember that,” Dean pleaded. “It’s okay, Dean,” she said slowly, trying to ease the worry on his face. She pulled gently away from his grasp, holding his rough fists together in her hands. “I understand. Castiel has calmed my nerves about Gadreel. He has not harmed Sam, only tried to help. Something is going on that we are not aware of. If he wanted to harm any of us, he could have done so. I can put aside his presence and focus on keeping Sam busy. It’s my part of the plan. I understand this. Keeping Sam busy and healing him, it is my job.” “But how are we recharging your juice in the meantime?” Dean asked as Isda released him. “I’ll work on it,” Kevin said. “I’ll try to figure out a way to give her a little extra something.” “Like an angelic booster shot?” “Kind of, yeah. The only thing we know works is time, so having time helps. If we had a month –“ “We don’t have a month,” Dean interrupted. “I said if, Dean.” Kevin’s brow furrowed. “If we had a month, we’d be better off, but we don’t have that kind of time. So while we wait, I’ll find something to recharge her grace. As soon as I find something, we can make a move. I’ll start looking tomorrow.” “Tomorrow?” Dean asked, his eyes flashing with anger. Kevin snapped back. “Yes, tomorrow. We all need sleep, and you need the Sigil of Ameth before we can do anything. So for now, fucking get some rest Dean.” Kevin cut his eyes at Cas and turned, walking away. “I’ll be in my room. Sleeping. Like a normal person,” he called back, not stopping. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Dean’s irritation at Kevin subsided once he realized just how tired he was, and how much work they had to do. He knew he was right; time was the only thing they definitely had and could use, it was his own impatience at removing Gadreel that was pushing the deadline to sooner rather than later. There was no imminent threat. Still, it wasn’t going to make him sleep any better. Soon after Kevin had stormed down the hall to his room, Sam walked into the kitchen. Dean grinned at him, and Sam awkwardly smiled and nodded to his brother. Dean tugged Cas’s pants leg and had him follow to leave the two of them alone. Cas and Dean shuffled down the hall to the storage areas, Dean looking at the doors and trying to remember what he had seen in each room, and which one might have a vault or be some inconspicuous place to hold an important amulet. If they could avoid carving it into him, that would be ideal, so he was at least giving it a shot. Cas trailed him, not saying a word. Dean approached a door he didn’t remember ever opening, and went in. As he felt for the light switch and flicked it up, the bulb flickered and buzzed before staying on. The small storage room was filled with boxes and shelves, but nothing that seemed Sigil of Ameth worthy. At the same time, knowing where the Spear of Destiny had been kept, he wouldn’t put it past those Men of Letters suits to throw something so important into a file box to collect dust for decades. He stepped into the room and Cas followed. “This is just as good as any a place to start, I guess,” Dean murmured. “I’ll start right and you start left, meet in the middle?” Cas suggested. Dean nodded and the two started shifting through paperwork, in boxes, cabinets, and things piled on shelves. An old filing cabinet gave Dean nothing, and an apothecary with drawers Cas hoped would have some sort of hidden treasure wound up either empty or filled with junk. Moving on to another room, they went through the motions, going through everything carefully but without much hope. They came across much of the same, thick books with yellowed pages, fancy nib pens, and knifes of unknown origin to Dean, but nothing amulet like. One last hope was the closet that Charlie had trapped them in. The backing to the closet was odd. The entire bunker was concrete and iron and steel, but the storage rooms all had wooden shelves lining the walls, except this one. Dean opened the cage and looked through the artifacts stored inside, emptying sacks and boxes and finding nothing with an Enochian symbol on it. Dean and Cas stood side by side, mimicking each other’s stance. Arms crossed, feet shoulder width apart, scowls of concentration overtaking their faces. Dean searched the corners of the cage with his eyes, looking for any sign of a way to open the back wall. He’d seen plenty of hidden storage and false bottoms to drawers and car trunks in his day. “Maybe it’s just a closet,” Cas said. Dean closed up the doors and turned with defeat, sitting down with his back against the cage. Cas sighed and sat down next to him, in opposite positions of how they were sitting when Charlie had locked them in there. “Without the Sigilum Dei amulet, we only have one other option,” Cas said, the dread of what they both knew was going to come hanging in his words. “Not looking forward to that,” Dean admitted, “but whatever we’ve got to do.” His head fell over to look at Cas. “It’s going to suck.” “It will pain me too,” Cas responded, looking sick. “Kevin was right. It’s a very complicated and intricate symbol.” “Do you think it’s safe enough for us to leave the bunker? Maybe hit up a tattoo parlor instead?” Cas thought for a moment. “It would be risky. We’d be gone for hours. But I like that option better than the alternative,” he admitted. “I don’t like the idea of causing you any pain, let alone hours of it. Honestly I don’t believe it can be done in two days with any true accuracy.” “Well maybe we can find another way to do it.” “I’m afraid the worst option might be the best. But we can definitely consult the tattoo artist to see if it would be possible to do quickly.” “What time is it?” Dean asked, looking at his watch. “Almost midnight. They might still be open. You wanna sneak out of here and at least talk to the guy that did the tattoos and see if someone would be free to work on me?” Cas smiled at the thought of sneaking out of the bunker with Dean. “Sure. Let’s go.” He stood and reached his hand out, pulling Dean up from the floor. His smile returned with Dean’s face close to his, taking the opportunity to kiss him softly and with great affection. The gentleness of the touch grounded Dean. The tension that had been coursing through his body settled as everything else disappeared, all because of such a simple act as having Cas’s lips pressed to his. Sam was right. Angel or not, calm radiated from Cas. When Cas leaned back, he kept Dean’s hand in his and pulled Dean behind him as they made their way to the garage. “They’d notice the car gone, but you know how to drive one of these, right?” Cas asked him, pointing to a 1949 Harley Davidson Hydra Glide. “Yeah, but it’s been a long time,” Dean said, excited at the prospect of taking a bike out. Dean rolled the bike down the road until they were pretty far away from the front door of the bunker. It probably wasn’t necessary, but they weren’t going to risk it. Dean straddled the bike, starting it on the third try. Cas slid onto the back of the saddle seat. “This is slightly awkward,” he said. “Well this should be interesting,” Dean said to himself as he put the bike into gear and headed down the road with Cas’s hands gripping his thick middle. They pulled up to the tattoo parlor, neon lights still on. Dean turned off the motorcycle and waited for Cas to get off. Cas slid off of the bike from behind Dean, a strange look on his face. “What’s wrong?” Dean asked, dropping the kickstand and swinging his leg over the bike. “I wasn’t prepared for the vibrations,” Cas admitted, turning red. “Jesus, Cas.” Dean said, looking up to the sky in exasperation, then back at his man. “You okay? Can we go in or do you need a minute?” “I think I’ll be fine,” Cas said. Dean led the way into the shop, nodding at the girl at the desk. She asked what they needed, and Dean asked if he could make an appointment for the following day, which would probably take up the entire day. As she looked at the schedule, she asked what he needed, to which he looked to Cas. “Can I use your computer?” he asked. “Sure,” the girl said, spinning her monitor toward him and handing him the wireless keyboard. She called for the artist who was in the back to come to the desk, and the man that emerged was one who was in there a few days before. “Jayce, you were all free tomorrow, but not anymore.” “Here. This is what he needs,” Cas said. He pulled up the Sigil of Ameth and the girl’s eyebrows went up. “I’ll print out a high res photo and I guess your friend can talk it over with Jayce. He’ll be working on him.” She turned to Dean. “Where are you looking to put his?” He craned his head to look at the monitor and a look of annoyance came over him. It was the same sigil Bobby had spent three days putting on the ceiling in his house. It was huge. And Kevin wasn’t joking when he said it was complex. The girl took the picture out of the printer and handed it to Jayce, who let out a long whistle. “Holy shit man. Where are you going to put that?” Dean didn’t realize how big this thing was. To make sure they got every detail, it’d take up a lot more skin than he was thinking. “I guess on my stomach,” he suggested. “Well let’s see what I’m working with,” Jayce said. Dean pulled up his shirt and Jayce cocked his head to the side, then held out the paper and looked between it and his canvas. “And you want it just like this, exactly?” he asked. “Exactly like that,” Dean answered. “You drop half as the deposit, I’ll draw it up and if you can be in here at nine, we’ll get working. We’ll be closed, but just knock and I’ll let you in. We’ll have to break for lunch and it’ll probably take all day.” “We’ll be here.” Dean pulled out his wallet. “Three hundred work for now?” Jayce nodded. It was all he had on him. “See you in the morning.” Cas and Dean nodded to Jayce and the girl and went back out to the lot. Dean waited on the bike as Cas threw his leg over and slid in behind him. “You situated?” Dean asked. “Situated, yes. Prepared? Not really.” Dean chuckled as he started the motor, turning the empty parking lot, and driving back toward the secluded road where the bunker embedded itself into the hillside. The wind pushed against Dean’s face, and the feeling was one that he missed. He revved and went faster, speeding along the dark back road until he approached the point where they would have to get off and walk again, pushing the bike into an enclave instead of trying to sneak it in and out of the garage again later. Dean and Cas walked slowly toward the back side of the bunker. Dean’s hands were shoved in his pockets, enjoying the warmth of the evening on his skin. The sky was dark and clear, stars shining bright enough that along with the half moon, they could see clearly enough as they stepped along the dirt path. Crickets sounded and fireflies lit up the wood line in flickering intervals. “It’s nice out here,” Cas remarked. “Do we have to go in immediately?” Dean smiled. “I like when your mouth does that thing.” “What thing?” Cas asked. “That thing. When you say certain words. Your mouth quirks. It’s cute.” Cas looked puzzled. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a thing.” “Hmm.” Cas looked frustrated at not knowing what it was his mouth was doing that he wasn’t aware of, but was soon distracted staring up at the sky. “It’s so beautiful. Quiet and calm.” Dean’s hands shoved down deeper into his pockets as his head tilted back, looking into the vastness of black above him, speckled with white lights. He remembered doing this with Sam so many times, sitting on the hood of the Impala and Sam telling him which constellations were which. He rocked back on his heels and down again. “Okay, let’s go inside. Gotta be up early.” Cas nodded and trailed behind him as he made his way down to the side door of the garage. He fished a key out of his pocket and quietly went inside, making their way to Dean’s room. The bunker was silent. Somehow, despite everything that waited for him in coming days, Dean felt peaceful. * * * * * * His eyes opened slowly in a squint, burning from lack of sleep. It was going to take him a minute to wake up. Dean rolled over to see Cas still sleeping. His brown hair was matted down on the right side from the position he had started in last night, Dean holding him tight, worrying that somehow he would vanish if he let go. Cas had fallen asleep quickly, but Dean stayed awake, every so often pressing his lips to the base of Cas’s neck and squeezing him as if he couldn’t help but need to be even closer. He didn’t know how long it was before he drifted off, but he couldn’t have gotten much sleep. He looked at his watch, and let his head fall back onto the pillow. It was seven-thirty, and they would have to leave before long. But he still had a little time. He started to drift when he felt light touches across his cheek. “Morning,” he said without opening his eyes. “Morning. Have I mentioned how great your freckles are?” “I believe I’ve heard that recently. I was also called ‘beautiful’ and ‘aesthetically pleasing’, if memory serves,” Dean grumbled. Even though he acted grumpy, he was fighting off a smile. He opened his eyes and saw Cas with crazy bedhead propped up on one elbow, his eyes full of mischievousness that Dean couldn’t read the meaning of. “What?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “First of all, I wanted to express my happiness at waking up next to you. Secondly,” his hand drifted under the covers and lifted Dean’s shirt, “I wanted to take a look at this skin before it’s filled with ink.” Cas pulled the sheet down, leaving Dean’s waist-less middle bare. He started kissing Dean’s stomach, his fingers sliding over the paunch that covered unmistakable muscle that flexed underneath. He traced a few scars, moving his body to rest in between Dean’s thighs, on his knees, his hands bracing him as he kissed just under Dean’s navel, following the light hair that continued under the band of his boxer-briefs he had slept in the night before. Cas drug his hands underneath Dean, squeezing his ass and massaging his thighs while Dean lay there, watching him, letting his body relax. “I thought you wanted to appreciate my stomach,” he said. “I can’t help but appreciate all of you,” Cas answered with a smile. Dean smiled back, sitting up so that they were face to face and Cas had to rock back to sit on his heels, his smile only getting bigger. “What are we doing here?” he said, trying to contain laughter. “You bristly faced bastard.” “We’re calling each other names now, I guess,” Cas offered. “Well I do need to shave.” “No I like it,” Dean admitted. “It’s not like purgatory beard, it’s just scruff. It’s…yeah.” “I like yours. The longer it gets, you can see flecks of red,” he observed, staring at Dean’s facial hair for a moment before resting back on his eyes. “Your hands are still on my thighs.” “Yes they are.” Dean reached behind Cas and pulled at the bottom of his shirt, tugging it up over his head. “How’s your tattoo?” he asked, throwing Cas’s shirt across the room. “It’s fine. The swelling has gone down a bit and the redness too.” Cas hooked his fingers on Dean’s waistband and slowly pulled down, letting his fingertips dig into Dean just a little as he slid the underwear over his thighs. Cas grinned and pushed Dean flat on his back, taking the briefs off and casting them to the wayside. Dean looked surprised but then excited as he felt Cas’s face rub against the inside of his thigh and a small bite before Cas’s mouth was on him. He covered his face with his hands, exhaling sharply as Cas went to work, his thumb massaging just under Dean’s balls. Dean could barely think as he fumbled his hand toward the nightstand for the lube. He tapped Cas’s shoulder with the bottle. Cas took this as a sign to keep going, taking a moment to take the bottle from Dean’s hand, but continued on. Dean gripped the sheets as he felt the cool gel circling, teasing him, before he felt the pressure he’d been waiting for. His breathing became rapid, feeling himself swell again and again, almost unable to handle the sensations of Cas’s mouth and fingers working together. Suddenly Cas stopped. Dean exhaled all the air from his lungs, his eyes shut tight. Slowly, he felt Cas move forward. He expected him to start fucking him, until he was straddling him, reaching behind Dean with a handful of lube, stroking his cock. “Wh-what are you doing?” he asked. Before he could get an answer, Cas slid carefully down until Dean was completely inside him. Dean buckled, stuck between laying down and sitting up, his eyes growing wide and staring straight up at Cas. “I think a little give and take is more balanced,” Cas said with shallow breaths. He rolled his hips forward and back, Dean grabbing onto him. Those hipbones, Dean thought, watching them move as he started to buck slightly, not even realizing it. As Cas rolled back harder with each repetition, Dean went from absentminded thrusting to slow fucking as Cas rode him. A quiet fuck or two escaped him as he started to come, one hand on Cas’s ass and the other reaching up at his neck, grasping at his face. Cas slid off of Dean, slapping the side of his ass playfully, gesturing for him to turn over. Dean could barely move, but desperately wanted this feeling to continue. He rolled over and barely made it to all fours before Cas had his ass in his hands, rubbing it gingerly before gripping and spreading Dean’s cheeks apart, his tongue lapping and circling in a way that made Dean’s erection come back almost immediately. He tilted his ass up further, and Cas bit his cheek, making Dean moan before sidling up and sliding into him, the coolness of the lube part of the pleasure. He couldn’t help but think of how taboo this all was, which only turned him on more. He braced himself as Cas’s rhythm picked up, tensing his thighs so Cas could hit that sweet spot every time without readjusting his balance. Cas tried to grab ahold of Dean, but his solid torso didn’t yield anything for him to hold. He slid his hands around Dean’s front to his pelvic bone, his thumbs still pressed into the skin of his backside, Dean feeling Cas hit once, twice, and then again harder than he ever had, coming and leaning over Dean, his stomach on Dean’s t-shirted back as they both tried to catch their breath without breaking away from each other. When Cas finally backed away, he helped Dean off the bed and they headed to the shower. Dean got in first, listening to Cas at the sink. He washed up quickly and was almost out when Cas got in. They stared at each other without saying anything for a moment, Dean’s side of the shower running hot, Cas just standing, his arms crossed and biceps glistening with sweat, a smug grin on his face. “Your hair looks ridiculous,” Dean finally said, sliding a hand through his hair to fluff some of the water out. “Your eyes are really green,” Cas mentioned. “It happens sometimes.” “Why are you looking so surly?” Cas asked. “Because I’m a surly kind of guy,” Dean answered, grabbing Cas’s face with one hand and quickly pressing his wet lips to Cas’s before slapping his ass and getting out of the shower. “What was that for?” Dean smiled. “It felt customary.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- No one was awake when Dean and Cas slipped out of the bunker. Dean walked slowly as he wheeled the motorcycle down the road, Cas at his side. The crisp fall air prickled his skin. The stillness of the morning had stricken them both to silence, afraid of disturbing the quiet that accompanied their covert escape. At the crossroad, he stopped to swing his leg over the motorcycle and waited on Cas to jump on the bike. Dean rubbed his face with his free hand as the weight shifted when Cas settled in behind him, realizing he should shave soon. He’d never let his scruff get this out of control. He started the bike once Cas’s hands were on his hips and turned right to head into town. The town was relatively empty. There was only one car parked at the shopping strip on the side of the lot near the tattoo parlor. Dean pulled in and parked alongside the car, and stretched when he got off the bike. Cas squeezed Dean’s exposed hip while his arms were upstretched, his shirt revealing a sliver of skin. Dean flinched and gave Cas a dirty look, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. “Are you ready?” Cas asked. Dean let out a drawn out sigh and hit his hand flat on his stomach. “Let’s do this.” Jayce met the two at the door, softly chuckling at Cas standing behind Dean in a black hoodie. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he was blowing out his breath, rocking back on his heels, looking like a kid instead of a nearly six-foot -tall man. Dean greeted him with a smile as he let them in and locked the door behind them, closing the blinds. “I appreciate you doing this, man,” Dean said, clapping Jayce on the shoulder. “It’s the business I’m in. Let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll get started.” Dean lay down in the chair, pulling his shirt up to his neck. Cas leaned against the door of the room, his arms crossed. Jayce pulled out the Sigil of Ameth sketch and stood over Dean, deciding how best to center it on his stomach. Dean held his breath. “This isn’t going to be pleasant, but you look like you can handle it,” he said while he pressed the transfer paper onto Dean’s middle. “The good thing is you have like, no waist, so it’ll make it easier for me.” “Glad it’ll be easier on you,” Dean mumbled. He looked down at the purple ink the paper had left on his skin. The sigil started at his sternum, moving between and below his pecs, rounding out at his sides and ending just above his pelvis. The bottom opening of the center star was occupied by his belly button, perfectly centered on his lower torso. He scanned the lines that needed to be drawn. There was a lot of work ahead, and it was not going to be fun. Dean put his head back and closed his eyes as Jayce turned on the gun. * * * * * * The whirring of the tattoo gun continued on and off until they took a break at lunch. Cas had gone next door and gotten subs for the three of them. Jayce went out back to eat his lunch and get some fresh air. Dean stayed lying in the reclined chair, his shirt taped up so he could eat and not have to hold it, just in case it slipped. The main outline was completed; only the details remained. That would have been reassuring except for the fact that the number of complicated marks that still needed to be pushed into Dean’s stomach was pretty high. He groaned as he ate his meatball sub, dreading the next few hours. “Your skin is very pink. Are you sure you can keep going? Should we come back tomorrow?” Cas asked, his brow furrowed with worry. “It looks very uncomfortable.” “Well I can think of a lot of things I’d rather be doing. Like anything,” Dean said, laying his sub on his chest. “But I have to get it done. We have to get that thing out of Sam. Even if Isda isn’t ready by tonight, I want to be ready on my end whenever that time comes.” His arms fell to his sides as he sighed. “Where’s Jayce? Let’s get moving.” “Dean, he’s worked three straight hours. He needs a break and so do you.” “I’m fine.” “Eat.” Cas’s face went from concerned to commanding in a single word, startling Dean. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled, picking his sandwich back up and taking a bite, pausing and smiling at him quickly as he chewed a mouthful. Cas softened a little. “Thank you.” His face slowly lost the sudden sternness. Spotting a stool under the small table situated in the room, Cas hauled it out and set it against the wall. He sat, arms crossed, hair messy, worry weighing heavy on his brow. “What do we do if this doesn’t work?” Dean finished the last bite of his sub and dusted his fingers off, balling up the paper and tossing it in the trash. He lay back and let his head fall to the side. “No idea,” he finally said. “I have no plan B. This is all we’ve got. I’m not bringing in any other angels or demons to help us with this one. We’re going to do this, and it’s going to work. Because it has to.” Cas didn’t seem to be reassured. “How about after this, you and me go get a beer?” “Shouldn’t we get back as soon as possible?” Cas asked. “We’ll be gone all day anyway. I’m gonna need one after this anyway. And we might as well get in a beer before we head back to lockdown.” Dean raised his eyebrows, hoping to add to his argument. Cas conceded. “Fine. One beer.” “Stop looking so surly.” “Give me something to think about that doesn’t worry me and I’ll stop.” Dean smiled a cocky grin and looked down at his exposed torso, waving his hand down his body as if it were a show car on The Price is Right. “Nice, huh?” “Inappropriate, Dean,” Cas scolded. But one more nod from Dean, his eyes widening and wide smile beaming at him - even if it was all for show - was enough for Cas to smile. “Just think of all the things you could –“ “Dean!” Cas interrupted, his smile breaking into a soft chuckle. “Okay, enough.” Jayce walked into the room and clapped his hands. “Ready to get this party started again?” He turned his music player on and AC/DC started playing. Dean put his hands behind his head and took a quick look over at Cas before the hum of the tattoo gun started and winked at him, making him smile again. The lines were tedious more than time consuming. Jayce made his way around the circle, working from the outer left and working his way in. Dean grimaced from time to time, just ready for it to be over with and get back to his room. When Jayce finished up the last bit and started cleaning off Dean’s stomach, he was getting antsy and just wanted to get the hell out of there. Jayce gave him all the ointment and care information, but he was intent on getting his beer. It wasn’t his first tattoo. Dean thanked Jayce and tipped him, waving to the girl behind the counter after he pulled on his jacket. Stepping outside, they found the air was a little brisker and the sky was already dim. The darker days of fall had started creeping in. Dean led Cas a few doors down to the small bar he’d gone to shoot pool that first night Cas showed up at the bunker. The two sidled up to barstools and Dean ordered two beers. They drank it quickly, both ready to end the long day. Dean watched Cas drink his beer after he had finished his. He had the familiar itch of adrenaline and excitement after getting a tattoo lying under the surface of his bored exhaustion. He needed to do something to give him a thrill. Watching Cas’s mouth as he threw back the last of what was in his bottle, he was fixated on his lips. Warmth flushed over him and he felt like he was running on some animalistic instincts. “What?” Cas asked, confused at Dean’s wild stare. Without breaking eye contact with Cas, Dean paid for their drinks. His eyes were bright green, mischievous and intense, his devilish grin contagious. “Follow me,” Dean whispered to Cas. Dean led Cas back out to the parking lot, walking swiftly to where the bike was parked. Dean kept walking past it, Cas trailing him, pointing to the bike as if Dean would answer his unspoken question he posed with an unseen gesture. Dean rounded the corner to the back of the tattoo parlor. There was a closed off dumpster area between the tattoo parlor and the next shop over, and a small patio at the back door where Jayce had eaten his lunch. Jayce had taken off after working on Dean all day, and he figured the chances were low that someone would come out. His skin was prickling with excitement as he leaned back against the concrete wall of the building. If he had a cigarette, he’d probably smoke it. “What’s going on?” Cas wore a wary smile, taking in Dean’s state, unsure of what he was up to. Dean looked straight into Cas’s blue eyes, flickering with light. He leaned his head toward him, reaching up to take the nape of Cas’s neck in his hand. Dean’s eyes darted from those blue eyes to his full lips and back. A hand touched Cas’s side, drawing him in to close the gap between them. Cas stepped into the kiss, fervent from the start. Dean’s right hand squeezed Cas’s hip and pulled him even closer, letting him feel how hard Dean’s cock was for him, pressing through his jeans. Dean broke his lips away for a moment, looking Cas in the eyes and whispering to him. “Blow me, Cas.” Cas looked around. Dean nodded, as if promising that no one would come out the back door or round the corner of the building and catch them. Dean expected Cas to say no, not here, that they could wait until they got back to his room, but instead felt nimble fingers loosening his belt, unfastening his jeans. The zipper slowly went down, a hand taking hold of him, protecting him from the chill of the encroaching night. Dean closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall as Cas sunk down. He didn’t know if it was the rush from getting the tattoo that had him feeling everything with raw sensations, but even with the taste of Cas still on his lips, he felt the now familiar mouth caressing him. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t the best blow job of his life. He’d told Cas to blow him before; maybe he should have meant it. He’d been missing out. Dean ran a hand through Cas’s hair, lightly scratching at scruff behind his jaw. Dean muffled his own moans as Cas moved his mouth over the head of his cock in rapid succession, then took everything in to the back of his throat before alternating between sucking and rolling his tongue around his head. Dean’s gentle touching of Cas’s scruff quickly changed to gripping a handful of hair through his fingers, unconsciously pulling while slow fucking Cas’s mouth. His mind was preoccupied with being blank, otherwise it would have bothered him just how good Cas was at this. If Dean had been in the shower instead of against the wall on solid, dry ground, he was sure he would have collapsed onto the slick floor. Dean told Cas to stop, turning toward the alley as he came. He was slightly embarrassed at what he’d just done, but it felt too good to give it too much thought. Dean fixed his pants and turned to find Cas standing at the corner of the building, leaning his shoulder against the wall waiting. He took a deep breath and made his way to Cas, stopping just in front of him, mirroring his stance. His shoulder leaned in next to Cas’s, face to face with this scruffy angel he loved. A one-sided grin grew on his face, unable to look away from Cas’s eyes. When he caught Cas looking down quickly to his mouth, Dean leaned in and caught his lips with his own. His hand moved up to hold Cas’s face, moving into the kiss with an overwhelming need. Dean lost himself in the kiss. Without the hovering presence of the bunker the world seemed to melt away. He bit Cas’s bottom lip gently, opening his eyes to look into Cas’s for a beat before he resumed feeding his all-consuming need for Cas. He didn’t stop kissing him until he started feeling a bit of beard burn on his face. He ran his lips along Cas’s cheekbone, kissing him once just under his eye before patting his cheek and nodding toward the bike. The ride home was cold, but the sting of the air felt good on his face. He felt alive. As he pulled onto the road, he wondered if anyone had been looking for them and for how long. He turned off the engine and waited for Cas to get off the bike. Dean stood and swung his leg back over, starting the push to the bunker entrance. The coolness of the air had brought down a fog, making it harder to see where they were walking once they were deeper down the wooded road. The footsteps on the road made a soft rhythm as they drew closer, the loud sound of crickets and other nighttime noises all around them. Dean squinted, thinking he saw something in the road in front of them. He hit Cas’s chest with the back of his hand without saying anything or breaking eye contact with the figure ahead. Suddenly there was silence. Dean stopped, reaching out for Cas’s sleeve and tugging him back. The abruptness of the deafening quiet was unnerving, and the tall figure remained unmoving. “I know you’re there,” Sam’s voice boomed, but it wasn’t Sam. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Dean’s stomach jumped up into his throat. He looked over at Cas, whose face paled from worried panic. They moved forward again, the fog lifting enough to see Sam standing twenty feet from the entrance, his eyes glowing blue. Isda was at his side. He hadn’t seen her until that moment, a hand gripping her throat, almost casually. Gadreel held an angel blade in the other, gripped like an asp, ready to use at any second. Tears rolled down Isda’s face, her eyes begging for forgiveness for an unknown transgression. “It’s okay, Isda. You’re alright,” Dean said softly, looking from Isda’s frightened face to Gadreel’s. Dean’s eyes were full of instant anger, his voice projecting his building rage. “He’s gonna let you go now.” “Why should I?” Gadreel asked. “She tricked Sam into false complacency while you were plotting against me. She’s guiltier than you all.” “Where are Charlie and Kevin?” Cas demanded. His fists clenched open and closed, feeling naked without a weapon in the face of danger. “Your other friends? Indisposed at the moment, brother,” Gadreel remarked, the snide comment dripping with disgust. “Using the prophet against me was a poor idea.” “What are you talking about?” Dean asked. “I saw the books. Sam. Sam saw the books, the research he was doing. Spells telling him how to expel an angel out of a vessel?” Cas and Dean exchanged looks. “The prophet knew about my existence and was a threat. You must have brought it to his attention that something was amiss.” “Gadreel –“ Cas started. “Ezekiel,” the angel in Sam corrected. “I know you are not Ezekiel. Ezekiel never would have done such a thing, lying to obtain a vessel. Ezekiel was better than you.” Gadreel chuckled, throwing Isda roughly to the ground with a flick Sam’s wrist. “That he was. That is why I chose him as my cover. And why you chose your vessel, no doubt.” “I obtained my vessel willingly and without deceit,” Cas defended. “Did you, brother?” Gadreel questioned. “Did he know you would destroy his life, be killed again and again, make all the angels fall from heaven? Was he aware of your rebellious nature and your failing faith when he agreed to house an angel of the Lord and do your bidding?” Cas said nothing. “Listen dickhead,” Dean said. He quickly looked to Isda who was watching the scene from the ground, backing slowly away from Gadreel. Cas rushed to her side. “Don’t try to turn this around on anyone. You’re the bad guy here.” “Am I, Dean?” Gadreel slowly stepped forward, casually flipping the angel blade in his hand as if it were only a butterfly knife. “You’re the one that allowed me in with deception, and I’m healing your brother. I am keeping him alive. All I want is to be strong enough to seek out a truer vessel and find a place in heaven. I bear you no ill will. But then I find that you are conspiring to cast me out? You Winchesters are not exactly known for leniency in casting judgment on those you feel have wronged you. Can you blame me for wanting to escape execution?” “Who said anything about killing you?” Dean laughed uncomfortably, then cocked his head to the side in thought and smiled. “Not that I wouldn’t mind doing so at this point because you’re a bit of a douche.” “See it’s that attitude that makes trusting you difficult.” The angel in Sam’s body was uncomfortably close, but Dean pushed his luck. He scoffed. “You’re gonna talk to me about trust? Really?” Gadreel had enough. He punched Dean in the face, making him stagger backward. He hit him again, causing him to fall to the ground. Gadreel kicked his side again and again, hard enough the third time to send Dean’s body skidding down the road. Dean slid ten feet across the pavement. He lifted his head, groaning and coughing up blood. He had heard his ribs crack. Gadreel raised the angel blade in his hand ready to strike Dean down. Without warning the blade was ripped from his hand, Cas moving between Gadreel and Dean, and in a swift movement he brandished the blade at Gadreel, pressing the tip onto his throat, nicking Sam’s skin. Gadreel only chuckled. “Cas,” Dean coughed. “No.” “Oh, you would not hurt the great Sam Winchester,” Gadreel taunted. “And it is very noble of you to stand in front of your charge, but do not think I will not strike you down as well, Castiel. Move out of my way.” Isda’s voice was suddenly just behind Gadreel, booming confidently a string of words that meant nothing to Dean. “CHRISTEOS OIAD LIT IRPOIL OL OIAD OD ANGELUS, DS NOSTOAH OIAD SIGILLUM DEI, BOGPA NETAAB LONCHO.” Dean’s body ached. His bones made a terrible noise as they reset themselves, the blood stopped flowing from his head where he had hit the pavement. His stomach burned. He lifted his shirt to see light emanating from beneath the bandages covering his tattoo. The pain subsided, only dull aches remained. He stood slowly, first getting up on one knee, then standing up to face Gadreel. His voice quivered. “Get out. Of my brother.” “How did you do that?” Gadreel looked at Dean in amazement, confused. He started toward Dean, Cas distracted by Dean’s miraculous healing. Dean stood firm, holding his hand up to stop Gadreel. To his surprise, he stopped moving, as if held back by an invisible barrier. Cas stared, not sure himself of what was unfolding. “I said. Get out. Of. My brother.” Sam’s body twitched then went rigid, his face turning up toward the sky. His mouth opened and the ear piercing sound of angelic being rang out as the blue light flew forth from Sam. Once the light was gone, Sam collapsed to the ground, Dean rushing to his side to catch him. “Isda, help me,” he yelled. Isda rushed to his side. Dean grabbed her shoulder, pulling her down to cradle Sam into her lap. His hand felt electric, and Isda’s eyes shut tight. “Dean, what’s happening?” Cas asked, kneeling beside him. “Go find Charlie and Kevin,” he said to Cas, his uneasiness echoed in Cas’s face. As Cas ran down to the bunker door, Dean turned to Isda. “What the hell was that?” She didn’t speak, her eyes fluttering back and forth beneath her eyelids. “Isda. ISDA!” Dean shook her shoulder, finally letting her go. As his hand left her shoulder, her eyes opened wide, glowing soft blue. “What the hell?” he whispered, startled as he stared into the light radiating from her eyes. They dimmed, and returned to normal, a soft green. “Isda what is going on?” Dean demanded. Isda just looked at him, her face serious. “Let’s get Sam inside, Dean.” Dean wanted answers, but couldn’t argue. He pulled Sam up off the ground, and the two carried Sam into the bunker. It was difficult getting him down the stairs, but Dean wasn’t huffing as much as he thought he would be, and Isda was pulling a surprising amount of weight. They got Sam to his room and lay him out in bed, Isda curling up against the headboard, resting Sam’s head in her lap again. Once they were settled, Dean looked at Isda. “Explain.” “I just…I said ‘Let he with vision of God and Angels, who has the Sigillum Dei, rule over all’. It was a shot. And it worked. Amazingly so. Look at what you’ve done!” “So you just…activated the sigil or something?” Dean asked. “Yes, I guess so,” Isda said, beaming. “And you couldn’t go-go-gadget the fucking sigil before I was getting beaten to death by an angel?” Dean shouted in a whisper. “I didn’t know you had the sigil on you! I saw the bandages under your shirt when you flew across the road. Your shirt came up a bit. I remembered Kevin mentioning it as a last resort, so I thought if I invoked it….” “You mean you didn’t even know if it would work?” “Aren’t we just making this up as we go?” Isda asked, a smile brightening her face. Dean rolled his eyes. He pointed at her as he got up. “You just help Sam.” “As you wish,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “You need to stop hanging out with Charlie,” Dean muttered as he left the room. He walked up and down the halls, yelling for Cas. He finally heard a voice calling back in a far corridor. “Dean! In here!” Dean ran around the corner at the end of the hall and found a room with the door open. He went through the door and found Cas and Kevin untying Charlie. Kevin had a black eye, and Charlie had a bump on her head that was starting to bruise. Dean went to Charlie as they finished untying her from a post next to the radiator, a pink burn from the proximity to the heat on her arm. He brushed away the hair from her face and lovingly kissed her forehead. “Charlie? Charlie you gotta wake up for me okay?” Dean said, lightly patting her face. She stirred and opened her eyes. “Sam’s not Sam,” she whispered. “Yeah, we know,” Dean said. “But he’s back to being Sam now. The guy that hurt you and Kevin? That guy is gone.” He turned to Cas. “Isda’s with Sam. I need to get back to him. You got this?” “Yeah, I got this.” Cas nodded for Dean to go. Dean made his way back down the maze of hallways taking what felt like forever to find himself in familiar territory. When he reached Sam’s room, Isda was still cradling Sam’s head, petting his hair. He was conscious. Dean pulled out the chair from his desk, setting it next to the bed and grabbed his brother’s hand. “Hey Sammy, you okay?” he said softly. Sam’s eyes fluttered and opened wide. “Dean? What happened?” Dean let out a heavy sigh. A lot had happened. “Well, the good news is, I don’t need to pray for you because you have your own little angel right here.” He smiled at Isda. “And the important thing is that you are going to be just fine.” Isda’s voice was much stronger. “Your brother saved you.” Her delicate fingers ran through Sam’s hair in smooth repetition, making it hard for Sam to keep his eyes open. “Look at you, like a dog getting groomed. You look like you’ll fall asleep any second.” “I might,” Sam admitted. “So, what happened? One minute I was checking on Kevin then everything went black. It was like I was having a nightmare. Choking Isda, trying to kill you. Then I woke up here.” Dean shifted in the chair, letting go of Sam’s hand and wiping his palms on his knees. He started from the beginning, explaining the dire situation of Sam’s condition, Ezekiel’s plan to heal Sam, Cas realizing Ezekiel wasn’t who he said he was, and everyone’s effort to get Sam back to being just Sam. He was angry at first, but too weak to yell or leave, so Sam had to sit through the explanation and hear Dean out. Isda helped, chiming in with how brave Dean was standing up to Gadreel. Dean finished the story and shrugged. “That’s it.” “That’s it?” Sam huffed in anger, then coughed and winced. “Well, let me see this sigil thing.” Dean looked surprised Sam was even talking to him. “You’re not off the hook. I’m pissed. But since I can’t beat the shit out of you right now – and apparently I did that already today – let me see the damn sigil.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “It sounds kinda cool,” Sam muttered under his breath. His brother smiled. Dean stood and lifted his shirt, surprised at the lack of pain in his muscles. He picked at the edges of the tape pressed over the gauze. Peeling away the tape from his skin, Dean looked at the fresh tattoo and saw it healed. “Holy shit.” “What?” Sam and Isda said. Cas knocked at the door with Charlie and Kevin behind him. “Can we come in?” “Yeah, of course,” Dean said. “Do me a favor and get me a towel from the bathroom – and wet it, would you?” Cas nodded and went to get the towel. Charlie and Kevin edged into the room. “Hey Sam,” Charlie sang uncomfortably, waving her hand slightly even though he couldn’t see her at the angle she was standing. “Charlie, Kevin, I’m so sorry,” Sam started. “Stop,” Kevin interrupted. “It wasn’t you.” “Still,” Sam mumbled. Cas returned with the towel and handed it to Dean. Their hands brushed and for a second Dean forgot everything and smiled at Cas. He returned the grin and nodded back down to Dean’s stomach, bringing him back to the present. Dean finished peeling away the bandage and tape, dabbing his middle with the wet towel, wiping off the ointment and excess ink. His skin wasn’t even slightly puffed. Everything was surprisingly healed. “What the fuck,” he whispered. “How did it do that?” Kevin asked. “That’s impressive,” Charlie put in. “What is it?” Everyone looked at her, forgetting that she and Sam were the only ones not in the loop. “What?” “Isda said some angel words and it lit up like she powered on an arc reactor.” “It gave him powers over Gadreel. He stopped him mid-step and forced him out of Sam on command. Then he touched me and healed me as well. And now I can heal Sam.” Isda smiled. “It will take a few days, but I think I can get him back to working order.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead. Sam received it with a smile, then looked flustered when he remembered they weren’t alone. “So you’re like, some angel Jedi Paladin?” Charlie asked, her eyes wide with excitement. “That is so cool. What else can you do?” Dean rolled his eyes and put his shirt down. “I’m not magic. Wait, am I?” he asked Isda. “You have the Sigil of Ameth. You have control all creatures save archangels.” “Like mind control?” Kevin asked. “Maybe just angels. But I’ll use my powers for good, I swear,” Dean said, holding his hands up to Isda. She smiled and her eyes lit up as if she were proud of Dean. “You healed me, and I trust you. You’re now an angelic weapon of sorts, I supposed. You won’t be able to heal humans, but you can invoke angels to do so. I’m not sure what power you would have over demons, but my assumption would be that the outcome would be similar.” “Not gonna lie. I’m a little freaked out.” Dean surveyed the room, and everyone was staring at him with looks of awe, and an open-mouthed gape of ‘what in the hell do we do now?’ plastered on Sam’s face. This gave them an upper hand, and not one that had a high failure potential. That was new. “Okay we’ve all had a rough day. I say we get something to eat, relax, maybe just act normal for a night.” “Like there’s not an angel keeping watch over Sam to heal his burned out internal organs from a ritual that I, a prophet of the Lord, deciphered to close the gates of hell, and you aren’t a walking weapon of heaven in a hush-hush relationship with a fallen angel who shot all the angels out of heaven like one of those champagne poppers who all may or may not be looking for us to seek out revenge?” Kevin blurted. “Sure. Why not,” he shrugged. “I’ll go warm up some burritos.” He turned and started to leave. “Hey Kev, wait up,” Dean called, jumping up to follow him. “I got this. I’ll cook us something. A real meal.” He looked to Sam and up to Isda. “Do you think he can manage hanging out in the kitchen or library area…or is he bed bound?” “I think if you help me get him there, we’ll be fine.” Dean helped Sam up, and he and Isda walked with him to the kitchen, everyone else trailing behind them. Charlie rushed over to her iPod and put it in the docking base, scrolling through until she found a playlist. Dean and Isda slid Sam onto the table in the library with a perfect view of the kitchen, Isda resuming her place at Sam’s head. “Is that like, a necessary thing?” “No, I suppose not. But it is comforting. For me at least.” Isda blushed. “It makes it easy to heal him if he’s relaxed, and Sam seems to like me touching his hair.” “It is comforting,” Sam said softly with a smile. “Aw, look at you two.” Dean batted his eyelashes playfully. “Shut up, Dean.” Dean popped back on his heels and turned to the kitchen to cook his family a meal as “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” came through the speakers, filling the bunker with life. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Charlie bopped around the kitchen, hitting Kevin with her hip until he grinned and returned the friendly hip bump. Once she had him smiling, she moved on to Cas, taking his hand and making him twirl her. She sang in a spatula to Dean, “If you ever need, a helping hand, I’ll be there on the double,” and he joined in reluctantly with “just as fast as I can.” But Charlie’s mood was infectious. He kissed the top of her head and shooed her away. He hummed the chorus while the pan drizzled with olive oil warmed on the stove, feeling invigorated and happy. Charlie moved on to Sam and Isda, sliding up on the table next to her friends. “I always wanted to have one of those singing friends dancing in the kitchen moments,” she said. Kevin pulled ingredients as Dean called them out. He diced chicken and Cas set a pot to boil for the penne. When Dean had everything going, Kevin joined Charlie and the others in the library while they decided on a movie to put up on the projector. Cas had put on the pasta, and now all they had to do was wait. Dean turned the chicken down to simmer and felt his hips subtly moving to “The Piña Colada Song.” He felt a tug on his belt loops and Cas’s body pressed up against his. He chuckled as he braced himself on the stove. “I’ve had my ribs cracked and my body and face bruised and bloody. Don’t try to burn me too,” he said, turning to Cas. He moved to the side as he turned to rest his back on the counter away from the heat. Cas hooked his belt loops again, pulling Dean’s pelvis toward his. “Cas, you tease.” “Oh, I’m not teasing,” Cas said. He tried to be serious, but his face broke into a wide smile. Dean glanced over at everyone in the library, then back to Cas. “You don’t care?” “Why would I care?” he asked. “Kevin apparently knows from what he said earlier. Sam knows. Charlie definitely knows. And even if they didn’t, why would I care?” Dean shifted, unsure of himself for a moment before saying, “Fuck it.” He caught Cas’s mouth with his, not even easing in with a simple chaste kiss. His hand pulled gently at the back of Cas’s neck, wishing somehow he could be even closer. He breathed Cas in, his stomach fluttering. He pulled away satisfied with a smile. “I’m going to let you do things later.” “Is that so?” Cas stifled a laugh. Sam called from the other room with as much voice as he could muster, “Get a room you two. After I get food.” Cas released Dean’s belt loops and squinted at him. “Your ass is mine.” “You know it,” Dean said with a wink. He balled up a kitchen towel and threw it at Cas, hitting him in the chest. He drained the pasta and put honey on the chicken, letting it cook just a bit longer while Cas put Italian dressing on the penne and got plates ready. Once the chicken was mixed in with the penne, Dean plated the food and called Charlie and Kevin over to help take everything to the table. Charlie ferried glasses of water over, and Cas helped Isda get Sam off the table and into a chair. Sam looked embarrassed but couldn’t deny the help. He winced and made a pained sound as he slid the chair forward. He cleared his throat, hoping no one had heard him. The six of them sat around the table, smiling at each other. “Well dig in,” Dean said. After the dishes were done, Isda came to Dean in the kitchen and asked if she could speak with him. He nodded, dried his hands on the towel he had launched at Cas earlier. “What’s up?” “Your demeanor has completely changed with me.” Dean looked up at the ceiling and puffed his lips. “Well, to be honest, trusting isn’t really my forte, so when you showed up here with Cas, I was iffy. But, now you’ve risked your life and saved ours, which kind of makes you family. Just like Kevin and Charlie here. And I’m pretty sure – just going out on a limb here – but I think Sam likes you.” “I can sense that now.” Isda blushed, her face more relaxed and much brighter than it had been since she arrived. “I feel good here. I’ve never had a home, or a family like this, but I like it very much.” “Well you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” Dean narrowed his eyes at her. “Unless you scratch my car or hurt my brother. Then your ass is gone.” Isda giggled. “Fair enough.” The group settled in for a movie, but when Dean saw it was some slow-paced indie flick he hit Cas on the leg and gestured with his head to the hall. Cas nodded, and Dean stood up ceremoniously stretching and declaring he’d had a rough day and was headed to bed. Everyone said goodnight, having fully expected the two to cut out early. Charlie was sitting cross legged on the table braiding Isda’s hair. Isda’s chair faced the projector, with Sam’s sitting close to hers. Kevin played a game on his phone. Dean looked at his family, and it felt good having a group like this on his side. Cas hooked the back of Dean’s pants with his finger and started dragging him backward until Dean turned and followed. He watched Cas walking down the hall to his room, as impatient as Cas was for the two of them to be alone. The sound of the door locking behind them was the sweetest sound. The click meant that they were alone. No one would interrupt. There were no emergencies. They were safe. Everyone was okay, or at least going to be. The freedom from the weight that had been straining Dean came with such relief that he wasn’t sure if his skin was actually tingling or if this was what happiness felt like. Cas took off the hoodie and his shoes and socks, swinging his arms around and moving his neck to get kinks knocked out. He breathed in and out deeply and crawled into bed, the rest of his clothes still on. “What are you doing?” Dean asked. “Come lay with me for a minute.” Dean obliged, shrugging and removing his own shoes and socks before curling up beside Cas. When they were face to face, Dean found his eyes drifting to every feature he loved – the crinkles in the corners of his eyes and how they deepened when he smiled, his scruff that was unwieldy at this point, and how striking his eyes were. But in this moment, he couldn’t get past his lips. Cas was looking at Dean too, admiring his freckles and eyelashes, but was interrupted with Dean’s lips on his. It was a subtle touch, barely grazing Cas’s mouth. Dean could feel the warmth of his own breath reflecting back at him. His hand rested at the familiar spot behind Cas’s head, his thumb running across his face just under Cas’s eye from nose to cheekbone. He kissed the place where his thumb had started, running his mouth down the side of Cas’s face, feeling the prickling of his hair as his breath drew a line from temple to chin. Cas took his chance to return the gesture in his own way, brushing Dean’s eyebrow with his middle finger, just the vague sensation of a touch. He kissed Dean’s neck, laying a trail up the underside of his jaw until he landed on his lips, kissing him quietly. Dean pushed his tongue into Cas’s mouth so shallow, slowly licking between his parted lips. Cas couldn’t take the teasing any more. He grabbed the back of Dean’s thigh with his hand, gripping tight and hitching his leg up over his. H kissed Dean deeply, reaching back and running his hand through Dean’s hair, pulling it back as his felt his body grinding against Dean’s. Dean was caught off guard by the sudden need for him Cas was showing, but before he could even think about how hot it was he felt himself start to throb. Before long they both had to break away. “Starting to hurt?” Dean asked. Cas nodded. They pulled off their jeans, feet furiously kicking at the bottom of the bed, racing to get back to where they were. Dean felt Cas’s cock as it rubbed against his stomach when they kissed. He sat up and had Cas move back against the headboard, seated. Dean shimmied belly-down on the bed, moving his left arm under Cas’s thigh. He gripped Cas tight in his hand, rolling the slick bead that had gathered on the tip. Cas was already breathing heavy, his hand running through Dean’s now messy hair. Dean pushed his lips over Cas’s head and tasted the slight tinge of salt as he rolled his tongue around before taking it all in his mouth. He felt Cas grip tight onto this hair as he bobbed up and down, his hand moving away from and toward his mouth in an ever increasing rhythm. Cas grasped at the bed sheets. Dean looked up to see Cas’s teeth bared, animalistic as he started fucking Dean’s mouth. Dean moved his other arm so both cradled Cas, letting him us his grip on his hair as a handle. Suddenly Cas stopped, tapping Dean to get up. “Holy shit Cas, you okay?” Dean asked, wiping his mouth. A sweat ring was starting to show at Cas’s collar. “Take off your shirt,” Cas said, smiling. Dean stood at the foot of the bed with a smile, his dick bouncing off his stomach. “If I’m stripping, I’m putting on music.” He went to his dresser and set up his iPod, searching for a song. A moment later, the sound of AC/DC ripped through the room. He bobbed his head to the beat, turning to Cas. He pulled his shirt over his head and remembered his tattoo. “Hey, aren’t I supposed to be able to control all creatures?” “Not me. Not anymore. No longer an angel, remember?” “No you’re not,” Dean laughed. “So I can’t invoke you to do my bidding?” Cas’s face grew serious. “Dean, you know I always come when you call.” The two stared at each other for only seconds before busting out into laughter. “Wait, wait,” Dean said. “You hear this song?” Cas nodded and smiled. “Well this is what you’re gonna do to me tonight, I’m sure, with that look you had in your eyes earlier.” He swung his shirt over his head and threw it at the wall, pointing to Cas and mouthing the words to the song. Cause the walls were shaking, the earth was quaking My mind was aching and we were making it And you shook me all night long Cas laughed and pulled Dean onto the bed, kissing him hard. Dean couldn’t have asked for a better end to all of this mess. His rag-tag family of misfits was together in the bunker, safe. Sam was taken care of and had a new friend looking out for him. He finally had a place to call home. And he had Cas. This one would be a night for the books.
1044033	Accidentally	{ "Archive Warning": null, "Category": null, "Characters": "Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, Kevin Tran, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Melissa McCall, Dean Winchester, Vernon Boyd, Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, Jackson Whittemore, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Danny Māhealani", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by lydiathebanshee", "chapters": "4/?", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-04T00:00:00", "words": "8,480", "Additional Tags": "Alpha!Stiles", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Lydia Martin/Kevin Tran", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Teen Wolf (TV), Supernatural", "Archive Warnings": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage Sex, Major Character Death", "Categories": "F/M, M/M", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Something wasn't right.Stiles had a feeling that when the bearded man walked into the bowling alley that night, something shifty was going down.He was correct.Two hours later, the only thing that Stiles could feel was cold metal. Blunt pieces dug into him, making him cry out. He opened his mouth to scream, but he made no sound. A few minutes later, slumped against the moist wall, he proceeded to pass out.Stiles woke up to a choking darkness, pulling on his restraints. Terrified, notably naked, and cold, he struggled to remember what had gotten him here.“Derek?” Stiles called out to the darkness. “Someone? Help, please. I can't-" He whimpered, pulling on his restraints. "I can't move. Help me." He ended in a small voice. He pulled on his chains once more, and fell back against the cold stone wall, sighing deeply.“Calling out to your boyfriend?” “He’s not my boyfriend,” Stiles said weakly. He’s my alpha. Not really mine, even. “Boyfriend, lover, boy toy, tool… Whatever you want to call him, baby.” “Don’t call me that.” “Hm, baby? What was that?” “I said, don’t call me that.” “Feisty,” The voice chuckled.“Well, we’ll see who’s baby you are after this,” He said, showing himself for the first time.He couldn’t have been more than thirty, with dark brown hair, the aforementioned beard, and piercing blue eyes. He wore a wicked smile, and he was carrying a large knife.“No, no, no - please, God, no - no.” Stiles protested, pressing against the wall, struggling to get away. The man only laughed, pinned Stiles down, and sliced into Stiles’s forearm, and grinned again when Stiles released a loud scream that would’ve put Lydia to shame.A few minutes later, in the distance, a howl was heard.“Guess you were wrong, baby,” he smirked. “He is your boyfriend, whether you know it or not,” Stiles made a high pitched noise, looking up at him.“What… do you mean,” he managed through gritted teeth. His captor’s eyes lit up. “You’re his mate. And you’ve just led him to me.” Stiles forced out a laugh. “You’re crazy.” The man nodded thoughtfully.“But your mate… your alpha…” his eyes glowed a deep blue. Shit.“You’re an omega.” Stiles stated.“Yes, but I'm an alpha. Killed my pack for power.” He smiled widely, teeth sharp. Then he shifted as Derek ran into the room, eyes red, growling.Derek launched himself at this wolf, this alpha without a pack, who had taken Stiles. His wolf said kill but his mind told him to just attack and interrogate. So that’s what he did.The wolf was stronger than he anticipated, but he was still no match for Derek. He was soon pinned under the alpha, struggling and bleeding.“Why are you here,” Derek hissed. Stiles toppled over sideways, his vision blurring.Derek got momentarily distracted by him and the packless alpha used this as an opportunity to scratch Derek’s chest.“You’re going to pay for that.” Derek snarled. He dug his claws into the lone wolf’s leg.“Why are you here.” Derek repeated, pushing his claws in deeper.“Just doing what had to be done. You don't know yet, do you?” The alpha looked over at Stiles. “Look at Stiles’s stomach!” He laughed gleefully, manically. Stiles struggled to lift up his shirt and almost passed out when he realized what happened. He’d been bitten.Oh wait, he did pass out.Stiles woke up in a bright room. He wasn’t in the hospital, he could tell, because he seemed to recognize the weird stars on the ceiling- of course! He wanted to hit himself, but his arms felt a bit heavy. He was in Scott’s room, these were the glow-in-the-dark stars they’d stuck there in the fourth grade. He would have smiled, but there was suddenly so much noise. He quickly covered his ears, wincing, when he looked for the source of the noise.It was Scott. And Lydia, with Jackson. And Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and Allison. And wait, was that Derek looking at him with such concern? And shit, that was Mrs. McCall. Fuck, he was in deep shit.He sat up, gave them a smile, and calmly asked, “Can we order pizza for dinner?” Derek sank back and rolled his eyes. Lydia smiled happily, and Jackson scowled. Everything was back to normal. Scott pounced on top of him though, hugging around his waist.“Never do that again, dude! Not cool!”“Wasn’t exactly cool for me either, dude. He sliced into my arm!” Stiles said lifting up his arm.“Wait, maybe it was this one…?” He looked at his other arm, and blinked. There was no scar, no scab, no blood. “I swear… he cut me… Derek was there, you saw it!”“Stiles…” Derek trailed off, “I figured you should tell them when you remember.”“Remember what?”And then- “Oh.” Stiles paled.“I… uh. I got bitten by an alpha then Derek killed the alpha so now I’m next in line and I’m an alpha?” He said uncertainly, looking to Derek for clarification. Derek nodded, inhaling sharply. Melissa got up and left the room.“What.” Scott demanded.“Oh but wait! It gets better! Apparently I’m Derek’s m-” Derek reached over and covered Stiles’s mouth. Everyone looked at Derek quizzically.“Why’d you do that, Derek?” Allison asked, speaking up.“He was being irrational.” “Was not! Creepy alpha guy said so!”“What doesn’t Derek want us to know?” Lydia asked, “If it’s something about him, the whole pack should know.” She continued.“The alpha said I was his ‘mate’.” Stiles laughed hard.“How funny is that?” Stiles kept laughing, trying to talk in-between breaths.The pack just sat there stunned.“Why… Why aren’t you guys laughing?” Stiles asked, suddenly uncomfortable.“Because he was serious, Stiles.” Scott said slowly.“Wait, what?” Derek hung his head. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I can’t help who my wolf is attracted to.”“Well, you make it sound like you’re ashamed of me.” Stiles said with an uncomfortable laugh.“We probably should give you some time alone?” Scott said awkwardly.“No, it’s fine. I should go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He didn’t mention who the ‘you’ included, because it would probably just be Scott.He made to leave, and everyone parted, and God he was like Moses. Except it was a sea of werewolves, not people. Minus Alison and Lydia. Sorry Alison. Sorry Lydia. And then everyone was laughing. “Did I do the thing again?” He mumbled.He sometimes said his thoughts out loud and it was usually awkward when he did so.“Bye guys,” and he managed to not trip. At all.Perks of being a werewolf.And so Stiles slept. His dad woke him at six to tell him he was glad to see him home early, but he thought he was sleeping over Scott’s? And Stiles mumbled something about Scott being a lovesick puppy, and his dad chuckled, mentioned that he was taking the night shift, and that he would be home tomorrow around three.Stiles groaned and rolled over. He should probably try to get some rest. But for some reason, something was bothering him. Meds. Gotta take my meds. So he trotted into the bathroom and quickly swallowed down two Adderall, then went back into his room.“You’re not going to need that anymore, you know,” A voice came from his window. Stiles jumped back in surprise.“Jesus fucking Christ, you can’t just barge in here whenever you’d like!”Derek emerged from the shadows and ducked his head. “Sorry.”“What was that?”“I said I’m sorry.”“I know, I just wasn’t sure if I heard you correctly the first time. Could you repeat that? I wanna record it. Can I have that as my ringtone?” Derek groaned.“So, we obviously need to talk.” He said, still standing by the window.“Well, you’re here, might as well,” Stiles said, gesturing to his bed.“Can I get back into bed first?” He asked. “I want to be as comfortable as possible for this obviously uncomfortable discussion we’re about to have.”Derek rolled his eyes, “Fine,”“You know if you keep rolling your eyes they’re going to-”“-Get stuck like that, I know, I know, you’ve told me five times.” Stiles looked pleased with himself.“What?” “Well for one, you’re paying attention when I talk.”“No I’m not.” Derek protested. “Aw, look at you, you’re so cute when you blush.”“Can we please talk?”“Ooh, please! Fine. I guess. Whatever.”“Stiles…” Derek sighed, “I don’t like you. You know that.”“Well, gee, thanks! Don’t try to flatter me!” Derek cast his eyes away.“That’s not what I meant.”“Oh, then what did you mean?”“I- we- can’t do this.”“Well, no shit! I mean, we’re polar opposites, you’re like six years older than me, so it’s illegal, my dad’s a cop and he’d shoot you, you’re straight so that’s an obvious problem, and-”“-Bi. I’m bi.” Derek cut in, and Stiles looked surprised. Flustered, Derek asked him, “But you’re straight, Stiles, aren’t you? I mean, the whole Lydia thing-”“I, uh, have never, erm, been with anyone, but based on my interests I, uh, think I’m bi.”“If you’ve never been with anyone then how do you know… Oh.” Derek realized. Stiles blushed and nodded, “Well that settles that.”“So, uh, you can go I guess.”“I’m staying.” “What?! Why!”“If one alpha wanted you, chances are there are more.”“What’s that supposed to mean,” Stiles winked, trying to look seductive but just laughing.Derek rolled his eyes. “People are going to want to hurt you, and I’ll be damned if I let them hurt you- or any of my pack.”“Technically, aren’t you already damned?” Stiles joked, attempting to lighten the situation.“Stiles.” Derek said, trying to get him to shut up.“And can’t I protect myself now? You know, with me being an alpha were now.” “No. You don’t know how to use your powers.”“Fine. Can I sleep now? I’ve had a bit of a grueling day.”“Yes.”“Are you going to stare at me while I sleep?”“Yes.”“Can you not?”“No.”“Ugh. Fine.”So he slept. For a long time. When he woke up, Derek was looming by his desk.“Dude, did you stand there the whole night? What if you had to pee?”“Seriously, Stiles?”“Yeah!”“Then I’d go to the bathroom. But-”“-But you didn’t leave my side for more than a minute?! How romantic!”“Shut up.” Hey, Stiles thought. He didn’t deny it.He had a feeling he was going to be testing Derek’s limits a lot. He knew exactly what to do tonight.Stiles didn’t hang out with Scott that day because Scott was with Allison. That night, Sheriff Stilinski and Stiles ordered pizza and they ate in silence while watching a rerun of Doctor Who.The sheriff took the night shift, and Stiles set his plan in action. He noted that yesterday Derek came at nine. So at eight-thirty, he dropped his pants and laid back on his bed, started watching porn, and began to get off. In about fifteen minutes he was groaning along with the two men on screen. When he came, he cleaned himself up, and proceeded to 'fall asleep'.So when Derek climbed through his window and saw Stiles lying there, smelling like that, he couldn’t help it that his cock jumped in his pants. His wolf said Mate, sex but Derek attempted to keep control. God, the smell was everywhere and it was so sexy. Ok, he was hard. He just wanted to flip Stiles over and pound into him. But he couldn’t. He had to wait at least until Stiles was old enough. Derek groaned, palming his jeans.He sighed deeply and climbed back out the window, knowing he wouldn't be able to watch over the boy with a hard on and that smell.Stiles smirked. He waited thirty minutes to see if Derek would return, then he threw his sheets into the washing machine in the basement.He sat on top of it, waiting for the cycle to end. He's done this since he could remember, first with his mom. They'd come downstairs at night when Stiles finished his homework, and talk about his day. After she was gone, Stiles would make a habit of coming down there every night, doing the laundry and talking to his mom.After a few minutes of him swinging his legs and mentally talking to his mother, Stiles noticed that someone was running around upstairs.Stiles clenched his hands into fists, wincing when he suddenly pinched himself with his claws. Shit. He had fucking claws. This was awesome!And so he crept up the stairs slowly, wishing for the old wooden things not to creak. The person was still upstairs, probably trying to find his mother's jewelry. They'd never find it. His dad was the fucking sheriff, for God's sake, they wouldn't leave it just lying around.He reached the landing, and stealthily climbed the set of stairs leading to the second floor."Stiles!?" He heard a man's voice cry out. His eyebrows furrowed, he didn't recognize the voice."Stiles where are you?" It dawned on him who was yelling. It was Derek. He just wasn't used to hearing him sound like that. Like he cared. Usually he was angry or upset."Derek...?" Stiles called, reaching the top of the stairs."Stiles!" Derek exclaimed, running full speed towards him. Stiles' eyes widened and he backed up only to find the wall. Derek grabbed him and looked like he was about to punch him and then he hugged him. Derek was hugging Stiles, with Stiles resting his head on Derek's chest."Never do that again.""What? Get off? I might get blue balls, Derek, then that would be worse.""No, you idiot, run off without telling me." Derek's voice was stern, angry, but his eyes were soft and full of concern."I only went-" Stiles cut himself off when he saw Derek's expression."-I won't. I'm sorry.""Good. This still doesn't change anything though." Stiles knew this, and he might've thought just a little bit that Derek was trying to convince himself more than Stiles."Yeah, yeah, right. Now if you'll excuse me..." He trailed off, gesturing to the door."Use the door for once," he smirked."Nah. I like the window just fine." And the man climbed out the window.Rolling his eyes, Stiles got his sheets, made his bed, and went to sleep. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The next day, Scott wrinkled his nose when Stiles pulled him in for a (very manly) hug."Dude," he drew back. "Why do you reek of Derek?"Scoffing, he retorted: "Maybe because the guy's been lurking around my house since Sunday."Scott looked at him incredously, "Why?""Uh, maybe he feels, like, responsible or something. I dunno." Scott eyed him suspiciously."Anyways," Scott said, still looking at him like that, "Everyone's heading over Derek's for pack stuff tonight.""Nice of Derek to tell me." Scott's countenance suddenly changed to guilt."Sorry..." "Whatever. I'll talk to him about it tonight." To be honest, Stiles was offended.The least Derek could've done was mention this. Unless- well, unless he was planning to talk about Stiles there.No. Derek was an asshole, but he wasn't that much of an asshole.Right? Wrong. Derek was obviously uncomfortable with Stiles's presence, so five minutes later Stiles confronted him."Derek? Is something wrong?""Huh? Uh, no. Just didn't expect you to come tonight, is all." He stuttered out nervously."Maybe because you didn't want me to be here?" Stiles spat.Derek's face showed no emotion, per usual. The only emotion he was used to showing was anger. A silent moment passed before Derek spoke again."Don't be ridiculous. Not everything is about you." Stiles stared blankly at him."I'm going to go now. And I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." He turned towards the rest of the pack, who had remained silent the entire time. Scott looked at him remorsefully."Night guys!" He smiled, it clearly not meeting his eyes, and they all murmured their apologies and bid him goodnight.Stiles was hurt. He got that Derek didn't like him, but to not include him in pack stuff? That was a bit over the top, no? He said goodnight to his dad, who reminded him he was doing the night shift. He didn't turn on his computer, he just flopped down onto his bed and sighed deeply. He wasn't used to this were thing yet, though, so when his father's tires screeched as he was pulling away from their house, he grimaced and covered his ears. He peeled off his socks and shucked off his jeans. After ridding of his shirt, he checked the clock on his bedside table. The glowing number said that it was 9:30.Needless to say, Derek didn't come to his house that night.So, naturally, that's when trouble came.Ten o'clock sharp, he heard them tear through the front door."Derek," Stiles groaned. “You fucker, get out of my house!”The kitchen table was knocked over.“Take a fucking hint!” He called down the hall.Then a woman’s voice was heard. Shitshitshit. Okay, so not Derek. How do I find Derek? Gotta find Derek. He jumped off his bed and skidded down the hallway, running to the stairs. He sprinted down the stairs and into the basement.The burglars were in the kitchen, and had not seen or, miraculously, heard him. They must be pretty fucking deaf werewolves, Stiles thought. The door handle to the basement was jiggled, and one of the people tried to enter.Stiles tried to labor his heavy breathing. They knocked down the door, and heels clicked down the stairs.“H-oly shit, Barnes,” a man shouted from upstairs. “You can’t just break down their door!” He exclaimed.“And why the hell not, Parkson?” A woman yelled back angrily.“If no one’s home, we don’t want them to know we’ve been here!” The man named Parkson returned.“Oh they’re here, all right. I can smell him.” Stiles ducked into a closet, closing it silently.The heels reached the bottom of the stairs and were pacing around the basement. The man followed here and the two of them were talking in hushed voices. Luckily, Stiles could still hear them. The whole werewolf thing, and all.“He’s here. I smell him. He’s here.” Barnes laughed.She might’ve been a were, but he couldn’t tell. “What does Abbadon want with him, anyways?”“Don’t question the Queen.” The woman answered harshly.Woah, the Queen? That was a bit of a stretch, no? And who the hell is Abbadon? The heels clicked over to his hiding place. His claws slid out.Preparing himself, he put his hands up. The closet door flung open and he pounced on the woman, clawing next her eyes, which were black and most definitely not werewolf. Screaming, the woman stepped back, clutching her face. He flashed his claws at the man, who threw his hands up as if to say he didn’t mean any harm. Bullshit.Stiles sprinted out of his house, debating where to go. He could go to Scott’s, but Scott wouldn’t be all that helpful. He could go to Allison’s or Lydia’s, but he didn’t want to put them in danger. He decided to go to Derek’s, because he was the alpha. At least, that’s what he reasoned with himself. So he sprinted towards the woods, accidentally shifting when he reached them, his flannels being ripped to pieces. He disappeared into the trees and tore for Derek’s house.He literally ran into Derek.He was walking through the woods and Stiles took a sharp left, and ran into the wolf. He blinked. The wolf shook its auburn coat. He reached down absentmindedly, stroking its coat. It nuzzled his hand. Derek gave a small smile, and a plane flew overhead. Both heads snapped up, and when Derek looked back down, his hand was in Stiles’s hair, and Stiles was sitting naked on the ground. Derek’s cock twitched. Shit.Derek flinched backwards, retracting his hand quickly.“I- People came. For me.” Derek grunted his acknowledgement.“Wolves?” “No. Black eyes, no claws.” He said nervously. Derek sighed, “Let’s get you clothes. This is… unacceptable.”Stiles looked down at himself helplessly. “I didn’t mean to,” he said inaudibly, so quiet that Derek would have been unable to hear him had he not been a were. Derek looked at him questioningly.“Change, I mean. I’m sorry that I’m a werewolf, I’m sorry I’m an alpha, I’m sorry that you have me in your pack. Most of all, I’m sorry that I’m your mate.” He ended in a small voice.“I know you don’t want me, and you’d be better off with Lydia or someone. I’m sorry.” He said sadly.“I’ll get out of your way.” He walked off, shifting again and trotting off.“Stiles!” Derek called after him.He sighed, kicked off his shoes and rushed to pull off his shirt and jeans.Shifting, he chased after the other wolf. He was faster than Stiles, after all, he had been a wolf longer than him. He caught up and tackled him to the ground, pinning him there. They both shifted back, but Derek’s eyes still blazed red.“Don’t.” Derek growled. Stiles looked up at him, struggling and whimpering.“Don’t. Be sorry. Don’t be sorry.” Stiles whined out again.“You know that, right? You didn’t seriously think that I don’t want you as a wolf? In my pack?” Derek demands. “I mean, I didn’t, but that was only because - ”“ - Why?” “I didn’t want you to be made a monster. Like me. Against your own will.”A small part in the back of Stiles’s brain reminded him that Derek hadn’t said anything about them being mates.“I don’t even care that you’re an alpha, so long as a you don’t challenge me for power.”“Did you just make a joke..?” Stiles asked blankly. We’re naked. And he’s on top of me. Stiles noted. Derek’s cock is pretty long for it not being hard. Does that come with being an alpha? He looked down at his own prick.He snapped his eyes up to meet Derek’s, whose eyebrows were raised high.“Sorry, dude. Just thought, ‘Hey, if I’m gonna be this guy’s mate, shouldn’t I know how long his dick is?’” Stiles deadpanned.“Stiles…” “Derek. Why are you being so stubborn? I know I don’t have a choice in the matter.” “And that’s what’s wrong!” He exclaimed.“You’re seventeen! You’re not even of legal age yet! You should be able to have some say in who you want to be with!”“What if it wouldn’t make a difference," Stiles stated quietly, “What if the person I want to be with is currently straddling me - naked, I might add - giving me a speech on how he doesn’t want me?”“But I do, Stiles. That’s part of the problem. I. Want. You.” He growled. Stiles’s heartbeat skipped, and his blood pumped faster.“You can have me… Why won’t you take me?” “You know why.” “Tell me.” “You’re too young, Stiles.”“That’s obviously not the reason, Derek.”“It’s not important.”“Derek, if it’s the thing keeping us apart then uh yeah, it is!”“We need to figure out what it was that attacked you.” Derek stood up and Stiles sighed, heart sinking. “They said the name Abbadon, if that helps?” Derek's eyebrows furrowed, “Let’s get us some clothes. Then we can go to your house and use your computer.”“You really need to update your house, dude. Seriously? Like this is pathetic.” “Stiles.” “What?” “We’ll discuss that later, it’s not important.” Stiles took a deep breath.“Yes it totally is. You look like you're living in twentith century Nevada after a sandstorm came in and broke everything in sight. But fine," he exhaled deeply.Rolling his eyes, Derek changed the topic. “Shift.” He demanded.“What? Now?” “Yes. Shift.”“I… don’t know how. I can’t control it yet.” Stiles mumbled, ashamed.“Think of something that makes you… angry. Let that anger seep through your body. Shift.”Something that makes me angry… Derek. Stiles smirked.“Something funny?” Derek asked, voice monotone, one eyebrow raised sarcastically. Closing his eyes, Stiles thought of the bullshit reasons Derek had given him for not wanting to be with him.Ding ding ding! We have a winner! Stiles thought as he felt a rush - a rush that was becoming familiar - through his body. He ran past the alpha and soon they were racing. Derek tried to pass him but Stiles outran him. When they reached the house and shifted back, Derek looked at him skeptically.“How’d you do that?” “What? Outrun you?”“Yeah. You shouldn’t be that well adjusted to being a lycanthrope yet.” Derek said, agitated. "Well, soooorry. Someone's a sore loser."“Let’s just get some clothes on.” Derek walked past him.“I quite like this view,” Stiles laughed.“Shut up,” growled Derek.“What? Your ass is really toned. I feel like I need to go to the gym or something.” Stiles joked, slightly serious.“You don’t need to go to the gym. You’re…fine. You’re fine just the way you are,” Derek said slowly.“You say the sweetest things.” Derek turned around, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I know. I’m Beyoncé!” Derek’s countenance hinted a smile.“Let’s get dressed.” He rolled his brown eyes good-naturedly, that hint of a smile still there. Stiles blinked a few times and nodded.Once Stiles was dressed in uncharacteristically black jeans (also, Derek’s black boxer briefs, which made his ass and Derek’s look phenomenal) and literally the only light gray shirt that Derek owned, he spoke up.“Derek?” “Stiles.” The tension in the air increased.Shifting lightly on his feet, Stiles scratched his arm awkwardly, “Why didn’t you want me there?”“Where – you mean the meeting?”“Yeah. I wanted to be there, to contribute.”Derek sighed. “I didn’t want to push you being a wolf on the pack. It’s something that the pack will have to get used to – myself included.” He walked past Stiles outside, brushing his arm.Stiles lifted his hand to the arm and rubbed it. He rolled his eyes at himself; I’m acting like a fucking teenage girl. He followed Derek outside, and they both got in the Camaro.“I’m glad you kept this… the Toyota was a bit too soccer mom of you,”“Yeah, I just didn’t feel my usual badass self in that thing.” Stiles blinked. “Did you just make a joke? But it was horrible.”“Maybe. But come on, it wasn’t that bad…” he protested weakly. “Derek, it was horrible.”They continued arguing the rest of the ride to Stiles’s house. When they got there, they argued all the way up to his room.They argued until Stiles logged onto the computer and pulled up his closest friend, Google.Sorry Scott.They googled ‘Abbadon’ and only a few hundred results came up. They were all insane claims about demons and Lucifer and some guy named Crowley, who wasn't a guy, but the King of Hell. Like said previously, insane.“Derek why don’t we just ask Deaton?” “Brilliant. Let’s go.” He nudged Stiles playfully. Stiles grinned.A car door slammed. “Stiles? Stiles where are you?”“Shit. Derek that’s my dad. Get on the roof.”“No. He knows I’m a wolf. Mrs. McCall and he already know I am.”“But he doesn’t know that I am!” Stiles protested.“You’re what?” Mr. Stilinski asked, leaning on the doorframe.“That I- um, that I-” “- That he’s bisexual, Sheriff Stilinski.” “Stiles? Is this true, and if it is why does he know?”“Well uh, you see, he sorta-” “Stiles tried to make a move on me.” “Derek” he hissed. “Stiles?”“Uh, yeah dad, it’s true.” The sheriff blinked.“Well. Um, okay then. I’m glad you’re comfortable with who you are?” he ended, unsure. Stiles nodded avidly.“Just, don’t let me find you in bed with a guy.” He said, leaving the room.“At least I can’t get him pregnant!” Stiles shouted down the hall.“I doubt you’d be on top!” his dad shouted back. Stiles’s jaw dropped.“Did he just - did he - Did he just say that, oh my god did he really just say that?” Stiles fell on his bed, eyes wide.“Stiles,” Derek started, but Stiles interrupted him, “Wait; I couldn’t get pregnant or get a guy pregnant, right? That’s not like a were thing?”“Uhm-”“No, I’d rather not know. Wait, yes I do. If I ever have sex with a guy, is he going to need a condom? Would I need a condom? I don’t know if I’d top or bottom. But I mean, I can’t get an STD. Could I get pregnant? Derek? Could I?”“Stiles… I don’t know for sure. I think my uncle Al once got pregnant, but we weren’t close family with his side, my mom’s side.”“Holy shit. What about knotting, I heard about that. Well, I read about it, a few days after Scott got bitten… But I couldn’t rightly ask him about it! How uncomfortable would that have been… ‘Hey Scott, just wondering, when you have sex with your girlfriend, does this giant bump come out of the side of your dick? No, not an STD. You can’t get those. Huzzah!’”“Knotting is real.”“How do you know?”“I’ve knotted someone once.”“Just once? Were they that bad of a lay?” Stiles asked laughing.“It was Kate.” Stiles stopped abruptly, pursing his lips in distaste.“I don’t like her.” “Well, if it’s any condolence, she’s dead… And neither do I.”So they trudged back outside to the Camaro, Stiles not bothering to change out of Derek's shirt. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- He secretly liked being in Derek's shirt, the two of their scents mingling and creating an orgasmic sensation for his nose. The drive to the veterinarian's was short yet Stiles drummed his fingers in anticipation the entire ride. Once they reached Deaton's office, Stiles looked over to Derek, who nodded once, and he opened the door. Deaton looked up from his paperwork and his eyes landed on Stiles immediately."You're different," he said plainly. "I got bit.""So who are you now? Who bit you? Derek?" He looked over to the twenty-something year old."No. Another alpha." Derek said gruffly."Is it still alive?" "No. Stiles is an alpha, I am a beta. It works." Derek shrugged, and Deaton pressed his lips together."Doesn't that bother your... Bond?" He said, attempting to be discreet."I can feel the mate bond now," Stiles spoke up. "I feel it has been strengthened," Derek added lowly. Stiles blinked, he didn't know that."So what did you come to see me for?" Deaton said, perplexed."What do you know about someone named 'Abbadon'? And creatures with black eyes? They attacked Stiles, saying Abbadon wanted him." Derek said, sounding angry, as if he didn’t like the reminder.Deaton’s countenance turned blank. “Demons. Creatures with black eyes are demons.”“Wait, you’re kidding me, those actually exist?” Stiles asked, incredulous. “I mean, I’d read my fair share of lore on them but I thought it was a myth!”“Yes.” Deaton answered his question vaguely, “I’ll look up who this ‘Abbadon’ person is…” he trailed off. He proceeded to bring out a very thick book which reminded Stiles of an old encyclopedia. He blew the dust off of it, and opened it up.“Abaia… Abath… Adze- no, too far. Hold on, here it is, Abbadon.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Abbadon – Stiles, are you sure you heard Abbadon?” He turned to face the teenager.Stiles pointed to himself, “Me? Yes. 100% sure. Like more sure than me loving Lydia for ten years. Okay, maybe not that sure. But 100%.” Deaton sighed deeply.“I will have to call my colleague John, he is an expert with these creatures.”“What creatures?” Stiles demanded. “What are we dealing with?”Deaton paused, my God that guy liked dramatics, “Demons. The servants of hell.”Stiles pursed his lips, “So what does ‘John’ do?”“That’s your only question?” Derek asked, shocked. Stiles shrugged, “Only one worth asking.”Deaton cleared his throat, “He’s called a hunter – “ the wolves growled, “ – but he hunts down all supernatural creatures, not just werewolves like the Argents.” Derek rubbed his forehead, perplexed.“You’re planning on calling in a hunter to Beacon Hills?! They’re going to try to kill us,” Stiles shouted, recoiling backwards into Derek. Derek placed his hand on Stiles’s shoulder, attempting to calm him. The panic evaporated from Stiles’s body with Derek’s soothing action.Deaton eyed them skeptically. “You have both accepted your bond?”“What – what makes you thinks that?” Derek questioned, coughing slightly. “You quite literally took away his panic, calmed his emotions,” the veterinarian replied, smiling, “You might not have accepted Stiles as your mate, but the wolf inside you has.” Derek looked startled at this, and Stiles was pleased. Something inside him felt exhilarated; Stiles assumed this was ‘his wolf’. It felt good, warm, and happy. Derek exhaled loudly, “Deaton, he’s too young.” Stiles rolled his eyes.“That’s not why you’re here though, is it? I’m going to contact John and instruct him not to harm you.” Derek grumbled a little, only to be relaxed by Stiles, who coaxed him back to the Camaro.Deaton had assured them that he’d send them the hunter when he arrived, stripped of weapons. Derek hastily agreed, and drove back to the loft with Stiles in the car. “Uh, Derek? You passed my house.” Derek only growled, at him, eyes flashing blue.Stiles threw his hands up, “Okay, okay. Such a sourwolf.” He crossed his arms, pouting. Derek glanced over at the boy and laughed outright. Stiles turned his head towards him and looked at him with disbelief.“You look like a child who just had his candy taken away.” Stiles raised an eyebrow, “You would know. You were probably the grump that took it.” Derek scowled. “Hasn’t anyone told you if you keep making that face it’ll get stuck like that?” Derek’s scowl deepened, and a growl came out of the base of his throat. Stiles laughed, “Bring me home, dude. If this hunter is coming, I at least want to give him a good impression.” Derek grunted at the mention of the hunter, but turned his car towards the Stilisnki household.24 hours later, Stiles collapsed on his bed, sighing. Deaton had called his friend and told Stiles that the hunters would be there in a little over a day. Stiles hadn’t done much, just sat down and tried to keep Derek calm. It had worked until the sheriff said he needed to come home.At around midnight he dove under his covers and tried to get some rest. He was startled by the sound of his window opening, and he found his claws sliding out and his fangs elongating.Derek crawled in and smiled to himself a little when he saw Stiles’s defensive stance. “Down, boy,” He grinned, walking past the boy and lying down on his bed. Stiles grumbled, “Look who’s making the dog jokes now.”He got his sleeping bag out from his closet and laid down inside it. Derek rolled over and looked off the bed. His brows furrowed, “What’re you doing?” Stiles looked up, just as confused, “Going to sleep… It’s late.” Derek scoffed, getting off the bed and scooping Stiles up, dropping him onto it.Stiles wriggled in his sleeping bag and flailed his arms around but he was trapped to no avail. Derek groaned, and Stiles rolled sideways into him. “Dude, you gotta help me out.” In the back of Stiles’s mind, The Killers’ ‘All These Things that I’ve Done’ played and he started humming it under his breath.“Well at least you’re still the same ‘Spastic Stiles’.” Derek remarked, mouth quirked up slightly. “Yep,” Stiles replied quickly. “Still the same, lovable, sexy, hilarious Stiles Stilinski.”Then Derek’s mouth went into – get this – a full smile. “Well, gee,” He began, “I wouldn’t go that far.”Stiles looked at him, shocked. “Wha – Was that sarcasm, Derek I Don’t Know Your Middle Name But I Probably Should Because I Think We’re Werewolf Married Hale?” Derek stared at him blankly, “James.” He said, standing up and dumping Stiles out of the sleeping bag. Stiles got under the covers and Derek joined him, causing his eyes to widen.“Well, dude, I hate to tell you this, but I don’t sleep with jeans or a tee-shirt on, so…” He trailed off. Derek turned, letting Stiles have some privacy before rolling back over when Stiles had settled down.Stiles woke up with a dick – Derek’s dick – pressed hard against his ass. Shocked, yet not that shocked seeing as he had a particularly bad case of morning wood as well, Stiles pushed backwards into Derek pretending to stretch.The older man groaned and jerked his hips forward. Stiles whined at the feeling, grinding backwards again. Suddenly Derek’s hands with on his hips, clutching at them with a bruising strength. Of course, he’d just heal, but he wished they’d stay.Derek’s breath came out in pants, and Stiles knew he was awake. He kept thrusting into the cleft of his ass, and Stiles grinded back into him shamelessly. Without warning, Derek’s mouth was on his shoulder, biting and sucking over the spot. Moaning, Derek grinded forwards and without warning came in his pants. Stiles followed when he heard the noises Derek was making. The guy was a sex god. And they hadn't even had sex. Wait, did that count as some sort of sex?Man, I just came untouched. This would be a lot cooler if I was naked. And Derek was too, Stiles thought to himself, throwing his head back onto Derek’s chest.Stiles coughed awkwardly. “So, I’m gonna shower…” Derek grunted in affirmation, and Stiles untangled himself from the sheets and Derek’s legs. He gathered some jeans and a flannel and quickly ran to the bathroom across the hall. He showered quickly, making sure to get the come out of his pubes. If that shit got dry there… Gross.When he returned to his room Derek was still lying down. “Dude, go home. Rinse off or something. The hunter’s gonna be here soon, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to smell like that – because even a human can tell. We’re gonna have to talk about what just happened… later.” Stiles blurted out quickly.Derek blinked and nodded, getting up opening the window. “Seriously dude?” Derek looked back at him, confused. “We have a door.” Stiles said, irritated. Derek smirked and replied, “I know,” and left.After Stiles wrote down what happened in a journal – it was not a diary, for God’s sake, he just liked to keep track of what happened in his life so he wouldn’t forget it – a car pulled up.He listened for Derek’s usual slam of the door but instead heard two. The hunter? And his trunk? He texted Derek to come over ASAP.He heard a knock on the kitchen door. He ran down the stairs, jumping down the last four, and skidded to a halt in front of the door.Stiles flung open the door, and was startled to see not only one, but two men. Hunters.“The hell is this, Sammy?” The guy on the left said. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and was looking at Stiles disdainfully. “I thought we were dealing with werewolves, not teenagers.”Stiles growled, “Look, dickhead, I don’t know what Deaton told you but if we’re to work together, you need to not be such an asshole.” His fangs grew and his claws slid out. He went back to human form and smiled sweetly at the two of them. “Won’t you come in?”The three of them sat at the table, the two hunters clearly uncomfortable. Stiles smiled when he heard the Camaro roar into the driveway. Derek pushed open the door and shot the hunters a glance. He didn’t appear phased by the sight of the two of them. Derek’s hair was still wet from his shower. Don’t think about shower sex, Stiles. Bad timing.“Nice car.” Derek said, in lieu of introduction. Leather jacket looked outside at Derek’s. “You too. Nice jacket.” He replied, coolly, much to Stiles’s aggravation.“Derek,” the werewolf said, sticking out his hand. “Dean. Dean Winchester.” ‘Dean’ stood up, shaking Derek’s hand firmly.“Sorry my father couldn’t be here, you see, he’s been dead for about seven years.” Something about his tone made Stiles think that there was some tension about that subject.Stiles looked over to the other hunter. “I’m Stiles. Sorry I was being so rude earlier; it’s just that he’s -" He jerked his head over to Dean, "- kind of a dick.” The hunter threw his head back in laughter. This one had long brown hair and brown eyes. He sort of reminded Stiles of a moose.“I’m Sam. Winchester.” He said once he contained his peals of laughter. Stiles became really embarrassed. “Shit man, I’m so sorry, I had no idea he was your brother. Are you sure? You two don’t really look or dress alike. I mean he’s got the whole, ‘I’m a big bad hunter, look at my leather jacket, I didn’t kill this cow but I’m gonna make you think I did, then I’m gonna kill you’ look and you’re all ‘I’m a puppy on the outside but then I’m gonna kill every freaking monster that comes my way like the moose I am’ thing going on. Sorry, I ramble sometimes. It happens.”Dean and Derek were staring at him. Derek was smirking and Stiles flushed, yet Dean was trying to suppress his laughter. “Sorry I was a douche earlier, man. You seem like a pretty cool guy. You know, for a werewolf.”“I suppose you’re not too bad yourself,” He tried to act cool, but Derek was laughing at him. “You know, for a hunter.” Derek shook his head at him fondly.“So, let’s get crackin’ on what you know about Abbadon.” Dean began. Stiles could tell he was in for a long day. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “Wait, woah, are you fucking with us? She thinks she’s the ‘Queen of Hell’?” Stiles asked, unbelieving. Dean smirked, “Not kidding. We know the King of Hell himself, and we can tell you that he’s not lookin’ for a bride.” Sam seemed to tense up at the mention of the King of Hell.“What’s his name?” Derek asked the brothers. “Who, the ‘King’? Crowley. Did they mention anything about Crowley in your encounter?” Sam asked, looking at him urgently.“I didn’t hear anything about Crowley, no.” Stiles said, uncomfortable with the intensity of Sam’s look, which dropped after hearing what Stiles had stated.Derek was talking to Dean about the various supernatural creatures they’d encountered. “Dude, dragons,” he was finishing. Stiles’s eyes widened, “Really?!” he exclaimed, jumping out of his chair. He went to go sit next to Dean but he tripped and fell into his lap. Derek’s eyes immediately turned blue and a whooshing sound occurred at the same time. “Dean I came as soon as you – Oh, you are occupied.”Derek growled, grabbing Stiles and pulling him off of Dean and onto his lap, teeth snapping in Dean’s direction. Dean threw his hands up in the air as a declaration of innocence.Stiles flushed, babbling instantly, and Derek bit down on his nick. Stiles groaned in response, pushing back into him, head thrown back and eyes red.Sam coughed, uncomfortable with the situation that unfolded. “Sam – werewolves! Why have you not ‘ganked’ them yet?” Derek growled from the base of his throat at the man who had appeared in a dirty trench coat, but started sucking on Stiles’s neck. “Dude,” Stiles complained, eyes still red, “I’m not really the exhibitionist type.” Stiles pushed Derek away from his neck. Derek whined quietly, pulling Stiles in impossibly closer. Stiles sighed contentedly.“Are we gonna ignore the guy who popped in here?” Stiles asked next, looking at the man then back at Sam and Dean. Dean was looking at the man pretty intensely and woah; there was definitely some chemistry in between the two of them.“Sorry Derek, Stiles. This is Castiel, our friend. He’s… Um -” “- I am an angel of the Lord.” Castiel said. Stiles blinked, “No way man, you’re shitting me.” Castiel bowed his head. “Your mother was a good woman. I am sorry for her passing.” Stiles clambered out of Derek’s lap, who made grabby hands at Stiles. Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek, “How do you know about my mother?” Castiel cocked his head, “I told you, I am an angel of the Lord.”“Why did you say she was a good woman... What did you mean?” He looked up at Castiel, eyes wide and innocent. The angel furrowed his eyebrows."She was a very faithful woman." Stiles just blinked at him, unsure of how to respond. He attempted to slide off of Derek's lap, but Derek frowned and let out a small whine and nipped Stiles's neck. Stiles laughed and wrenched himself out of Derek's grasp. He went to go sit next to Dean, waiting to speak to him until Sam struck up an attempt at a conversation with Derek, who responded mainly with grunts.The teenager leaned in and whispered to Dean, "Does Castiel have super-hearing?" Dean shook his head slightly, staring at the angel. "You and him... You...Have significant feelings for him, yes?" He continued talking, ignoring how he could hear Dean's heartbeat jack-rabbiting in his chest, "When I fell on you - you thought of him... You want him in your lap." He settled back against his chair, smiling victoriously with his arms grossed.Sam and Castiel were giving the two of them strange looks, probably because Dean was beet-red and appeared to be going into cardiac arrest. Stiles could hear Castiel asking if Dean was okay and if he needed CPR, but his eyes were focused on Derek: he was smiling.More importantly, he was smiling at Stiles. Because of something that Stiles did. Stiles gave him a tentative smile in return.Dean was not amused. "What's the deal with you two?" He asked, uncomfortable and angry. Stiles shrugged, "We're mates," he said casually while glancing over at Derek and whispering inaudibly to human ears, "Do you want to explain? Or should I try to?" Stiles worried at his lip with his teeth, and Derek's eyes followed the movement. He nodded and Stiles heard, "I'll do it," causing him to exhale deeply and nod gratefully at the beta.Derek smiled softly, clearing his throat to begin. "Well, basically, we share a bond. We feel what the other feels. We're able to calm each other, to heal each other. We can take away each other's pain. Everything is enhanced for us."Dean pursed his lips. "Sounds like a pretty sweet deal. So you two have tied the were-knot?" Stiles choked, laughing and looking at Derek, who was flushed bright red. "Dean there's an actual, uh, werewolf knot. It happens during sex - I'm not going to go into it. Shit, double entendre."Sam frowned, "So your bond intensifies when you are tied together? That's very romantic." Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's words, "You're such a sap." Sam shrugged and looked at the two werewolves, "So you guys have sealed your bond?"Stiles snorted, "Hell, no. This guy won't so much as peck me... Says I'm too young." He sighed and looked over at Derek who huffed and crossed his arms, looking at Castiel who was studying him carefully."It's not your fault, Derek," Castiel said in his gravelly voice. "What isn't," Derek grit out."Everything. Your family, the fire, Kate, the new pack deaths." Derek scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning away. The angel put his hand on hand on the werewolf's shoulder.Derek stiffened and out of the corner of his eye spotted Stiles frowning. "Cassy, buddy, lay off. Sensitive topics - he won't talk about it with anyone, much less a stranger, even if it happens to be an angel from a nonexistent God." Castiel appeared in front of Stiles, glaring deeply and wrapping his hand around Stiles's throat, lifting him up and began to almost glow.Derek leapt onto his feet, teeth out and eyes blue. Stiles restrained his transformation except for his eyes, his mouth open gasping for air with human teeth and red illuminated eyes. Derek lunged for Stiles while Sam and Dean ran to grab Castiel. Dean got across the room before Sam, somehow, and grasped Castiel's shoulders gently.Derek pulled Stiles out of the angel's hold and clutched him to his chest, chest forwards. Derek drew the panic away from Stiles, who slowly relaxed into Derek's touch by wrapping his arms around him.Castiel was tense in Dean's grip, but when Dean turned the angel around to face him his shoulders dropped slightly. "Cas, man, he's just a kid. He didn't mean anything by it." Cas shook his head sadly, "Dean that's my father." Dean scoffed and laughed, "And people talk shit about him all the time! Some people don't believe in him at all, dude." Castiel sighed dejectedly and leaned into Dean, who was still holding his shoulders.Sam coughed and raised his eyebrows at Dean, who released Castiel and backed up. Castiel frowned and looked over to Derek and Stiles, who were still embracing. Derek tore away from Stiles and Stiles kicked at the ground, looking up at Castiel and murmuring an apology. Castiel nodded and moved over to Stiles to apologize. He hugged the wolf and clasped the back of his neck, eliciting a growl from Derek."Oh my God, you're like a teenager," Dean laughed. Stiles pointed to him and Dean laughed harder."Can we get back to the main point?" Sam whined, clearly not pleased with the amount of work going on. Dean stopped laughing and nodded, "Right I guess we call Kevin?" Stiles furrowed his eyebrows, "Who's Kevin?"Castiel got an almost proud look on his face, "Kevin is a prophet of the Lord, as well as Dean and Sam's friend." Stiles rolled his eyes, "Of course he is. How old is this guy? Fifty-eight? Sixty?"Sam frowned at Stiles. "Actually, he's almost eighteen." Stiles appeared shocked, and then - "What the hell are you doing with a teenage kid?" Sam pointed at Stiles, who grumbled. "Fair point. Call your prophet," he turned to Derek, "Can we talk now?" Derek nodded uneasily and followed Stiles up the stairs, Stiles calling back, "Check out the diner on Main! Good burgers, even better pie!"They heard Dean exclaim, "Man, this town ain't so bad!"
1075825	Guardians of Jord Anne	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Thor (Marvel), Sif (Marvel)", "Fandom": "Thor (Movies)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Keenir", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-09T00:00:00", "words": "1,111", "Additional Tags": "Past Relationship(s), Future Fic", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Sif/Thor (Marvel), Jane Foster/Thor", "Series": "My Sif and Thor multiverse", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	"PLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?""We had a deal," Steve said, wishing that wasn't the only way. "I'd tell you the story of how your uncle and I killed the Red Skull, but only once a year." Too damn depressing to do it more often than that. Asgardian years are short enough as it is."I know, I know," said Jord Anne Thorsdottir. "Still my favorite story," she said, hugged Steve, and headed off in search of an adventure."Thanks," Steve said to the air."Is she giving you any trouble?" Sif asked, knowing Steve was by now accustomed to people approaching silently from behind before speaking, as Sif herself tended to do.Turning around to face her, Steve said, "No, ma'am, your Majesty, Princess Jord Anne is doing just fine."Sif looked around, as if to see for whose benefit he had been so formal for, though she knew the answer well enough at this point. Every few centuries, he falls back into the habit of using titles. I suppose I should thank Thor that Steve does not use the full title for anyone in Asgard. "Sif, Steve, mine name is Sif. You have known my husband well enough to not need rely upon titles."And my name is 'great enough' that I don't need to be formal, I know. But still, there are some things I'd rather not forget how to do. Even if it marks me out as odd. "Sorry. And no, Jord Anne's doing great. Not sure there's a lot left I can teach her, but I'll try.""That is all any of us ask." It is what I do every day as Queen of Asgard - I try my best not to fall on my face. Sif stood on the balcony, watching Jord Anne, her heir, patiently explaining the nature of stars to little Narvi barefoot in the lawn's grass."Was there trouble in the lessons?" Thor asked, coming up behind her, cheek against her scalp, his chin brushing the peak of one ear."None, or none that Steve will inform me of," Sif said, permitting herself to lean back against him. "Though she pesters him with requests for the tale of the Red Skull's end, the Titan's Ragnarok. So, which parent does she resemble now?" Sif teased him."I would say neither, more resembling Loki, but he always preferred sitting in and reading a tale, if he could chose between that and hearing it told by one who was there. And what of yourself?""My father always said I take after my mother, but Heimdall disagreed every time I told him so." Sif reached around and took one of Thor's hands into her own, massaging it with her thumb, offering what she could. "You cannot stop her, my caring king, however hard to try. Jord Anne's path keeps leading back to the stars."Sif was Queen of Asgard. Jord Anne was Princess of Asgard. Sif had gladly taken up the responsibilities of Mother of the Princess, as carefully and as cautiously as Jord Anne had taken the responsibilities of Daughter of the Queen. But both knew - all knew - that they were not blood kin as Jord Anne and Thor were.Jord Anne Janesdottir. Named for the by-then deceased mothers of each parent."You cannot protect her forever, neither of us can, however much we may wish to," Sif said quietly.Thor was silent as he lifted his hand so to kiss Sif's knuckles. But did not lower either hand; instead, breathing the words upon them "My heart is wiser in you than it is in me." Lowering the hands, Thor said with a heavy heart, "All of Asgard, all the Nine Realms she could chose to study...""...and she follows in the footsteps of her mother." With a fondness for adventuring which her mother did not have, before or after you made her your queen. "Is that so terrible?" Before Thor could reply or even contemplate it too far, "Did you never seek to be king like the Allfather?""I did," Thor said. "Though I had been groomed for it."Recalling the incident well, "I seem to recall finding you tying yourself to a tree, good husband; though I doubt Odin wished you to emulate his doing that.""He did not," Thor said, well remembering the dressing down he had received."And royalty are not the only children who play at kingship." Even if I have a hard time picturing Heimdall playing...well, anything."I...""Entirely understandable, Thor," Sif said. Did my brother Heimdall look at me to see if I had inherited any traces of our mother? Did Frigga feel lessened when she looked at you, the son of she who had been queen before Frigga? I cannot imagine so - she accepted you as her son, to honor and defend and teach, just as I have accepted Jord Anne as my daughter. "It is no offense to miss a loved one."Thor smiled, and ran the fingers of one hand around the edge of Sif's ear. "I do not deserve you," he said."This is also true," she said with a smile on her lips. "Also, is irrelevant." To that, he rumbled a laugh which she could feel as they kissed - one of the better Midgardian imports.A shriek drew them apart in an instant - and before they could summon their weapons (or much of overclothes), they noticed that, down on the lawn below and around this balcony, where Jord Anne had been pointing out the asterisms in the sky to her nephews (by blood and honorary), an infant had grabbed ahold of her leg, taking her by surprise."And she has her mother's panicked voice," Thor knew well."That is not a bad thing," Sif said.Returning to where he had originally been, his chest against Sif's back, "Wisdom flows from your lips," Thor said, placing each metaphor between his kisses to the bones of her neck, "like honey from a givingbee beehive, like water from a spring, like..."As he continued down to where her shoulderblades were covered by thin cloth, A million years ago, you and I did not have this relationship, nor were we anywhere approaching it. And though there is naught sexier than a competent and responsible father, even then there was not a spark between us until over a thousand years had passed since Jane's death of old age. Our love came to pass, in time; though never was it inevitable nor to be assumed.Watching Jord Anne tackling Loki's brood on the lawn, "Jane would be proud of her, as am I," Sif said. "As I know you are.""Very," he said.
1063461	Faded Thoughts	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Jax Teller, Collette Jane", "Fandom": "Sons of Anarchy", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by SAMCRO Princess (thewrittenfae)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-30T00:00:00", "words": "1,097", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Jax Teller/Collette", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Too much going on in his head and feeling like he had no one else to talk to always seemed to bring him here. Collette never expected anything of him. It felt a bit refreshing. She let him stew in his thoughts while she worked, occasionally putting him to work but he never minded, and offered him company so that he didn't have to be alone. There was never any pressure to it though. His eyes focused on her and he stroked fingers through her blond hair when she kneeled in front of him, taking off his shoes for him. “Sorry I'm not better company.” “You want to talk about what's going on in that handsome head of yours?” Collette's cheek rested against his knee, even as her fingers undid his belt. The shake of his head was slow while he raised his hips to help her get his jeans off. “I wanna forget for just a little while.” Once his pants and boxers were down his legs she stood and caught his hand. “I can help with that.” She pulled him up and finished undressing him before she led him to the bed. Jax followed her, fingers slipping to unzip her dress . His smile felt faint even to him, but it was there as he watched her dress slip off her shoulders to pool at her feet. Never one to disappoint, it left her in a lacey underwear set and heels. Beautiful. “Thanks, darlin'.” No answer followed. Collette stepped out of her dress and pushed him back on the bed before she crawled onto the bed after him. Everything fell back and away. The distance between him and Tara. Hell, not being allowed to see Tara because she wouldn't agree to his visit request. The issues with the IRA. Even the unsurity about whether or not he could make it all work, get his club on the up and up. His hand slipped into Collette's hair and he pulled her up his body. Hands made quick work of those lacey pieces of clothing, baring her to him. Everything except those heels. Those he left on her. He'd been half hard when she'd crawled onto the bed, but her hand wrapped around him and all it took was a twist of her wrist to help him get fully hard for her. A smirk graced her lips at the groan she earned while rolling a condom onto him. “Such a needy, handsome man.” “Don't'cha know it,” he groaned again. His hands gripped her hips tightly and he pulled her up where he wanted her, just above him. “Ride me.” Her chuckle slid along his spine, dark and dirty, and she guided him to her before sinking down on him with a moan. “So demanding.” Jax's hips rocked up into her and his grip tightened a little more on her hips as he helped her set a fast pace. “Always.” Well. He tried to set a fast pace. After the initial gasp of pleasure, Collette's hips rolled and her hand settled on his chest to still his pace a little. “Too eager. Slow down there, we got all night.” No control, that's what he had. With Collette on top, while he could thrust into her a little harder, and he did, he couldn't get her to go faster. The slow pace started to grow maddening as her hips merely rolled over him to keep that slow, easy build of pleasure. “God...” They did have all night like she said too. Gemma had told him she'd pick up the boys, though a brief flicker of thought reminded him he wanted to be there to read them bedtime stories tonight. Her body pushed faster, drawing him out of his thoughts and into the now again. “Didn't lose you there... did I?” She didn't give him too much time to answer though, dipping to catch him in a deep kiss while her body finally gave him that faster pace. “Not at all, darlin'.” He groaned, hand sliding into her hair. Kissing her back, he nipped at her lip and rocked his hips up into her faster. She didn't last long above him though, because he wanted more control, didn't really know how to always give that control either. He rolled them, carefully but fast so that he didn't slip from her body, and settled above her. His hips started pushing faster with a low sound, taking the pace he originally wanted. Slow could be nice, but it left him too much tme to think and get lost in his own head. And without Tara, his mind would wander to his wife. Fast, hard, left him unable to think, just feel. That's what he needed. Badly. Collette arched with a cry, legs tightening around his waist as she moved with him and let him sink deeper into her. “Fuck, Jax!” His hips shifted to hit that spot inside her, a low groan slipping from his throat as they moved. “That's it, darlin',” he panted against her ear. Teeth tug at the skin, careful of her earring as he rocks faster, harder, pounding into her. Every thrust brought a cry from her throat and she arched into him more. Nails bit his shoulders as she tried to find purchase for anything to hold onto while she took what he gave her. Though with the pounding, it wasn't long before her body started to buck and her cries grew louder. Panting, Jax shifted just a little faster to pull her over. Her nails rose welts on his shoulder and she screamed as her body arched sharply under him, cumming hard around him. A couple more thrusts and he followed, crying out and stilling inside her as her body milked him. Once he emptied into her, into the condom wrapped around him more accurately, he slumped carefully above her. His nose dipped to nuzzle at her shoulder and he let his eyes fall closed for the moment. What he liked too, was that she didn't push him off her but inside curled under him like she belonged there. Part of his heart hurt, because he knew it wasn't the woman that should have been there. But he pushed that part of his brain away and let himself relax into her as her hands stroked down and along his back. Silence. And he knew she'd let him curl up like this until he felt ready to get up, or until he had recovered enough for a round two, pending where his head went before he got dressed.
1043106	Photography	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Jared Leto, Shannon Leto", "Fandom": "30 Seconds to Mars", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by purrplekat1989", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-13T00:00:00", "words": "438", "Additional Tags": "Smut, Alternate Universe, Letocest", "Relationship": "Jared Leto/Shannon Leto", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	How much does Shannon want to push Jared face down in a pillow and fuck him, after seeing constant breath-taking and arousing photos from any photo shoot ever? Like you wouldn’t believe… "Those photos are going to kill me Jay." Shannon growled. Catching Jared by surprise as he exited the bathroom after taking a shower, picking him up, and carrying him to their bed despite the younger’s wiggling. Shannon dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed, the towel he’d been wearing falling away as he did so. "I think you do it on purpose." Shannon said, leaning over the younger in a position of dominance. "Because you know what it does to me.”As Jared brought his hands up to speak, Shannon wrapped a hand around his length, beginning to pump him with a small grin. The younger arched into the unexpected touch. Whatever he was going to say, lost as he gripped the sheets, breath growing ragged.He stroked Jared until he was almost at the edge before pulling back to examine his work. The younger Leto’s breaths came in quick pants as he opened blue eyes to meet his brother’s. Why did you stop? he seemed to ask silently. To reply to the question, Shannon pulled Jared over so he was laying on his stomach. “I’m going to show you just exactly what you do to me.” he told the other softly as he began to prepare him. Stretching and working him open, toying with the bundle of nerves within him that made him arch and gasp. Once he felt that Jared was prepared enough, he reached into their bedside drawer, pulled out the lube that was stored there. Unzipping his jeans only enough to expose his own length, he spread the liquid over his shaft, and pushed into the younger with one move, stilling to allow Jared to adjust to the intrusion. “Didn’t even take my shoes off to fuck you baby brother.” he whispered against the shell of Jared’s ear, knowing exactly what he was doing.After a few seconds Jared gave him a cue to move, which he did… giving the other soft pleased noises, and listening to Jared's ragged breathing. He braced one hand against Jared’s spine between his shoulder blades, pinning him down against the bed more as well as allowing for a different angle. To his credit, Jared lasted quite a while before he came. Leto stubbornness only giving in when he felt Shannon spill in him. His breathing was uneven as Shannon pulled out of him, zipping his jeans again as if nothing had happened. "Guess you’ll need another shower."
1012712	Peeling Back the Layers	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": null, "Characters": "Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanov, Skye (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), Faith Lehane", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Telaryn", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-21T00:00:00", "words": "2,819", "Additional Tags": "Headcanon, Training, Crossover, Secret Relationship, Character Study, Backstory, Fluff, Banter", "Relationship": "Clint Barton/Phil Coulson", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Second Chances", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Buffy the Vampire Slayer", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "Gen, M/M", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“You wanted to see me boss?” In typical May fashion, Melinda hadn’t given Skye any details – just walked into the lab and told Skye she was to report to Coulson’s quarters immediately.She definitely hadn’t given any indication that Agent Clint Barton was even on board, much less also with Coulson. “Now would not be one of the times for a smart-ass remark,” Coulson said smoothly, as though she hadn’t just seen him let go Barton’s hand a little too quickly. “From either of you,” he added, glancing up at the sniper. Barton raised both hands immediately, affecting a hilarious “who, me?” expression that Skye couldn’t help giggling at.Coulson sighed, but Skye could tell this was familiar territory for the two men. “Agent Barton has agreed to do an independent assessment of your weapons and combat training to date,” he said, turning his attention entirely to Skye – who felt her stomach do a slow, queasy roll and then try and tie itself into a knot. “You’ll spend the day working with him; any corrections he wants to make in either your form or your training, you’ll let him.”She’d been around SHIELD long enough to pick up what a big deal this was, but surprisingly Skye felt a surge of loyalty for her Supervising Officer. “What about Agent Ward?”“Ward has already been informed of the shift in schedule,” Coulson told her. “He has no argument with it.”Skye waited for a moment, but when no further details were forthcoming, shrugged. “Works for me.”“Bring her back in one piece,” Coulson warned as Barton leaned down to kiss him on the cheek.“Are you guys allowed to be public like that?” Skye asked, once they were clear of the office and Barton had moved up to pace her. The sniper grinned at her.“Hell no – you didn’t see how uncomfortable he was?” Barton paused long enough to badge them through the final door into the hold. “He’s not my handler anymore though, and I think he’s more comfortable bending the rules around you.” He glanced at her as they headed down the ramp towards the outside. “He likes you, you know.”She’d hoped that was the case, but Skye felt a pleasant warmth creep through her chest at the confirmation. “And you like him too,” Clint said, noting her reaction. “Should I be jealous?”The question startled a laugh out of her. “I don’t think I’m his type,” she admitted as they stepped into the open air and she saw the classic sports car waiting for them. “You, on the other hand,” she continued, “you guys are so compatible it’s almost clichéd.” She glanced at him, grinning. “Sports car? Really? You don’t look old enough for a mid-life crisis.”“No mid-life crisis,” Clint quipped without breaking stride. “Small penis.” ********************************”Go slow,” had been Phil’s automatic response when Clint had finally filled him in on his suspicions regarding Skye. “She’s a lot like you were when we first met, and she’s too important to me for you to run her off if this proves to be nothing.”It had been easy for Clint to agree – he knew full well the sort of minefield he was choosing to navigate by taking this on. “Mom was a whore,” Faith had said bluntly once he presented her with his suspicions. “She was a whore and a junkie, and as far as answering your question?” He’d heard in her voice then how the possibility of a heretofore unknown sibling bothered her. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”In the end she agreed to come when he called, which left him to crack the puzzle Skye represented all on his own. Okay, not entirely on my own, he was forced to amend as they got in his car and headed off for the Tower. ”Breaking the girl of all the bad habits Ward has already taught her will go faster if I handle it,” Natasha had said when he’d told her of his plan.Clint hadn’t objected; he’d been secretly hoping she would back his play. Natasha kept people off balance sometimes just by being in the same room with them; it would make it easier for him to spot the right ‘in’ with Skye if she wasn’t on her guard.“So,” he said, once they safely on the highway, “feel free to answer or tell me to go to hell, but I’m going to start our day off by playing the intrusive boyfriend.” He paused, thinking of the man he’d very nearly lost and how it would kill him to lose Coulson again. “How’s he really doing, being back in the field?”“AC?” Skye asked, and Clint snorted – simultaneously startled and amused by the nickname. “He’s great,” she said without hesitation. “Really great. Guy knows his stuff, and he can still kick ass. You should have seen us when we were attacked by these guys in Peru…”“I saw the aftermath,” Clint said, remembering how Coulson had called him on their return, inviting him over and asking him to stay the night for the first time since they’d actually decided to make their feelings official. There were obviously things he was keeping from his “kids” – mostly having to do with his uncertainty that he’d come out of whatever Loki had done to him even close to the man he’d been. Clint didn’t begrudge him that worry and it wasn’t the kind of confidence he would break unless he absolutely had to.“It’s gotta be weird, right?”Surprised out of the dark turn his thoughts had abruptly taken, Clint glanced at her. “Weirdest show on earth, remember? What in particular?”Her expression was unexpectedly serious. “Having him back after you thought he was dead.”Oh. That. Swallowing hard as he forced back all the emotions Skye’s simple question was threatening to drag up, all he said in the end was “I hope you never have to find out.” ****************** The morning flew. Despite her best intentions, Skye nearly broke down in tears when Clint finally called a break for lunch. She’d been ready for the physical exhaustion, especially when she saw Natasha Romanoff waiting for them on the roof of the tower. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the absolute mental exhaustion that left her unsteady on her feet as she made her way to the table where a veritable banquet of food had been laid out for them.“Water,” Natasha told her as Clint poured a glass full and pressed it into her trembling hand. “As much as you can drink over the next forty-eight hours without making yourself sick. You’ve released a lot of toxins into your system this morning; water is the healthiest way to continue flushing them out.”Skye nodded meekly, taking a healthy swallow before trying to manage a controlled fall into the nearest chair. “What are you laughing at?” she grumbled, realizing that Clint was grinning at her from across the table.The archer’s smile broadened. “You are so like me it’s scary. Here.” He finished unwrapping the sandwich in his hands and passed it across to her. Skye’s stomach made an embarrassingly loud noise as the smell of real food hit her nostrils. “Try not to inhale it – you’ve still got to survive the rest of the day.”“What do you mean I’m like you?” Skye asked, after forcing herself to take a small bite, thoroughly chew and swallow it. Conversation was a good way to pace herself through the food, and when else was she going to have a chance to talk with a pair of real live Avengers? She glanced at Natasha. “And is he insulting me?”The redhead smiled. It wasn’t as ready a grin as Clint seemed to have, but Skye sensed it was genuine. “I think he means that you don’t like blindly following orders,” she said, popping a fat grape into her mouth. “You prefer knowing why you’re being asked to do something.”“Coulson told us you were driving Ward to distraction with the questions,” Clint said. “Since it really doesn’t take that much longer to give you the theory behind what we’re trying to teach you, Nat and I figured we’d see just how sharp you were.”Skye exhaled softly against the sudden nervous flutter that had set up residence in her stomach. “And?” she asked. “How sharp am I?” As much as she was coming to like Melinda May and Grant Ward, separately as well as together they had a way of making her feel stupid that she hadn’t had to endure in years.Natasha was the first one to answer. “For someone who was never raised to this life, you pick up concepts very quickly. You have problems translating the intellectual understanding to physical execution, but no more than I’d expect from somebody in your circumstances. With proper training and continued practice, I think it will all come together.”Skye only realized her jaw had dropped when Clint reached across and closed her mouth with one gentle finger pressing under her chin. “Thanks,” she managed, hoping that the heat she could feel in her cheeks wasn’t as spectacular a blush as she feared.“Don’t worry about having to tell Ward any of this,” Clint added as the three of them fell to their food in earnest. “I’m going to talk to Coulson when I get you back tonight, and if he gives me rights to the popcorn concession Nat’s going to talk to Ward herself.”His partner said something in Russian then that made Clint’s eyes widen and resulted in him throwing a piece of bread across the table at her. “What?” Skye asked, looking from one to the other of them in amazement. They sure don’t act like superheroes. “What did she say?”She expected Clint to answer, but Natasha said finally, “I said that if he continues to insist on training you to fight like you are some ‘roided out twenty year old football jock that he and I are going to have some private tutoring sessions where I will show him things I learned to do when I was eight.” ***************** It was a slightly cleaned up version of what she’d really said, but if it occurred to Skye to question him about the translation Clint was going to plead the fifth. Besides, it’s not like she’s wrong. When he was capable of being objective and not stewing about the fact that Grant Ward was the one watching Coulson’s back instead of him, Clint could admit that Ward was a good agent. Probably even a great one, but the path he’d started out with Skye wasn’t going to end anywhere good for either of them.He wondered if Skye realized how smoothly she was being manipulated by Natasha’s uncharacteristic willingness to share. The idle-sounding comment about things she’d learned to do when she was eight triggered the expected question about Natasha’s past, and what could she possibly have learned when she was eight that would frighten somebody like Ward?Clint finished his food while the two women talked; ultimately deciding that Skye had no clue there was anything else going on. I should probably feel bad about that, he thought, acknowledging that he did feel somewhat guilty about the way they were approaching this. Nat, on the other hand, had wanted to go even further. ”We need to leave her an out,” she’d argued. ”Coulson wants you to go slow – this way minimizes the chances that she’ll bolt.”And now they knew Skye had in fact been born in Boston; that she’d been taken into the foster care system before she was old enough to have any memory of a life “before”, and had no idea who her biological parents were, much less if she had family out there somewhere. “Legally I only aged out of the system when I turned eighteen,” she said in response to a seemingly innocent question from Natasha. “Really, the people in charge stop worrying about you when you turn sixteen. You know you’re a lost cause – they know you’re a lost cause. It’s just marking time for those last two years.”“I have a friend from Boston,” he said, finally inserting himself back into the conversation. “She grew up in the system too.” He paused, considering Faith’s experience with Boston’s Department of Children and Families. “Okay, not entirely in the system. Her mother was a total nightmare, but she was all Faith had.”“I get that,” Skye said. “No matter how bad it is, you hold onto anything they tell you is yours with both hands. I don’t remember anybody named Faith when I was growing up though,” she added. “In case you thought we might have known each other?” She was confused now, and he could sense the walls starting to go up.“No, that’s not it,” he hastened to tell her, pulling out his smart phone and calling up his most recent picture of Faith. “She’s closer to my age than yours – I’d be stunned if you did know her.” Drawing in a slow, careful breath, he passed the phone across to Skye. “You remind me of her though.” He saw the girl’s eyes widen slightly and knew that on some level her brain was picking out all the physical markers they shared. “Enough that with your shared backgrounds I have to wonder…”“No,” Skye said softly, and even if the sunlight hadn’t caught a shimmer in her dark eyes Clint could hear the old grief and pain in her voice when she spoke. “Hacker, remember? Do you really think I never went looking for my bio-family?”“I don’t,” Natasha said, before Clint could think of anything to say in response. “I think that by the time you were in a position to look you figured there were some things in life you were better off not knowing.”Clint didn’t need to be a genius to know that she’d scored; Skye’s silence was confirmation enough. “Faith’s leaving it up to you,” he said gently. “She’s open to meeting you and seeing if you guys can form a relationship, but also she doesn’t want to pressure you into something you’re not ready for.” ***************** They hadn’t expected her to answer on the spot; Skye was grateful for that. Clint had also freely answered her questions about her potential sister, so that now Skye knew enough about Faith Lehane to do a little digging of her own.Once it looked like her curiosity was satisfied, Natasha insisted they go back to work. Her afternoon was only slightly easier, but out of deference to a lunch that was bigger than it probably should have been it mostly focused on getting her comfortable with the weapon Ward had assigned her as her sidearm. To her relief, Natasha had a handful of mnemonics at her disposal that helped Skye solidify her knowledge of the different parts of the gun and the order in which they came apart. “Reverse it to put them back together,” she said, as Skye tried not to think too hard about the fact that this was something the red-haired woman had learned to do when she was ten.“One thing being in SHIELD teaches you,” Clint offered later, once they’d finished up, said their goodbyes, and started on the journey back to the ‘bus’, “is that there’s really no point in dwelling on how much your childhood sucked. Somebody’s always got a worse story – better to focus on the moment and making sure you’re judged on what you do and who you are now.”It was nothing she hadn’t already figured out for herself – exhibit ‘A’ being everything Natasha had been willing to tell her about her childhood – but one thing Skye had learned on this mind-blowing day was that she liked Clint and she liked listening to him talk. “You said you and…Faith…were friends?” she asked abruptly, after the things had been quiet for a few miles.“Mmm-hmm,” the archer acknowledged. “We ran in some of the same circles growing up – learned to watch each other’s backs.”The bus came into view over the horizon. Skye felt her heart rate speed up – she was running out of time, with no way of knowing when she would be able to talk to Barton like this again. “Do you think she’d like me?” It wasn’t strictly the question she’d planned on asking, but more often than Skye liked her heart still dictated her choices.To his credit, instead of jumping to defend her with a lot of lame platitudes, Clint simply reached inside his jacket pocket and drew out a small, sealed case. “When you’re ready, give that to Simmons,” he said, passing it across to her. “Tell her that you need to see if your DNA matches what’s inside. She’ll get a sample from you and handle the rest.”
1004686	Her Knight In Shining	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "F/F", "Characters": "Lightning (Final Fantasy XIII), Oerba Yun Fang, Serah Farron, Oerba Dia Vanille, Original Characters", "Fandom": "Final Fantasy XIII", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Supremacy of Chaos (MS1887)", "chapters": "1/?", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-14T00:00:00", "words": "2,062", "Additional Tags": "alternative universe", "Relationship": "Lightning/Oerba Yun Fang", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The Heroes of the War... The War of Transgression was the toughest war the humans had ever fought. For seven years, the humans defended their homes against intruders known as the Fal'Cie, godlike creatures that were once worshipped by the people. Since the creation of humans by the Maker, Fal'Cie were regarded as the masters of humankind. The world was peaceful, for the majority of the time. There was a long, bitter rivalry between Gran Pulse, a huge continent consisting of wilderness, beasts, and native tribesmen; and Cocoon, the more advanced continent ruled by a primarch. Their rivalry began during the ancient times; for what reason, that was long forgotten. Gran Pulse and Cocoon went to war against each other many times during history. Although they were never great wars, they often times divided the other, smaller, nations into two sides. Still, all of these wars combined could not compare to the one against the Fal'Cie. No one really knew why it had started. One day, life went on as usual. The young children of the Pulsian tribes trained and played. The Cocoonian kids went to school. The adults continued their usual routines: working and cursing the other superpower once in a while. However, the next day, dark clouds gathered over Oerba, and the Fal'Cie attacked. Oerba was a small but prosperous hunting village. It often served as a base for the Yun tribe, a group of hunters and warriors, that would come down from the Northern Mountains to hunt the Adamantoise on the planes of Archylte Steppe. The Yuns had a reputation for their skills, weaponry, and rebellious nature. They were feared by the other tribes for their ruthless and fierce ways on the battlefield. So it wasn't much of a surprise that Oerba was the first place the Fal'Cie attacked, especially since the daughter of the Yun chief had openly insulted Fal'Cie Anima just days before. Although the Yuns were very capable fighters, the Fal'Cie's attack was a surprise. Oerba fell in one day, and its native residents were evaluated to Paddra, home of the Farseer tribe, in Yaschas Massif. The Battle of Oerba marked the beginning of the War of Transgression. The tribes of Gran Pulse were united by the Yuns to defend their land and avenge Oerba. Even though at first the spirits of vengeance were high and the warriors were determined to win, it soon became clear that it was just a matter of time before the Fal'Cie would slay every human on Gran Pulse. After many defeats and no victories, the morale was at an all time low. The casualty among the humans were high; many were dead, even more were severely wounded. Reluctantly, the Pulsians finally asked for the help of the Cocoonians. Cocoon refused at first, seeing that it was a chance to wipe out their biggest rival once and for all, but when their own primarch, Galenth Dysley, revealed himself to be Fal'Cie Barthandelus at the end of the first year, it became obvious to the people of Cocoon that this war was going to annihilate all of humanity if the Fal'Cie continued to advance. So, for the first time in history, Cocoon and Gran Pulse united against a common enemy. The first three years of the war were a total bloodbath for the humans. However, by year four, when the Pulsian priests and Cocoonian scientists finally unlocked the power of the crystals, magic users, known as l'Cie, began to emerge on the human's side. The l'Cie, led by Commander Farron, successfully turned the tide against the Fal'Cie. Then one fateful day, seven years after the start of the war, a young Pulsian warrior, the same one that insulted Anima before the Fall of Oerba, killed the leader of the Fal'Cie, Orphan, in the Battle of Eden. The humanity had, at last, secured its victory. The warrior, known as Ragnarok on the battlefield, become humanity's saviour and greatest hero. His Majesty the King... After the end of the war, Commander Farron was elected as the King of Cocoon. He tried to talk his way out of it, of course, but the Cocoonians, along with the support of the chiefs of many Pulsian tribes, insisted on Farron being the best choice for the new leader of Cocoon. As a result, the responsibility of reconstruction and establishment of a permanent peace treaty with Gran Pulse fell onto Farron's shoulders. The Gran Pulsians, much to his surprise, were not hard to talk to since the war had shown the people the importance of peace. One month after the war, the tribal representatives and King Farron would sign the peace treaty that would establish a friendly relation between Cocoon and Gran Pulse for the first time in history. Many were very excited, especially those war heroes that could not wait any longer for their rewards. “Ooh, oh, Fangy! Can we go to Cocoon for a really, really long vacation?” A cheerful redhead said to the brunette beside her. “You know how I always wanted to go there! So after your father signs the treaty, these Cocoonians won't be able to be mean to us anymore!” “Okay, okay, Vanille, calm down. We can do whatever you want after getting our rewards, ya?” Fang replied casually. They were currently riding their chocobos to the Capitol Building of Cocoon in Eden. Although Fang didn't show it like Vanille did, she was very thrilled about this, too. In fact, she hardly slept in the last month, though she very much needed her sleep, because she couldn't stop herself from thinking of the gold and glory she would receive as the slayer of Orphan. “I have a huge plan, and it's going to awesome,” Vanille continued to babble on, “Oh, and I heard that they are going to erect a huge statue in your honour in Oerba and Eden! Oh, dear Maker!” She squealed. Fang chuckled lightly, “they better. And it better be pure gold or something, for I am the great Oerba Yun Fang, saviour of the people, y'all should be worshipping me right now.” “I'll do it in my head, oh, Great Yun Fang! But first I have to marry my beloved Susan!” One Cocoonian soldier, Sergeant Brent Walker, said dryly. “Yeah...” nodded a Pulsian warrior, “I'm going to ask my love to marry me once I get home.” Then one after another, the men began to chat about their loved ones. Fang could understand their excitement behind going home after seven long years of hard battles, she missed her home, too. But her mind wasn't set on living a peaceful and normal life after this; no, she had bigger goals. “What about you, Fang? When are you going to settle down?” Vanille asked. “Dunno,” Fang said, “probably never.” She shrugged. “I'm a free spirit. The purpose of my life is exploring the world and becoming a better hunter and warrior. So I'm not going to just settle down and start a family.” “I think you're just scared.” “Of what?” “The responsibilities of marriage and having a family of your own,” Vanille began to pout, “but I want to become an aunt someday, Fangy!” Unlike Fang, Vanille was more playful, childish, and a lot more family-orientated. The war had been very hard on her, since she nearly lost her entire tribe as a result. Although Vanille did not see the terrors on the battlefield with her own eyes, her job as a healer did not spare her from the pain that was brought along with the wounded and dead soldiers. Fang had insisted many times for Vanille to retreat farther away from the frontlines since the Fal'Cie did not care if it was a soldier or doctor it was attacking. Vanille was a stubborn girl. She was scared to death but she stayed with Fang. They were both born in Oerba; Vanille of the Dia clan, and Fang of the Yuns. They had grown up together as sisters. Although they were not related by blood, the priests of Oerba had said the two girl were bound by their spirits, inseparable. It was late afternoon when King Farron began his speech to the people of Cocoon and Gran Pulse. Rewards were given out and many men and women were promoted. Yet, after three long hours of peace talk, after the Treaty of Peace had been signed by the King and Yun Chief, Fang's father, the big reward she had anticipated still had not come. Patience was not something Fang had been born with. Even though Vanille tried to reassure her many times, she was getting more and more anxious as each second passed. The civilians were standing behind them, quietly listening to the leaders. The Cocoon representatives, mostly military officers, stood on the right side of the grand stage. Fang and her people stood to the left. On the stage, which was in front of the Capitol Building, stood her father and the King. Fang glanced over to the Cocoonians. She remembered some of them, the ones she had fought along side with. Then her attention was caught by a young woman around her age. She stood proudly and confidently at the front. She was beautiful. Fang had never seen her before. Why, though? Surely someone like her, judging from the way she presented herself, with a stern look and cold blue eyes, had fought in the war. Her soft pink hair was very distinct, so Fang would have remembered her if she had seen her on the field. Beside the woman stood a shorter, younger woman who had the same pink hair. But she seemed a lot...nicer compared to the older one. Her features were softer and her eyes, more hopeful. She smiled at the tall, bulky blond man standing not too far from her. “Fang! Stop ogling and listen to your father's speech!” Vanille whispered, nudging the taller woman. “Yeah, yeah.” After about five minutes, King Farron took over the microphone. Fang thought that the ceremony was drawing to a closure; she couldn't help but feel worried. Had they forgotten about her? The warrior that killed Orphan? Maybe they saved the best to last. At least, that was what Fang hoped. “Now, I know that many of you are wondering why we have yet to thank the warrior that slayed Orphan for humanity...” “Oh, Vanille! That's me!” Fang was overwhelmed by the sudden surge of happiness. “I know! I'm so proud of you!” the redhead was trying not to squeak. Fang could see that she was trying to hold herself from jumping up and down. “Oerba Yun Fang, please come on to the stage,” the King requested. Fang smirked and proudly marched onto the stage. Up there, her eyes met cold blue ones. Since when did the pink-haired woman get up there? They stood facing each other on opposite sides of the stage. Fang quickly glanced down, seeing Vanille, who mouthed Go, Fang! She returned her attention to the pink-haired woman, whose face was expressionless. There was this aura about her that Fang found fascinating, yet her cold and distant blue eyes seemed threatening. Fang felt like she was being regarded as dirt. She did not like that. What was this about? Fang wondered. Was this going to be a duel? A showdown? To see which was stronger? The Pulsian warrior, or Cocoonian soldier in Guardian Corps uniform with eyes that shot daggers? Fang let her eyes wander down. She saw a black leather case hanging loose behind the woman's hips. It contained a gunblade, an advanced type of weaponry only the best of the elite soldiers of Cocoon used. Fang was not scared of this woman's intimidating stare, but she decided that she didn't like her. It still didn't make sense to her. Wasn't this ceremony supposed to bring Cocoon and Gran Pulse closer together? If so, then what is this? The other woman looked like she was ready to murder Fang. “Now, for the big news you've all been waiting for,” King Farron suddenly spoke loudly and happily. A duel. It has to be a duel. “In an effort of bringing Cocoon and Gran Pulse closer and to ensure friendly relation amongst our people, I, King of Cocoon, hereby grant Oerba Yun Fang my daughter, Claire Farron's hand in marriage.” Fang's stomach sank. What...the...hell?
1092603	Christmas Date	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/F", "Characters": "Sam Carter, Janet Fraiser", "Fandom": "Stargate SG-1", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by ChokolatteJedi", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-20T00:00:00", "words": "262", "Additional Tags": "Advent Calendar, Advent Challenge 2013, Community: 52_challenge, Domestic, Date Night, Romance", "Relationship": "Sam Carter/Janet Fraiser", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Advent Challenge: Winter '13", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	When Sam returned from dropping Cassandra off at her Uncle Jack's for a sleepover, she found a trail of rose petals leading away from the door and down the hall towards the kitchen. Bemusedly, she followed them, and found the dining room set up for an intimate dinner, with candles along the wall."Hello, love," Janet greeted her, stepping out of the kitchen in a little black cocktail dress. Sam was still nicely dressed from the SGC Christmas party earlier that day, but she felt completely understated, compared to Janet."What's all this?" Sam asked, wrapping her arms around her partner."Our Christmas date." Janet gave her a little kiss - a promise of what was yet to come.Sam looked at the table, which had delicious looking salmon and vegetable plates, as well as what appeared to be chocolate lava cake for desert. Janet certainly hadn't made all of this earlier - she had been joking about getting takeout. "Where'd all this come from?"Janet smirked, and led Sam to her seat. "I found a company that delivers meals to parents who need a date night in. No work for us, and a fun little surprise at the end."The candlelight flickered on Janet's face as she sat, and Sam had to resist jumping her right then and finding out what the surprise was, but she resisted. She hadn't been able to go on a date with Janet in so long, and she wanted to enjoy this one. Janet lifted her glass, and Sam did the same."To our Christmas date," Janet offered.
1025593	More Than Please	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Donna Paulsen, Harvey Specter", "Fandom": "Suits (US TV)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by Highlander_II", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-10-31T00:00:00", "words": "515", "Additional Tags": "Begging, Established Relationship, BDSM, Domme Donna Paulsen, Dom/sub, Submissive Harvey Specter", "Relationship": "Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "kink_bingo: 2010 - 2013", "Collections": "Kink Bingo 2013 (Round Six)", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Harvey was folded across the bed, his wrists bound and tied off to the bed posts. Waiting. She could hear him panting. It was a nice sound, but not what she was really after.She curled her fingers into his hair and tugged his head back. "Harvey, you haven't told me what you want yet," she said to him, voice deep and rough in his ear.He made a sound, frustrated and wanting. That wasn't enough for her either. It wasn't words. She tickled her fingers over the skin of his back, teasing, but not really touching."Harvey, tell me what you want."He sucked air into his lungs, then said, "I want you to hit me with the flogger, Mistress.""I don't know, Harvey," she said with a sigh. "You don't sound like you want it bad enough."Harvey tugged against the restraints, huffing a breath against the blankets. "Please, Mistress," he hissed.Hearing him say 'please' was almost enough. It wasn't a word he spoke often, so hearing it when they played was always a treat. She needed more than that from him tonight though. The trick was getting him to do what she wanted.She could order him to do what she wanted, but that would make him spend more time resisting her. And that was less than ideal. So, she would have to let him get there on his own. With a bit of subtle coaxing.Donna sighed, shaking her head, though she knew he couldn't see it. "You know, Harvey. I really don't think you want this as much as you say you do. Perhaps we should put the toys away for later.""No, Mistress," he whined - she knew he did. "I do want to play. Please, Mistress," his voice cracked and she could see his body shaking with need. "Please," he muttered, voice lower this time.God, that was delicious. She had reduced Harvey Specter to a quivering, begging mess. It wasn't quite the intense begging she had gotten from others (even outside the bedroom), but this was a pretty impressive feat on its own.She leaned in close to his ear, whispered, "Good boy," then stepped back. "Now, tell me one more time, what is it you want, Harvey?""Mistress," he began, pausing to collect his breath and thoughts, she was sure, "I need you to flog me," he finished.She couldn't deny the feeling of warmth and tightness in her belly at the sound of his voice. If she hadn't set out to give him exactly what he wanted, she would have him on his back so she could ride him until they both passed out."Ready?" she asked, but didn't wait for a response. It was just a word so he knew what was coming. She drew her arm back, then let the tails of the flogger 'thwap' across his shoulders. The soft, almost pleased groan she heard was all the response she needed from him."Good boy," she whispered and continue her work until his shoulders and ass and thighs were laced with red stripes.
1036536	SA Seekers Inc Quest for	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": null, "Characters": "Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanov, Melinda May, Jasper Sitwell, Nick Fury", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by kultiras", "chapters": "6/6", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-08T00:00:00", "words": "18,889", "Additional Tags": "Action/Adventure, Treasure Hunting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, Badass SHIELD Agents", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Melinda May/Jasper Sitwell", "Series": null, "Collections": "Marvel Big Bang 2013", "Fandoms": "The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "F/M, M/M", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	After the excitement of the past week, it was hard to believe that they had finally found a moment to breathe and debrief. A group of SHIELD agents gathered in a little-used conference room in the New York headquarters of SHIELD. The agents had spent the days following the battle of Manhattan in a flurry of activity. Though the Avengers had defeated the Chitauri, the real work was only beginning for SHIELD and New York.Sharon Carter had stepped up to manage the news coverage for SHIELD and the Avengers with the help of Pepper Potts and the Stark Industries PR team. Sam Wilson and Melinda May had taken on the duties of managing the teams cleaning up the debris on the helicarrier, the wreckage of the Pegasus site, and the agents on the ground in New York, who had the thankless job of gathering and inventorying all pieces of alien technology and wreckage for future examination. Phil Coulson had been working with the various SHIELD departments to figure out how badly each department was impacted by the events of the previous week. He even made sure to check in on Agent Ward as he underwent his Psych evaluations following Loki’s brainwashing. With every day that passed, he felt more and more exhausted; the loss of SHIELD agents and personnel was felt by everyone, and the physical demands of the job combined with the emotional weight of the past week resulted in SHIELD agents who were barely running on fumes.Director Nick Fury had been crossing the country almost non-stop since he left the helicarrier, visiting the families of the SHIELD agents lost in New Mexico and New York. Though the World Security Council was still unhappy with how things had been handled, they had grudgingly allowed him to take the time to personally visit with the families. Normally many of these tasks would have been shared with Maria Hill, but as she remained in medical—slowly recovering from her nearly fatal injury—that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.“How’s Maria doing? Is she giving everyone in medical hell yet?” Phil asked, sitting down at the conference table with a pile of papers and a rather large coffee in hand.“Mmmm. Not yet, actually. I think they’re keeping her on the good drugs for now, which should buy them some time. They’re all well aware of how much she hates being laid up,” Sharon answered with a smile.“Are there any pressing matters that we should all be aware of?”“Based on some photographs taken before clean-up really commenced on the ground, it looks like there might be a Chitauri weapon unaccounted for. Agent Blake swears he’s got it handled though, so it shouldn’t be an issue for much longer,” Melinda reported.“Good,” Phil said, as the other agents took their seats. A few moments later, Nick strode in, looking as exhausted as the rest of them.“Alright, thanks for getting here on time. I know we’re all extremely busy right now, so I’ll try to keep this as brief as possible,” Nick said. He was about to continue when a junior agent stepped in carrying a tablet device. He set it down in front of an empty seat at the conference table, and when he hit the button, Maria’s face appeared, looking pale against the backdrop of her hospital room.“Sorry, sir, she insisted,” he said as he backed out of the room. The other agents all turned their attention towards Maria, as she glared at them stubbornly.“Agent Hill, need I remind you that you are in a hospital bed because you were practically stabbed to death by a crazy-ass god last week?” Nick asked, “Generally, this is the sort of injury that results in a mandatory leave of some sort. Now why don’t you just take it easy and focus on healing instead of worrying about a meeting.”“See, the fact that you’re all having a meeting in a conference room a week after we had aliens attacking means that I have to worry. And I won’t be able to calm down and rest until I know what’s going on, so just shut up and give me a sitrep.”“Did you want the sitrep or did you want us to shut up,” Sam asked cheekily.“Cute, Wilson. Very cute,” Maria replied dryly. “Seriously, one of you start talking or I’ll figure out a way to get a wheelchair brought to my room.”Nick cleared his throat and said pointedly, “As I was saying before you made your grand entrance, we have three big issues that we need to be dealing with right now: the Avengers, the Asgardians, and the future of SHIELD. Anything else is either something we’re already taking care of, or it’s just not a pressing issue at the moment.”“The Avengers are splitting up, sir,” Sam replied. “We all decided that it’s better to lie low for a while, and figure out what we want to do during that time. I think between the near death experiences, the crazy god, and all the yelling, getting some space from SHIELD and one another is probably a good thing. ““Some space from SHIELD?” Sharon asked.“Oh! I mean, obviously I’m sticking around, since I’m needed over here. Plus it’s probably good if one of us sticks close to home for the time being. It’s easier for me to blend in—no one knows what Falcon really looks like, right?” The others nodded in acknowledgment. While the true identity of Iron Man was well known to everyone, the same could not be said for the other Avengers’ identities. Thor’s identity had been revealed in light of the Chitauri attack and Loki’s role in the battle, and though nothing had been confirmed, the media was having a field day reporting on the “true identity” of Captain America. But apart from some mild speculation here and there, little was publicly known about the identities of Falcon and the Hulk. “Pepper mentioned that Stark needs to take care of some things for Stark Industries, and as his property ended up significantly worse for wear, I think he’s going to work on things in New York before heading to the west coast.”“What about Rogers?” asked Melinda. “Is he just going to stick around here? He isn’t really affiliated with SHIELD.”“I believe Captain Rogers is going to do some traveling. I’m not sure where he’s planning on going—I’m not even sure if he knows that himself,” said Phil.“And the Hulk?” asked Maria.“Dr. Banner appears to be remaining in New York for the time being. It looks as though he may have a place waiting for him at Stark Tower” Phil said.“So that just leaves Thor then,” Nick said thoughtfully. “He’s asked to take Loki and the Tesseract back to Asgard for punishment and safe-keeping, respectively. I’m inclined to agree with them. If there’s one thing we learned in the past week, it’s that we’re not prepared to contain an Asgardian for very long.”“I can attest to that,” Maria muttered, “So if we let Thor take them back to Asgard, does that clear up the Asgardian issue?”“Yes, but it also leads into the third issue, the future of SHIELD. Thor said that the Phase 2 project, and our possession of the Tesseract sent a sign that to others that we were ready to fight for Earth. If he was right about that, then we need to be prepared for whatever might come next. And right now, we aren’t even prepared for the next domestic terrorist threat,” Nick explained.“So what are our options then?” asked Melinda, “We can amp up our recruiting, get new agents in SHIELD, and fill in the gaps in our ranks.”“We can try and ally ourselves with others like the Asgardians, although that strikes me as more of a diplomacy matter,” Sharon added.“What if we keep the Tesseract, hold onto it and continue with Phase 2? We were on the right track, the weapons developed based on the Destroyer proved that,” Sam said.“Do you want to be the one to tell Thor that we aren’t giving him the Tesseract, the one thing that will allow him to get Loki the hell out of here while also turning attention back on Asgard for possessing the damn thing? Because I don’t want to be that person. Hell, I refuse to be that person,” Nick answered.Phil nodded absentmindedly as he asked, “Well then, what else could we use?” “Maybe there’s another artifact out there, or someone who knows about something that we could use,” Maria chimed in. The others all looked at her with varying degrees of surprise and confusion. “Look, all these years we thought of Thor and Mjolnir as myths. They were just stories to us, until a hammer and a man fell from the sky. Norse legends aren’t the only ones that exist, you know. Maybe there’s something else out there that’s actually true as well.”“…Huh,” Phil said. “You may be on to something, Maria.”“And this is why I’m calling from my hospital bed. I don’t even want to know what you would be doing right now if I’d died last week,” she said.“We’d probably be lost without you and quite frankly, it isn’t something I want to even think about,” Nick replied seriously before turning back to the room. Coulson, let’s look into this, see if anyone else has found anything along the lines of Mjolnir or even Thor. Give Xavier a call—if there’s a way to find people, chances are he’s the one who’d know about it. Richards and some of the others may have some ideas as well. This attack took all of us by surprise. Hopefully they’ll be just as invested in finding a long-term solution. If anyone else can come up with someone else who may be able to help us, go ahead and reach out to them. And Maria, rest up—we need you to get better and get out of there, alright?”“Yes, sir,” she said with a smile before the connection to the tablet was disconnected.“The rest of you, get out of here and get some rest. You all look like you’re going to pass out as soon as you run out of caffeine. I know we’re struggling here, but we can’t keep on like this, otherwise we will fail. So find someone to handle the urgent work, and go to sleep. That’s an order, people.”“Yes, sir,” they all answered, gathering up their belongings. “You too, right boss?” Phil asked.“I’ll head out in a little while,” Nick said, “I have a couple more calls to make.”“Sir…”“Get out of here, Cheese. I promise I’ll head out before it gets dark.”“You’d better, or we’ll figure out a way to lock you out of the systems.”“I’d like to see you all try,” Nick replied with a laugh.“Don’t tempt us, sir,” Sam advised, “Even if we couldn’t each figure out a way on our own—which we can—together, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”“…Would you all get out of here already?” ~~* “Coulson, have you heard back from any of our contacts?” Fury asked a week later.“Richards is busy dealing with the latest threat from Latveria, Pym said he might be working on something that could help, but he also said it’s still a few months away from being ready for testing. Xavier said they’d see if they could think of anything but in the meantime, he reminded me about a mutual contact of ours, Dr. Stephen Strange.”“Specializes in magic and other realms, right? Did you reach out to him?”“Yeah, boss. I did. Haven’t heard back yet, but it’s only been a couple days.”A couple of weeks passed and Nick continued to check in with Phil whenever he could. “Any word from Strange or the others?”“Dr. Strange did get back to me, Phil replied. “He said that there might be something that could help us in strengthening our forces in some way, but he was really vague about it.”“Did he give you anything useful?”“Not really, but he said he’d call back if it looked like a viable option for us.”“That’s really not all that helpful.”“It is what it is.” ~~* A lot had occurred in the four weeks since their first meeting and SHIELD was much better off overall than it had been following the battle. But they still hadn’t managed to find a solution that would benefit SHIELD in the long run. They needed people, weapons, tech, intel, something that would give them an edge when they were in trouble. They couldn’t risk relying solely on the Avengers, because in all honesty, despite what Nick believed, there was no guarantee that they would all be there when the world came under attack again.“Anyone have anything else left to discuss?” Nick asked.“I do. Are these meetings going to be a monthly thing then? Because if so, we should really plan ahead and at least order food or something,” Sam said. Once again, the agents had gathered to discuss the status of things at SHIELD, this time with the addition of Maria who was allowed out of medical for short amounts of time now. Though she was still relegated to a wheelchair for the most part, the limited mobility had gone a long way in cheering her up.“Get here on time, and you can grab something to eat beforehand like the rest of us, Wilson,” Nick replied, before turning to Phil. “I know you’re starting to hate this question, Coulson, but any word from Strange yet?”“Actually, he said he would be stopping by soon. Whatever he was looking into panned out, and he’s going to bring us his findings.”“And we still don’t know if this is some sort of magical thing or even a person or place?” Nick asked.Phil shook his head and said, “No, we don’t have any of the details yet.”“Then why are we even convinced that he’s onto something?” Sharon asked.“Because if he has spent a month of his own time looking into this for us, I’m going to choose to believe that it’s because he had a good reason to,” Phil replied irritably.“Thank you for your faith, Agent Coulson,” a voice said from the other end of the room. The SHIELD agents turned and found Dr. Stephen Strange himself sitting at the table, his hands resting atop a rolled up scroll. “I apologize for taking so long to get this to you, but it proved tricky to locate, and even then, I was only able to find this map for you.”“A map? A map to what?” Nick asked suspiciously.“I should probably start from the beginning. As some of you well know, my expertise lies in magic, and with that comes a certain degree of knowledge of other realms beyond our own. I am aware that you have had little interaction with realms beyond Asgard, but there are other realms in existence, and many of them possess the ability to use magic in its varying forms.“Now the object I have been searching for—and it is a magical object, not a person, nor a place, Director—comes from one of these other realms. In its home world, it is a source of great power, though difficult to use, as it requires both a blood sacrifice and a strong bond in order to find a person. However, my research suggests that in this realm, the rules that govern it are quite different. I’ve spoken with associates, and they agree with me. Here, this globe serves as a map to find people, or things as the case may be. Whoever possesses it determines what it searches for. Were Charles Xavier to use it, he would likely find it to work along the same lines as his Cerebro. Were I to use it, it may well lead me to potential sorcerers. As such, you can understand why ancient cultures sought to keep it hidden from those who could misuse it.”“But you know for sure that it’s still here on Earth?” Phil asked.“It seems likely,” Stephen explained, “I won’t bore you with the details, but from my research, I believe it has been used to bring together like-minded individuals in times of great change. I’m not certain if it has seen the light of day or been used secretly in recent centuries. All of my efforts to find it directly have failed.”“So it can’t be found?” Fury asked, “How the hell is this supposed to help us then?”“I said I couldn’t find it directly. Apparently it is not without its failsafes. I could not find its location, but I was able to find you this,” Stephen said, unrolling the scroll he had brought with him. “This is a map, but it’s not your conventional map.”“What exactly does that mean?” asked Sharon, pulling the map towards her. “Wait this doesn’t look like a map, just instructions of some sort.”“Indeed. When I touched the scroll, the instructions appeared. It seems to be a sort of treasure map, if you will. From what I understand, further instructions will appear along the way, guiding a team of five to the globe,” Stephen said. “Only by completing the tasks the map sets out for you, will you successfully find the globe.”“Sharon, what exactly does it say,” asked Maria.“The front side of the scroll is completely blank, but the back side has…it’s almost like a prophecy. It’s written like a riddle,” Sharon placed it in the middle of the table so that all of the agents could read the words printed there. The treasure you need is not what you seek, The quest you will take is not for the meek. Three trials must you pass, ‘ere the answer be shown, Only then can the five claim the globe as their own. “Stephen, is there anything else you can tell us? Where’s the next set of instructions?” Phil asked the sorcerer.“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you, but I will say this. When the instructions revealed themselves to me, a map was also visible. The map led me to this very room,” Stephen explained, “If I had to guess, I think it’s safe to assume that one of you is the key to the next clue, and part of the team that must undertake this journey. Good luck to those of you who are chosen. Agent Coulson, please let me know how things turn out.”“Thank you for your help, Dr. Strange,” Phil responded. With a smile and a nod, the sorcerer vanished as quickly as he’d arrived.“Well that was useful…I think,” said Nick, “What now?”“Now? Now we have to figure out which of us the riddle is referring to,” Maria said. She reached over and touched the map. “Nothing. So it looks like it isn’t Sharon or me. Who’s next?”Nick reached out and grabbed it next, and when nothing changed, he handed it to Phil. As soon as he touched it, the scroll started to glow, but no new words appeared. “I…I don’t know what that means,” he said.“Maybe you’re meant to go on this quest, but the next clue isn’t for you,” Melinda suggested.“It’s as good a guess as any,” Phil said, handing Sam the scroll. Nothing happened, and he passed it on to Melinda. “Let’s hope something happens.”As soon as Melinda made contact with it, the scroll began to glow again, but this time words appeared underneath the previous ones. South you must go to a place by a Bay, And there you can find where the Seekers lay. To find out the rest, you must have every part, The journey before you requires much heart. “Huh,” she said, “Looks like I’m on the team.”Melinda glanced back down at the map in her hands. “It looks like the map’s directing us to somewhere in Florida. Near Tampa Bay maybe? Any idea who or what’s in Tampa Bay?”“No, but that at least narrows it down some, even if that still leaves us with a ton of information to search through,” Phil said. “Seekers could be a company, a group of people, or a nickname for something. We have to look at it from all angles, since we don’t really know what we’re looking for. Anyone have a preference? I think we all have to dig in on this one.” At that, almost everyone at the table groaned.“I’ll take the businesses,” Maria said with a smile.“Maria, are you actually looking forward to wading through a bunch of boring records and listings of all the businesses in the town?” Phil asked in surprise. “Phil, I’m still banned from active duty, and somehow we lack the budget to send me to the tropics for my recovery. If you don’t give me something to do, I will not be responsible for my actions!”The agents laughed and turned on their laptops and tablets, settling in to search for an answer to the riddle. The group spent the next few minutes working in silence.“Anyone have anything yet?” Sharon asked as she worked her way through another page of search results.“No,” came a chorus of voices from around the table.“Actually,” Maria said, “I might just have something.”“What?” asked Nick.“The second riddle mentioned seekers, right?” At the nods she received, Maria continued, “Well there’s a company called ‘S.A. Seekers, Inc.’, owned by a Jasper…”“Dammit, that’s the answer,” Melinda said, cutting her off. “When should we head out, sir?”“Hold it; how the hell do you know that’s what you’re looking for?” Sam asked incredulously.“Because I know the owner. He and I tangled on a Hydra op a couple years back.”“The one in the tropics?” Phil asked.“Yeah. Hydra had gotten their hands on some sort of power source, and we sent a team in to infiltrate. At the time we thought they’d created their own version of Stark’s arc reactor, but this was something different. I ran into a small team; they were after the same power source, only they actually seemed to have an idea of what it was.”“That mission was a success, wasn’t it?” Maria asked.“It was a partial success,” Nick answered, “Hydra didn’t succeed, but we didn’t identify the power source.”“The only reason my team failed, was because the Hydra compound blew up,” Melinda said, “The other team vanished in the chaos, but I could have sworn Sitwell said, ‘You’re welcome,’ before he took off. If it hadn't been for them, we would have completed the mission.”“Sitwell?” asked Phil.“Jasper Sitwell. The S.A. Seekers has to be his team. He had two other people with him that day, and I know that was his entire team. It just can’t be a coincidence. They’re the ones we need.”“Right, then. Coulson, May, get your things ready. It’s wheels up in thirty, and I’m coming with you,” Nick ordered.“Sir,” Phil began.“I’m not letting you go off with them until we know this is all legit. Now move it.”“Yes, sir.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- At 9am on the dot, Natasha flipped the “Closed” sign to “Open” and S.A. Seekers, Inc. was officially open for business. Clint reached over and opened the blinds a crack, letting the sunlight into their office. Jasper pulled out a magazine to flip through, and they all settled in to wait for a client. Even if they rarely got the sort of work they truly specialized in—searching the world for unusual artifacts and the odd stolen valuables—they still got quite a bit of work from locals searching for things like lost pets and stolen vehicles. And given their close proximity to Tampa International Airport, and downtown Tampa itself, they also ended up with the odd tourist looking to hire them for various reasons. But that still resulted in many quiet mornings, and days when they mostly sat around, trying to stay occupied instead of bored out of their minds. Clint switched between checking over his regular gear, and updating the file on the latest missing pet he’d tracked down. Even though they didn’t necessarily need to keep track of all of their local cases, they’d found that the records often proved useful from time to time. Clint glanced out the window as he saved the finished report and blinked, focusing in on something in the distance. “Jasper, are we expecting any contract work?” “No, why?” “We’ve got company.” Natasha looked up immediately, “What kind of company?” “Government maybe? Hard to tell, but whatever it is, it’s coming in fast and it’s big. It doesn’t look like any of the usual airlines or charters.” Jasper and Natasha came over to Clint and looked out the same way. “Clint, I can’t see anything,” Natasha said. “I can barely see it,” Clint replied, “It’s heading for the airport, but it’s still a ways out .” “It’s a regular plane?” Jasper asked. “Well, it’s flying, and it’s sizeable. It doesn’t really look commercial…it might be military, but I can’t tell you if it’s friendly or not. It should be landing in a couple minutes. Call it, Jasper. We staying or leaving?” “Staying. No point up and running if we don’t even know they’re coming to see us. ‘Sides, even if they are, they could be legit,” Jasper replied. “But get your gear ready in case things go south.” “On it,” Natasha said, opening up hidden panels are grabbing bags and weapons from the secret cache. She tossed one to Clint and another to Jasper, before strategically filling hers with everything she and the others could possibly need if they had to run. ~~* “You think they’ll remember you, Melinda?” Phil asked as they wheeled the SUV off the SHIELD plane.“It’s a definite possibility,” she said. “I have no idea how they’ll react if they do recognize me. Sitwell and I didn’t exactly get along back then. If his team’s exactly the same now, I can’t imagine them feeling particularly friendly towards me.” “May, it’ll be fine,” Nick said. “What could possibly go wrong? It’s not like we’re heading out to meet some people you met during a clusterfuck of an op on the say-so of a magical map. Oh wait…” Phil bit back a snicker as Melinda turned to glare at Nick. “I hate you all so much sometimes,” she said. “Well, let’s go get this over with. Get in, I’m driving.” Together, the three of them got into the SUV and headed towards the S.A. Seekers’ office. ~~* “Looks like we definitely have company coming, and they’ll be here in a few minutes,” Clint reported after a while.“Good guys? Bad guys? Clients? Feds?” Jasper asked, looking up from the computer where he was backing up their data. “Definitely government, but not feds, and not spooks either. There’s three of them, they just got out of a black SUV. They’re walking with purpose, though not rushing, either. And…” Clint trailed off, staring intently out the window. “Clint? Clint,” Natasha said, “What do you see?” “You guys remember that gig a few years back? Psychotic cult-like organization of bad guys nearly nuked the tropics because they were trying to harness the power from one of Zeus’ thunderbolts?” Jasper stared at him incredulously, “How exactly could we forget that, Clint? We nearly died getting there, nearly got killed by those goons, nearly got killed by that badass agent…” “Agent May,” Natasha interrupted. “Nearly got killed by badass Agent May, nearly got taken out by Agent’s May’s agents, and of course nearly got blown up with the rest of the compound when they lost control of the thunderbolt. Yes, Clint, we do remember. Now why are you asking?” “No real reason. It’s just I’m pretty sure the insignia on that SUV is a stylized eagle of some sort, which means we may finally be meeting members of the mysterious SHIELD agency. Of course, I’m using the word ‘meeting’ very loosely, as we have in fact met a SHIELD agent before.” “SHIELD? We haven’t met anyone from there before,” Natasha stated, as Jasper nodded in agreement. “Apparently we have, considering the three people who got out of the SUV are two men accompanying Agent May herself.” “…Agent May is here?” Jasper asked in stunned disbelief. “Mmhm,” Clint replied, hiding a grin at the other man’s reaction. “That she is.” “Clint, stop messing with Jasper. How long until they get here?” “Less than a minute.” “Shit,” Jasper said, as he frantically worked to finish saving the files before the SHIELD agents came in. “Should we pretend like we don’t know who she is? Who they are?” “I think it may be better if we’re upfront with them,” Clint replied, “Nat, what do you think?” “If they’re coming to us for help, it may be beneficial if we don’t pretend that they’re anything other than government agents.” “Works for me,” Jasper said. He was just removing the external hard drive when the bells on the door rang. He looked up and found Agent May, a tall man with an eyepatch, and another man in a suit standing in the middle of their office, taking in everything. “Well this is a surprise, Agent May,” Jasper said, greeting her. Agent May nodded her head in acknowledgment. “How can S.A. Seekers, Inc. assist you today,” he asked them, expecting Agent May to answer him. Instead, it was the man in the suit who spoke up. “Mr. Sitwell, it is our understanding that you and your associates occasionally work to locate objects that are different from the sorts of things most people see on a day to day basis. Assuming that that is correct we would like to hire your team to assist in locating something that is both time sensitive and possibly more unusual than anything you’ve encountered to date.” "Look, we’re treasure hunters. We find weird stuff,” Clint said. “You know that already, courtesy of Agent May. So what you’re really saying is that you just want us to find weirder stuff?" “That would not be an inaccurate way of saying it,” the man in the suit replied. “So what is it you need found, and why do you need our help in finding it?” Natasha asked bluntly. “We’d prefer to keep the details vague for now, but suffice it to say, it’s an old artifact that we consider to be very valuable,” he answered smoothly. “That’s fine,” Jasper answered, “We wouldn’t expect you to divulge any information before you officially hire us. Plus we need to talk about our rates.” “But what we would like to know first is what exactly SHIELD needs us for,” Clint piped up. “Your resources are far greater than ours, so why us?” The agents looked at him in surprise. “What makes you think we’re with SHIELD?” the man with the eyepatch asked, finally speaking up. “Besides the fact that it would go a long way towards explaining why Agent May was on that island a few years ago? Because I saw the insignia on your SUV, and got a glimpse of your plane on your way into Tampa .” “Huh,” the other man said, looking carefully at each of them as if re-evaluating them. “Alright then. I’m Director Nick Fury of SHIELD. You’ve already met Agent Melinda May, and this is Special Agent Phil Coulson. I’m sure you’re aware that the events last month hit New York hard, despite the efforts of SHIELD, the Avengers, and the emergency responders of the tri-state area.” Jasper nodded, “We were following it from here. Was that the real, mythological Thor wielding Mjolnir out there?” “It was. And that was his brother, Loki, leading the attack. It was an attack that we never saw coming, an attack we were barely prepared for. We survived, but we lost many good agents, and as if that wasn’t enough, Thor mentioned something before he left that has us…concerned about future attacks.” “So what exactly do you need us for?” Natasha asked again. “We consulted everyone we could think of, looking for some way of helping our agents in the event of a future threat of this scale. Dr. Stephen Strange may have found the solution for us,” Phil explained. “Why does that name sound familiar,” Clint asked. “He’s a sorcerer, and kind of a protector for Earth against magical threats,” Jasper answered, “He’s one of the good guys.” “Gotcha.” “You’ve heard of him? Good, that’ll make this part easier,” Nick said. “There’s a globe that can be used to find people or things that can help us in the future, but it isn’t easy to find. Strange was able to find and unlock the map to finding it, but there’s a catch. Though the map will react to everyone who needs to be a part of the quest, it only fully works for one person at a time. At that time, it will reveal a clue and unlock a map for them that leads to the next person or clue. Basically, it led Strange to us, reacted to Phil which means he’ll have a part to play later on, and it showed Melinda the way to you lot.” The three seekers looked over at Agent May. “He’s right,” she said, “It led us to you guys, and I remember you from that op in the tropics. I know you all knew more about what was happening than you let on. I think the scroll is right, and you’re the ones we need to help us. And if that’s the case, we really need you. We’re not trying to take advantage of you—we will pay you for your time and work. This probably isn’t going to be your usual sort of consulting job. It’s likely going to be a lot of hard work and running around to find an obscure globe that we’ve never heard of.” “We’re fully prepared to pay more than your usual fee,” Phil added. Jasper looked at Natasha, who shrugged in response. Clint looked unhappy, but shrugged as well. “I think we need to talk it over before we agree to anything, and I think we should probably see and touch this map so that we know if we’re even the right people for the job.” “Just come back in a few hours, alright?” Clint said, “We’ll give you our answer by then.” Natasha added, “It’s always been our policy to talk things over together before deciding on anything, and this is a big deal. You’re asking us to commit to a big mysterious job, and we wouldn’t be operating in our typical manner. It’s a lot to consider. ” “Understood,” Nick said, heading towards the door. “Come on you two, let’s get things ready on board in case they decide to join you.” “Thank you all for your time,” Phil said, turning to leave as well. Melinda headed for the door without so much as a backwards glance, but stopped when Jasper called out to her. “Agent May.” She glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow in response. “That thing? On the island? They were trying to tap the power of one of Zeus’ thunderbolts, and their plan backfired.” She blinked in surprise at that and said, “Thanks for telling me.” And then the SHIELD agents were gone. “So what the hell are we going to do about this?” Clint asked, nailing the million dollar question on the first try. “I don’t know,” Jasper said, “But one of you order takeout and we can discuss it over lunch.” An hour later, they were nearly finished eating, and still discussing the proposed job with SHIELD. As they went over what they knew, they found themselves leaning towards taking the consulting job, yet still hadn’t officially made the decision to help SHIELD. “So we all agree that it sounds insane, right?” Jasper said for the fifth time, waving his chopsticks in the air. Natasha sighed and replied, “Yes, but we also agree that we need to try.” She turned her attention back to finishing her food. “Besides, face it Jasper, you know you’re curious about a magical map that leads to a more mysterious magical globe,” Clint said. He laughed and added, “Plus you so want another chance to work with Agent May.” “Look, whatever I think about this quest, it has nothing to do with Melinda.” “So she’s Melinda now?” Natasha asked with a smile, “Good to know.” “Dammit, Agent May. I meant Agent May.” “Sure you did, Jasper, sure you did.” Clint finished up the last of his chow mein, then asked, “So we’re in then?” Jasper nodded, and Natasha confirmed it. “If the map confirms we’re the ones they need, we’re in.” “We’d better hurry up and pack then. They’ll return in a couple hours—we should be ready to go when they are,” Jasper said. They cleared away the remains of their lunch before beginning to pack for their mysterious consulting job. Three hours later, the SHIELD agents returned, minus the Director. “Should we wait for Director Fury?” Jasper asked. “No, the Director had other business to take care of while we’re in town, so it’s just us now,” Phil answered. He looked over at Melinda and nudged her. “Have you all been able to talk things over,” she asked the treasure hunters. “We have,” Natasha said, “If the map reacts to us as it did to the two of you, we’re in.” “But we have conditions,” Jasper added. “If we’re doing this, we’re all a team. You can’t just order us around without explanation; you came to us for help.” “Same goes for you then,” Melinda said, “You can’t expect us to just follow you without having at least most of the info. We want this to work, and we are willing to work with you as a team, like you said. Agreed?” “Agreed,” Jasper said. “Excellent,” Phil said, “We did bring the map with us this time, if one of you would like to try it first?” Clint walked over and reached out for it, pausing momentarily as his hand brushed against Phil’s hand as he took the map from him. Almost immediately, the map began to glow, but nothing else changed. Clint looked at it, disappointed until Phil said, “That’s exactly what it did for me as well.” “Yeah? Then I guess this means I’m officially in,” Clint said, smiling. “Nat, your turn.” Natasha took it, and the map glowed once more. She nodded at the agents and turned, handing it to Jasper. “It’s all up to you now, Jasper.” The map was in motion as soon as he laid a finger on it, as a new map replaced the previous one, and a third set of words appeared out of nowhere. The new map quickly shifted into a map of Europe, zooming in on Western Europe and continuing to narrow in on a location as they turned their attention to the map’s latest riddle. As five are now one, the quest is begunWork together you must, else you will be done.With dangers a plenty, keep safe your health,A switch will let you steal the ring of great wealth.It’s true value you’ll see, but for now it’s the keyTo unlock the next part of the journey “Huh,” Jasper said. “I didn’t really expect that. Does your plane have enough fuel?” he asked Melinda. “It’s ready to go, why?” “Looks like we’re heading to Britain.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The bags that the treasure hunters had packed before the SHIELD agents entered the office had proven useful. They’d needed a few minutes to grab a few other items, but overall, the S.A. Seekers were ready to head out just a few moments after they agreed to take the job. While Clint and Natasha set about locking up the shop, Melinda headed to the plane to begin the pre-flight process, while Phil and Jasper settled on the logistics of the business deal, signing paperwork and agreeing on fees, hazard pay included. When they boarded the SHIELD plane, the Seekers quickly discovered that plane was a bit of an understatement. It was more like a flying apartment, with a kitchenette, office, conference area workspace, individual bunks, and even a cargo hold where the SUV sat. “Clint,” Natasha said, “I know you said it was big, but I didn’t think you meant it was this big.” “I didn’t even realize it was this huge,” Clint answered, staring wide-eyed around the plane as he stashed his things on top of a bed. “We call it the Mini-Bus, or Bus for short,” Phil said, smiling. “I know, it’s a bit much, but it helps us get the job done faster.” “This is the mini version?” Jasper asked warily. “The bigger version has a fully-functional lab,” Melinda said with a smirk. “Better buckle up, we’re taking off soon,” she added. Two hours later, they were well on their way towards England. Once they’d been in the air for a couple hours , the map had adjusted, narrowing in on a smaller location until Jasper could tell that their destination was London. For now, Phil, Clint, Natasha and Jasper were studying the riddle, trying to determine what it was that they were looking for. “Do we have anything more to go on beyond a valuable ring in London?” Clint asked, as he continued searching through databases on his SHIELD-issued laptop . “There are a lot of rings to sort through here.” “Well it’s in a collection of some sort,” Natasha replied, looking up from her own research. “It could be private, it could be public, but it says we need to steal it, so it’s not like we’re searching the streets for it.” “Good point,” Phil said, “And there is a chance, however unlikely, that it’s on sale somewhere like at an auction house.” “Agent May,” Jasper called out over the intercom system, “Has the map changed again?” “Little bit,” she answered back, “Give it another fifteen minutes or so, and I might have actual coordinates for you.” They turned back to their research, ruling out auctions and collections that didn’t have any rings included. Twenty minutes later, Melinda called back to them. “I’ve sent the coordinates to your tablets. Did you get them?” “I’m looking it up now, Melinda,” Phil replied. “And I’ve got a location. We’re looking for something at the British Museum.” With an actual location to focus on, the four of them turned their attention to scouring the internet and databases for records of rings housed at the British Museum. “Any luck in figuring out what it is we’re looking for?” Melinda asked them a couple hours later. “Agent May, did you know the British Museum has a catalog of close to eight million artifacts?” Jasper asked. “Can’t say that I did,” she answered. “Mmhm. Over eight million artifacts covering thousands, even millions of years of history.” “I take it that’s a no, then?” she replied dryly. “Even using their online catalog—which, by the way, does not include every artifact in their possession—it’s still slow-going. A lot of their things are sorted by era and place of origin, not by what they are,” Phil explained. “According to the online catalog, they have close to nine thousand rings—finger-rings, that is. We split it up, but I still haven’t found anything that could be a match to the riddle. I mean we’re looking for a ring that appears to have some hidden depth to it,” Jasper said, “But I don’t even have a lead right now.” “Same here,” Natasha said without looking up from her laptop. “Nothing here either,” Phil agreed. “I’ve got a ring with a runic inscription, but nothing about it seems to go with the rest of the clue,” Clint said. “What’s the museum ID number for it?” Phil asked. “And its department?” added Jasper. Natasha didn’t bother asking Clint for any more info. She simply looked over his shoulder for a moment and turned back to her computer as he answered the others. “OA.10262, and the Department of Prehistory and Europe. Apparently the Kingmoor Ring’s been at the British Museum since 1817,” Clint said. “Well it looks like the first potential lead we’ve gotten,” Jasper said as he clicked through the museum’s catalog. “And according to what I’m reading, the ring was rumored to be magical,” Natasha said, cutting him off. “I’m not sure exactly how it’s supposed to be magical though. There’s another ring, the Bramham Moor Ring, and it also appears to have the same inscription. Two things to note though, first, the Bramham Moor Ring isn’t at the British Museum, and second, the Bramham Moor Ring doesn’t have a known replica on display.” “Replica?” Phil asked in surprise, “The British Museum has a fake on display?” “No, that one’s real. But the Tullie House Museum and Art Gallery in Carlisle has a replica in its exhibit. This has to be it,” Natasha said. “It looks like it matches the riddle perfectly. It’s a ring, with hidden power of some sort, and we’ll have to switch the replica for the real deal in order to make it out of the British Museum.” “Melinda, we need to change course now,” Phil said over the intercom, “We need to head for the Tullie museum first.” “Alright, but we’re going to have to get creative. There’s no place to hide the Bus in that area. Be prepared for a long drive to Carlisle.” The rest of the day was spent largely in transit. After leaving the Bus at a remote but secure SHIELD facility, they spent the next couple hours on the road to Carlisle. By the time they finally reached the hotel there, it was too late to do much beyond getting food and sleep. The next morning, they got up early, met in the SHIELD Agents’ room, and got to work. Eight hours later, they were closer to figuring things out, but still lacked a definitive plan for acquiring the Kingmoor Ring. “Ugh,” Natasha complained, thumping her head against the hotel room table. “Every time I think we’ve figured out the solution, another problem turns up: security guards, usable fake rings, camera positions, making a clean getaway when our primary transportation isn’t nearby… tell me again why we can’t just knock everyone out and steal the replica?” “There’s a replica at Tullie House Museum because Carlisle is part of what once was Kingmoor. Trust me, they’ll notice it’s gone,” Jasper said tiredly. “They’ll notice, and they’ll care,” Phil confirmed. “We need to do our best to cover our bases. Once we have the actual Kingmoor Ring in our hands, SHIELD can handle things. Until then, it’s on us, and we can’t afford to get caught.” “Well, at least that’s our specialty,” Clint said. “What is?” “Not getting caught.” “Really?” Melinda asked skeptically, “Because I seem to remember grabbing Sitwell back on the Hydra op. So clearly you can be caught.” “Extenuating circumstances,” Jasper responded. “We wouldn’t have been caught, Agent May, if it hadn’t been for you and your team and the insane scientists trying to blow everything up!” “Mmhm. That’s what they all say.” “Melinda…,” Phil warned. She rolled her eyes in response, “Fine, I’ll concede that those were not normal circumstances at all,” she leaned her elbows on the table and eyed the treasure seekers seriously. “But do you really think you can get in and out of a museum unseen when you’re actually robbing said museum?” “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Clint replied from the bed where he and Jasper were researching the facilities. Jasper grinned in response, before leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. Research was always tiring, but trying to plan a secretly-government-sanctioned-robbery was making things even worse. Clint meanwhile, was sprawled across half the bed with his laptop, tablet, and a notebook, and was one of the only member of the Seekers still actively working. “This isn’t your first museum theft?” Phil asked suspiciously. He was the other person actively working. Using a combination of Stark tech, fast-acting polymers, and a handful of plain brass rings, he was creating a stand-in version of the Kingmoor Ring. “Sometimes artifacts turn up in historical digs, and sometimes it isn’t safe to leave them out in the open. We try to preserve history, but a lot of these objects were artifacts of war,” Jasper explained. “We don’t particularly enjoy stealing—” “Except for that time in the Hamptons,” Clint said with a smirk. “Shut up, we agreed, never talking about it again, because you and I remember the Hamptons very differently. As I was saying, we don’t particularly enjoy stealing, but it gets the job done sometimes.” “Fair enough,” Phil replied, returning to his project that was slowly starting to look a bit like the Kingmoor Ring. “So if you’ve done this before, how have you made your plans in the past?” “Clint,” Natasha and Jasper replied simultaneously. “He manages to come up with the basic plan, and then has a handful of backup plans for when something inevitably goes wrong,” Natasha clarified. Phil looked over at Clint in curiosity. Though he didn’t know any of the treasure hunters well, he found himself intrigued by the other man. He was observant, smart, and he seemed to be full of surprises. Clint was definitely someone worth paying attention to. “So are you good at coming up with backup plans on the fly as well?” he asked Clint. “Because I think we’re going to need to be flexible in order for this to succeed.” “I’m alright at it,” Clint replied awkwardly, almost trying to hide from the attention. “It’s harder for me to come up with plans for a group like this. I don’t know you or Agent May well enough to be able to factor in all of your abilities.” “Makes sense. But if we work together, we should be able to figure out some good emergency plans,” Phil said. Clint looked surprised to hear him say that, but nodded his agreement. “Planning is all well and good,” Natasha said, “but we need to eat something, and I need a break from staring at floorplans. What do you all want to eat?” “There’s the restaurant downstairs,” Melinda answered, “But if we’re staying here more than one night, we may be better off holding off on that one.” “Agreed,” Phil said. “How about Thai food?” “Works for me,” Clint replied while Natasha nodded as well. “Looks like there are a couple of Thai places nearby,” Jasper said, looking up the local restaurants. “Even if we have to go to more than one place, we’ll find something that works for each of us.” “Perfect. Who’s with me?” Natasha asked. “Not me, I’m nearly finished with this part of the ring, and it’ll need to set for at least an hour before I can work on the next part. I don’t want to delay this if I can avoid it,” Phil said. “Melinda, you know what I like—just don’t order too much for me, okay?” “Sure, Phil. Guess I’m coming with you then. Shall we?” “Jasper, you know what you want? Or do you want to see the menu yourself?” “Menu,” Jasper said as he climbed off the bed. “Clint? You want a break too?” “Nah, just order me something. I’m almost done here, and you both know my preferences.” “Back soon,” Melinda said. “Comms are on, just in case.” “Copy that,” Phil replied absently as the others closed the door behind them. He was down to the last three runes on the inside of the ring, and so he kept working, trying to finish the ring as quickly as possible. “So is it SHIELD protocol not to leave civilians alone in the middle of an op?” Clint asked a few minutes later. “No, not exactly. Officially there is a chain of custody to maintain for this ring that I’m making, but really? I didn’t want to ruin my momentum when I’m only a few minutes away from finishing this part of the decoy ring. Plus, I really would like to see if we can come up with some plans together to show the others when they get back with the food,” Phil smiled at Clint. “Or if you’d prefer, I wouldn’t mind hearing more about how you became so good at all of this. It’s not every day that we meet someone with as much experience in creating strategic plans and usable tactics.” He turned back to the ring, carefully replicating the next rune, and carving it into the polymer. Clint blinked at him, surprised. “There’s really not much of a story. I’ve seen better from a distance for as long as I can remember. At some point, that translated into getting a better idea of the big picture, and the way that things or people could move or change. It’s kinda stuck with me over the years,” he said with a shrug. “It’s still impressive,” Phil replied as he carved the last rune on the inside of the false ring. “And done for now. Let’s see what the two of us can come up with,” he said. Putting aside the ring and the laptop that was running an analysis of all known images of the ring, Phil grabbed his tablet and headed for the spot next to Clint that Jasper had abandoned. “Mind if I join you?” Clint cleared a bit of space for Phil, and smiled up at him. “Sure,” He flipped back a few pages in his notebook, and turned the laptop to face Phil as he sat down. “So here’s what I’ve come up with so far. I think it’s going to take all five of us on site to get this done…” ~~* By the next morning, everything was set. Clint made the breakfast run, and got back with food and coffee by the time everyone else was ready to eat. Over food, they went over the plan for stealing the replica ring and replacing it with the decoy that Phil had constructed. They covered everything until each person knew their role inside and out, and also knew what to do in the event something went wrong.They split up after eating. To ensure that everything went smoothly, they were all heading for the museum separately, with Melinda driving the car over in case they needed a guaranteed escape route. Melinda reached the Tullie House Museum and Art Gallery first, but remained in the car and carefully set up the laptop, hacked into the security feed and began copying video recorded earlier in the day. As she waited, she kept an eye on the outside perimeter of the museum. By the time Jasper got off the bus and headed for the front entrance, the previously recorded footage was already streaming to the smartphone-like device in his pocket. As soon as he cleared the museum’s entrance, he flipped the switch in his pocket, and the security cameras ended up focused on the recorded footage. Melinda followed him in, casually checking the positions of the guards and cameras to ensure that their plans were still viable, and quietly gave the all clear over the comms. Fifteen minutes later, the entire team was in position. Phil, pretending to be a flustered tourist who couldn’t get his camera to cooperate, was the first to make his move. As the bright flash on his camera stubbornly refused to shut off, he drew the attention of the security guards on his side of the room. Clint moved towards another display, effectively blocking Natasha and the Kingmoor ring from the sights of the remaining security guards. Jasper stayed put near a display in view of the security cameras ensuring that even if the video footage flickered, Natasha would not be revealed. Natasha herself made the swap; without pressure sensitive plates, there was less to worry about as she switched out their decoy for the replica ring. As she slipped the replica out of its place, Melinda made her exit. Heading for the car, she pretended to make a phone call, maintaining her cover as a regular tourist. She reached the car at the same time that she received confirmation from Jasper that Natasha had successfully switched the rings. “The switch is complete, Agent May,” Jasper murmured, “Nat will make her exit soon.” Fifteen minutes later, Natasha wandered out the front door. She didn’t acknowledge Melinda until she was already walking down the street back to the hotel. “Mission accomplished, guys. I’m clear, so use your best judgment and get out when you can. Agent May, a pick-up would be nice when you’re free.” “Understood, Ms. Romanov.” “I’m already clear, and Agent Coulson’s nearly wrapped up too, Agent May,” Clint said. “Jasper, when he checks in, go ahead and get out of there.” “Where exactly are you?” Melinda asked, “I don’t have eyes on you yet.” “Red ball cap, sunglasses, your ten o’clock, Agent May.” “Huh. There you are,” Melinda said, sounding impressed. Five minutes later Phil exited the parking lot, still in character, tinkering with his camera. “You’re all clear, Jasper.” Jasper didn’t waste another minute, and took off as soon as he could. He turned off the device once he was clear, and alerted Melinda once he was back on the Bus. “We’re all clear except for you now, Agent May.” “Heading out now,” she replied. She shut down the laptop, and drove off, only stopping momentarily to pick up Natasha and the ring as they all headed back to the hotel. They planned to stay one more night in Carlisle, before heading back for the bus and then it was on to London and the world-renowned British Museum. They were halfway through with the first riddle provided by the map. All they had to do now was figure out how to steal a ring from inside the British Museum. ~~* Three days later, they found themselves getting back on the jet after their second successful heist. The planning had been both easier and harder this time, as the British Museum had a much more thorough security system in place. Creating a feasible plan had been challenging, but this time around, they had a better idea about the strengths and weaknesses of their team, which had proven invaluable. The heist itself had been nerve-wracking as the five of them set about tricking and working around the security of the legendary British Museum. If it hadn’t been for their SHIELD resources and available technology on the Bus, they likely would have been caught mid-heist. Instead, they had successfully taken the Kingmoor Ring from the British Museum, and were ready to use it to move on to the next clue."How did that even work?" Jasper exclaimed once they were all on board the Bus. “What do you mean how did that work? We planned the hell out of that heist, Jasper,” Clint retorted. “And by we, you mean you planned the hell out of that heist,” Phil corrected him. “You pointed out patterns that Melinda and I wouldn’t have spotted in the short time we had to plan things out. You helped get us in and out without alerting security once. It was amazing work, Clint, and largely thanks to your insights, we have the ring. Would you like the honor of testing the ring?” Clint ducked his head, smiling, then he shook his head and pulled out the ring. “If this works like the map does, then it’s not mine to test out. The ring hasn’t felt like anything magical to me in all the time I’ve been carrying it—I don’t think it’s meant for me. It has to be Natasha or you, Agent Coulson.” “Phil.” “Phil,” Clint said, “Try it.” He held the Kingmoor Ring out to Phil. Phil looked skeptical, but took the ring from him all the same. It did nothing when his skin made contact with the metal, but once he slipped the ring on, there was a brief flash of light, and Phil felt a sort of warmth emanate from the ring. Jasper handed him the map, and even before he touched it, he saw that it looked different. A new riddle had appeared below the others, accompanied by a new map. “Good news, Melinda,” he said, “It looks like we’re in for a shorter trip this time around.” Natasha looked over his shoulder, “Wales? Wonder what’s there.” “What does the riddle say this time?” Clint asked. They all gathered around Phil and the map to see their new mission. From the palace of a legend, a building yet remains,The quest there will end amidst bloody stains.The true worth brought forth from the Kingmoor Ring.When you find the great prize of a once and future kingIn the shadows of the past hides the sacred bladeBlood it spills will light the way ‘ere the wounds fade. They all stared at it in silence for a moment until Jasper started laughing. “Holy shit, it wants us to find King Arthur’s sword!” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “After everything we’ve seen, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised that King Arthur was real. That the stories are real,” Natasha said once they were on the road. “And the round table is probably around there somewhere too,” Clint added jokingly. “There are many of them; their pizza’s alright, but the breadsticks are better,” Melinda responded over the intercom. “…Did you just make a joke, Agent May?” Jasper asked in disbelief. “Shut up.” “Don’t let her fool you—she’s got a wicked sense of humor. She just hides it well,” Phil said with a laugh. “Anyway, we should be there soon,” Melinda said. “Do we know what we’re looking for?” “Well we know it’s King Arthur’s blade, but I never thought Excalibur was sacred,” Natasha said. “Jasper, know anything about a sacred blade?” “It’s…a bit of a vague term. It could mean magical, or it could mean it was blessed by a religious leader. It could even just be something that was held in high regard. And based on the stories, there were a lot that fit the second description.” Jasper looked over at Clint and Phil. “Have either of you found anything yet?” “Nope,” Clint said. “Maybe,” Phil said slowly. “I’ve been focusing on the Welsh legends of King Arthur, given that our map leads to an old Welsh building, and I think I might have something. According to this, in the Welsh King Arthur legends Arthur had a dagger. Its name is Carnwennan, and the dagger’s described as a sacred weapon given to Arthur by God.” “Sounds like we have a winner,” Clint said. “Mmhm,” Jasper said, “So somewhere in the remains of this building, we’re going to find this old, mysterious dagger. That doesn’t sound too bad.” “Maybe, maybe not,” Melinda said, “The map has zeroed in on our location, looks like we’ve still got a bit of a drive to go. The new coordinates should show up on your tablets in a sec.” “Got it,” Natasha said, “Looks like an old church that mostly dates back to the 6th century.” “Mostly?” Phil asked. “Yeah, there have been renovations or additions to the building that are from the 15th century and even the 1800’s, so it looks like we’re going to have to pay attention closely to hit all of the original portions of the building.” “We were already going to pay close attention if the riddle was literal about the dagger being in the shadows. Now we just have less of an idea about where to look for it,” Clint pointed out. “So where are we going, exactly?” “Well we’re going to have a few hours to kill one we get to Wales,” Melinda answered. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a decent meal before we head for this church.” “I agree,” Phil said, “Plus it would probably be better to avoid getting to the church at night if we’re looking for a dagger hidden in shadow.” “So find someplace to eat, save our energy, and then off to…Nat, what did you say it’s called?” Jasper said. “The Nevern Cross and Church.” “Hopefully the dagger will be easy to find once we’re there,” Phil said. Clint grimaced and said, “That’s not the part I’m worried about.” “What are you talking about? What else is bothering you?” Jasper asked. “Remember the part in the riddle about ‘bloody stains’ and the other that mentions spilling blood?” Clint asked. “That’s what I’m worried about. What’s it going to cost us to find the dagger?” The mood in the room shifted immediately as they all thought about what he said. The quest had been difficult and often tedious so far, but this riddle was the first to mention any hint of real danger. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about that now is there?” Melinda asked. “We’ll be there soon; let’s just save our energy so that we can be alert once we get to the church. It’s the best shot we have at succeeding.” None of them knew what to expect from their latest mission, but they agreed that conserving energy was the best plan for now. The group fell into silence. Clint dozed off in the back seat, while Phil, Natasha, and Jasper took a break from researching as they neared Wales. ~~* The next few hours flew by in a blur of resting, eating, and driving out to the old church, but the team was finally in Nevern, and prepared to search for Carnwennan. After talking it over on the bus and in the SUV on the way over, they decided it was better to go in armed, even if the church was a public site. The ominous message in the riddle had convinced them that it was better to approach the quest with suspicion and heightened senses.“Did anyone else expect this place to be smaller? Or at least expected the older areas to be easier to id?” Clint asked as they stood in the cemetery near the church’s entrance. “This is about what I expected,” Natasha replied. “The size is what I expected, but I’m with Clint on this. I thought we’d know exactly where to go once we got here,” Melinda admitted. “If we stick together, there’s no way we’ll finish before sundown,” Phil said. “We have to split up to cover more ground.” “You do realize that’s why people die in horror movies, right?” Clint said unhappily. “I thought our goal was to get out of here alive.” He winced as Natasha hit him upside the head. “Don’t be silly, this isn’t a movie,” she ordered. “And don’t jinx us. We just need to find the dagger and get out of here.” “Now who’s jinxing us,” Jasper said with a laugh. “Right, splitting up. How’re we doing this?” “Melinda and I should probably be separate, so that our skill sets are better divided,” Phil said. “Clint, Natasha, Jasper? Any preferences?” “Clint and Jasper are both the best at finding things, so split them up as well,” said Natasha thoughtfully. “Clint and I can come with you, and Jasper can go with Agent May,” she added decidedly. “Sounds good to me,” Phil said, smiling at Clint and Natasha. “Works for me too,” Jasper agreed, glancing over at Melinda. “Let’s go then. Jasper and I will start outside; the benches in the courtyard and the cross are listed as original fixtures in the guidebook,” Melinda said. “We’ll head inside first then,” Phil said. “Everyone make sure your comms are on.” The others nodded, and the two groups split up in search of Carnwennan. A little over an hour later, the two groups were still searching for any sign of Carnwennan. Phil, Clint, and Natasha were still searching the interior of the old church, while Jasper and Melinda moved from one area to the next outside. The courtyard had been a bust, but Jasper and Melinda continued searching for clues on the church grounds. As they walked towards the old British cross and the tall stone pillars, Melinda kept feeling apprehensive. The stones along the path seemed almost too perfect for such an old locale. She felt as if they were walking into a trap. “So you’re sure this is where the clue leads?” Melinda asked, glancing about warily. “Well I’m not 100% positive, but I’m as sure as I can be—all of the signs pointed here,” Jasper replied. “And did the clue, the map, or even any mystical signs indicate that there were any traps waiting to send us to an untimely doom?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “…No…but why exactly are you asking me that?” “Because we’re hunting treasure that has somehow remained hidden after all this time despite the fact that everyone within a hundred miles knows about it? Because there are always booby traps in the movies? Or maybe it’s because you seem to be two inches away from hitting some sort of trip wire. But don’t mind me, I’m just the driver and you’re the treasure hunter.” Jasper glanced down at the ground, noticing the trip wire that he had missed earlier. He carefully stepped away from the wire then looked back up at Melinda in awe. “You are amazing!” “Look, Agent May, I think we got off on the wrong foot all those years ago. So here goes,” Jasper took a deep breath. “Hi. My name’s Jasper Sitwell. I was in the army reserves to pay for college, and got a degree in history. I finished up with the army, with college, and found myself with nothing to do until the day that two strangers saved me when I got to close to an artifact on a dig. We became a team, a family, and business partners, and I never looked back.” He looked at her expectantly. “I’m Melinda May, and I’m an Agent of SHIELD.” “That’s all you’re going to give me?” “Can’t give away all my secrets, Jasper.” “Whatever you say, Agent May.” “It’s Melinda, remember? Now come on, the sooner we find the dagger, the sooner we get out of this death trap.” ~~* Meanwhile, an hour of searching the various rooms of the church had not resulted in any leads on the location of the dagger, but Clint, Phil, and Natasha pressed on, thoroughly investigating every portion of the building that appeared to be rooted in the 6th century.As they moved from room to room, they talked quietly, filling up the empty spaces. Phil told them about his part in the Battle of Manhattan, watching in horror as the aliens attacked and he could do nothing but offer tactical support over the comms when the helicarrier was damaged. Natasha in turn, told him about how she, Clint, and Jasper met, how they saved one another, and how they became friends. Much to Natasha’s chagrin, Clint told the story about the formation of their company, a story she and Jasper had yet to live down. “No, the company is legally called, ‘S.A. SeekerS, Inc.’ Trust me, I won the drinking contest for naming rights,” Clint said with a laugh. “Yes, you won, but no one else even knows the dumb name you came up with,” Natasha said with a huff. “You’re just bitter, because you’re stuck working at a company that is officially abbreviated as, ‘S-A-S-S-I,’ and yes, that is pronounced sassy,” Clint said smugly. “You named the company sassy? Intentionally?” Phil’s disbelief was so strong it was nearly tangible. “Yup.” “Why?” Natasha sighed at the question. “Because we kept vetoing his suggestions, and he decided to get back at us for it.” “And because it’s a fun name,” Clint said. He grinned at Phil before turning to Natasha, “One of these days the two of you will admit that you love it. I have faith in that. And…” Clint trailed off into silence, staring intently at something that had caught his eye. “Clint?” Phil asked, reverting back into Agent Coulson in a heartbeat. “Did you see something?” “I think so… I think there’s something down that passageway near the end of this hallway.” Clint stared intently down the hall, and after a moment started walking towards what he had seen. He stopped in front of a section of the wall that looked the same as the rest of the wall, albeit a little older than the rest of the area. Clint pressed carefully on the wall and nothing happened. But when he tried again, pulling and pushing against it, that section of the wall slid a fraction of an inch. As soon as they saw that, Phil and Natasha jumped in to help him. Clint moved back once Natasha was able to get a better grip on the stone wall, wedging the tip of a metal pipe into the space Clint had made. “Clint, Phil? Can either of you tell how big the piece is that I’m moving?” “Not sure, Nat. Can you try and move it half an inch or so? That should give us some idea,” Clint answered as he turned to look further down the hall from where Natasha stood. Phil remained focused on Natasha and the crack in the wall, paying close attention as she worked to shift the wall again. As a result, he was the only one watching when the wall shifted enough to trigger a hidden mechanism, sending a small blade flying out from the crack. Natasha cried out in pain, and stumbled away from the wall, clutching her arm in an effort to stop the bleeding. No sooner had she moved though, when another dagger came flying out towards Clint. It never touched him though. Before Clint could try to dodge the blade, Phil had already acted, shoving Clint to the ground and safely out of reach of the flying metal. Phil was not as lucky though. Phil crashed to the floor moments later, the dagger sticking out from his chest. ~~* Jasper and Melinda kept walking, following the barely visible wire until they found its point of origination. To her surprise, the end wasn’t the British cross, but instead one of the two lesser-known stone pillars. It was the smaller of the two, in fact.Carefully feeling the ground before he shifted his weight properly, Jasper slowly knelt down by the base of the stone. He gently moved some of the grass and moss until he found something unusual. “Melinda, do you have a flashlight handy?” She clicked on a light, and he was able to see the strange protrusion near the bottom of the stone. “What is that?” Melinda asked as she knelt down beside him. “It looks like it’s a kind of button,” he said in surprise. “I’m going to carefully try to move that stone in, but I have no idea what it’s going to do.” “Well this seems like a brilliant plan already.” “Melinda…” “Fine, sorry. Just try not to get us killed, alright?” “I’ll do my best,” Jasper replied, carefully pushing the piece of stone into the pillar. A grinding sound followed, and then there was a loud crunching sound. Melinda looked down and found that a section near the bottom had gotten dislodged. She slowly moved it further out, and gasped. Inside was a gleaming dagger. “We did it,” Jasper whispered. “We actually found Carnwennan.” He grinned at Melinda who finally cracked a smile back at him. He was about to ask her if she wanted to pull the mini-sword out of the stone, when Natasha’s voice cried out urgently over the comms, “Agent Coulson’s down! We triggered some sort of trap, and there were flying blades. It seems to have stopped, but just get here as fast as you can!” “Natasha, where are you?” “Main hallway on the right side of the chapel. Go down the hall and you’ll see us in a small passageway. Hurry!” They were on their feet in seconds, stopping only to grab Carnwennan from its centuries-long hiding place. After nudging the opening back into the stone, the two of them took off running towards the rest of their team. ~~* Clint knew that Natasha was busy alerting the others, but at that moment he only had eyes for Phil. Ignoring the blood on his face from a scrape he got hitting the floor, Clint moved to Phil and grabbed him, prepared to try to staunch the bleeding from his wound. But when he got a good look at Phil, he froze in place.There was no blood anywhere, and the dagger looked as though it hadn’t caused any damage at all. “Phil?” Clint whispered in shock, as he remained leaning over the other man. There was no reaction from Phil, so Clint carefully started prodding around the entrance to Phil’s wound. The motion caused Phil to groan quietly. “Phil?” Clint called again, louder this time in an effort to rouse him. “Clint?” “I’m fine, Phil. You saved me, remember?” “I was so scared that I wouldn’t get you out of the way in time,” Phil whispered. “Clint, you…you’re hurt!” “Me? I’m not the one who currently has a chunk of metal sticking out of him,” he pointed out. “There’s no sign of blood though. I don’t understand.” “Huh,” Phil said thoughtfully. “That’s it? Nothing else to add there?” “Can you pull the dagger out? I think it’s safe to remove it, and quite frankly, I want to see what happens.” Clint looked at Phil suspiciously, but carefully pulled the blade out all the same. As they looked at Phil’s wound, it slowly began to close up until there was nothing more than a slight scar. They stared at one another in shock. Phil sat up and leaned against the wall behind him. Though they both heard Natasha gasp in surprise a few feet away, they only had eyes for one another as Phil carefully touched Clint’s face where he was still bleeding. As Phil watched, Clint’s cuts stopped bleeding as well. “They’re sealing up, just like mine did,” he told Clint. Upon hearing that, Natasha came over and sat beside them, and watched Clint’s wounds vanish before their eyes. Wordlessly, she held her arm out to Phil; though the bleeding had slowed greatly, she was still losing quite a bit of blood. As Phil held onto her, they all watched the bleeding stop. “How…?” Natasha asked. “I have a theory,” Phil said, “But can we get out of here first? I can hear the others coming, and I don’t want to risk staying here any longer.” “Yeah, let’s go,” Clint answered, hauling himself to his feet. He reached down and helped Phil and Natasha to their feet too. Before they could make it to the hallway, Melinda and Jasper reached them. Melinda looked both determined and almost frantic, and both of them looked stunned to see Phil standing with Clint and Natasha. “Natasha said…,” Jasper began. “She wasn’t wrong,” Phil said. “I’ve already promised answers, but I really want to get out of the booby-trapped hallway. And we still haven’t found Carnwennan, either.” “Oh! About that,” Jasper said with a slight smile as Melinda pulled out the dagger. “We did manage to find it.” “Thank god,” Clint said. “Now can we get the hell out of here?” The others nodded, and together they made their way out of the church and back into the SUV. Melinda was the one to finally break the silence. “Phil…what happened?” Phil took a moment to consider his answer before he responded. “Look, do you remember what the riddle said? It mentioned the ‘true worth of the Kingmoor Ring.’ So I brought the ring with me.” Phil held up his hand to show them. “I’ve been wearing it the whole time. Based on what happened back there, I think it’s safe to say that the ring has healing properties. And it definitely stops bleeding almost immediately.” “Did we bring the map with us?” Clint asked suddenly. Melinda pulled it out and handed it to him. He passed it on to Natasha, then nodded at Jasper to hand over the dagger as well. Natasha held both in her hands, and though they started to glow, the map remained the same. “It’s not doing anything,” she said in frustration. “Blood!” Jasper exclaimed. He blushed when the others gave him a weird look. “The riddle said that the dagger has to spill blood to show us the way.” Natasha looked at him carefully, then nicked her finger with the tip of the blade until a small amount of blood dripped out. The blood was absorbed into the map completely, and it simultaneously triggered two events. First, they saw the map change and a new riddle appear, and second, Natasha seemingly vanished into thin air. “Nat?” Clint called out. “What?” she replied. Though they could no longer see her, she still sounded close by, as if she hadn’t moved at all. “Natasha, we can’t see you,” Phil told her. Natasha put down the dagger and as she did so, she became visible once more. “Huh,” she said. “I think I understand why the riddle emphasized shadows so much.” “You can figure it out later,” Melinda said, “Let’s get back to the Bus.” As she drove them back to the bus, Phil reached over and healed Natasha again. When he was finished, he leaned back as if drained of all energy. “Phil? What’s wrong?” Clint asked worriedly. “I’m just feeling really tired at the moment,” Phil replied. “I’ve been tired since I woke up after being stabbed, but I’m feeling it more now.” “Maybe healing someone takes a lot out of you,” Natasha guessed. “That or nearly dying does,” Clint muttered quietly. “Clint…,” Phil started to say. “I know you’re okay, I know we’re all okay,” Clint said, “But I also know what I saw, Phil. That dagger should have killed you. It’s a lot to take in, and I’m pretty sure all of you agree with me on that.” Phil had no response to that. He just looked at Clint for a long moment before nodding in acknowledgment. He closed his eyes and told Melinda, “Wake me up when we’re near the Bus.” The rest of the ride back was silent. Every member of the team was either exhausted or lost in their own thoughts. By the time they made it back to the Bus a couple of hours later, they barely had enough energy to warm up some food to eat. They tried to muster up the energy to figure out where their next stop would be, but after spending the night on the church grounds and on the road, they were too tired to focus on the map. Jasper took one look at the map before he declared it a lost cause for the night. “We need sleep. A lot of sleep. I can’t even begin to puzzle out the latest riddle, and I don’t think any of us are up for traveling in the direction of Pakistan right now,” he said. “Let’s just go get some sleep.” “Works for me,” Melinda said, letting out a yawn. “Sleep well, everyone,” she said, walking towards her bed. The others murmured their goodnights as well as they headed in the directions of their respective bunks. Clint was the only one who remained sitting tiredly on the sofa. A few minutes later, Phil came back to the main room and found Clint in the exact same place he’d left him. “You should go to bed too, Clint. You have to be as tired as the rest of us,” Phil told him gently. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’m going to be falling asleep anytime soon.” “Is something wrong?” “You were willing to die to save me, Phil. That’s not just something I can forget. I can’t stop seeing you as you fell to the ground. Every time I close my eyes, that’s all I see.” Phil sat down beside Clint and leaned into him slightly. “Every time I close my eyes, I keep imagining that I didn’t get there in time, that I couldn’t save you,” he smiled as Clint looked at him in surprise. “Clint, I don’t know how I’m going to sleep either, but I’m so exhausted, I just want to lie down.” “Right, sorry. Phil. Healing yourself, me, and Nat had to have been tiring. You should go to bed.” “…Come with me?” “Phil…” “Maybe if you’re right there, maybe if I’m right there, we’ll actually get some sleep. If not…well, I know I’ll still rest better with you there with me.” Clint wordlessly stood up and reached a hand out towards Phil. He clasped it in his, and together the two of them walked towards his bunk in hopes of getting some sleep. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- The next day, after a stealth landing in the waters off Pakistan, the team gathered to see what the entire riddle said. The map had led them to a little peninsula near Karachi, but they couldn’t tell why they were there, and hoped that the explanation was somewhere in the clue. When one who has heart, returns here to pray,He will find the gifts, the hero gave away.What you seek is inside lying at rest,Raise it to pass the sleeping god’s test.Climb high to take aim where the birds flyAnd succeed you must, ‘ere water touch sky. “Is it just me, or is it complete gibberish this time?” asked Melinda. “Well I wouldn’t say it’s gibberish,” Phil began, “But I have no idea what it means.” “I’ve only got the first line,” Jasper said, “And that’s only because we’re parked right outside a temple at the moment. “Clint, does this make sense to you?” asked Natasha. “Maybe. It all depends. Jasper…this temple. Whose temple is it?” Clint asked, staring at the building intently. “I’m not sure…,” he said. Jasper opened one of the computers to try and figure out exactly where they were. “Okay, so according to this, we’re right by Manora island which is mostly known for its abandoned temple to the Hindu god Varuna.” “Okay,” Clint said, “Then I think I understand the riddle.” The others all looked at him, waiting for an explanation. He sighed, then started talking. “It’s a story that fascinated me when I was younger, but then again I was drawn to all stories about archers. In the Mahabharata, there was an archer named Arjuna; he was mortal, but he was given a bow named Gandiva by the god Varuna. Gandiva was a God-made weapon, and it was worshipped as such. It was said that very few mortals had the ability to draw the bow, but Arjuna could.” “What else do you know about it, Clint?” Phil asked. “Arjuna heroically fought with Gandiva in the Kurukshetra War. When the war was over, Varuna asked Arjuna to return Gandiva and the quivers. Did I mention the quivers? Two quivers, guaranteed to never be empty of arrows. That is every archer’s dream right there. So Arjuna released Gandiva and the quivers into the water. Because Varuna was the god of water and the underwater world—like the Poseidon of Hinduism, I guess. That’s why this temple is surrounded by water.” “So we’re here for Gandiva,” Jasper whispered in awe. “It’s the only thing that makes sense to me,” Clint said. “It’s your part of the quest, Clint. If ever anything made sense for you, it’s this,” Natasha pointed out. “Okay, I know I’m the only one who hasn’t really had anything to do with the map so far, but why would you think this one is about me? Yeah, archery’s kinda my thing, but the first part says it requires someone with heart. That sounds more like one of you to me.” Natasha stared at him incredulously, and then grabbed him, forcing him to focus on her. “You listen to me, Clint. You have heart. You have more emotional strength than anyone I know. You saved yourself when others couldn’t and wouldn’t. You saved me when no one else would have even considered it. Don’t you dare question that. This riddle is for you. So just tell us what we need to do.” Clint looked at her, and whatever he saw in her eyes made him look around at the others. “She’s right, Clint. We may not have known you for long, but even Phil and I can see that,” Melinda said quietly. “So what do we need to do?” “I think I should probably do this alone…” Clint began. “Not happening,” Jasper and Phil said simultaneously. Jasper smiled at Phil approvingly. “Clint, you didn’t let us do anything on our own, why would you expect us to suddenly leave you without backup?” Jasper asked. Clint sighed, “Alright, but I’m still going to have to be alone at some point for this. Judging by the state of the temple, I don’t think more than one of us can climb up high like the riddle says. Nat, can you and Melinda keep the engine running and be ready to leave in a hurry? Odds are high that we’re going to be escaping a flood of some sort. Phil, Jasper, you guys can come with me. Most early Hindu temples were designed more for men than women, so it should be safe for you to come with me if you really want to…” “We’re definitely coming with you, Clint,” Jasper said. “What do you want us to bring with us?” “Just…just wear something waterproof ? If this place is going to flood, you’re going to want to stay dry.” “You keep mentioning a flood…,” Phil said, “What do you know that we don’t?” “The riddle talks about water touching the sky, and a sleeping god’s test. I told you, Varuna’s a water god, and this is an abandoned temple. There has to be a test involving water levels rising,” Clint explained. “Think about it.” “Clint…You don’t have to do this,” Melinda said. “We’ll figure out a way around it. This one seems too dangerous for anyone to undertake.” “Melinda’s right, Clint,” Jasper said. “If you really believe that the clue is meant for me, then I’m going to do this. We need to find this globe. It could help the world in so many ways; I am not going to back out now, not when we’ve come this far. And if you guys are coming with me, don’t bring anything with you.” “What?” Jasper asked, “Why wouldn’t you want us to bring anything to at least defend ourselves with?” “It’s a temple, Jasper. I’d feel weird if you brought weapons in with you. Plus, if this is some sort of godly test, then I don’t think pissing off the god in question would be helpful,” Clint explained calmly. “He’s right, Jasper,” Phil agreed, “As much as we may hate it, bringing weapons will probably violate the rules somehow and make things worse for him.” “So let’s just go then. The longer we take, the longer we’ll think about it, and then we’ll start freaking out about this whole thing. I just want to get in there, and see if I can find Gandiva,” Clint said. Natasha reached out and pulled him into a tight hug. “Make sure you come back, Clint. No bow or globe in the world is worth your life. Not even a magical one. So just come back, or I’ll be forced to come in there and drag you out. Got it?” Clint laughed in response and hugged her back. “I can’t guarantee that, Nat. But I promise I’ll fight to come back.” He took the SHIELD jacket that Melinda handed him as she said, “Here, this should be fairly waterproof.” Clint put the jacket on and asked, “You guys ready?” “Yeah,” Phil replied, putting on his own jacket. “Well no, but it’s not like any of this is really my choice.” “Phil…” “Clint, can I stop you from doing this?” “No. No, not really.” “Then let’s just go,” Phil said, lowering the entry ramp so that it just landed on the walkway that crosses the water to the temple. Clint was the first one to walk out the door without any hesitation. Jasper and Phil looked at each other, took a deep breath and slowly followed Clint towards the temple. ~~* Inside the temple, just past the entryway, a faint beam of light lit up a small room off to the side of the main entry. “That’s my cue, I think,” Clint said, looking at it. He turned to Phil and Jasper. “You guys need to get to higher ground, okay? There’s a platform over there,” he said, pointing. “Just get there and stay safe. I don’t know what’s going to happen, so just be careful.”Jasper barely let him finish before he hugged him. “You be careful too, Clint. I know you’ve got to do this, but just remember to stay calm and focused. Don’t do anything stupid. If we have to, we’ll find another way of locating the globe.” Jasper clapped him on the shoulders and shook him gently. “You’ve got this, Clint. Like you said, archery’s your thing.” With that he turned and walked away, looking for a way to get to the higher area Clint had seen. As he left, he told Phil, “I’ll save you a spot.” Phil nodded in response, unable to take his eyes off of Clint. Clint smiled sadly at him, “Maybe this will finally give us a chance to figure out just how powerful your new ring is.” “Don’t!” Phil exclaimed, “Don’t joke about this, Clint. You don’t know what’s going to happen, other than the fact that it’ll be dangerous. A possible flood, precariously scaling a temple that is falling apart because it has been abandoned for so long, and wielding a bow that most men have been able to draw? Everyone has said it, and they’re right. Don’t do this, Clint. We can find another way. Maybe we don’t even need this globe. We don’t know what it does, and it’s not worth you risking your life over it. The last riddle nearly got us killed Clint, and we didn’t even know it would be dangerous that time.” “Phil…I have to do this. If I don’t do this, if I don’t try, I know I will regret it. And you know I don’t believe in having regrets.” Clint reached out for Phil’s hand. “It’ll all work out okay, just have a little faith.” “I have a lot of faith in you. It’s the magic I’m not sure about.” “How can you just say things like that at a time like this?” Clint whispered. “What? That I have faith in you? I do. Since the day we met, you’ve been surprising me with your insights, your knowledge, your strength. I have faith that you can get through this. But that doesn’t mean I’m any less scared for you. I really care about you, Clint…I think…I think you might be someone I can fall in love with someday ,” Phil said. He tightened his grip on Clint’s hand. “So I need you to come back from this, so that I can find out for sure.” He let go of Clint and took a step back. “Go on, go do this before I finally figure out a way to stop you from risking your life like this.” He turned to walk away only to feel Clint grab his hand again. Phil looked back over his shoulder at Clint. “No regrets, right?” Clint said. Before Phil could respond, Clint was kissing him. Clint poured everything he was feeling into the kiss. He shared everything with Phil in the only way he could, giving him his hopes and fears all in that one kiss. He only pulled away when he needed air, and looked at Phil as he panted for breath. Phil looked completely wrecked by that kiss. Clint almost couldn’t believe the amount of emotion he saw in Phil’s eyes as he looked back at him. “Clint,” Phil whispered. Clint quickly kissed him again, doing everything he could to remember every detail of this kiss. He finally broke away, and slowly let go of Phil, studying his face for as long as he could bear to. And then he turned away and went into the other room. ~~* The moments he spent waiting for a sign that Clint survived were a painful blur to Phil. Later, when he thought back, he remembered the chill in the air, the sound of rushing water nearby, the feeling of Jasper standing equally terrified next to him, and the thoughts and prayers that rattled through his head. Phil had no idea how long it took, before he became aware of a sound coming from above them.From where they stood, they had a perfect view of a high ledge in the other room. A room where Clint now stood high on the ledge with a bow in hand. Phil stood mesmerized, staring at Clint. He had no idea what Clint was focused on, but he watched as Clint slowly drew the bow, becoming one of only a few mortals to wield Gandiva. As he let go of the string, the sound crashed through the room, booming and echoing loudly like a clap of thunder. Unbeknownst to them, at that moment, the map began to glow and change once more. ~~* “Really? No riddle this time?” Clint asked as Phil tossed a pile of towels at him so that he could dry off. They were all back on board the Bus, preparing to leave Manora Island. Jasper placed with Carnwennan and the map, as they all checked on Clint to make sure he was okay.“Apparently not,” Phil replied. “I for one, am not complaining about that though.” He smiled at Clint and grabbed his arms, pulling him in for a soft kiss. “It looks like we passed all the tests once you used Gandiva.” Clint smiled back shyly at him, and leaned back in to kiss Phil again. “I’m glad it all worked out,” he said, pulling back to give Natasha a hug as she came over to him. “So where we headed this time?” he asked. “Home,” Melinda said with a smile. “The globe’s in the States?” Jasper asked in surprise. “The globe’s in New York.” ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- “We’ve got movement, guys,” Melinda said over the intercom when they were nearly halfway across the Atlantic. “Movement in the air or on the map?” Phil asked. “Map. Looks like it’s narrowing in on the Manhattan area, Phil.” “Any fixed coordinates yet?” Natasha asked from where she was trying out Carnwennan, using it to shroud herself in shadows and reappearing moments later, “Or are we still too far out?” “Still too far out for coordinates, but if it keeps narrowing in the way it’s heading, it looks like our destination will be somewhere in the Upper East Side.” “So…the globe’s in the hands of some rich guy?” Clint asked skeptically. “How exactly are we going to get it? Steal from him as well?” “Hopefully we can just talk him into handing it over for the good of humanity,” Phil answered. “And if he doesn’t…?” Jasper trailed off. “Then we’ll figure something out. We’re getting pretty good at that.” “Guys, I have coordinates. I’m sending them to you now,” Melinda called out. ~~* Several hours later, they landed the Bus at SHIELD’s New York Headquarters. They planned on grabbing one of the already-fueled SUV’s from the vehicle pool. While Melinda took Clint, Natasha, and Jasper down to the garage level, Phil planned to quickly detour and check-in with the Director.To his surprise, Nick was waiting for him when he got off the Bus. “Sir?” “Melinda logged the flight plan, and so I headed here soon after. How’s your quest?” “Nearly complete, actually. Looks like the globe’s in Manhattan itself.” “Glad to hear it, Coulson. Now how have things been with the civilians?” “Melinda and I honestly couldn’t have picked a better team, sir. We got really lucky.” “Alright, go get that globe Coulson, and then get back here. We’ve been managing without the two of you, but we are more than ready to have you back stateside.” “It’ll be good to be back,” Phil said with a smile, heading for the vehicle pool. When he got there, the others were already seated and waiting on him. He got in the car, and they headed to the coordinates, as Phil read up on the socialite in question. “It looks like they are quite the socialite pair. He’s a big-time businessman, quite well known around New York in fact. And his wife…I think she’s the same age as his youngest daughter,” Phil said. “Hopefully they’ll be open to meeting with us and will hand over the globe as well.” When they finally reached the coordinates, the team headed to the front door without hesitation. There, they encountered their first obstacle, the butler. The butler informed them that the boss and his new wife were out of town, and not due to check-in for a few days, let alone return from their trip. “Is there anyone else in the family who we can speak to? This really is an urgent matter,” Phil said. The butler looked pained as he replied, “There is someone else at home presently, but Miss Ivana Dancealot does not wish to be disturbed, even if this is a matter of utmost importance.” “Well, I guess…” Phil started until Clint interrupted him. “Wait, did you just say Ivana Dancealot?” When the butler nodded, Clint turned to the others. “Phil, you said this was the Bishop house?” “Yes…” Phil replied warily. Clint turned back to the butler, and grinning, asked, “Can you tell her something exactly as I say it? The wording is very important.” “I can do that,” the butler said, “What would you like me to tell her?” “Tell her, ‘We really need your help on this, Katie-Kate.’” The butler repeated the message and then went back into the house, presumably to speak to the young woman in question. “Katie-Kate?” Natasha asked Clint while they waited outside. “It’s a bit of a long story, but Kate Bishop and I have known each other for years,” Clint replied. The butler returned looking slightly surprised. “Hawkeye?” he asked. Clint nodded, and the butler continued, “Miss Bishop will see you all now.” The team followed the butler as he led them to the backyard pool. There they found a young woman in her late teens lounging by the pool. She was wearing a purple bikini and large sunglasses, which she lowered, examining them from above the frames. She raised an eyebrow at the butler, clearly asking for a proper introduction. “Miss Bishop,” the butler began, until she cleared her throat at him pointedly. He looked pained but continued, “Miss Ivana Dancealot, these agents and their associates are here from the government agency, SHIELD. They came because they need to obtain something from your father.” “That will be all, William, thank you,” she said, pushing her sunglasses back into their normal position. Clint walked over to her, and casually tossed a, “Hey Hawkeye,” at the young woman. “’Sup Hawkeye,” she replied, before punching him in the arm. “Ow! Dammit Katie, what the hell was that for?” “You know damn well what that’s for,” she yelled at him, “You’re supposed to call me when you’re in town, and you know it!” “We just got here! I didn’t have time,” Clint said defensively. Kate let out a little shriek of frustration, and punched him in the arm again. She took a deep breath, calmed herself down and turned to the rest of the group. “So what is it you needed from my dad?” “Miss Bishop, we have reason to believe that your father is in possession of an unusual globe. We’ve been searching for it around the world; we need it, and we’re willing to pay for it if that’s what it takes,” Phil explained. “A globe, huh? What’s so special about it?” “I’m afraid that’s classified,” Melinda said. “Of course it is.” She reached over and took a sip from the fruity drink sitting next to her. "Are they legit, Clint?” Kate asked. “They are, Katie-Kate. They’re the good guys,” he replied. “Alrighty then,” she said, “So what are you looking for again?” “A globe,” Natasha replied, “How do you know each other?” “We go way back, but it’s a bit of a long story. Can you describe the globe?” Kate asked. At their unimpressed expressions, she rolled her eyes at them. “Hey, my dad’s rich and we live in a mansion. There’s more than one globe, you guys. Give me something to narrow it down.” “It should react to people when they touch it?” “Well that narrows it down to a few at least, but I think a couple are just like, color-changing, mood ring globes,” Kate said. She made a face at that, “Don’t ask, I don’t even know. Anyway, c’mon. It should be this way,” she said, leading them into the house. As they walked past one area of the house, Kate turned to them and said cheekily, “Sorry guys, the West Wing is completely off limits.” The group varied between expressions of amusement and confusion at that. “Big Beauty and the Beast fan?” Jasper asked. “No, but I can’t deny, it would be pretty awesome if the furniture in this place came alive,” Kate answered. “Anyway, here’s Dad’s…formal study for lack of a better description. He only uses this room as a status room, really. He manages his actual business elsewhere. Chances are, the globe is somewhere in here.” “I’m pretty sure she’s right,” Melinda said, “The map has started acting up.” “Acting up?” Clint asked, “Is it glowing again?” “Yeah, it is.” They looked around the room—it was completely filled with all manner of artifacts, antiquities, and collectibles. “Split up and check out every globe you find,” Phil ordered. For the most part they searched in silence, moving from one object to the next, except for Clint and Kate who talked to one another about all sorts of things, catching up on things they had missed since they last spoke. “Melinda, you want to come check this one out?” Natasha finally called out after they’d been searching for close to an hour. She carefully pulled a pale-looking globe from a shelf where it had been buried under a pile of tapestries. Unlike the other globes, the map on this one was unusual, seeming faded and barely visible. They all walked towards her, and watched as the map glowed brighter and brighter until Melinda was standing in front of the globe. On a hunch, she touched the map to the globe. The light emanating from the map flared brighter than ever before, and then it faded, the map to the globe vanishing with it. “This is definitely it then,” she said. “We should get this to SHIELD. Miss Bishop, thank you so much for your help. How much would you like us to pay you in exchange for the globe?” Phil asked. “Eh, don’t worry about it. If Dad has a fit over it, I’ll just tell him some government agents waved their badges around and confiscated it,” Kate said, shrugging. “But what I do want is lunch, coffee, or range time with you, mister,” she said, poking Clint in the chest. “You definitely owe me now.” “Alright, jeez. Just lemme know when you’re free and we’ll figure something out. I don’t think I’m heading out of here for a few days at least,” he said. He reached out and slung an arm around her, giving her a sideways hug. “Thanks for helping, Katie-Kate.” “Yes, thank you Miss Bishop,” Melinda said, “We couldn’t have found this without you.” “Yeah you could’ve,” Kate said with a smile, “It just would’ve taken you guys a lot longer.” She waved to them as they walked back to the car, Natasha carefully carrying the globe. It was time to get it to SHIELD. ~~* “What the fuck?” Melinda yelled, as she swerved suddenly. She got them clear of the flying wreckage and slammed on the brakes. In front of them, the street was overflowing with tiny metallic robots of some sort. Tiny metallic robots with explosive capabilities, no less. “Coulson, call it in!”“On it,” he replied, pulling out his phone. “Sir, there appears to be an attack of…” “Miniature Doombots, we know,” Nick replied. “We’re trying to get people down there, but they’re causing enough problems that it’s affecting traffic. We can’t get onsite fast enough to contain it.” “Sir…we’re already on site. We’re not armed as well as the response team will be, but we can keep them in one area until others get here.” “You’re sure your team has enough ammo?” “Trust me boss, ammo will not be an issue for us,” Phil said, smiling at Clint and Natasha. “We’ve got this, just get here ASAP.” He hung up on his boss and turned to his team. Clint grabbed Gandiva and his quivers, and strapped on his small arsenal of weapons and ammo. “What’s the play, Coulson?” “Keep it contained and try to minimize the damage while we’re at it. These things are more dangerous than they look—try not to let a few of them get in range of the same target, because they do have explosive capabilities. They shouldn’t be particularly resilient either…at least past models haven’t been. They also haven’t looked like a mutant lawn gnome army before though. Try and stay on the same frequency in case things change suddenly.” “Got it,” Clint replied. “I’m heading up high, I need a better vantage point for this.” “You’ll call the shots for us?” Natasha asked as she attached the last of her weapons to her body, making sure she could get to everything easily. She kept Carnwennan nearby, ready to use the dagger to fade into the shadows surrounding the battle. “Whenever I can, I promise.” Clint jumped out of the vehicle, and was about to head for the nearest high-rise when he stopped and looked back at the rest of the team. Phil, Jasper, and Melinda were arming themselves with their personal weapons as well as everything else they had. “Who’s staying with the car?” Jasper asked. “We can’t risk the globe getting destroyed if no one is near it.” “Alright,” Melinda said. “You and I will stay near the car. You take the long-range weapons, and I can handle things from this end. I can take on anything that comes near us.” “Well that’s all kinds of sexy,” Jasper muttered, not expecting her to hear him. “You have no idea,” she replied, smirking. Jasper grinned back at her, much to Natasha’s amusement. “Get a room, you two,” Phil said, stepping onto the ground and surveying the Doombots. “That’s not a bad idea you know,” Clint said. Phil turned and found him standing next to him, smiling back at him. “What?” “Getting a room,” Clint said with a grin, “Sounds like a pretty solid idea to me.” He got a hold of Phil’s tie and pulled him in for a kiss. “And that seemed like a pretty good idea too.” Phil grinned helplessly back at him. “Well I can’t exactly disagree with that now can I?” “And you say we need a room,” Jasper said sarcastically from inside the vehicle. “We’ll continue this later then,” Clint said, laughing. “I’ll hold you to that,” Phil replied. With a grin, they both headed into the fray, Natasha already ahead of them, a Doombot already in her sights. ~~* The five of them worked seamlessly as a team, keeping the mini Doombots at bay until reinforcements were able to get on the scene. As the Fantastic Four finished clearing up Dr. Doom’s latest fiasco, Nick, Sam, and Sharon came over to greet their co-workers and their new associates.Nick looked at the globe in Melinda’s hands. “So that’s the mysterious magical globe then?” “Yup.” He nodded. “Think it’ll help us find people who can make a difference?” Phil took a look around. Natasha and Sharon were discussing the story of Carnwennan, Jasper and Sam were checking out something on Jasper’s laptop, and Clint was pulling arrows out of doombots and answering questions about Gandiva. He grinned at Phil when he saw him looking, and then turned back to his work. Phil and Melinda looked at each other and smiled. “It already has, sir. It already has.”
1082077	The makoharu Festival	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Nanase Haruka, Tachibana Makoto", "Fandom": "Free!", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by merinxD", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-14T00:00:00", "words": "1,197", "Additional Tags": "makoharu festival, Promo, Drabble, Boyfriends, attempt at comedy", "Relationship": "Nanase Haruka/Tachibana Makoto", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "Free!ception", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	"I thought we said we weren’t going on tumblr." Makoto says, scolding him slightly. It’s a light tone but Haru jolts all the same. He’s perched upon Makoto’s bed with the laptop tilted away but his boyfriend has incredibly long limbs. It took one stretch and his cover was blown. How Makoto can be so sneaky is a complete mystery. He’s massive! In a good way, of course.It wasn’t long ago that Haruka and Makoto discovered why all the girls in school have been looking at them strangely. It’s just one thing on the long list of odd occurrences for the year. Rin was the first to realise why, followed by Nagisa. They were both thrilled, which is no surprise. Rin likes to show off and so does Nagisa, though one is a little (a lot) more overt than the other. Yes, they found out that a senpai of theirs wrote a book about their lives. It became a massive hit and is now a television series. The whole team was tricked into signing release forms and with a bit of marketing their names became common knowledge. The actors even sound like them! Not that Haru has been watching the stupid show or anything…The discovery of the TV show led them to the internet where it turns out they are quite popular. The first blog that they came upon held many scenarios that people want to see them in and most were not safe for young eyes. It was embarrassing and it was obviously enough to squelch Makoto’s curiosity, but admittedly Haru has been thinking of it here and there. Nagisa’s prodding hasn’t helped. He goes on tumblr all the time to see what people are saying about him and Rei. If only the world knew that he really is as devious as they think he is; maybe even more so. Rin told him after training to log on and Haru has finally relented after weeks of glaring at the offending device. He didn’t want Makoto to be mad at him but he has always been a curious person; often too lazy to do anything about it but inquisitive all the same. Which brings him to the now. Obviously Makoto didn’t feel like enjoying his shower this evening, or maybe he sensed mischief, but here he is peering at the laptop with a strange little smile and wearing nothing but a towel. It’s a dangerous combo that ensures he will get his answer. Haru can never get away from Makoto in that sense. "Couldn’t stay away?" His boyfriend asks. It sounds like a nothing question but Haru feels like there is something beneath it. Is Makoto annoyed with him?He searches for the words to say but he doesn’t have a response. So he sighs, forcing himself to avoid the glistening abdominals in his direct line of vision by turning to stare at the screen again. "Look." Haru says instead. He moves the laptop so that Makoto can see easily and the bed dips beneath his friend’s weight. "What’s this, Haru?" Makoto asks, peering closer at the screen. He leans in so that he can read it properly and his eyes widen as realisation dawns. "I thought you were looking at prompts again." Makoto murmurs thoughtfully as he continues to read the opened post. If he were Rin, Haru would make a quip about their sex life and the prompt blog but he isn’t and he doesn’t need any fanfiction dictating what he should do in bed. Their sex life is just fine."Idiot." Haru responds, sinking closer when Makoto’s damp arm encircles his waist. He doesn’t acknowledge the movement and the two look on in silence. "It’s an event about us." Makoto finally concludes and Haru nods. "Un." He intones."It says here that people will be writing stories and making art and some other stuff." He enlightens from the summary and Haru adds,"And roleplay." It’s not on the page so he explains. "Rin told me." …Makoto gives him a sidelong look and Haru knows that his lover has the wrong idea."Haru, when you say roleplay-" Makoto begins and he cuts him off. "Not like that." Haru glares. Does everyone have their heads in the gutter? Admittedly he thought the same thing when Rin mentioned it and so did Nagisa, but it turns out that it’s just people telling a story together that’s made up along the way. Haru would never do it but some would probably have fun. Sounds like a lot of trouble to him. "Oh." Makoto nods slowly, still not understanding but moving on. "There’s going to be other stuff, too. All about us?" "Looks like it." Haru sighs. "Rin said we should join in." A chuckle forms in Makoto’s throat and he breathes out. “Of course he did.” Silence falls and fingers trace thoughtlessly over Haru’s hip, they are looking at the blog but not really seeing anymore. Makoto absently scrolls through the page in silence. It’s comfortable and Haru can’t help but wonder. "Do you want to?" He asks after another moment. His head has fallen on Makoto’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to see his boyfriend’s face, though he can imagine the look of surprise that he is receiving. “Y-You want to?” Makoto responds quickly. Haru was right, he sounds absolutely astounded. No reply comes but Makoto seems to garner a yes from the tone of the room. "What would we do?" He asks curiously, though he does sound a little apprehensive. It isn’t every day that an innumerable amount of people celebrate a fictional relationship about two people that are actually real. "Nagisa had an idea." Haru smirks and he’s pleased that his boyfriend can’t see his face or it would give him away. "Oh?" "Hm. He said that we should do a ‘MakoHaru’ sex video." Haru says blankly, trying to keep the small smile at bay. Everything is true, of course. Nagisa is an absolute monster. "W-What!?" Makoto jolts, springing away. He stands quickly and his towel falls to the floor in a heap. Haru turns to face him impassively to meet wide confused green. "You’re joking…" Makoto realises and he lets out an audible sigh of relief. Haru nods slowly as his eyes travel downward. It looks like Makoto’s body might be a little more on board with the idea than his mind is telling him. His boyfriend is sporting a surprising erection and Haru’s smirk returns full force. "Maybe we can send in a drawing instead." Haru assures and he licks his lips unknowingly. Makoto nods shakily. “So, no sex video?” He asks, looking hopeful. Haru’s hand darts forward to grasp Makoto’s hip and his lover steps forward with a light tug. Haruka’s phone is pulled off the nightstand and blue glint mischievously. "I didn’t say that." He replies and Makoto gulps.The laptop and the MakoHaru event is forgotten for the time being as Haru puts his curiousness to the test. He’ll have plenty of time to be lazy later when Makoto wants him to help with math homework.If only the internet knew just how spontaneous they really are. END
1040103	Heronstairs Galore	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Jem Carstairs, Will Herondale", "Fandom": "Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Katiehorsie", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-11-11T00:00:00", "words": "1,525", "Additional Tags": "heronstairs", "Relationship": "Jem Carstairs/Will Herondale", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Will walked through the halls of the Institute, his footsteps echoing in the deserted building. Everyone had gone off to take care of something or another—he didn’t actually pay enough attention know to what it was that they were doing, only that he was supposed to be doing it as well. Being him, of course, he had gleaned exactly when they were set to leave, and he had vanished into the endless maze of corridors and rooms that made up the London Institute. After half an hour of trying to find him, Charlotte had sighed in defeat and decided to take off without the snarky Welsh boy. He’d watched them leave from behind the grimy, greenish panes of a window in the room he had taken shelter in, a victorious smirk lighting up his features in his dark, dank surroundings. But the smirk hadn’t lasted long. Being alone was something he was used to. How could he not be used to it? He couldn’t let people love him. He couldn’t do it, not to those whom he held so close in his heart, in the warmth that lay trapped inside a freezing cage. So he had always stayed far away, where he couldn’t get too close. He became a sarcastic bastard with endless, scathing comments to dish out whenever he felt anyone was becoming too fond of him. Yes. Loneliness was his best friend. Loneliness was his worst enemy. It pained him, time and time again. To see the pain he inflicted; to see the lengths they go to just to avoid being in the same room as him; to see their pleading looks, begging him not to do it again, to hold back that one comment they all somehow know he doesn’t want to say… He was an empty shell, his existence as worthless as a stone tool in a world of steel. Probably even less so. Maybe add in the use one has for soured, curdled milk to the useless rock. Then you have Will Herondale with his soulful, lifeless eyes—blue and dark as the night sky just before the sun’s sleepy rays begin to peak over the horizon—and his messy, raven locks—black as the deepest pit of hell in which he believed he belonged. Very few things could ever make the man shine like the star in heaven he was before he fell to Earth for his sins. Books, Jem, and Jem. Sounded about right. Will’s parabatai was all he had in this world, the one thing he spat in the face of his curse for. Jem was dying, after all. Well, everyone was technically slowly dying, but it wasn’t like that for Jem. He was slowly fading away, the mark of the illness and drug that leached his life away showing through his colorless hair and eyes and his painstakingly thin body. But Jem still shone more radiantly than anyone else Will knew. He was always a kind soul, jumping up to help anyone in need. He never complained of his ailment, not even when he coughed up blood or was to weak to get out of bed for weeks on end. He just jumped back up, eager to get back to living while he could. One thing about Jem, however, stood out to Will even more than his kind, brave soul that—two years after the point people never thought he would survive to, much less live past—still stubbornly refused to give up on life. That would be the magical way Jem played his violin. The music he played was always so beautiful, so expressive. It was like a soothing balm for Will’s battered, lonely soul. It drew him in like an unsuspecting sailor to the song of a siren. It took away the pain. When Will heard the sweet melody, he could close his eyes and forget all about his curse and Jem’s uncertain future. The entire world fell away, and he was finally left in peace. He sometimes wondered if that was what death was like, just listening to Jem’s playing. If it was, he’d have no qualms following his parabatai to whatever afterlife existed beyond the grave. At least then he’d find his peace. His footsteps faltered for a second, their echoing sound fading from the air, leaving way for something else. It was faint, like a fine mist hanging in the air. But he recognized it. He always did. Jem’s violin. Will’s footsteps picked up again, this time faster. With purpose. They floated through the air, down the halls and past endless doors. Weaving into the music’s web. Sounding steady as a ticking clock. All the while his heart beat sporadically in his chest. And finally he found himself in front of the door to the music room. It was half open, the music spilling out, almost as if it had purposefully been left that way. Jem didn’t give any sign that he heard the door creak open when Will stepped in. Jem just continued playing his violin, his eyes closed as his fingers ran up and down the fingerboard with well practiced and tender movements. Will had often read in books that people were always so much more peaceful and vulnerable looking when asleep. But he disagreed with that statement. To him, Jem never looked calmer or more at peace than when he played the violin, and the way Jem poured his emotions into his music was like giving any listeners a look straight into his very heart and soul.The corners of Will’s mouth quirked up into a small, sincere smile as he watched, one that truly made him seem like he was shining with all the light of the sun. He silently made his way to one of the armchairs in the room, sitting and watching his parabatai play. As he listened, he could feel himself relax. Jem did have that contagious aura of his hanging around him. Everyone near him seemed to always be affected by it, and Will was no different. If anything, Will much more affected by Jem’s aura.When Will’s eyes began to droop closed, Jem’s music finally cut short, the last notes ringing in the air before fading into nothing.“Glad to see you’re still alive and well,” Jem said, placing his instrument on the grand piano and sitting across from Will. “Charlotte was throwing quite a fit when we couldn’t find you.”“I wasn’t aware that my presence was required.” Will rested his head back on the back of his chair.“We were both supposed to go to the Lightwoods’ with the others.”Will looked up at Jem. “Then it is a very good thing that my memory is fading as I reach such a great age.”Jem chuckled at his parabatai and rested his chin on his fist. “What unfortunate event caused you to stay behind as well?” Will asked.“I stayed to be sure that you didn’t get into any trouble while unattended.”“I suppose that is a good enough reason to justify not visiting the lovely Lightwoods.”Jem studied Will for a minute, noticing the slight tenseness in his shoulders and the slight clench of his jaw. “What’s the true reason for you staying behind?”Will blinked at his friend. Normally Jem would just accept whatever strange explinations Will gave him, even if he didn’t believe them. He rarely asked for the actual reason.But presented with this strange turn of events, Will found himself almost longing to tell his parabatai about his curse. He could confess the horrible secret he had held so close in the shadows of his heart for so very long. It would just take a few words. A demon cursed me. Whoever loves me dies. That was it. Will believed that Jem would take his dirty secret in stride, but that was selfish thinking to believe that. How would Jem feel if he knew that—for all of these years—Will might as well have been killing him. That Will knew what would happen to Jem, but he still let it happen? They may be closer than brothers, but there had to be limits, right?And so Will squashed that little bit of longing. He could never tell Jem. He couldn’t handle Jem hating him. He could live with everyone else hating him, but never Jem.“I enjoy causing problems,” Will said finally.Jem raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”“Quite.”“If you say so,” Jem said, standing up. “Do you want to go to Hyde Park?”“And frolic amongst the ducks? I’d much rather go frolic amongst the Lightwoods.”“I’m going to Hyde Park,” Jem announced, ignoring his parabatai and heading for the door. “Join me if you wish.”“But what about the ducks?” Will asked, standing as well.“They’re just ducks, Will. They can’t harm you.”“Yes they can,” Will grumbled. But he followed Jem out the door, and the two went to Hyde Park. But when Jem decided to feed the ducks, Will stayed far away from the little bastards that, he thought, were much, much more damned than he was.
1065261	Thanks Mate	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik, Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson", "Fandom": "One Direction (Band)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by waffleironman", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2013-12-01T00:00:00", "words": "10,447", "Additional Tags": "Fluff, theres sex in this omg, What am I doing, Sleeping Together, Niam - Freeform, im sorry this is so bad, Friends to Lovers, idk how to tag", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": "Niall Horan/Liam Payne, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson", "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Niall likes to cuddle. All of the boy realize this early on in the band. It's a pretty easy thing to live with since they're all pretty affectionate people. So, when Niall's in one of his clingy moods and he wraps his arms around Harry or pretty much attached himself to Zayn, it's normal. At least, during the day. If Niall were to sneak into Louis' or one of the other boys rooms at one am to cuddle, there's a good chance they'd tell him to go back to sleep and kick him out of their room. Liam isn't sure why he didn't just to do that the first time. He realizes now, as he lay awake at three am with Niall pressed against his chest, quietly snoring, he should have just done that. But no. He didn't. The first time Niall ended up in his bed, they were staying at some hotel in France. Liam had woke up at almost two am to the sound of knocking. He was sure it was Harry. Figure he had forgotten his room key. He was the only one he hadn't seen return to a room. But, there's a good chance he's still with Louis. They had each given Liam a spare key to their hotel rooms usually. After a few too many incidents where they'd get locked out. He wasn't the only one with another's key though. Zayn has an extra to his usually. And Louis and Harry go to each others room so often they get extra keys too. So, Liam opened the door, he couldn't tell who it was right away, the light from the hallway nearly blinded him. After a second of blinking, he realized it was Niall standing in front of him. "D'you forget your key?" Liam yawned, and leaned against the doorframe sleepily.Niall shook his head. "I can't sleep, and I was wondering if I could come in here with you." He said quietly, sounding a bit like a child. Liam felt a tiny bit of protectiveness wave through him at the sleepy, nervous tone in the Irish boy's voice So, he nodded and took his forearm and led him over to his bed. He doesn't really know why he choose to automatically take Niall to the bed he was sleeping in, seeing as there was another right across from it. But, he's tired so he was just gonna write it off as that. "So what's wrong?" He asked, as he sat them both down on the side of the bed. "I just can't seem to sleep. Didn't wanna be alone." Niall leaned over and put his head on Liam's shoulder, and his arms around his waist. "'m better now, with you." Liam put his arm around Niall and absentmindedly rubbed soothing circles into his back. "Well, we should get some sleep now, c'mon." He moved until he and Niall were both laying in the bed together. Niall wasted no time before he was on Liam again. His head on his chest and one arm slung over him, as well as a leg. Liam let him do it. It was only one night, and there was something comforting about the other boy sprawled across him. So, he put one arm around him, and rested the other on his waist. After all, it was only one night. But, one night became six nights over the course of a little under two weeks. Niall would knock on his door, and Liam started to expect it. He'd just open the door and walk back to his bed, lay down and wait for Niall. He wanted to mind it more than he did. He just couldn't find it in himself to dislike the new habit. It wasn't exactly easy to deal with, especially when Niall would wait until after Liam is already in a nice, comfortable, deep sleep. But, it goes on for a few more nights and neither of them talk about it much in the morning. Niall usually just says "thanks, mate." And Liam yawns and realizes Niall's gone before he can reply. He guesses Niall doesn't want the other boys to find out about it. And he can't blame him. It would be rather embarrassing if one of them found them like this. But then one morning they over sleep. Liam knows its because they were up later than usual, talking. It hasn't been until three thirty that Niall noticed Liam was half asleep, and so was he. So, he laughed a little when Liam's head dropped onto his chest, and told him they should really sleep now. But he sorta guess Liam was already there. That morning when they over slept though, both boys regretted having a nice conversation with each other when the door swung open and they woke up to Zayn laughing and saying "Oh my god." Liam raised his head off of Niall's shoulder and blinked at Zayn for a minute as the situation sunk in. "Shit. No. Zayn it's not-" Zayn laughed even harder. "Sorry, I uh, didn't mean to disturb the honeymoon." Niall lifted his head and looked at Zayn and smiled. "Mornin', Zayn." He greeted him before he looked over at Liam, then back to Zayn. Then he got it. He sat up quickly and his eyes widened. "Uhm, this looks bad, doesn't it?" Zayn shook his head, still laughing. "No, no." He waved a hand, "Just looks like you two shagged." "We did /not/ shag." Liam affirmed, standing, letting the covers fall off of him. "See? Fully dressed." Zayn nodded, "Yeah, okay. You too then?" He asked Niall. It was clear the Irish boy was shirtless, but Zayn was having a lot of fun with this. Niall looked between the two nervously. "Well, I'm not naked." "Alright. Stand up then." Zayn challenged, smirking. "Fine." Niall got up, throwing the covers off of him. "Not naked." Zayn let out a howl of laughter. "You're in your underwear, mate." Liam brought his hand to his forehead, sighing frustratedly. "Why aren't you wearing trousers?" "It was hot last night!" Niall defended. "And when I came in here I forgot to." "So you just snuck through the hall in your pants?" Liam asked, wide eyed. Like Niall had done something insane. "How many times have you done this?" "Is this a thing for you two?" Zayn asked. Liam was cursing himself for giving Zayn his spare key. But, it had been reasonable. They all knew if they got locked out of their rooms, Liam had another key. But what if Liam got locked out of his? Zayn had offered to keep a spare for Liam and Liam thought that was a good idea. He hates that idea now. "No. It's not a thing." "It's kind of a thing." Niall said, looking at Liam, reminding him of an offended girlfriend. "No, it's not." Niall crossed his arms, "I kinda thought it was." Zayn watched them in amusement, covering his mouth to stifle a laugh. "Louis called it." Niall and Liam both turned to him at the comment. "Called what?" Niall asked. "He said you two would be together within the year, I didn't think he was right at first, but-" "We're not together." Niall said, slowly. "We just slept together." Liam's face met his palm once again. "So it's just sex?""Sex?" Niall repeated, "no, I really mean just sleeping together." Zayn scoffed. "For now." He said under his breath. Just loud enough for Liam to hear it. "So what did you need exactly?" Liam asked him, impatiently. "Just wonderin' if you were gonna come down and get breakfast with us. Louis was going to check on Niall but-" As if he heard his name, Louis appeared in the doorway, looking thoroughly confused at first. "Niall won't answer his door," he said to Zayn, unaware of the blond in the room. "If he's slept past breakfast, I think we can only assume he's dead." But then he looked over Liam's way, and saw Niall across from him. "There you are, Niall!" He smiled widely, only for a second before his face fell into confusion again. "Where are your clothes, man?" Liam let out a very frustrated sigh before walking away to retrieve the outfit he'd be wearing today from his still packed suitcase. Louis watched as he did so, before looking at Niall and noticing the blush on his cheeks. "Oh, I knew it." "No, you didn't." Liam said, throwing his t-shirt on. "Yes, I did. I believe Harry owes me ten bucks and a blowjob." Louis said, matter of fact. Liam rolled his eyes. "Niall and I aren't together. He just sleeps in the same bed with me sometimes." "Same goes for Harry and Lou, I guess." Zayn commented on his way out of the door. Louis laughed loudly and followed him, shouting "come meet us in the lobby" behind him as he left. Niall stood there awkwardly looking at Liam a minute before saying "I forgot my key last night, and I gotta get dressed so-" Liam tossed him the spare room key and sighed. Niall caught it effortlessly. "Thanks, mate." He said, like every other day as he walked out the door. Later, as they were having breakfast, Liam expected to return from the toilet to a normal -normal to them at least- conversation. Something not about he and Niall sleeping together. But as he sat down, he watched Niall's face turn redder and redder, and Zayn, Louis and Harry laughed harder. "What are you all on about now?" Liam asked, taking a bite of his toast. "Lou and Zayn just filled me in on your and Niall's wild night." Harry explained, smiling. "I thought Louis was mad, saying you and Niall would be together within a year. I mean, year an a half, two years, sure." He shrugged, and continues. "But wow, -and it's only march right?" Louis nodded, "You lost a bet, Styles." He said, gruffly. "when do I get my payment?" "I'm tryin' to eat here, guys!" Zayn yelled wen Harry shot Louis a /look/ that they all knew too well, and leaned over to kiss him. "Niall and I just slept together," Liam tried to explain, ignoring the PDA. "We just...slept together." "Well, whatever you say." Zayn shook his head and continued to eat, then turned to look and Harry and Louis who looked like a newly wedded couple. "Oi!" Zayn hit Louis on the head. "Keep it in your pants until at least noon, will you?"That night, Liam figured Niall wouldn't come after all the teasing they went through that day. He knew if the roles were reversed he'd just avoid any further teasing and stay in his own bed. He expected Niall to do the same. He was wrong. It was only midnight when he heard knocking on his door. He got up and let Niall in wordlessly and walked to the bed, getting on what he now thought of as his side of the bed. He slept on the right and Niall the left. He hates that they had sides of te bed. Like a married couple. "Hi, Liam." The Irish boy said, quietly. He situated himself until he was rested on Liam's chest, arms around each other and legs tangled. Liam wished he disliked the position. "I didn't think you'd come." He whispered. "I thought about it. Like, you know Zayn will be here trying to catch us at again." He replied, "but, when I tried to sleep, I couldn't. I think I've gotten used to this." Liam nodded. He would have admitted that he too was unable to sleep, that he had missed Niall's body heat, but he didn't. He couldn't let himself. "Yeah, I get it." There was a little bit of silence, Liam thought maybe Niall fell asleep, but when he looked down, his gaze was met with blue eyes gazing back at him and his breath caught a bit. He didn't really know why. "You alright?" Niall asked, concerned, leaning closer. Liam nodded again, and coughed a little. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." Niall raised an eyebrow but let it go and silence fell once more. Liam ended up breaking it, as he stared at the ceiling, "Niall?""Mmm?" The blond sounded half asleep. "Why do you only do this with me?" He finally asked. He's been wondering since they started. Why him? Why not Zayn? He understands why no one would chance going Ito either Harry or Louis rooms at night, but it still didn't answer what he'd asked. Niall shrugged against Liam's body. "I like you. You're the comfiest, and you're cute." Liam looked at him questionably, although Niall's eyes were closed and Liam isn't sure he even knows what he's even saying right now. "Okay." He replies slowly. "We should probably sleep." When he only gets a quiet snore in reply about ten seconds later, he lets himself also drift into sleep. When he wakes in the morning, the bed is Niall-less. He ignores the pang of disappointment and gets up. He finds a piece of paper on the left nightstand that reads "thanks, mate. x" in Niall's hand writing. He smiles at the note, despite himself. He folds it up neatly and puts it in his bag. It doesn't even occur to him to throw it away. The next few nights are somewhat normal. Liam ended up unlocking the door before bed so Niall could just walk in. He figured he'd be asleep by the time Niall came around, however, he was just laying in the half empty bed, staring at the darkness, waiting. He told himself he was waiting for Niall because he didn't want him to disturb his sleep and he just couldn't sleep while he was waiting. He pushed away the thought that maybe he just couldn't sleep waiting for Niall because he missed his presence. Eventually, the familiar knocking came and Liam's stomach did a weird flip that he didn't understand. He ignored it and made himself get up to open the door. "Hey," Niall said, walking in slowly. "I almost didn't come, but, I uh..." He trailed off, looking confused. "Missed me?" Liam smirked, as he and Niall got into the bed. Niall chuckled lightly. "Sort of, yeah.""Me too." Liam said, quietly. Just quiet enough that maybe Niall wouldn't hear. He couldn't decide if he wanted the other boy to hear him. He guessed Niall did hear though. When he saw a blush spread across his face and ears. "You know," Niall started as he wrapped his arms around Liam, pulling him close and tight. "I think this might be weird." Liam scoffs a little. "Really? Two guys not being able to sleep without each other. Nah, not weird." "Louis and Harry don't make it look weird." "They also suck each off before going to sleep. So far, that isn't part of our night time schedule." Niall laughed, the air ghosting over Liam's neck, almost making him shiver. Made him feel something he doesn't know how to explain. "So far? You got plans for me, Liam?" Niall smirks, looking up at him and Liam has to catch his breath. Is it warm in here? Maybe there's too many covers. He certainty my feels like its stuffy. "No, I was joking I, uhm, it was a joke." Liam frantically explained, coming off just as nervous as he felt. "You sure? You're getting kinda jumpy now, I've found your hidden plans." "No, no. I-" Niall cuts him off by leaning up and kissing Liam's cheek, softly before cuddling into his side. Liam knew it wasn't the first time Niall had kissed him, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Niall was by far the mist affectionate boy in the world's most affectionate boy-band. But Liam's face burned in the best way where Niall's lips had touched him, and he was slightly stunned. The contact had woken something inside him. Something good...he thinks.He wants to look at Niall and say something, but words fail him and Niall's eyes are closed, and he's whispering, "Goodnight, Liam." So Liam just replies with a soft "night, Niall." and stares at the ceiling for basically the rest if the night, his cheek on fire in the best kind of way. Niall doesn't knock on Liam's door the next night. However, a very nervous Liam finds himself at Niall's around ten o'clock. He's the one knocking this time. He waited for what he thought had to be hours, laying in his bed. It was actually about thirty minutes. But, he just couldn't wait. The warmth on his face was fading and he needed Niall's body heat. He just needed Niall in general. When Niall answers the door, he looks every bit as confused about life as Liam feels. He quickly lets Liam in, and takes his hand to go to what Liam assumes is the bed he really doesn't use. Liam's hand feels like he's stuck it in a flame. It's...nice. It's good. "Everything alright, Liam?" Niall asks, sitting Liam next to him, watching him like he might flee. Maybe Liam's face looks panicked. He feels panicked. He's feeling these things he's not sure he's ever felt. Especially not for Niall. He wants Niall's heat, the heat on his face and hands don't seem to be enough. He wants it everywhere. He wants Niall. The realization hits him as blue eyes meet his own, and the feeling sinks deep into his heart ad warms him a little. Not enough, but it'll do for now. Niall keeps watching him, keeps their hands intertwined, keeps himself next to Liam. Liam shakes off the feeling, ignores it. He decides this is not the time for such feelings and tries to wash it away from his current thoughts. He manages a small laugh. "I'm fine, Niall." He says, Niall's face says he clearly isn't buying it, so he adds "really." Like it'll help. "You sure?" Liam nods and leans closer. He watches as Niall's eyes track his movements. He sees blue eyes widen when Liam leans into him a little and decides he should go for it. He presses his lips to Niall's forehead and he hears a feels Niall's sharp intake of breath before a deep, relaxed exhale. He's eye to eye with Niall when he says "I'm fine." That seems to be enough for Niall now and he nods. He doesn't say anything, but he nods. "So, I was wondering if I could sleep in here? Or if you were coming to my room? I just..." Liam trailed off, trying to word it. "Missed me?" Niall didn't smirk as Liam had when he said the same thing. He looks like something just made sense to him. "Yeah." Liam smiled, Niall grabbed his hand and blushed a little. "Me too," he whispered and it hung in the air for a bit. They both felt like something was supposed to come next. But, neither of them knew what. There was just a feeling ...a feeling like they had forgotten something. Something came next, but what? Niall pulled Liam until he was on the right side of the bed and Niall on the left, as usual. Once they were settled, arms around each other and legs tangled, both boys comfortable. Liam noticed they were closer tonight. Niall was in his space an he didn't even mind. They talked for a few minutes, exchanging easy conversation and enjoying time together. Liam started getting more and more tired and his replies got shorter and shorter until eventually he just hummed and agreement and blinked a few times. "Tired, mate?" Niall laughed, but it turned into a yawn. Liam nodded and smiled sleepily. "A bit." "So am I." Niall seemed slightly closer now, and Liam could still pretty well see his eyes even in the darkness. "How about we call it a night?" "Good idea," Liam agreed. Niall took a breath and smiled at Liam. "Goodnight, Liam." Before Liam could reply, he felt warm, soft lips against his. Moving slowly, waiting for a response. Niall didn't think he even would get a response, so he almost pulled away, but as soon as he started to, something kicked in Liam's brain and made him kiss him back. He moved his arms until they were around Niall's neck, the other boys's arms found their way around his waist. They moved together, heat suddenly finding its way into the kiss. They were both exhausted not two minutes ago, but a slight second wind hit them as their tongues ran across each other. Niall moved until they were turned so Liam was laying on top if him, hands now in his blond locks. They both realized this was overly delayed. This is what they had forgotten, this is what came next. Liam barely even registered what was happening, but he heard Niall moan and felt his hips rocking against his and he didn't care what was happening. It felt good. So, he continued to press their clothed dicks together, both hard already. Niall was grabbing at Liam frenetically, first his arms, then his waist and then his ass. He wanted to touch anything and everything he could. Liam pulled back for just a second to look at Niall, to see him an make sure this was happening. When he looked at Niall, he looked breathless. His lips were swollen ad he looked just about totally wrecked. "This okay?" He breathed out. Liam nodded and started kissing him again. "S'good." He said against his lips. "Want more." Niall let out a small whine from the back of his throat and nodded. "How much do you want?" "Everything," Liam said, "anything." He kissed him deeper and deeper ad eventually he pulled away, looked him in the eyes and whispered "I just want you." Niall didn't wait for Liam to confute kissing, he leaned up and started it again. Liam was surprised by fingers dipping into his waistband, he had lost contact with Niall's lips as he gasped and moved back at the touch. Niall raised his eyebrow, breathing heavily, his expression asking a question that words couldn't right now. "Yeah," Liam said quickly. "I'm sure ." Their lips met again and Niall didn't hesitate and started pulling Liam's bottoms down until they were around his knees, Liam caught on and did the same to him. Liam leaned down and pressed their cocks together again, sending sparks of electricity throughout their bodies. He bit back a moan and started a rhythm. Niall met his movements, moaning somewhat loudly when Liam's hand wrapped around their dicks now, pumping quickly, catching precum and spreading over them. Liam was close, he could feel himself start to loose control of his hand and he knew Niall was close when he threw his arms around his neck and pulled him down into a rough, sloppy kiss, cussing through it. Niall thrusted into Liam's hand, explored his mouth with his tongue, and groaned low, but loud. "Liam, fuck fuck fuck, Liam." He said, "almost there, babe. Oh god, fuck yes." Liam moaned out his name, and knew this was it. It was over. With Niall rocking against him, and the noises that he kept making, Milan couldn't last any longer. "Niall, I'm gonna-" "Me too, babe. C'mon. Just..." Niall's sentence broke off into the filthiest moan Liam has ever heard, he felt Niall's cum over his fingers and a switch went off an Liam was cumming harder than he had in years, almost shouting the other boys's name. "Shit," Niall muttered,breathing heavy. "Liam...fuck." Liam lay next to him, staring at him in slight wonder. "What was that?" Niall smiled and leaned over to kiss him, "Perfect." Needless to say, the next morning was awkward. When Liam woke up, half of him was convinced last night was a dream. It had to be. But when he blinked his eyes open better, and looked at Niall, it was feeling more and more real. Shit. Great. It was great. Really, what they had done, it felt great. It felt great, beautiful, hot, overdue, meaningful, crazy, dumb and overall confusing. But, they could figure it out. Niall's eyes opened and found Liam's. "Mornin'," he smiled. And then Liam realized, this was the first morning greeting he's revived from Niall. Usually it's "thanks mate.", and then he's gone. And that's only if he's there when Liam wakes up. Liam doesn't reply at first. Instead he just blinks at the other boy, too many emotions running through him for his brain to process a reply correctly. Niall was talking again before Liam could. "So, last night we, uhm..." He trailed off and cleared his throat. "You wanna get some breakfast?" Liam nodded quickly. Thankful for the change if subject. "Breakfast sounds good." He was pretty glad they weren't talking about it. Not right now at least. That's okay. Because they could figure it out later. The pair met the other boys for breakfast about a half an hour later. Zayn was looking at his phone when they arrived, and Harry and Louis were so wrapped up in each other that Liam guessed that the world could come to an end and they wouldn't know. Zayn looked up when Niall and Liam sat down, neither boy making eye contact. Liam suddenly hated how well they all knew each other. "Wow. Okay, you guys shagged." Zayn said, smirking. Harry looked over and nodded. "That's Niall's 'I got lucky' look." "How would you possibly know that?" Niall demanded, sounding slightly dumbfounded. "How could you guys look at us and think we..." He trailed off, unsure how to finish. "Well," Louis spoke up. "We're all adults here except for Zayn," he said calmly. "Just tell us. Did you two do it?" He took a bite of his food and waited for a response. "So?" "We didn't..." Liam made an unusual motion with his hands. "Not technically, anyway." Niall shrugged, grabbing something off of Harry's plate. They all stared at him with mouths open and shocked expressions. "What?" Harry blinked. "What did you guys do then?" Louis asked. "I knew it." Zayn crossed his arms. "It was just..." Niall searched for the words. "We just..." "Nothing." Liam sighed and put his head in his hands. "It wasn't nothing." Niall said, crossing his arms. Zayn huffed a laugh. "So, it was meaningful not-sex? What was it?" "We had sex kind of! Okay? We didn't go all the way, but there was hand stuff and I...why am I saying this?" Liam snapped and then sighed, frustrated. Zayn, Harry and Louis all stared at him, mouths open and shocked again. Niall sunk in his seat and tried to make sure Liam didn't see him laugh. But, it was kind of funny, right? Maybe he was laughing way too hard, because Liam turned to glare at him. "You think this is funny, do you?" He crossed his arms. Niall looked up at Liam and the stern expression somehow made this funnier and Niall answered with a howl of laughter. "Niall!" "We just had sex, Liam. Not like we murdered anyone, right?" He said, laughter slowing down. "So, are you guys together or...?" Harry asked slowly. "Nah," Niall shrugged. "Last night was nice but, hey, we're just two really frustrated mates. It didn't really mean anything. Right, Liam?" Liam looked at him for a second, suddenly expressionless, before nodding slowly. "Right." He said, "It didn't mean anything." And that's what he told himself at eleven thirty when he was brushing his teeth, and at eleven forty five when he was flipping through the TV stations, again at midnight when he finally laid down, and one more time when he watched the clock turn to one am. Throughout his hour of staring at the darkness, he felt his emotions start to change. He went from somewhat annoyed to full blown anger within that time and at one thirty five, he was banging on Niall's door. Niall opened It up quickly and blinked at the light, his face clearly suggesting he'd been asleep. "Liam?" He sounded surprised, and couldn't figure out why. They'd been doing this for nearly two months now, and he's gonna be surprised? Liam's anger flew through him. He didn't want to acknowledge how much the comment of "it didn't mean anything" hurt him, but now here he is. He's hurt, and annoyed and confused. He had planned so much to say, all sorts of run on sentences and insults and even a few good points about how if it didn't mean anything and he didn't mean anything to Niall, why the hell hasn't Liam barely had his own bed in months? But once the Irish boy opened the door, Liam's fight was basically gone and all the great words of anger turned into stutters of hurt and desperate feelings. He wanted to say something, anything, everything. But instead he let out a very frustrated noise and backed away. Niall's eyes followed him. He looked confused and worried. "Did you wanna come in or...?" Liam took a breath before grabbing Niall's face and bringing their lips together. He kissed him roughly, like if he didn't he'd explode and this was his only hope. Niall kissed him back, he moved his hands to Liam's head and he moved with him, going inside the room. Liam shut the door with his foot. They didn't break apart though. Niall was moaning and biting at Liam's lip, Liam was pulling Niall as close as he could get him by the waist. They didn't move from each other until Liam's legs hit the bed. "Now," he panted, "tell me that didn't mean anything." He hadn't planned on that, it just sort of happened. But, it worked out, he thought. Niall breathed heavily, sitting on the bed looking up at Liam with this pitiful look that made Liam want to hold him despite his hurt feelings. "I can't." Niall said. "See? I knew it. I knew it meant something to you!" Liam started. "Niall, it meant something to me too and I just-" "No." Niall shook his head. "I mean, I can't do this." Liam stopped everything. Words, movements, breathing. He just sort of stood there frozen for a second before blinking and standing right again. "Can't do what, exactly?" Niall sighed and put his head in his hands. "Look, mate. This all started pretty ridiculously. I mean, one night I couldn't sleep and a few months later we're gettin' each other off." His words were hard to hear since his face was covered, but Liam caught when he said "and maybe I came to you because I've had a...I dunno, a thing for you." Liam raised his eyebrows, his stomach doing a flop and a twirl, his breathing paused as he continued to listen. "It wasn't like a proper, out right, total crush." Niall went on. "Not at first." Silence hung for a few seconds but it felt like an hour. "And now?" Liam said, very quietly. Barely daring to move. Niall looked up at him now and blinked. "Now, it's grown. It started out like, I knew you were hot and I sorta liked you. It was never anything is act on. I'd never dream of it. It was like 'wow, my friend is really sexy and awesome.', you know?" He looked at Liam like maybe Liam would answer or something but Liam just gave a tiny shrug, mostly letting all this sink in. "And, you know, now..." He took a breath. "Now you're like, everything I think about. No matter what I'm doing there's this little Liam thing in my brain that won't turn off. It's so damn annoying sometimes." Liam searched for a reply, he tried to think about it over and over, but came up with nothing for the most part. "So, what can't you do?" He asked sitting across from Niall on the other bed. "Any if this." He said. "Liam, you do mean something, what we did meant something, that kiss five minutes ago meant something. But, I don't think I can go any further." "Niall, I never asked you to marry me," Liam started, "I just...I mean, was ever this gonna go somewhere?" "For a minute last night I really thought it could." "And now?" Liam repeated, scooting toward the edge of the bed closer to Niall. "Now I'm...I'm really thinking and it doesn't seem like a good idea." Liam nodded, he didn't really understand but he figured there was no reason to. What good would it do? "Yeah, this was kind of nuts to begin with." "Yeah." Niall smiled a little bit. "Last night was actually pretty great though." "That it was." Liam felt himself grin despite how he felt. But, the memory was a strong one and it overpowered everything else for a minute. He just remembered how Niall had looked, underneath him and the sounds he had made and the way his hips had rocked against Liam's own. And he remembered feeling amazing for reasons he knew were not purely sex based. He also know he couldn't force Niall to want this as bad as he did. So he let it go. For the next better part of a month, Niall and Liam went back to sleeping alone. They didn't fight or anything, but they didn't really hang out or talk a lot lately. Mostly it was work related, or small talk. Anything else made them uneasy and if the other three boys had noticed, they didn't notice. Not having each other at night started to get easier. But, for the first week Liam doesn't remember getting more than four hours a night. Although, eventually he did get more rest, the first week Harry referred to him as "Zombie Liam", but caught on quickly to what was going on. Liam figured that out one day when Harry had pet his head for a minute and asked him if he wanted any brains then offering his own. ("I bet my brain taste pretty good to a zombie. I'd reckon Lou's would taste best though.") Zayn had arrived in Liam's room one early morning, excited about something, just about knocking the door down before letting himself in. Liam had blinked himself awake and glared at the other boy for the noisy awakening. "Good, you're up!" He beamed, rather obnoxiously, Liam thought. "Niall here?" He looked around, craning his neck to search for the other boy. "No. Niall isn't here." Liam said, sitting up, throwing the covers off, his tone slightly aggravated. "We haven't...we don't-" he tried to explained but Zayn nodded and cut him off. "Trouble in paradise, huh?" Liam glared at him once more before getting out of bed. "We weren't ever together." He said, throwing in a shirt. "It didn't mean anything." He continues to tell himself that, even though he knows it did and that Niall knows it too. He doesn't realize how painfully obvious his moping is until Louis confronts him. They're all at another hotel, as always these day. They have a couple free days so they've just been goofing off today, hanging around Harry's room. Harry's got some music playing and Zayn and Niall are yelling at each other about some video game they're playing when Louis gets up and grabs Liam's sleeve. "Louis, what are you-" he starts as Louis pulls him up and towards the door. "I've got something in my room I wanted you to see, c'mon." He tells him, and only Harry hears. "Careful, Liam. That's what he told me last night." Harry winks from the bed, looking up from his phone. Liam furrows his brow, but his eyes widen when he gets it and then he's being pulled out of the room. They don't speak until they're in Louis' room with the door closed behind them. Liam gives him a confused look, and opens his mouth to speak but Louis is faster. "So, Harry and I are together." He says, casually. Liam blinks, it's not like that isn't common knowledge in the band. It's like Niall coming to them and being like "I dye my hair." The only reply would be "yes, I've walked in on you doing it. It's fine. Whatever makes you happy." Which is really accurate to Harry and Louis' relationship, because yeah, Liam's walked in on them doing it. "Yeah," Liam says, slowly. "I know." "So," Louis looks at him seriously. "What's stopping you and Niall?" "What?" "You and Niall." He repeats. "Why aren't you together? What happened? You two were like, all cute and puppy love and now you won't even look at him." Liam just sort of stands there, unable to form and answer just yet. He'd make something up or deny all of it but this was Louis, and Louis didn't buy his shit. Liam sighed and sat in front of Louis, looking up at him with what he didn't realize was a pitiful look. "He said it didn't mean anything," "I remember that." Louis nodded. "I also remember it sounding like he was fucking full of it." Liam continued explaining, "Well, then he said it all meant something, but that he couldn't do it. He couldn't go any further. I'm not even sure I understand what that means." He looked down at his hands for a second. "But, I still want him. I still...it's been almost a month, Lou. And I think about him all the time. It's like he never leaves my thoughts. It's so damn annoying sometimes I..." He trails off as it all sort of makes sense. Niall had said the exact same thing about him, and if Liam had gotten it then, he maybe could have talked to Niall about it and worked it out but, at least he's starting to understand it now. And he gets it on his end too. It meant something. It more than meant something. It meant everything. He looked up at Louis suddenly, "I love him." He said, surprising himself. "I really do." Louis stopped looking at him like he was absolutely mad and smiled lightly, crossing his arms. "And you know what else, Liam?" Liam nodded. "He loves me too." "That he does, Li." Louis said, patting Liam on the shoulder. "Now, do me a favor and end all this nonsense, will you? I'm pretty sure if you went to him and maybe kissed him, we could all get on with our lives." Liam chuckled. "Okay, yeah." He took a breath. "Thank you, Lou." "Any time." Louis walked to the door. "Now go get him." "Like...now?" Liam asked, standing up. "Why not? D'you have a date or something?" Liam shook his head before his face broke into a grin. "Thank you, Louis." Louis shrugged. "It's what I'm here for, man." He walks towards the door and says "I'm kind of the voice of reason in this band." When Liam walked back into Harry's room, his eyes caught Niall's instantly. And as he started to think of all the ways he could go over and try to talk to him, instead, he was surprised when Niall came to him, almost immediately and quietly said "Can I talk to you for a moment, please?" He sounded very nervous. Liam nodded, "lets go to my room." "Ooh la la, boys." Harry interrupted, because of course they'd be talking right in front of his bed so he'd hear them. Liam rolled his eyes and started walking out of the door. Niall took his hand and followed him to his room three down from Harry's. When they entered the room, Liam's brain was spinning with possible starters and nerves. But, again, Niall acted quicker. "I'm so sorry, Liam." He said, and it was the most serious Liam has ever seen him look. "I am. I've been a total idiot and I know it. But, I really like you; in fact, I love you." He stopped for a second to breathe and chance a glance at Liam. "It meant something." Liam takes a breath and searches for words, but they all seem to twist and blend up in his mind and he's lost. He wants to say something, something beautiful or maybe a little cheesy, something to describe how much he loves Niall but also how to tell him, yes, you've been an idiot. But, he can't find the words to say all that, so instead he just exhales because he's been holding his breath, and he says "I love you too." Because he does. And Niall's face lights up and he lunges forward to embrace Liam tightly. But, eventually a hug turns into a kiss and a kiss turns into four kisses and then Liam can't breathe. When they break apart, Niall's smiling and Liam still doesn't know what to say. "I wish I had just done this sooner," Niall whispered, stroking Liam's cheek with his thumb. "Harry and Zayn ganged up on be tonight when you were with Lou." He chuckled. "They called me a jackass and Zayn smacked me. But, they made me realize how much I love you, and that maybe you'd love me back." Liam stared at him for a minute. "Louis only took me to his room to talk to me about you." He smiled. "Really?" Niall asks, looking like he's genuinely confused. "They planned this or what?" "Probably." Liam laughed lightly and brought Niall closer. "I suppose we owe them a thank you." "That can wait though." Niall says, before brushing his lips against Liam's gently. "I've missed you so bad. And I know it's cause I'm a jerk-" "You're not a jerk." Liam smiled, "I wouldn't fall in love with a jerk, would I?" Niall beamed at him and shook his head. "Guess not." "Sure, you might've been acting like a bit of a knob, but, I could have done something about it." Liam said, his fingers playing with Niall's hair. "How about you do something about it now?" Niall winked, leaning into Liam's space. Liam raised his eyebrows, laughing. "Niall Horan!" "Well?" Liam kissed him, chuckling through it at first. He pulled the other boy close, but he also stepped backwards, attempting to lead them to the bed. Once he felt the mattress hit his legs, he was pushed down, horizontally laying on the bed, with Niall pressed against him, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Liam figured if there was no tomorrow, he'd like to spend his night like this. "Liam," Niall moaned, his hips jerking forward onto Liam's. Liam continued to run his fingers through Niall's hair, and met Niall's hips. He felt Niall run a hand up his side, under his shirt, lightly. Like feathers. So, he just kept kissing him, because there was a tomorrow and they had all the time in the world. Then Liam started to pull on Niall's jeans and Niall pulled off of him for a second. "You sure?" He asked quietly, breathing heavy. Liam nodded frenetically, and Niall started kissing his neck. When Niall started sucking and biting his neck and grinding his hips, Liam didn't care if there was a tomorrow or not. He needed Niall now. It was all getting too hot. Niall moaned in the back of his throat and his lips found Liam's again, kissing him while his hips stopped long enough to strip off his trousers. Suddenly they were both down to their underwear and shirts. But, Liam started yanking off Niall's shirt just as he made that realization. He stopped caring about whether or not there was a tomorrow and just lived in that moment. When Niall's shirt was gone he took a second to run his finger tips down his abs. Niall could say he didn't really work out much all he wanted, but the proof was under Liam's hand. Niall was back on his lips quickly though. The room felt like it was on fire and Liam didn't know if he was breathing or not. Before he knew what he was doing he had surged up until he was on his elbows, Niall moved with him, still attached at the lips. Liam grabbed on to Niall's hips tightly and flipped them over, so he'd be on top of the other boy. Niall's hips bucked up in search of friction, moans filled the air when he had slid their erections together. Liam nearly collapsed when he felt if, sparks flew up his body. He kissed down from Niall's lips, to his chest, and then back up to his neck. He knew neither of them would last long, especially with the way Niall continued to rock against him. "Ni..." He said quietly, and held down Niall's hips. "Lube." He just sorta blurted it out. "Need lube." Niall huffed out a breath but nodded. Liam pressed a soft kiss to Niall's lips before reluctantly getting up and grabbing the lube from his bag. When he turned around and really truly realized he had a beautiful, sweating, flushed, naked, turned on Niall Horan on his bed, it sort of sent him back for a second. But then Niall locked eyes with him and took hold of his own cock and stroked it a few times and Liam bit his lip and practically growled.He was back on the bed in no time, hovering over Niall, moving his hand away and peppering his face in kisses. He opened the lube with one hand and squeezed some onto his fingers. He looked at Niall before going further, Niall watched him and nodded to go on, stealing another kiss. Liam only pressed one finger at Niall's entrance and Niall gasped. His hands flew out to grip on Liam's shoulders and he tried to get Liam to keep going. He took the hint and started to slide his finger inside Niall. He expected Niall to need a second to adjust but Niall moaned almost instantly when Liam started thrusting his finger slowly. It was only after a couple seconds when Niall had moaned out "More, Liam. Please. More." And if that wasn't the most cum worthy thing to come out of Niall's perfect mouth. Liam stilled for a second to get a hold of himself, then nodded and sliding in a second lube covered finger, not wasting anytime an moved his fingers quickly. Niall's own fingers pressed into Liam's shoulders and he started pressing his hips down, fucking himself on Liam's hand. This boy was going to kill him, Liam decided. Liam was sort of in a daze watching his fingers disappear into Niall's tight heat, but then Niall broke that daze by gasping loudly and bruising his shoulders by gripping them tight. "Fuck fuck fuck, Liam!" His voice got louder until he practically screamed Liam's name. "There. Fucking hell, babe. Right. There." Liam figured it out and pressed his fingers into Niall again, aiming for the spot that made him scream. He had hit it, and Niall moaned loudly when he did. Liam added another finger and started to hit Niall's prostate every other time. "Li...Liam." Niall panted, "not gonna last very long if you keep-fuck." Liam nodded and bent down to kiss his neck as he removed his fingers. He pulled back and reached for the lube again, coating his cock quickly. "You sure?" He whispered to Niall, their faces so close that their breath was mixing until Liam was sure that Niall was breathing for him. Niall nodded eagerly and said "I've wanted this for a while, remember?" Liam grinned and closed the space between them, capturing Niall's lips with his own, and licking into them. He grabbed Niall's legs and spread them somehow further and lined up his dick. Niall reached out to hold on to his shoulder again but, changed his mind and rested his hand on the back of his head, threading through his hair, making Liam shiver. And then, slowly, Liam thrusted into Niall and they both moaned. After a second, Niall was already moving, trying to get Liam to do the same. He did. He started with slow, gentle thrusts, positioning in differently every time until Niall let out loud moan and gripped his arm tightly. "Shit," Niall cursed, squeezing his eyes closed, when Liam hit that spot perfect.Liam's movements sped up slightly and he felt himself get closer and closer to the end. Niall's legs hooked around his waist, trying to get him deeper, harder. Liam took that hint too and slammed into Niall, earning a gasp that turned into a low groan. "Not gonna last." Niall said, his breathing coming hard and fast. "Me either." Liam replied, thrusting faster and harder, making sure to hit Niall's prostate every time. He could feel his orgasm start, and he noticed Niall was just as close as he was. He claimed Niall's lips again, in a bruising kiss, his tongue slid across his lips and was let in eagerly. He pulled away to look at Niall just in time to see his face scrunch up in pleasure as he moaned, once, twice and then his eyes shot open and he screamed Liam's name, coming hard between their bodies, a few more moans escaping his lips. Liam couldn't help it, maybe it was the way Niall screamed his name, or the way he got tighter around Liam's dick as he came, but Liam barely managed to keep himself together. "Oh, god. Niall..." His orgasm hit him hard and he could barely see with the force of it, coming inside Niall and groaning loud. Niall was still blissed out when Liam fell on top of him, taking his weight easy and running his fingers through his hair. "Shit." He sighed. Liam could only nod weakly. Niall wrapped his arms around Liam and kissed his neck lazily. Eventually, Liam found it in him to move off of the other boy reluctantly and he spoke finally. "We should do that more often." Niall let out a laugh and took Liam's hand. "Yeah. I think that's a good idea." He turned to face Liam and his smiled slowly faded as he opened his mouth to speak. "What if we did other stuff too?" To Liam the sentence sounded pretty cheeky, but the serious in Niall's voice told him he wasn't going to make a joke. "Like?" Niall took a breath and looked at their hands instead of Liam's face. "Boyfriend stuff." He said quietly. "Kissin'...dates," he looked at Liam hopefully. "Stuff like that." Liam's face broke out into a stupidly bright grin. "Of course." He nodded. "Niall I don't know if you've forgotten but I thought we went over this. You know? Before we...-" "I was just makin' sure" Niall started, kissing Liam softly, "that you're mine." Liam nodded and found his lips again. "I'm yours." He whispered. Niall moved until he was straddling Liam, still kissing him. Deeper now. No longer just a brush of lips as he had planned before. Liam made a soft noise when Niall licked his way into his mouth, and Niall's cock twitched at the sound. Liam smirked, and reached down to slowly pump Niall's dick, looking up at him purposefully. At first Niall laughed lowly but it turned into a deep moan when Liam twisted his hand. "So, I guess we're not gonna sleep yet?" Niall's breath was hot and wet and right in Liam's ear. Liam shuddered. "We've done a fair amount of sleeping the past few months, lets stay up a while, yeah?" Niall leaned down and kissed him hard. When Liam woke up in the morning, he was cuddled tightly with Niall in his arms, both naked and still exhausted. Just as they had fallen asleep. He looked behind Niall to see the clock read nine fifty five in the morning. They were going to be late for breakfast if they didn't get up now. So, Liam kissed Niall's forehead and pressed closer to him, deciding that they could stand to have a late start. After a few minutes of drifting in and out of sleep, Liam was somewhere between the two when he felt lips against his. He kissed back instinctively. Waking up, he opened his eyes to see a blurry Niall kissing him awake. He wrapped his arms around him. "Good morning, Liam." The morning greeting was enough to fill Liam's entire being up with happiness. Realizing that now he no longer had to wonder if Niall would be there when he woke up, or if he'd ruin things between them with a touch. He wouldn't have to sit around and wish that he as Niall would just be able to face their feelings. He could just enjoy Niall. Yeah, he owed the boys a big thanks. Liam practically attacked Niall's face with kisses, climbing on top the other boy, covers wrapped around them hazardously. "I reckon it is a good morning then?" Niall laughed. "The best." Liam said between kisses. Eventually things settled down and the two laid together, kissing slowly, neither much caring to get up just yet. Although a toothbrush would do them each good. The two were so tied up in their deep kisses and occasional hushed words, they didn't hear the door click unlocked, or notice when Zayn walked in. They did however notice his yell if "Oi! You two are worse than Harry and Lou!" -it was hard to miss. The two broke apart, and due to their moving around a bit before, Niall was about hanging off the bed, but promptly fell when they scrambled apart.Liam was glad to be coved up, but couldn't say the same for Niall. Thankfully he had fallen on the side if the bed forest from Zayn so nothing could be seen when he kneeled up on his knees and looked at Zayn casually. "Morning.""Are you naked?" He snickered, looking at them both. "No." Niall shrugged. Zayn started walking towards him and he attempted to get in the bed carefully. Liam just watched, rolling his eyes as Zayn ran to the bed. "Bloody fuck, Horan!" Zayn laughed. "Well, why the hell do you want to see me naked so bad?" Niall crossed his arms after successfully sliding into bed under the covers. "Pervert." Zayn continued to laugh a second before saying, "If you two would like to take a break from snogging and shagging, you can join us for breakfast." He shook his he's. "I swear, there's gotta be something in the water. Just had to give Harry and Louis the same bloody talk." "That's nothing new is it?" Liam said. "Sure isn't, Liam." Louis appeared, and looked rather smug. Whether it was because he had talked Liam into clearing things up with Niall and it had clearly all worked out, or because he just got lad, Liam couldn't tell. "Is Harry ready yet?" Zayn asked, sounding impatient. "Calm down Malik! We all can't wake up with perfect hair like you." He tousled Zayn's hair as he walked into the room. "So things here went well, yeah?" He smirked at Liam. Liam groaned. "Can you two please leave? Or at least shut the door?" Louis shrugged. "You could have put trousers on before ten in the morning.""And so could've you!" Zayn said, to Louis. Harry knocked on the door frame, appearing out of breath. His skin was also slightly flushed and his hair was fairly wild. Liam was pretty sure Harry hasn't much worked on it. "Ready to go?" "I am!" Louis raised his hand and started walking out, kissing Harry as he left. Harry instantly followed him, smiling. "Put on your clothes, love birds." Zayn winked as he shut the door. Liam looked at Niall and shook his head. "They're all idiots." Niall laughed and kissed him as he got out of bed and got dressed. Once they were both dressed and ready Liam started heading out the door. Niall stopped him before his hand touched the knob. "What?" Liam asked quietly, a tiny bit afraid that Niall was about to ask to be just friends and nothing more, and they'd go through this again and Liam didn't think he could take it. But the fear left as quick as it came when Niall kissed him gently, cupping his face with his hand. "That's all." He smiled, walking out the door in front if Liam. Liam sighed and smiled back. "You're so cheesy, Horan." "Thanks, mate." Liam stopped at the choice if words, he felt like the past couple months had just hit him hard in the face. He felt like he had heard that in Niall's hand writing. But then he felt an odd sense of accomplishment. Which, he wasn't sure why. He really owed the boys a thanks. Seriously. They arrived ten minutes later than Zayn and three minutes earlier Harry and Louis. Liam thought they all left the same time but didn't give much thought to why Harry and Louis were later. Though, all of them were glad Zayn had already ordered for them. "I swear, you're all a bunch of rabbits." Zayn commented when Liam and Niall sat down. "And now we see the wild Bradford bad boy, he appears to be very angry." Louis starts in a dramatic tone, leaning closely to Zayn. "We can only guess the cause is that he hasn't been laid in what could be decades." Zayn punched him in the arm. "The sexual frustration causes him to to attack and lash out on the others around him." Louis pressed on. "Leave him alone." Harry laughed. "Yeah, it's not his fault that he's totally unappealing." Niall smirked, "Oh shut up, you lot!" Zayn crossed his arms. "The bad boy begins to pout, unable to withstand light teasing at this point. He really needs to get laid." Louis goes on. "So, are you two dating now?" Harry asks, ignoring Zayn and Louis when they start hitting each other. They're all pretty used to it. "Uhh," Liam blushes and turns to Niall. "I- I guess we-" "If we're still just friends after three rounds of sex last night, then I gotta say, I've never had a friend like Liam." Niall said, casually as he stole something off Zayn's plate. "Wow." Harry said slowly and laughed. "Well, I'm glad it all worked out." "Yeah, thanks to you boys." Liam said, and Niall nodded. "Yeah. We'd still be avoidin' each other and stuff if not for you three." Niall said. Zayn, who had his hair slightly off, turned to Niall. "You two would be all weird and angsty forever if not for my idea of confronting you both." "I like to call it more my idea," Louis said. "But yeah." "It was my idea!" Zayn punched Louis again. "But, you two needed to stop bein' such donuts, yeah?" "Thank you guys." Liam smiled. "You're welcome." Harry took a bite of his food. "And by the way it was technically my idea." "Harry!" Louis look faux offended. "You're trying to steal my idea!"That night, the boys all hung out in Zayn's room. It had been hours and they all knew their free weekend was almost over and they'd have things to do in the morning. -They also knew the best ways to sneak naps here and there so they decided to stay up just a little bit later anyway. But soon Harry and Louis left to Louis' room, in a sudden hurry after Louis had revived a text message and Harry had been grinning wildly for a minute before. Yeah, the others had figured that out easy. Eventually Liam started to feel tired and decided to go to his room as well. He told Zayn good night and patted his head as he and Niall continued their video game. Though he distracted Niall from the game long enough to steal a kiss. He was laying in his bed for almost a half an hour when he finally heard a soft knock. He smiled widely and jumped up to answer it. When he opened the door and saw Niall he couldn't help himself. He threw his arms around his neck and kissed him senseless. Niall wrapped his arms around Liam's middle as he walked them both inside, closing the door with his foot and leading them to the bed. Liam ran his fingers through Niall's hair an his heart felt like it was going to burst. Niall eventually broke the kiss, laughing. "Miss me?" Liam laughed too, and sat on the bed. "I was wondering if you'd come."Niall reached out and took his hands. "Course I came." He shrugged. "Why wouldn't I?""Dunno." Liam chuckled at himself for ever being worried. "Still glad." "I don't know about you but I haven slept very well for the past few weeks." Niall said quietly. "And I figured if we're together, there's no reason for us to sleep alone now, right?" Liam nodded, and grinned up and Niall. Niall kissed him, deep and quick before resting his forehead against Liam's. "I love you,""I love you too." They kissed for a while, and eventually they both made their way into the bed. Laying next to each other, cuddled close, they talked until they were too tired to keep their eyes open and then they talked a little more. Liam started to drift off but forced himself awake one more time. "We should sleep." He suggested. Niall nodded tiredly. "You're right." He sighed. "Don't wanna just yet though." "I'm far too tired to-" "It's not that. It's just...We gotta get up in the morning and I can't just lay here next to you like this forever." He whined. "Kinda sucks." Liam laughed softly. "I agree." He said, stroking Niall's face with his thumb. "But tomorrow when we're dead tired and we need to sit for a second but don't, and you and I haven't been able to get a moment together and it feels unbearable, nothing will change. I'll still be yours. Just remember to meet me back in my room tomorrow night." He kissed him. "And if you don't, I'll come to your room instead." Niall smiled brightly although he looked half dead as it was. "Thanks, mate." Liam took a breath and pressed their lips together one more time. "You're welcome, Niall." They fell asleep in each others arms, cuddled tight together. And when Liam woke the next morning, Niall was smiling next to him.
172670	One Last Night	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Boromir, Faramir", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by weepingnaiad", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2009-02-17T00:00:00", "words": "3,520", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Boromir/Faramir", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Of Elves and Men, Library of Moria", "Fandoms": "Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Boromir’s green eyes gazed around his spartan room. The few belongings that had any meaning had all been given to him by Faramir, the most treasured of which were already safely tucked away in his pack. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. The sparseness of the room echoed the emptiness of his life. He was a warrior, a soldier, a fighter, not a diplomat! His increasingly dark thoughts about the upcoming journey were interrupted by a light tapping on the door. Boromir smiled. He knew who was there. “Come in, little brother.”Faramir opened the door with one hand while holding the other behind him. His blue eyes sparkled with delight as he closed and locked the door behind him. He was determined to banish all melancholy this night so that they both had pleasant memories to hold onto during the upcoming separation. The younger brother stopped after taking a few steps into the room, the sparkle of his eyes dimming. He already missed Boromir and his brother had not even left!Boromir read the path that his brother’s thoughts were taking and determined to distract him. He grinned at his younger brother as he asked, “What are you hiding?” He stalked up to Faramir and circled him, ever closer, but never touching; only teasing. The shorter man had to turn in place to keep his gifts hidden.Suddenly Boromir stopped before Faramir. The heat radiating from the elder man made him flush. He swallowed and met his brother’s intense gaze. “I… I have two things, ‘Romir.” He took a step back, needing to distance himself for a moment. After placing his right hand behind his back, he brought his left forward and presented his brother with a small aged cask. “This is Dwarven brandy. To toast your journey… and safe return.” Faramir’s voice cracked. He had not told his brother of his premonition that they would not see each other again. Licking suddenly dry lips, he handed his brother the box he held. “And, these… these you can guess their use.”Boromir set the cask on the side table and reached for the box, intrigued by the glint in Faramir’s eyes. He lifted the lid and pulled out a pair of black, butter soft, kidskin gloves. The box was tossed aside and the gloves slid on two, large hands. They fit perfectly. Boromir reached for his brother and caressed a smooth cheek. When the younger man shivered at the touch, their eyes met, and Boromir’s other hand snaked around his brother’s waist, pulling him closer as he slowly stroked his gloved thumb along Faramir’s jaw. Their eyes met for an instant before the tension shattered and their lips crashed together.His brother’s moans enflamed Boromir. Faramir was so responsive to his touch, arching into his hands and mouth, aligning their bodies and pressing into his, while eager hands scrabbled to open laces, ties, and buttons, desperate to reach bare skin. When Faramir’s bow-callused palms slid under his shirt, Boromir began to match his brother’s moans. Intense need drove them into a frenzy and clothes soon became tangled in their rush to undress each other without releasing the heated kiss.Boromir pulled back, gasping. He held his brother’s arms as he pressed their foreheads together, eyes closed as he fought to slow their headlong rush. He wanted this too badly, needed his brother as never before, needed to remember every inch of the firm body, his scent, his taste, the feel of his skin. Taking a shuddering breath, he spoke, his voice husky and deep, “You always know exactly what I want and need, little brother… even before I do. Gods, I will miss you!”Faramir recognized his brother’s desire to slow their frenzied pace, to make this night memorable. No words were necessary, they never were. He pressed a chaste kiss to Boromir’s lips and moved to the side table. After taking two goblets from the cabinet, Faramir poured the amber liquid and turned back to his brother. Boromir had removed his clothes, and stood silhouetted by the firelight in naught but tight leather leggings and the black gloves. Faramir gasped as one glove slid down the lightly furred, muscular chest until it rested along the visible bulge in his leggings. The glow from the fire haloed his brother’s form, etching dark grooves into the golden expanse of skin on his chest and abdomen.After Faramir offered Boromir a goblet, they silently toasted each other and sipped the strong liquid. Its flavor blazing on their tongues as it burnt a fiery trail into them before the warmth settled in their stomachs and began to creep toward their limbs, calming them both. Boromir opened his arms, beckoning, and Faramir stepped into his brother’s strong embrace. They stood together in silence, the fire crackling at their backs, as each clung to the other, never wanting to let go. It had been this way from the moment their mother had died. Their father had broken that day and the young brothers had had no one but each other for comfort, since the Steward considered his five and ten year old sons too old for minders. Even now, though he feared being sent for a duty that more suited Faramir, Boromir needed to offer comfort, to be strong for the perfect soul that was his younger brother.Faramir broke the silence, Boromir’s name whispered against his brother’s neck. Boromir looked down, his emerald gaze meeting Faramir’s now indigo eyes. The depth of need and love shining from his brother’s face pierced his heart and he claimed the soft lips gently. Their tongues met and dueled lazily, tasting the brandy and each other. The fire grew and the kisses became more intense as their passion flared.In mere moments, the goblets were set aside and they were on the bed, Faramir splayed out as Boromir tugged at his boots, while he struggled with his shirt. Faramir snorted as his last boot popped free and Boromir fell on his arse. Boromir growled and pounced on his brother, starting to tickle him until the writhing, gasping body arched against him and sent frissons of desire shooting down his spine. Faramir froze at the wicked glint that appeared in his brother’s eyes. His own eyes widened as his arms were pulled over his head and Boromir’s tongue flicked out to tease an exposed nipple. He was too sensitive and overheated and groaned aloud at the light touch.When Faramir reached to tangle his hands in Boromir’s hair to steady himself, Boromir growled and lifted himself to his knees and straddled his brother’s lithe form. He shook his head and pressed Faramir’s hands back over his head. “Nay, little brother. Tonight, you are at my whim and pleasure.” The younger man’s eyes grew wide as Boromir reached and tore away the strip of cloth holding back the bed curtains. He shivered as the soft linen was wrapped around his wrists and he was tied to the headboard. “Much better.” Boromir’s eyes danced over his brother’s bound form; the hastily indrawn breath, the slight sheen of sweat on golden skin, the pink tongue that licked dry lips. He could see the conflict in Faramir’s eyes. His brother was sensitive and needed to touch, to allow his hands to roam as they made love, but he could not when restrained. Boromir leaned down and tenderly kissed his brother, calming and soothing him. “It is my night to lavish attention on you.”Faramir groaned, but nodded. Boromir knew him too well, knew everything that drove him mad. From the look in Boromir’s eyes, it was going to be a long night spent drowning in pleasure. He shivered from longing.Boromir checked the bindings and, once satisfied that they were not too tight, he smirked at his brother before lifting up and sliding Faramir’s leggings off. His arousal bobbed free and Boromir could not resist leaning down for a quick lick along the hard length. Faramir groaned and bucked in response before he was pressed into the mattress. “None of that, or I shall tie your legs… and blindfold you.” Both were idle threats. He would not cover his brother’s eyes. There was nothing more intoxicating than those blue eyes, darkened with desire and then half-lidded from satiation. Boromir basked in his brother’s gaze and would not, this last night, deprive himself of it.Faramir stilled, gripped tightly to the iron rungs he was tied to and tried to do as commanded. His muscles twitched, but he finally relaxed into the mattress and gave himself to Boromir for the night.Boromir felt Faramir relax and the tension slowly uncoil from his body. He smirked and set about to create a completely different sort of tension. Gloved hands began to explore and slide over Faramir’s lightly muscled form. His brother’s skin was light with freckles dotting his nose, his nipples were pink and his body flushed easily. He was so responsive with the softest skin, a smooth, hairless chest, and only a light trail leading from his navel to his groin.Faramir trembled and shivered as the soft leather gloved hands explored and caressed his skin. He wanted to wrap himself around Boromir, to return the attention, but he was stymied by the bindings. He moaned low in his throat as the leather fingers dragged over his nipples and then pinched them. Boromir leaned in and his tongue followed, tasting. The flavor of leather mingled with Faramir’s slightly salty tang. The elder brother groaned in response and sucked the other nipple in, nibbling lightly as his hands roamed higher, stroking Faramir’s neck and cradling his head. Boromir then lifted his head and placed kisses on his brother’s neck. Uncaring of who would see it, he sucked forcefully at the pulse point, dragging a loud moan from Faramir, who tilted his head back and offered more of himself. “Aye!” was the ranger’s only response to being visibly marked and claimed.His brother’s eager response enflamed Boromir and he sought to draw out more of the noises Faramir was making. He slid his teeth along the strong jawline until he was nibbling the sensitive flesh behind his brother’s ear. Faramir thrashed and cried out. Boromir smiled against the warm flesh. He pressed his knee between Faramir’s thighs and held his brother down with his hands. Already Faramir was panting and needy. “Please…” he begged.“Please what, brother?” Boromir’s eyes were mischievous. He straddled his brother and then stretched out fully on him, aligning them and completely covering the smaller form with his own. Faramir closed his eyes and pressed up into an answering hardness. He moaned and tried to form words, but failed. “Tell me, ‘Mir. Tell me what you want.” Boromir’s voice brushed against heated skin.Groaning, Faramir licked dry lips and swallowed, trying to find the words. “I need you, ‘Romir. Take me, claim me, make me yours. I need to feel you… remember… while you are away.”Boromir’s heart swelled. He needed the same, desperately needing to know that his life was not empty and meaningless, that he was loved and wanted. Their next kiss was searing and claiming as tongues and teeth dueled. “I love you, little brother… always.”Faramir could not speak as Boromir gave him what he needed. The elder brother languorously slid down his body, licking and sucking, leaving a trail of love marks in his wake. He bypassed the aching arousal and continued down the long, lean legs, alternating between firmly massaging the muscles and teasingly mouthing them. But his own arousal was pulsing and he was drawn by his brother’s musky scent. Unable to delay any longer, Boromir slid his hands to cup Faramir’s arse. He lifted his brother’s hips and buried his face in the silky curls.Faramir thrashed and begged, “Please! ‘Romir! No more teasing!”Boromir glanced up and met his brother’s needy gaze. He lifted his head and slid his tongue up the pulsing shaft, teasing the slit for a taste of his brother’s pre-come. Faramir groaned, but did not look away. Boromir continued to lick slowly up and down, until he sucked the bulbous head in and lightly grazed his teeth down the shaft as he took the entire length in his mouth. Faramir tried to arch up, but two leather clad hands held tight to his arse, holding him steady. Boromir swallowed, his throat massaging the hard shaft. Faramir gasped and tugged at his bonds. “Stop! Please! Too soon!”Boromir did as asked and let the arousal slip from his lips. He slid his hands along Faramir’s trembling flanks to calm him. They were far from done and he would bide his time. Patience would pay off in this. As Faramir calmed, Boromir began to tease him again. Sliding his tongue slowly along the firm shaft. He then sucked in one tender sac and gently rolled it around in his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth as he grasped the proud erection in a gloved hand and stroked. He was ready for Faramir’s reaction, and kept his brother firmly pressed into the mattress when he tried to arch up and away. The other sac was treated to the same attention while he continued to stroke the younger man’s erection. Boromir smiled around the warm flesh. He loved driving his brother mad.Faramir’s arms began to ache from pulling against his bonds, but he was uncaring as he was slowly being driven out of his mind by exquisite torture. The gloves had been his idea, the feel of soft leather dragging against his flesh arousing, but he had no idea just how good they would feel, or how eagerly Boromir would take to teasing him with them. He could barely form coherent thoughts as he was stroked and teased.Once again Boromir smiled. He knew what he was doing to Faramir. His brother was an open book, never hiding anything from him. Faramir was desperate and half mad from need. Emerald eyes glinted. He would drive his brother over the edge. Both hands moved to Faramir’s arse and lifted his brother. Faramir shifted, bent his knees, and pressed his feet flat to the bed, opening himself up for his brother. Boromir gazed at the puckered opening and slowly swiped his flattened tongue over it and up, wetting and teasing. Faramir gasped and arched up. He was held fast and gloved thumbs reached and spread his cheeks wider, opening him to Boromir’s attentions.Soon the long, slow teasing licks were not enough and Boromir pointed his tongue and stabbed it into the tight hole. The muscle clenched and released as dark flavor burst on his tongue. His moans mingled with Faramir’s as he slowly pressed a gloved thumb alongside his tongue. The tight heat clenched and rippled against the invasion but he pressed steadily onward, still stabbing and licking. Faramir’s trembling intensified as his release began to coil in his groin. Boromir felt the muscles tightening and releasing. He knew what was coming, and pressed the leather covered digit all the way in, firmly dragging over Faramir’s sweet spot.That last touch was all it took and Faramir climaxed. His release slammed through him as he cried out and shuddered while his prostrate was still being massaged, dragging out his orgasm. He collapsed back to the bed, his legs flopped open as every muscle went limp. When he could focus again, he opened his eyes to see Boromir’s smiling face over him. He was kissed gently and he tasted himself, a heady elixir. “Now? Please? ‘Romir? I need you.”Boromir nodded before giving one last lingering kiss. “Aye, ‘Mir. Wet me?” At Faramir’s quick nod and eager lick to his lips, Boromir groaned. He wriggled out of his leggings and moved to his knees, straddling his brother’s chest as he offered his own straining, purple arousal to Faramir’s sweet mouth. He was quickly engulfed and strong suction, as well as a talented tongue, were working their magic on him – too well. He hastily pulled out and mock scolded, “Nay. Not like that.”Boromir shifted down and wrapped his brother’s legs around his waist. He aligned their bodies and guided his shaft to Faramir’s tight heat. Gazing lovingly down at his brother, he paused, questioning, “Ready, little one?”“Aye!” Faramir nodded and arched his hips up, impaling himself.Boromir groaned and finished what Faramir started, pressing all the way home in one long slide. He paused, took a deep breath and blinked back tears. This was where he belonged. This was the only home he had ever known, in Faramir’s arms and heart. His brother wriggled and thrust up. Taking the hint Boromir began to push in and out, thrusting in long slow strokes, changing the angle until he found the spot that made Faramir cry out. He aimed there and pressed forward and back, steadily increasing the tempo until he was pistoning in and out of the tight heat. His release was building and he gripped Faramir’s renewed erection tightly, stroking it in time with his thrusts. Soon the stimuli was too much and he stilled, “Come!” gasped from his lips before his whole body shuddered, two more hard thrusts and his release spilled deep inside Faramir.Faramir moaned and arched into the thrusts. He was getting pounded into the mattress, being claimed, just as he had wanted. Boromir dragged against his sweet spot and he saw stars. Before he knew it, a gloved hand was tugging against his flesh and he climaxed again; his orgasm drawn out by Boromir’s thrusts and the twitching of his spent shaft in his channel as his brother collapsed on him.Boromir lifted himself and gazed down upon his brother’s beautiful face, his lashes brushing the flushed skin of his cheeks. He forced himself to rise, but Faramir used his legs to hold him as he shook his head. “Nay, stay.”Boromir leaned over and kissed his brother’s mouth while untying his hands. “Shhh. I am only going to get a wet cloth to clean us up.”Faramir murmured his discontent but released his hold. Boromir returned with a wet cloth and cleaned them up before tossing the cloth aside and clambering into bed. He pulled the blankets over them and gathered Faramir into his arms, tucking his brother under his chin. “Sleep now, little one. Rest.” Faramir was too spent and sated to argue. He could never deny Boromir, even when he knew he did not want to miss a minute of their last night together. So he slept, peacefully, until shortly before dawn.Boromir held his brother and threaded his fingers through the silky auburn waves. His eyes lingered over the fair face, which looked so young and innocent while asleep, with no cares to mar his beauty. The elder brother drank in each feature, every little imperfection. He etched this moment in his memories, somehow knowing that he would not have this opportunity again. He finally dozed and did not wake until sweet lips kissed him gently and whispered in his ear, “Wake, ‘Romir. It is near dawn. We should be up before Father comes looking for you.”Boromir could not argue, but held Faramir even more tightly and kissed him hungrily. “I will miss you, little brother.” His voice faltered, “I do not want to go.”Faramir responded eagerly, kissing his brother back and pouring the depth of his feelings into this last moment. “I wish it was me, as well. Your place is here, at Father’s side. He does so much better with your counsel. You keep him grounded.”Boromir could only nod before placing a light kiss to his brother’s nose. “And I am no diplomat. But enough of this. Let us greet the day as we always have… our heads held high and proud. We are the sons of Gondor, an inspiration to our people. We cannot be morose or melancholy. Our people need an example in these dark days.”They both pulled away and began to dress in silence. Neither wanted to be parted, but they had no choice. Duty called and they would both do as bid, as they always had.Boromir tucked the kidskin gloves into his pack. He would never part with them, they carried Faramir’s scent. He would always have a piece of his brother with him as long as he had the gloves.Faramir picked up Boromir’s pack as his brother sheathed his sword and tied on his shield and horn. None could help but be inspired by Boromir, and Faramir smiled, pride and love shining from his eyes. They shared one last intimate embrace and kiss before leaving their private world behind.~~~*~~~Faramir stood and watched his brother’s party disappear into the distance. He had been standing at the tower for a long time, the cold air whipping around him. If anyone had seen his tears, he would blame the stinging wind and not his brother’s departure. His heart ached as he waved farewell one last time.The End
181053	After Hours	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Dr K, Flynn McAllistair, Scott Truman, Summer Landsdown, Ziggy Grover, Dillon (Power Rangers)", "Fandom": "Power Rangers RPM", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by Guardian_of_Hope", "chapters": "6/6", "completed": "", "published": "2011-04-10T00:00:00", "words": "4,021", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "The Power Plot", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Set After Ranger Green.As the computers slowed their processors, Dr K picked up the card board box waiting by the printer and headed out into the Ranger Room. As the door to the control room slid shut and sealed she triggered the remote that would open the door to her own quarters. Hidden beside the ranger suite display, the simple door hid a set of rooms that would have roused the envy of the rangers. The entrance was blocked from the rest of the room by a seven foot long wall covered on this side with an array of outer wear, ranging from the white hooded cloak she'd used to rescue Ranger Green through body armor to sub-zero gear. There was even a set of chain mail on the end, a long ago gag gift from her best friend.K set down the box long enough to hang up her lab coat, and then walked down the corridor with it tucked under her arm. After clearing the wall, K stopped long enough to admire the warm and inviting room beyond. Originally, the room had been decorated by one of the top interior designers to make it to Corinth before the dome had been finished, but three years of living had worn off the polished perfection, and a bad habit of 'bringing her work home' had seen to the replacement of the most uncomfortable furniture pieces. In fact, the room was a comforting mix of the ultra-modern, in the chrome and black lacquer shelving around the television and book shelf, to the ultra-shabby, in the faded blue chair that she had insisted on having pride of place before said television.The walls were a warm golden color with images of nature around it to remind her of what they were fighting for. Except one wall. The seven foot wall that created the hall was, in fact, white, a color barely visible around the various frames and pictures that covered the wall down to the ground. The center picture consisted of two dark haired little girls with happy smiles as they hugged each other tight. Around them were other pictures of the pair and of K over the years accepting awards and honors from various places, from a first grade spelling bee to gaining her doctorate in rocket science. She didn't stand long look at the wall, instead, she walked into another of the rooms, the room that had seen the birth of the Ranger Operator Bio-Hardware, or, her lips twitched, the 'glorified spandex' as one of her lab partners had termed it. He'd been fine after the testicle retrieval surgery, but he'd never come back to the bio-electric project.One wall of the nearly bare room had been painted white as opposed to the pale gold of the other three. There were five picture frames that dominated the wall, three of them were filled, but the last two were still blank. K sat the box down on her work table and removed the two empty frames. From the box she took two pictures and put them into the frames before hanging them up. Now the familiar faces of Scott, Summer, Flynn, Dillon and Ziggy look out into the room that had begun everything. From a drawer, K took out some tape and dragged a stool over to the wall. She shifted through the box and came up with a picture and slapped some double sided tape on the back. Reaching up, she planted the image of Ziggy's shadow puppets, claimed from the prison security tapes, below the large picture. It was soon joined by Scott and Dillon, just after the words 'he can make shadow puppets' had crossed Dillon's lips. Summer's confrontation followed soon after.Other pictures, taken since Dillon and Ziggy had arrived in Corinth and captured from the security feeds around the city, joined them. Finally, K took out her personal favorite, a picture she had looked for over several days:Ziggy stood surrounded by the mob bosses, his head high and his features calm. Had the audio track played, he would have just said, "And to some people, even more."Some might have laughed, but to K, this was the moment Ziggy had become Ranger Operator Series Green, even if he still had issues with teleportation. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Flynn poured the blueberry smoothie into a glass with a satisfied smile. In the top went a purple umbrella and straw, making it a perfect drink. He picked up the sandwich he'd already made and headed up the stairs to his room. It took juggling to manage the door with his hands full, but he'd practiced for nearly a year and now knew the perfect way to juggle everything.Once safely inside, he used his elbow to push the lock out of habit and walked over to set the plate and glass down on his desk. Then he collected his sleepwear and went down the hall to the bathroom to shower; which only highlighted the stupidity in his habit of locking his door. Before Corinth, Flynn had been rather indifferent to what he slept in, but after that first middle of the night call after they'd moved in and he'd been wearing just boxers when he'd flown out his bedroom door, Flynn had made a conscious choice about his sleepwear. Now, pajama pants and a t-shirt were the apparel of choice.Once back in his room, Flynn slipped on a set of head phones and took out his journal. Not that he actually recorded his life in the battered spiral the way many did. He had filled the book with amusing stories, quotes, and even drawings to emphasize things. Tucked into the pages were pictures as well, four, in fact, that fell out when he dropped the spiral on the desk. He picked them up and looked at them again. The first was a woman with wispy, brown hair and a tired smile, once she might have been beautiful, but she was now pretty. He smiled sadly as his thumb ran over the edge of the picture and he slipped it back into its place, again securing it with a paper clip.The second picture was a truck, a yellow one with dents and a few rust spots. The bed was slightly off in color from the cab, and the hood was different from both. He smiled; he'd loved that old Chevy. It had been his first truck, bought from the mechanic who had taught him the basics to caring for cars. It had run nearly perfectly up until the day the Grinders came, and he had hated to leave his labor of love behind, but his life had been more than the truck.The third picture also featured a vehicle. It was a Jaguar; however, painted a blue so deep it was nearly black. Standing beside it was an androgynous figure in jeans and leather jacket. The clothing fit, but was also loose enough to hide any gender identity, and the person's face was covered behind a black helmet visor. The background was Corinth, Mac's Garage, in fact. He'd been tempted to show the picture to the others before, but even he knew that they would make a mountain out of a molehill in their search for the identity of JC.The fourth picture was the newest, and it had taken some persuasion from the good Dr K to get it. That day before the wedding paraphernalia had been taken away, Summer had insisted on a picture. Scott and Dillon, as the tallest, were on the outside, with Ziggy next to Dillon and Flynn himself by Scott. Summer had stood before Flynn and Dr K stood, still in the wedding dress she'd put on, between Summer and Ziggy. They all had copies of the picture now, it was an agreed upon favorite. Flynn slipped it under the paper clip on the open page and picked up his pen to write while idly taking the first sip of his smoothie. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- When Summer had first seen her room, she'd fought very hard not to fall back on her old ways. Yes, her closet back home had been of an equal size, and her room at least twice that, but she hadn't used all of the space, it had simply been there for size. Her room now comfortable fit a full size bed, desk and dresser, with her closet sharing the wall with Scott's room, providing a modicum of sound proofing, and her full bath was centered on the wall opposite. Across from the door out into the Garage, however, was Summer's most precious feature. The overly large bay window led out to the fire escape, there was a set of stairs that extended to the ground, and a ladder leading to the roof. Earlier that day, the stairs had given her access to the catwalk when she'd been hunting Tanaya, but it was the roof that made Summer's room worth while.With Dr K's permission, Summer had turned the area near her ladder into a place where she could practice katas, meditate, or even sun bathe, should she have that rare gift of 'free time'. Best of all, the second fire escape let out into an empty room, so she had her sanctuary all to herself. Or at least, she remembered, it had been empty. But Dillon seemed to be content with hiding in his room and had yet to explore the fire escape outside his window.Tonight, Summer hadn't climbed to the roof, but simply sat on the small bench she'd put outside her window and brushed her hair. It wasn't easy to keep her long hair tangle-free, but she was resistant to Dr K's suggestion that she cut it all off. She loved her hair, tangles and all, and it would take a lot more determination to make her chop it off.Once it was brushed, Summer turned to her favorite pastime, jewelry making. She didn't wear jewelry much anymore, but she had found it peaceful to design and put together everything from the simple shell necklace that Flynn always wore, to the tiara that she had used to celebrate her eighteenth birthday a year ago. Tonight, she was working on a necklace for Dillon, similar to the one Flynn wore, and that Scott had, somewhere in that disaster area of a room. For Dillon, Summer had chosen to use only black beads, but to use a few different sizes to give it an aesthetic quality. After Dillon, she had designs for Ziggy and Dr K as well, plans that had been bubbling out of her mind since she'd first realized that Dr K was a girl and that she was forming a friendship with the Green Ranger.A gentle wind blew through the night, and the occasional bird or insect cry made it easy for Summer to forget that she was living in an artificial environment protected by a dome under siege from a computer, and that she was tasked to defend said environment and dome from said computer. For a moment, she was just another girl.She heard the camera near her perch swivel for a moment before turning back to the alley and knew that Dr K had left the control tower, a sound followed by the heavy tread of Flynn, coming up from getting his 'midnight snack', Summer thought with a smile."Que sera seraWhatever will be, will beThe future's not ours to seeQue sera seraWhat will be, will be"Summer's smile grew, even as her curiosity grew, who was playing that song? She didn't think it was Scott or Flynn; they were too much into rap music for this."ZIGGY, SHUT THAT MUSIC OFF!" Scott bellowed suddenly and Summer was hard put to not giggle as the music faded away. Somehow, she hadn't thought Ziggy was the one listening to it, but at the same time, it struck her as amusingly appropriate. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Scott rolled his eyes as the music went silent. Honestly, he worried about Ziggy sometimes; the man must have been dropped on his head as a child or something. He winced slightly and reminded himself that he was trying not to think like that about their green ranger. No matter how simple Ziggy appeared to them, Scott had to remember that Ziggy was startlingly complex. He was so open and yet full of surprises, uncertain, yet so sure of himself. He was a study in contrast.Scott turned back to his notebook, the one that he hid and would never show anyone. It had been a gift from his brother, Marcus, when he had left home for college and a future place in the Air Force. Marcus had known about his poetry, but he'd never told anyone, even The Colonel. Scott knew that Marcus had carried the poem Scott had written for him in his pocket up until the day he died; it was one of the little things his brother had done that had made him Scott's favorite person.Before he could fall into the depression that dwelling on Marcus tended to give him, Scott picked up his pencil, intent on the poem before him. It was one that he'd started shortly after Ziggy had begun living in the Garage, and it was almost finished, he could feel it. He tapped his pencil against the edge of the lap desk and considered the poem for a moment, and then he had it.You walked fearlessly among usA friend now clad in greenAlthough we didn't think you couldYou filled a desperate needHe considered the line for a moment, and then nodded. It suited Ziggy, in an odd way. He might not like the Green Ranger, but he did admit that he really couldn't see someone else wearing the green morpher now. He grinned, it wasn't like he'd tell Ziggy that, after all, there were things not done, and he wasn't going to ever concede to Dillon without outside intervention.It wasn't much of anything now, Scott knew, it was just, he didn't want to roll over too easily. He would never have Marcus's talent for leadership, he knew that, but Scott also knew that he had his own talents as well. He'd learned from Marcus, and from The Colonel, about leadership, and how to get his team to be just that, a team. He knew that he could trust Summer and Flynn with his life, but he still didn't really know Dillon and Ziggy. He would never have imagined that Ziggy would have gone from con artist to Good Samaritan, knowing that his life would be the price tag. Yet Ziggy had done it, and even if he wouldn't say it, he was proud of that choice. Dr K had let him see the footage from the Scorpion Cartel's headquarters, and the man who had stood to face down all five Cartels was nothing like the Ziggy that he saw every day in the Garage.Point in fact; it wasn't until Dr K had shown up that Ziggy had taken on some of the personality traits that they accepted as 'Ziggy'. Scott looked out the window, wondering what was hidden beneath the Green Ranger's 'incompetent' exterior. He shook his head, Ziggy was a mystery that would have to be uncovered carefully; his façade was too firmly entrenched for a rough approach.Scott turned a page in his notebook and wrote Dillon's name on it, then he settled back in his pillows to think about the black ranger and see what would come out of the back of his mind. Because he'd once again run into the wall that so aggravated him about Ziggy. The Green Ranger had talent, skill and wasn't as stupid as one might think, but he hid it so deeply that many people over looked those moments of competence.Dillon, on the other hand, was a different mystery, with his search for someone he couldn't remember; nature as course as the sand in the wasteland, and path that he seemed to follow instinctively no matter what. He paused, maybe that was why Dillon and Ziggy had been drawn to each other, they were both mysteries wrapped in secrets. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Ziggy hated his room. He'd not even had a chance to pick it; this was the room nobody else wanted. With Scott on one side, and the bathroom on the other, Ziggy rarely was able to pursue his own hobby. Oh, he could draw, paint, or even mess around with clay all he wanted, but the music moratorium emplaced by Scott made it hard for Ziggy to really let go and work.It wasn't that Ziggy hated the music that Scott, Flynn and Dillon listened to constantly; in fact, he liked that music a lot. It was just, when he was working on a project; he turned to really old classics. His first real art teacher had adored Doris Day, among others, and had always had that sort of music playing. Que Sera Sera was an old favorite, as was Moon River. There was something about the grand music of the silver screen that just opened him up to so much more talent than he normally had.As he perched on the stool he'd stolen from the kitchen, with the blank page before him on a make-shift easel, Ziggy wished that he would stop drawing the monsters they'd fought lately. Although Tanaya's image had been exceptional, some of the others were…disturbing. He ripped off another drawing of Tanaya, dropped the charcoal he'd been holding back into its case and flipped open his box of paints.Foregoing the brushes, Ziggy used his fingers to begin, letting the image of Dr K fill his mind. He would do the final touches with a brush, but he'd long since felt a connection to his medium when he could feel it in his hands. After getting Dr K's lab coat roughed out, he began a second image, and in his mind eye, the picture took on a life of it own.Dr K sat at her computer desk, with Dillon leaning over her shoulder to point at something on the screen. As Ziggy switched to brushes for greater detail, he noticed just how relaxed they looked, how natural. He knew that some people tended to ignore the obvious, but this image, a memory of Dillon and Doc going over the equations from the meet and greet, conveyed so much. But it also left so much unsaid.Ziggy dropped his brush and ripped the painting off the pad of paper. It wasn't right, he thought as he balled it up. The relationship he saw between Doc and Dillon was so hard to capture. He glared at the wall between his room and Scott's, the one thing keeping him from actually reaching the inspiration he needed. Then he grabbed a black charcoal piece and began to draw with harsh, thick lines. In moments, he found himself again staring at Tanaya 7.Ziggy dropped the charcoal in disgust and got up; clearly he'd find no artistic release tonight. After he pulled off the overly large smock he used when painting or drawing, Ziggy left his room and ducked into the bathroom to scrub the paint off his arms and charcoal from his fingers. He didn't want the others to know about this, his work was too personal to share. Maybe, if he could become sure that they wouldn't hurt or betray him, he'd show something, but for now, they'd have to deal with incompetent Ziggy, because he wasn't ready yet to let them see the most vulnerable part of himself.Cleaned up, Ziggy stepped out of the bathroom and found Dillon waiting. He couldn't help it, he gave a mild glare towards the man who had awoken his muse and set him trembling with the need to capture something on paper, but wouldn't come clear enough to know just what."What?" Dillon asked, surprised."Nothing," Ziggy said, "hey, do you have any more of those lollipops? I want something sweet and Flynn said that if any more of his fruit went missing he'd make sure we had special training together."Dillon raised an eyebrow before heading into the bathroom."Was that a yes?" Ziggy called through the door."Ziggy!" Scott said, leaning out his door, "go to bed. Now.""Ok, ok," Ziggy muttered, "sheesh." ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- Dillon had ensconced himself in a battered couch in the Garage, and sat there, listening to the others put themselves to bed. Dr K had finally left the Ranger Room, he knew. He couldn't actually hear her, but the screens were off and the almost persistent hum of the computers had faded somewhat. Upstairs, it sounded like Summer had climbed onto her fire escape, which she seemed to do every night. He'd snuck over to her corner of the roof a number of times to verify that assessment over the past few months. He'd seen Ziggy and Scott in their rooms, and had heard Flynn go into his room even earlier than that.The black ranger leaned against the arm rest and let his feet rest on the other side as he regarded the room. There wasn't much living space down here, despite it being the congregating area for the group, and he wondered why. Oh, there was the kitchen, and Flynn's smoothie corner, and this couch and a couple of chairs, but otherwise, the room had been given over to the three cars and Summer's bike collection.He knew that beyond the Ranger Room was where Dr K worked on new Ranger tech, and there was an underground level where the Zord Attack Vehicles were kept until they were needed. Upstairs were the five bedrooms and two bathrooms they used. This told Dillon that the building had been something else before being converted for their use, and the living facilities had been an after thought.Personally, Dillon didn't see why they hadn't added a third floor for the Rangers to live in, instead of this slap-dash assortment. For that matter, Dillon found himself wondering why the Rangers didn't make more use of the roof. Summer clearly had taken over a part of it, but there was plenty of room, and the stairs outside Flynn's room provided easy access as well. Dillon shifted, and frowned as something broke his concentration by jabbing his side. He dug into the couch and came up with a book with a flower on the front of it.Curious, Dillon opened it, and found it to be a book on gardening. The different plant pictures captured his attention, and then the complex tips drew him even further in. Eventually, Dillon closed the book, his mind filled with images and facts about different plants. He headed up the stairs to his room, wondering just why this book stuck with him so strongly. He'd developed a fascination with books since he'd come to Corinth, but none of the so-called hobby books had held his attention quite like this one book on gardening. He stepped into his room and took a deep breath, catching a hint of the world outside before he walked to over to slide the book into his steadily filling bookshelf.He then opened his window and slipped out onto his fire escape, where two small pots were located. In one was a daisy, and the other held the start of a climbing ivy vine that he'd rescued from some gardeners. He rested a hand on the ivy plant's pot for a moment, one finger stirring the dirt enough that his sensitive nose could catch its scent. It was a refreshing smell that made Dillon relax, he could feel the perpetually tense feeling in his shoulders ease slightly as he crouched over the two plants.After a moment of silent introspection, he got to his feet and headed back into his room, to stretch out on his bed and try to get a few hours before his nightmares stole his sleep again.
167774	What Comes in the Night	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Dwayne (Lost Boys), Original Female Character", "Fandom": "Lost Boys (1987)", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by escritoireazul", "chapters": "2/2", "completed": "", "published": "2001-03-05T00:00:00", "words": "10,179", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Dwayne/Original Female Character", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": "The Protector Series", "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Welcome to my countryWelcome to my homeYou could stay foreverYou won't leave it aloneWelcome to the bushTake what you may needWhen shove comes to pushYou want me to leaveI can't let go of the painted desertI can't let go of the old wayI can't let go of the homelandIt's in the blood I can't let go"In the Blood"-Robbie RobertsonAnna tucked her legs up under her, draping one arm across the metal armrest of the bench she sat on. The Boardwalk continued to bustle behind her, masses of tourists out for the warmest weekend of the season so far, but she ignored them. The only way anyone would draw her attention would be to venture too close to her sanctuary, but the waves of malignance permeating the air around her drove the mortals away. If one or two drifted too near, visions of their death and the horrible pain it would entail filled their minds, for no reason they could explain, and the groups of teenagers skirted around her secluded seat.Though things were good within the Pack, friendships were growing stronger, bonds that had been ignored were healing, and bonds that had just appeared were becoming understood, she was hit with nostalgia so great she couldn't ignore it.Instead of worrying the others with her dark attitude, she had left early to hunt, had eaten her fill, and now sat here, watching the waves crashing upon the beach, and letting her memories, thoughts buried since she'd left home at sixteen, build within her and burst free into the night.I was an August babyConceived by the Christmas lightsI came into the world by the setting sunOn a humid summer night"Shades of Grey"-Amanda MarshallAnna's birthday was rapidly approaching, though she'd long ago stopped looking forward to them as she once had. When she was a child, young and naïve, she'd appreciated the beginning of August, counted the weeks, days, and finally hours until she'd turn another year older.Her parties were spectacular events. They began in the early afternoon, and the large backyard would be filled with whatever children her age the friends of her parents had. The kids, ones she'd seen every year, on every social event of every season, weren't what she would have called friends. They were more—acquaintances, thrown together by their parents' mutual associations, be that business deals or of other variety. Most had been business deals.The adults came too, dressed in black, slick shoes and shining dresses, skin revealed down to there. The men hid themselves behind a thick veil of cigar smoke and the scent of alcohol. Heavy crystal decanters passed from one glove-encased hand to the next, and the light that managed to strain through the gray air about them glinted off of the decanters and the thick glasses they filled with drink, drawing Anna' attention and interest even when she should have been playing games with the others.The only game she would willingly join into was Blind Man's Bluff. Even when it was her turn to play at being blind, something the other kids hated, she adored the game. When she was blind, the heavy scarf tied around her head so tight that she wondered if she'd ever be able to see again, she rejoiced in the darkness. At a young age she'd learned to focus on her other senses, and by her last birthday party, it was ridiculously easy to find the others.She'd stand perfectly still, listening as they danced around her, their voices strung out and high. When she made no move to go in any direction, they fell silent, one by one, until no one dared to speak.That was when she struck, drawn forward by their breathing. At times she would swear, if only to herself, that she heard their heartbeats resounding in her ears. No one would have believed her if she had shared the thought—at least not for many years and hundreds of miles.She chose her prey wisely during this time of silence. It would always be someone strong, someone able to run fast, someone who should have been able to avoid her blind steps—and never her sister. Shauna was off limits, by Anna's own silent decree.Her older sister was the model her mother held out before Anna, the epitome of everything she wanted from her younger child as well. Anna would have nothing to do with Shauna for this reason alone when she was older, but there were so many others to fill in the blanks left by that reasoning.Their father, a tall Italian who commanded the fear of every man who met him and the desire of their women, adored Anna—at least as much as he could love anyone who wasn't himself. She was strong, stronger even than her sister, and he wanted to tap her. Though she was barely nine at the time, he'd made plans for her. She would secure his legacy, protect his empire—and he began to train her after that very birthday.Things hadn't always been so tense between the sisters. When Anna first learned to speak, Shauna's name had been the first word from her baby lips. In the beginning she had followed her sister everywhere, wanted to do everything that she'd done.By the time she turned eight all that had changed.~~~~~Anna's little legs stumbled as she ran after her older sister. Five years separated the girls, and though Anna was tall for her age, Shauna was tall for hers and could escape the little ball of youth that orbited her at every chance.Today Anna refused to let Shauna escape. She pushed her way through the vines, shoving between the tall hedges that formed the vast maze in their back yard. If viewed from above, the maze spread out from the edge of the children's play area all the way to the woods at the back of their towering mansion, the green hedges twisting and turning in intricate patterns that taunted all who tried to master it.Anna wasn't allowed in the maze. No one under ten was allowed inside, and Shauna often escaped into the cool, green depths when she wanted to avoid her sister. Anna was tired of letting the older girl get away; she plunged into the dark mouth without a single hesitation.An hour later, she was beginning to wish she'd stayed out in the yard. She could hear the other kids, invited to her eighth birthday party, laughing as they played the games—the same old games as every year before. Anna had no desire to join them, but darkness was creeping in rather quickly, faster than she'd imagined it could.She wasn't scared of the dark, per say, but she was lost in the middle of the maze, hadn't heard a single peep from her sister in some time, and knew her mother would be furious when she saw her again. The bright white dress was stained with mud and grass, and the sharp spines on the bushes had shredded the delicate lace at the hem and neckline.Anna sank down to the ground and pressed her hands to her face. She didn't want to cry, but hot tears burned at her eyelids until they had found their freedom and could trail down her cheeks. In the yard the adults lit candles and lanterns, bathing the play area in a warm, friendly glow.From where Anna sat, when she allowed herself to peek through her fingers, she could just see the glow from the light over the top of the hedges, but it held no warmth for her. Instead it turned the spaces at the top of the bushes into glowing eyes and she wanted to scream, wanted to run away from them into the darkness to hide.She stood, scrambling to her feet so quickly that she almost fell over again. When her white dress shoes found purchase on the ground she dug in, pressing away and bolting down the path, away from the light, and deeper into the maze. She careened around corners, caught her hair and her dress on the bushes and jerked it free with one movement, and kept running, ignoring the pain in her scalp.Just when her breath came hard, tearing past her lips in frantic gasps, just when her little heart pounded so quickly she expected to see the movement through the front of her dress, just when her legs burned and she knew she'd have to stop running soon, she slammed into an ungiving figure and tumbled to the ground, scraping her knees and the palms of her hands on the hidden rocks.The man, for it was a man, she could tell that even in the darkness that her young eyes strained to see through, bent over her as she rolled to sit on her butt, staring down at her bloody hands in horror. He placed two hands, pale but firm, under her elbows and helped her stand.He tilted his head, pleased by her lack of fear. The child looked down at her hands again, and the scent of her blood hit him, fresh and pulsing with power, something he wouldn't have attributed to one so young."You've hurt yourself." His voice was smooth and low and swept over Anna like silk. She rolled her head to keep the feeling there, but it was gone and she found herself nodding and offering her hands up to him—as if he could save her.The man bent over her again, cupping her small hands in his larger ones. He breathed in, deeply, and then let a puff of cool air slide past his lips. It brushed her skin, caressing the bleeding wounds and Anna whimpered, the sound half-pained.She couldn't quite see what he did; the movement was a blur, faster than any she'd seen before, and his voice seemed to rumble in her ears again, distracting her from her careful watch.He flicked his tongue over his lips even as he reached for a clean handkerchief. The blood was delicious, thick and sweet and he hadn't been mistaken by that power, it was there in spades. With gentle fingers he wiped away the blood from her hands, then lowered the bloody bit of silk to her knees and cleaned them as well.A bright light flashed over him and he jerked his head to one side to hide the ridges and fangs. Anna blinked away the tears that formed, for the light burned her eyes. When she could see again, the man was standing, tucking away the handkerchief into an inner pocket, and the blood was gone from her body."Mother is going to kill you," Shauna laughed as she stepped into the pathway, a large flashlight gripped in both hands. "You're a mess. And you're annoying one of Father's guests; he'll have your hide for this."Anna winced, but jerked her chin up when the movement was over. How dare her sister try to make a fool of her in front of her new friend—she was startled to realize that she considered the man a friend, more so than the children in the yard, even though she'd met him only moments before and didn't even know his name."Now, now," the man placed one hand on Anna's shoulder. She could feel the coolness of his fingers through the tattered edges of the trim and the touch soothed her, calming the wave of fury she'd felt at her sister for acting so high and mighty. She hadn't done anything spectacular to gain the attention of this new person, had she? No, she had not, Anna had, and Anna's heart swelled at that. For the first time someone was more interested in her, even when she wasn't acting like her sister—was, in fact, acting like herself. "She isn't bothering me. Why don't we all head back though; I'm sure your parents are worried about you, little one."Anna let him guide her through the opening and into the next passageway; they brushed past Shauna almost as if she wasn't there. He didn't seem to need the light Shauna still held to find his way, and they were soon spilling out into the golden light filling the backyard."Anna-Maria!" Her mother's voice reached a shriek and Anna winced again. It was never a good sign when that voice lifted above a muted murmur when the other adults were present; she was in trouble for sure this time, and not even the presence of the man at her side or the other kids could save her. "What did you do? Your dress is ruined!""She had a fall," the man moved Anna back just a step, but it was enough that she could almost hide in the heavy black folds of his long duster. "It was my fault, really, Mrs. Valentino. Please don't be angry with her."Anna's mum was flustered, her perfectly manicured hands fluttering in the air in front of her body as she tried to handle the words and the sudden desire to follow whatever commands this man gave."I—Anna-Maria, go with Ma'am Betty. She'll get you cleaned up so you can come back to the party." The woman forced a smile, more for her husband's guest than for her daughter. "After all, it is your birthday party."Anna scampered away after flashing a bright, thankful smile to the man who had stood up for her. No one ever stopped her mother from doing what she would, whether that be having the yard rebuilt mere days before a social gathering or punishing her children. She was in debt to this stranger; Anna knew that without understanding why she did.When she came back down, dressed now in a velvet dress of the darkest blue, so deep that in certain light it was more black, the stranger was sitting with her father and some of his closer business acquaintances, along with the three men—Jones, Davis, and Anthony—who stood behind her father's chair during all business meetings. She knew Anthony well; when she was allowed to go into town, he followed her like a very large shadow. She'd know him even better in the future; he'd even tag along on her first date.Anna wanted to join her father and her new friend, but they sat at the adult table, where she wasn't allowed. Instead she made her way over to the children's snack bar, helping herself to the wide array of desserts covering it."Anna-Maria, come here." Anna looked up, her mouth full of chocolate cream pie, when her father called for her, motioning her over with one beefy hand. Anna swallowed hard and started towards him, only to be stopped when Shauna grabbed her arm right above her wrist and pinched."You're in trouble," she sing-songed to hide the jealousy brewing in her stomach. Her father had never called her over when he was with friends; in fact, she often thought he forgot he had daughters when he was with the men.Anna made no sound, but neither did she walk on, as she would have before, taking the punishment from her revered older sister. Instead one hand lashed out, gripping her sister's upper arm, and she pinched, snapping her wrist around as she did so. Shauna couldn't stop the yelp of pain. She clamped her hand to the spot as Anna moved on to her father, and when she looked down at it a second later, a black bruise was already forming."Yes, Father?" Anna stopped before him and lowered her body into a small curtsy of greeting, as they had been taught to do in public situations such as these. He rested one heavy hand on her shoulder and shook his head. It was time for her to do away with such a girly action, he decided."It seems you've made a new friend, Daughter," he smiled down at her as he motioned towards the man who had found her in the maze. "He has nothing but good to say about you.""Thank you, Sir, for saving me from being lost," Anna dipped into another curtsy. Before her father could stop her, the man had, pushing her back into an upright position, then sweeping her up and planting her on his knee.She remained there throughout the business discussion, kicking her legs in the shadows of the table so her father wouldn't notice. The man offered her a drink of his wine, and bits of food as they were brought to the table. She listened, head tilted to one side, even though she didn't understand a lot of the words flying around.Her father noticed the attentiveness, and rejoiced in it, his body warming. His little Anna-Maria would do him good yet.Shauna's eyes remained focused on her younger sister. She ignored the kids there her age, the boys she normally would have been teasing with her lightly bared skin and pouting lips. Tonight her eyes were all for Anna, and her body boiled with jealousy. She'd struggled for thirteen years to get her father to notice her—it just wasn't fair."Anna-Maria!" Ma'am Betty called for the little girl. "Time for bed, Bambino." Anna looked to her father, her lips pursed out in a pout. He laughed but nodded, not wanting her to stay up too late and upset his wife, who already looked like she would explode when she got him alone."Go on, Little One," he patted her head, offering her a rare smile. "It's long after your bedtime already.""Yes, Father," she sighed but hugged him, then started to slide off of the man's lap. He stopped her and gave her his own hug. The golden scruff on his chin scratched her cheek and made her giggle before she ran off to her nanny."She's going to grow into something special, Bentino," he flashed white teeth at the businessman. "I'd like to see her again, when she is older." Bentino nodded, his lips pressed together tightly."She'll be trained when she is nine," he told the man, though he spoke more to himself than the others. "And if you wish, you may come back and see her when she is of age, David."The vampire sat back, a please smirk twitching his lips. It would be a long wait, until she was eighteen, but if he could, he would return to see the adult the girl-child would grow into.Of course, things change, and by the time the girl was of age, she was gone from her family, and David was caught up in a destiny that would see his final death—and then his second chance. By the time he'd meet the young girl again, he wouldn't remember her. . .not in the form she would then take.~~~~~"Anna-Maria, come here." Just as he had the year before, Anna's father called her over. She left the game, shedding the scarf from her eyes before she'd had the chance to capture her prey. The tall boy she'd been stalking toward breathed a sigh of relief, for when she captured whom she was following, blood always flowed."Yes, Father?" She stopped and bowed to him, a slight inclination of her head. No more curtsies for her, not since she'd turned eight and had been rescued by the spiky-haired stranger. At times she could still feel the brush of a growing beard against her skin, and it never failed to bring a smile to her face."Would you like to work with me, Anna-Maria?" Bentino asked, reaching for her hands with one of his own. "I'd like to teach you the family business, now that you are no longer a child. Would you be willing to learn?""Me, Father?" Her face lit up, even as questions flashed through her blue eyes. "Not Shauna?" He could feel her excitement, see it in the trembling that swept through her body, shaking even the blond curls that hung halfway down her back."Yes, you, not Shaunaline. She is your mother's; I want you. You are strong, Anna-Maria, and I want you to learn what I do." She nodded fiercely, her hair bouncing around her head and he laughed, the sound dark, but not as smooth as the stranger's had been. "Well then, girl, your training will begin tomorrow. Be up early. And Anna-Maria, go play now. Tonight is the last time you will have a party like this.""Yes, Father." Anna nodded to him again, and then hurried off to grab more sweets, to run and stretch her young legs, and torment the other kids for the last time. She was becoming an adult, even her father said so. A bright grin split her face and she laughed out loud as she hurried toward the others.She never noticed the anger and hatred burning within Shauna's eyes where the young woman sat with their mother and her friends, mimicking their every perfect movement. If their Father wanted to pay special attention to Anna, so be it. She'd see to it that their Mother liked her best, as she always had.And if she had her way, she'd get to learn whatever Anna would; she'd prove to the family that she was the better daughter, no matter how strong Anna was. She wouldn't let her baby sister get the better of her. She couldn't. Family pride was at stake here.Besides. She'd been having dreams lately, dreams that were too real to be simply something her mind made up. Her friends might not believe her, but she was having—visions.And Anna-Maria, known to her sister alone as Anna, would destroy their family if she had her way. Shauna knew that truth without the slightest doubt. She would do anything it took to stop it. ----- CHAPTER BREAK ----- I can stand up through your destructionMy voice will trembleMy hands will shakeYes I can stand up through your destructionI won't breakI won't breakI could hear the voicesI could hear the voicesI could hear the voicesComing through the nightI can't let go of the painted desertI can't let go of the old wayI can't let go of the homelandIt's in the blood I can't let go"In the Blood"-Robbie RobertsonAnna stumbled when she stood, her legs cramped from too long tucked beneath her body. Around her the Boardwalk was quieter than she ever remembered it being; a quick glance at a nearby clock explained why. It was almost closing time and the vendors put away their stock, tucked toys into boxes, and shut off the heated plates that kept various food items warm.The vampire made her way through the dwindling crowds. The quiet tune in Neptune's Kingdom called to her mind, but she ignored it, as well as the tempting smell of humans struggling to finish their games before the final call went out and everything closed down.Instead of heading to her bike, Anna turned right, skirting along the edge of the Boardwalk. Above her head, on the far side of the high wooden fence, The Big Dipper's tracks cast as shadow over her body. Screams from the lucky mortals chosen for the final ride of the night created a pleasant cacophony, but Anna ignored it too, though she could have plucked one of the humans from the wooden seat, a midnight snack for a hungry vampire. She was too caught up in her introspective to bother.She followed the winding bike trail over the small railroad bridge that covered the tiny inlet from the bay, salt water creeping its way into the main land like a crooked finger exploring a slightly frightening but full of possibilities new area. The train ran across it rarely know, but it cut a good twenty minutes from the walk between the Boardwalk and her new destination.Her legs tightened as she picked up the pace to reach the top of the hill and the run-down houses set there. Though she had never pursued the topic, she was fairly certain that college students were the ones to make their homes there; the residents had to be poor UC-Santa Carla students struggling to have enough money for classes, rent, and alcohol. At times she'd caught bits of original songs, strummed out on a wooden guitar or beaten from yellowing piano keys. The music was haunting in its simplicity, and original, but would never make a Top-40 list, or even bring fame to the creator.Somehow, on nights like these, when she left the others behind and picked her way over the cracked sidewalk, the poignancy such sounds brought her were worth far more than any musician could ever earn. She had, in fact, left money at certain houses, a silent thank you for helping her through the hard times, even if the occupants would never know whom their benefactor was.At the top of the hill was Anna's latest sanctuary; a tiny cliff that jutted out into the ocean. It wasn't a cliff as the Pack's cliff was, large and foreboding. Instead it was only ten feet up from the water, a slender strip of land standing against time and the elements. She clambered over the guardrail put there to keep clumsy mortals out of danger and made her way to the end. The rocks there had been worn smooth from wind and rain and made a perfect seat, allowing her to rest her back against the metal sign post, whose words proclaimed the treachery of the slick rocks.Here, where humanity, no matter it was only a good hundred yards away, took a back burner, Anna let herself fall into her thoughts once more, dark memories sweeping up to overwhelm her and steal her mind away.When my grandmother held me for the very first timeShe thanked God I looked like my daddyAnd I never quite knew just what she meantBut I knew she was a little too happyAnd now I seeYou can't change a stubborn mindYou can't see the world if your eyes are blindWhat does it matter anywayIn our darkest hour we're all just shades of grey"Shades of Grey"-Amanda MarshallAnna was turning eleven. Birthday parties had become a thing of the past since her father had taken her under his wing. Instead of the childhood celebrations, she spent the day in even more vigorous training than a typical weekday would bring. He drove the girl through her work, until even at such a young age her muscles were hard, developed, visible beneath her clothing.She was becoming a killer. Oh, Bentino didn't call it such; instead he taught her to defend herself, to defend her family, to defend whatever it was that she might hold dear in the years to come. The results were the same. As her proficiency with weapons grew, so did her ability to avoid fights if she wanted to—she didn't.Not a week went by in which Anna wasn't sent home, bearing a note from her teachers proclaiming her a wild child, undisciplined, a fighter. The notes were often accompanied by phone calls and parent/teacher meetings which left her mother squirming angrily in her seat, her teachers frustrated with the situation, and her father laughing for days at the antics of his favorite child.The school was wrong. Anna wasn't undisciplined; she was, in fact, far from it. Her victims, as the teachers seemed to forget time after time, were the bullies of the school, large boys and the occasional girl who taunted and tormented the tiny children in first and second grade. Anna stood up for them for two reasons: one, she could remember being that small and having the older kids, namely the sister she adored, run all over her with a clarity that made her blood boil; and two, no one else would. The little ones needed someone to protect them, and Anna was that someone.No matter that she got her nose bloodied, her favorite clothing torn, her books stolen, and her arm broken on more than one occasion when she first took on her new role as protector of the weak. By the time her eleventh birthday rolled around, she no longer lost her fights. Any of them.The latest fight had landed her opponents, a brutish girl and boy, twins who shared everything, including their victims, in the hospital. The consequences of that battle were the worst yet; Anna, in a move that no one had seen coming, was expelled from her private, year round school."It's all right, Anna-Maria," Bentino told her. Though she'd long since switched to the less conspicuous "Anna," her father refused to make the change. To him names were a sign of family pride, and that was to be held above all other things. "You can learn at home. I'll hire tutors for you, and you'll finish school young so you can focus on your training.""Yes, Father." Anna was ever the obedient child—when it came to her father. She would jump at his every command, listen attentively to the words of wisdom he offered, and sat in on all his business transactions, at least all that he would let her stay for. The number she was allowed to participate in grew by the week, and with this latest event, he knew it was time to fully initiate her into his life."Anna-Maria!" Her mother's voice echoed throughout the house, the shrill cry almost enough to shatter the glass Anna held in her hand. She sighed, her lips pursing as she placed the glass on her father's desk and headed out to deal with her mother, the very set of her body revealing how put upon she was. "Young lady, you are grounded! Grounded I tell you. No parties, no going out, no television, nothing!""Pity," Anna murmured, crossing her arms over her chest. "I guess this means I can't attend Sergio's party, and I was so looking forward to it." Her lips twisted into a sneer."Wrong, Anna-Maria, you will attend it. What's more, Shaunaline is going to take you out to buy a suitable dress." As Anna's face fell, her mother smiled, the cool expression far too familiar to her youngest daughter. "None of that black, dowdy clothing for my girls. You will make an impression on the suitors that will surely attend the dance; this time it will be a favorable one.""Mother," Anna whined, dropping the angry stance and fading back into a young girl, the transition smoother than one would have thought possible. "We're living in the twentieth century for Christ's sake. When will you give up on your backward notion that you have to marry me off? I'm only eleven, remember? Not even, until next Friday.""Anna-Maria, you have to marry well," Gabriella patted the top of her daughter's head gently. "To protect our family heritage, both you and Shaunaline must marry good Italian boys, nice Italian boys, rich Italian boys. You know this.""I don't even want to get married," Anna argued, flinching away from her mother's touch. "And it's Anna, Mother, not Anna-Maria. How many times do I have to tell you that?""No daughter of mine will go by anything so plain," Gabriella flung her hands in the air, her fingers practically vibrating. "How many times do I have to explain that to you? It's bad enough that we named you Anna-Maria—your father and his crazy ideas on heaven and hell." She crossed herself like the good Catholic girl she had once been, and then frowned down at the girl. "No more discussion. Shaunaline will pick out your dress for the party. Do not fight with her. If I hear that you've stepped out of line even once. . .""What are you going to do, Mother?" Anna lifted her chin in a defiance that was becoming more and more the standard in her treatment of the woman. "You've already grounded me and taken away the television. What else are you going to do?""No more books," Gabriella spat the words out, her anger driving away the last shreds of the gentility she struggled to maintain. "And no more training sessions with your father. Niente, daughter, finito! They'll be done if you don't behave.""Yes, Mother," Anna lowered her head, both to show deference for her mother's words and to hide the spark of anger flashing in her eyes. As angry as she was, she retained some hint of reason that reminded her she could push things too far.Shauna rejoiced over her triumph through their mother. She had run to the woman the moment she heard of Anna's latest problem at school, and the quick tattletale session had worked far better than she could have planned.Now, alone in her new car with Anna, Shauna leaned over and pinched her arm, twisting her wrist in a move she had learned from her sister years ago. Anna clamped her mouth shut to stop the whimper of pain that wanted to escape and focused her eyes on the scenery that soon blurred outside the window, a whirl of colors smeared together by Shauna's fast driving and the tears that Anna held in her eyes.Over the past few years, Shauna's torment had grown to outstanding heights. Anna hadn't put two and two together yet; she hadn't realized that the problems began right after Father started training her. Instead she struggled to think of what mistake she had made, what horrible action she'd done that had forced her sister to hate her so.Despite the years, events, and miles looming in the future, she was never to know the truth; Shauna was, pure and simple, jealous of her sister. She was jealous of Anna's beauty, though it wasn't what society would appreciate, for she took her looks from their father, only extracting the blue eyes, blonde hair, and pale skin from their mother. She was jealous of Anna's happiness, for even when in the midst of another punishment from their mother, she managed to find something to be pleased with. She was jealous of Anna's power, which led to the greatest jealousy of all.Shauna was jealous of the attention their father gave her little sister, and what's more, jealous of the attention her father's friends paid to her. They spent too much time smiling over her actions, from the new move she had picked up in training to her little words of astute advice that shouldn't have come from one so young.Shauna was jealous.And when Shauna was jealous, she would twist what powers she had into tipping the scales between them. It was that year that she learned the tricks of make-up, hairstyles, and short skirts that attracted men best.It was also that year, at sixteen, that she finally convinced her mother to let her learn to fight alongside her sister. Months into the joint training, both parents had to admit that the two girls drove each other to greater levels of achievement, something that had to spell benefits for the family.It would prove to be trouble—make that Trouble, with a capital T and emphasis on the word. It would, in fact, drive one daughter to run away a short five years later.They got married in a tiny chapel1965Malcolm X was on the radioWhen he took her as his wifeAnd she looked so pretty that September dayAnd her older brother cried as he gave her awayAnd the minister looked like he didn't know what to sayAnd then he spokeYou can't change a stubborn mindYou can't see the world if your eyes are blindWhat does it matter anywayIn our darkest hour we're all just shades of grey"Shades of Grey"-Amanda MarshallFifteen was an awkward age for any mortal child; Anna was no different from the rest. Well, no different in the fact that her fifteenth year on the earth was a difficult one. In all other aspects, she was the antithesis of a mortal girl.She'd graduated from high school—or rather the private tutoring that passed for high school in her life—at barely fourteen. The past year had been spent working full time on her training, though it had moved past the physical two years ago. She now worked at learning the ins and outs of her father's business.In fact, Anna reflected as she hurried through the halls toward her father's private business rooms, she'd been running more and more of the deals lately. Perhaps her father had finally decided it wouldn't be necessary for her to marry someone who could take over the business; perhaps he'd decided she could be his heir.Not that he'd let her if she showed up for this oh-so- important meeting late. Anna stopped outside the gilded double doors, nodding hello to Anthony who waited for her to arrive before he locked the doors. She drew in a deep breath and smoothed her frazzled hair with shaking fingers, hating for a moment the blonde curls that constantly got in her way."Greetings, Anna-Maria," her father stood when she entered, prompting the other men in the smoke-filled room to follow suit. She inclined her head to them just low enough to constitute a proper greeting, then made her way around the table to her seat at her father's left hand side, where her notes, copied onto a thick pile of paper in her neat handwriting, sat waiting for her.Just as she settled into her seat, she noticed the newcomer to the table. He wasn't like the other businessmen; he was, in fact, years younger than them, barely twenty. She glanced down at her papers as Bentino began, using his laser pointer to draw their attention to a set of numbers projected on the back wall as the lights dimmed.Anna lifted her head to watch what her father was doing, intent on making sure no mistake made it past her. She was startled to notice that the new man, instead of focusing on the wall, was regarding her intently, his dark eyes holding her own when their gazes met.To her utter embarrassment she blushed, the red color spreading along her cheeks nicely, then dropped her eyes for an instant before paying attention to her father's presentation, and then the comments by the men around the table. She didn't notice that the young man's eyes remained focused on her oblivious form for the rest of the meeting.Bentino, however, did.~~~~~Indian summer AbileneYou were new in townI was nineteenAnd sparks flewThey called us crazyBehind our backs"Romantic Fools"We just let them laughBecause we knewIt may be a long shotWe may be lonely down the lineBut love knows no reasonAnd I won't let them make up my mind"Dark Horse"-Amanda Marshall"Raphael, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Anna-Maria." Bentino held Anna's elbow in one large hand as he guided her to the young newcomer in the room. She nodded to him, keeping her eyes down to hide the emotions she worried would flash within the blue depths."It is a pleasure," Raphael lifted one of Anna's hands and pressed his lips to her fingers in greeting. From the moment his mouth brushed her hand, breathing was beyond her; later, she would swear that her very heart stopped beating."The pleasure is mine." The words came without conscious thought, reactions drilled into her mind and body by countless hours of training from both parents. He lifted his head, but did not release her hand, and Bentino stepped away, ostensibly to discuss business with the others.In reality the man played matchmaker, and it would seem his plan was working perfectly. Though five years separated them, Anna and Raphael talked for the rest of the meeting, through the drinks and cigars the older men partook of, through the dinner set in the grand dining hall and presided over by both Bentino and Gabriella.That one business meeting led to another between Raphael and Bentino, in which Anna sat in as a third wheel, taking copious notes, and struggling to keep her young eyes off of him, and then another, and another, and finally a meeting between Raphael and Anna, one which Bentino bowed out at the last second, and another between the two younger generation business partners and then at long last—a private dinner for two.By the time Anna's sixteenth birthday rolled around, her training was complete, she was in the process of taking over her father's business, and she was head over heels in love with Raphael. She assured him that she gave him her heart and her soul—but still she hadn't given him the one thing he'd asked for—her body.My money's riding on this dark horse, babyMy heart is sayin' it's the lucky oneAnd it's true color's gonna shine through somedayIf we let thisLet this dark horse runStars are brighterIn a desert skyNo need to wonderOr justifyWhere this will leadI wear your locketOur picture's insideInscription says, "The joy's in the ride"And I believe"Dark Horse"-Amanda Marshall"Tonight," Anna smoothed the blue velvet dress down over her hips, admiring how the flare at her thighs made her legs seem longer—not that they needed any help. At almost six feet she was taller than many of the daughters of her parents' friends, and many of the sons for that matter.It made no difference to her; Raphael was taller still, all long, lanky body and short black hair, tanned skin in which his teeth flashed a brilliant white when he smiled at her, which was so often. Just the thought of his grin sent a wash of warmth through her body, and Anna ran her fingers over her stomach.She was sixteen, had been for a whole day. Tonight was the first night she'd had off, and she planned to take advantage of that. Raphael had been feeling down lately, hadn't even been able to stay for the entire dinner her parents had thrown for her.Anna knew he would appreciate the surprise. She'd first made sure than he had planned on spending a quiet evening alone at his townhouse; he thought she was on a special assignment from her father and she hadn't bothered to tell him when it had fallen through.For months they'd been in love; she was content to let things remain where they were, a gentle limbo between first puppy love and the responsibilities of commitment, but Raphael was not so willing. He wanted more from her, and at last she was willing to give it to him.Her hair was perfect, a mass of golden curls hanging down her back. Her father wouldn't allow her to cut it, had told her time and time again that not only was it her greatest beauty, but it would throw those who came against her in business off of the trail; it belied an innocence and a gentility that she just didn't possess.Her make-up was perfect, colors distributed evenly across her pale skin, drawing out the brightness in her eyes and the full, pouting line of her lips. The dress was perfect, clinging to her body, revealing the blossoming curves and the muscles she worked so hard to keep at perfection.She was ready.Her stomach twisted with nerves and she grabbed the glass of champagne she'd stolen from the bar downstairs where her father was now entertaining guests. She pressed the goblet to her lips and tilted her head back, flooding her mouth with the bubbly liquid. Warmth followed the final drop and she smiled.Now she was ready.She grabbed her leather jacket, though she'd leave it inside her car when she arrived at Raphael's home. He didn't approve of leather on a girl, but she'd long since grown used to the article of clothing, and refused to give it up. Her father had presented it to her on her fourteenth birthday, though it had swam on her then until she grew into it only months ago. It was everything she was in reality, well worn, impenetrable, and made for the night.~~~~~Anna stumbled as she hurried up the stairs to Raphael's door. No lights filled the downstairs rooms, and she fumbled in her purse for her set of keys, not wanting to let him know she was there until she was ready.Soft music filtered down from his bedroom and she grinned, crossing her fingers as she prayed he hadn't already fallen asleep. Not that that would stop her, not when she had a set goal and a plan for attaining it, but it would put a damper on her entrance.She crept up the stairs, the thick carpeting muffling the sound of her dress shoes. Anna trailed her nails along the wall, enjoying the faint scratching sound it created. At the top she hesitated, her hands pressed to the walls on either side of her body. Something had set her off, something tightened her shoulders and kicked her body into fight mode—she just wasn't sure what it was.After a moment she shrugged off the uncomfortable feelings and hurried down the hallway, the blue velvet twitching about her upper thighs as she moved. The sooner she was in Raphael's arms, the better—it was obvious her nerves were getting to her at long last, though why she was so nervous about taking the next step with the man she loved, she didn't know.His door creaked a little when she pushed it open, and she made a mental note to oil it later, fix the hinge that was growing rusty when it shouldn't have. Those tiny noises could give them away if business ever blew up in their faces, and that could be the difference between life and death.She stepped inside, still contemplating the squeaky door. Her mind was so focused that it was a moment before she realized Raphael wasn't alone—was, in fact, moving against a slender body, his hands gripping the bed on either side of the woman's body.His head jerked around and he hissed, the word "shit" audible even beneath the low cry of the woman beneath him. Anna's hair whipped around her face as she shook her head, unable to speak.Her gaze met the woman's and her vocal cords snapped back into use. A whimpering scream filled her ears, the sound continuous, and it wasn't until she focused on it that she realized the sound was torn from her throat. Shauna waved to her sister, then blew her a kiss over Raphael's shoulder, her lips twisted into a bright smile.Anna bolted, almost falling down the stairs in her haste. Her heel snagged on a loose bit of carpeting and she jerked it free, but the momentum carried her to the floor where she landed on her hands and knees. For the briefest of moments she was reminded of that man, so many years ago, who had rescued her from the maze—she had, in fact, been wearing a dress of this same material when he had settled her on his lap. His bright white hair flashed before her eyes and she was up again, the memory lost in her desperation.You found hope, you found faith.Found how fast she could take it away.Found true love, but lost your heart.Now you don't know who you are.She made it easy, made it free.Made you hurt till you couldn't see.Sometimes it stops, sometimes it flows.But baby, that is how love goes."Even Angels Fall"-Jessica RiddleAnna didn't know where she was, didn't know where she was going, and didn't care. She'd ditched her brand-new, black Monte Carlo several blocks back and had been stumbling down the sidewalk ever since. She wrapped the black leather jacket more tightly about her shoulders and bit her lip to hold back the ragged sobs that still wanted to escape.At the corners of her consciousness she knew she was in a bad section of town, a section she should have avoided, what with who her family was and the fact that she had no weapons on her. Where would she hide them, every bulge would show beneath the formal dress.A low laugh escaped her tightly closed throat and Anna winced, pressing one hand to her throat as she forced herself to stop moving. She scrubbed at her face haphazardly with one hand, wiping away the remaining traces of her once immaculate make-up, then turned a sharp left, shoving her way inside the first door she came to.It opened to spill her into a bar thick with black smoke and black leather. Her dress stood out against tattered jeans and yellowed shirts that had once been pristine white and in one piece.Dark gazes turned towards her, eyes filled with malicious intent. She ignored them, instead making her way to the bar. The bartender eyed the expanse of skin bared beneath the dress and handed her the drink she ordered without bothering to ask for an ID.Anna downed half the glass before she began to notice any of her surroundings. Her eyes flicked from one side to the other only once; she knew the quick eye movements could be construed as a sign of fear, and in a place like this, fear was the equivalent of blood in the water.The wall behind the bar was mirrored, and she explored the rest of the room within its grime-covered surface, taking care to notice how to get to the exit, the bathroom, and the nearest window. It was on her final sweep for danger that a flash of bright white caught her eye and she focused on the corner of the mirror.You will fly and you will crawl.God knows even angels fall.No such thing as you've lost it all.God knows even angels fall.It's a secret, that no one tells.One day it's heaven one day it's hell.And it's no fairy tale, take it from me.That's the way it's supposed to be.You will fly and you will crawl.God knows even angels fall.No such thing as you've lost it all.God knows even angels fall."Even Angels Fall"-Jessica RiddleIt wasn't him, her old friend from that eighth birthday party, but it was close. He was decked out in leather, his face covered with the three-day-old scruff testament either to his inability to shave properly or to grow a beard properly; it was the eyes that were different. His were chocolate-brown, while the other's had been blue, a cerulean-blue that she could only guess the ocean looked like.Anna downed the last of her drink, dropped the glass back onto the bar counter, and stood, straightening her dress with a shrug of her shoulders. That same shrug pushed the other man out of her mind, and it was only her and this predator at the far table, his gaze locked on her breasts where they pressed against the front of her dress.And for tonight, that was ok."Buy me a drink." He flicked his fingers in the bartender's direction the moment she spoke, and then kicked a chair out for her.Anna grabbed the back and spun it around so she could straddle it, baring pale flesh even higher up her thighs, to his obvious approval."Andrew," he nodded to her once, then tossed a handful of crisp bills towards the bartender. "Drinks for everyone here, as long as they keep away. What's your name?" He moved from one subject to the next with an ease the belied the affected appearance he sought out."You can call me Anna," she tossed the drink back in one long gulp, then returned to her perusal of his face. "You throw money around well, Andrew.""Parents can teach you wonderful things," he drained the last of his drink, then caught her hand in his, teasing his fingers along the inside of her wrist. "Your dress doesn't fit in here.""Parents can teach you wonderful things," she echoed, but didn't bother to pull her hand away from him. "I didn't plan on being here; the leather fits, that's enough for me.""Do you plan on staying here?" Andrew lifted her hand to his mouth, letting his lips just brush the tips of her fingers. Anna groaned, dropping her chin to her chest as memories swamped her, memories she would give anything to forget, to lose in anything she could—or anyone."Well now," Anna lifted her head and focused her gaze on him, her lips parting just so. "I think that depends on you, doesn't it.""You often pick up strangers in a bar?" Andrew stood, keeping her hand in his, and led her from the table, much to the disappointment of the other men, who, as the bought drinks had insured, stayed well away, though they had been enjoying the view."All the time," she told him, jerking her hand away in one smooth movement. He stopped next to a car that didn't fit the bikes strewn about the front of the building, and she nudged him into it with her hip. Her hands snaked around his throat and she dragged him down against her, speaking as her lips hit his. "Starting tonight."You laugh, you cry, no one knows why,But oh, the thrill of it all.You're on the ride,You might as well, open your eyes.You will fly and you will crawl.God knows even angels fall.No such thing as you've lost it all.God knows even angels fall.Even angels fall.Even angels fall."Even Angels Fall"-Jessica RiddleHe was rough, he was smooth, he was a bundle of contradictions rolled into one perfect body—and Anna became his willing student. She picked up no more strange men at bars and they exchanged no family information, other than to discover they were in the same line of work. He twisted her body in the warm nights, molding her into the perfect match for his hard life, and she went willingly, as a moth to a flame, not caring that he threatened to devour her in one fell swoop.Anna was, to put the term politely, addicted to his body, to the feelings he evoked within her own, to the sex they had night after night, when she crept from the house and made her way to the motel room he had taken to keeping in his name, just for them.Two months later she learned his last name. It had been dropped in the casual discussion that took place between rounds of activities, as they lay in bed, sweat-soaked sheets clinging to their bodies. At the time she thought nothing of it, too intent on trailing her mouth from shoulder to shoulder and down to his chest and down to there and his reactions to her roaming hands.Three days after that, her world crumbled around her once more, in a way that she had, again, not even seen coming, no matter that all the signs were there.~~~~~Something so sacredIs something worth this kind of fightCause love knows no patienceYou can't please everyone all the timeMy money's riding on this dark horse, babyMy heart is sayin' it's the lucky oneAnd it's true color's gonna shine through somedayIf we let thisLet this dark horse runSo rareSo sweetTogether babyWe can be free"Dark Horse"-Amanda Marshall"Anna-Maria, I have a job for you." Bentino smiled down at his daughter when she looked up, turning her attention from the heavy book cradled in her lap. She twisted until she could face him without being blinded by the bright sun creeping in through the window at his back and waited for him to continue speaking."One just for you, all on your own. I think you're ready to do this first full time assassination without any help from Anthony," Bentino watched her face, his smile widening when her lips jerked up into a grin."You mean it? I can do it on my own? All right!" Anna sprang to her feet and wrapped her arms around her father in a tight hug, then jumped away, bouncing around the room in quite the undignified manner. Bentino humored her as the minutes ticked by, and when she was done, he gave her the rest of the information, quickly laying out the when and the where, along with restrictions on the how—and then he gave her the name.He didn't notice that the elation had faded from her face, as he was paying too much attention to his words of explanation, claiming that the man was the son of his greatest enemy, and that rumor had it out that Andrew was planning an attack on their family, had some idea that he could squeeze his way in and take down the empire from the inside out.Anna remained where she was, her fingers pressed to her lips, eyes focused on the brightly colored leaves falling from the trees outside the window. Fall was thick upon them, and though it was her favorite season, she saw nothing of its beauty. Not now, when her world was over, when she had been used—again.She worked that night, packing a small bag full of clothing and weapons, taking only the clothes she'd bought over the years and nothing any of her family had picked out. She was gone before the sun rose in the morning, taking her car as far as she dared in the long twenty hours between leaving home and stopping for the day. A clandestine arrangement, a quick sale, and she was in a new vehicle, this one a small truck, complete with CD player. Her bag fit behind the seat, music blared from her new CDs, purchased with some of the money she had emptied from her bank account—rolls of bills tucked throughout her clothing and her truck.Anna-Maria Valentino disappeared that day, a little over two months into her sixteenth year on earth—and when she woke that night and crept out of the decrepit hotel, only Anna was left.She took off away from the sunset, heading back east where she could lose herself in the bustle of New York City. She wouldn't remain there long, would in fact, remain no where over six months for a good five years when her twenty-first birthday would find her entering Santa Carla, California, where'd she'd see the Pacific Ocean for the first time, fall in love, real love, for the first time, die for the first time, and fulfill her destiny as Protector.And when my grandmother held meFor the very first timeShe thanked God I looked like my daddyAnd I never gave a damn just what she meantBut I knew she was a little too happyAnd now I seeYou can't change a stubborn mindYou can't see the world if your eyes are blindWhat does it matter anywayIn our darkest hour we're all just shades of greyIn our darkest hour we're all just shades ofDarkest hour we're all justShades of grey - Hey, Hey, HeyIt doesn't matter anyway Don't give a damnDon't give a damnDon't give a damn what they sayWe're all just shades of greyWe're all just shades of greyShades of grey"Shades of Grey"-Amanda MarshallAnna took to the air, not bothering to climb back over the railing and walk back to her bike. Flying was far faster, and she almost forgot to stop to grab her vehicle. Once she was settled on it, she let the wind kicked up by her high speeds wipe away the remaining tears.When she entered the cave, Dwayne rose to greet her, his dark gaze focused on her face, worry in his eyes. She smiled at him, letting him draw her in for a kiss, though her eyes searched for David a moment later, to no avail, for he hadn't returned from the hunt yet. Her memories had brought up the past, things she had forgotten, and she was determined to know the truth behind the fiction and hazy dreams.
130400	Your Weight Your Shame	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Carol Jordan, Tony Hill", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by voodoochild", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2010-10-30T00:00:00", "words": "659", "Additional Tags": "Vignette, Comment Fic", "Relationship": "Tony Hill/Carol Jordan", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": "Wire in the Blood, Tony Hill & Carol Jordan - All Media Types", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	It's not even a conscious choice any longer.They never discuss the banalities.(Meet you at yours in an hour. I'll bring curry. Could you pick up a bottle of wine?)They never have to confirm or ask permission. It's not as if they've ever denied each other this comfort. They both know that any time of the night, no matter what, their door is always open to each other. It's a given after certain cases, of course; when one of them has walked too close to the edge, come face-to-face with too much evil. But it also happens after even the most mundane of days, when the biggest threat is university budget cuts or pickpockets in Darlington Square.It used to be her on Tony's doorstep, most of the time. His flat was home base, the place he did his best thinking in. It was smaller, more intimate. A place for advice to be offered and given.Now, just as often as not, it's Tony ringing her doorbell and pacing her floorboards at four am. Her flat is larger, more organized, easier to move around in. She has a much nicer couch. The change of scenery is just what they need.But it's still instinctive, the need for comfort and companionship.The Carol of two years ago - the one who'd never met Tony Hill - would never conceive of this type of relationship. She dated successful, busy men who didn't question either her need for autonomy or her hectic schedule, and she never, ever talked about her job. Most of them didn't want to hear that she worked not only homicide cases, but serial killings. The worst of the worst. Those men would have ran in terror from the things she'd experienced.Tony has taught her, in his own backwards way, that she needs someone to share the darkness with. Someone who walks with her, every step of the way, and is just as frightened and determined as she is. Someone who doesn't try and convince her that her career isn't as important as a "normal" life.In other words, someone just as screwed-up as she is.Oh, he'd protest at her labeling of herself, but Carol is under no illusions as to her own stability. She prioritizes her job over friends, family, and a life outside of police work. She's bolted the DCI armor on so tightly that she can't remove it, and sometimes that scares her. Because just as Tony panics when he can't extract himself from the psyche of a killer - when his stare goes predatory and his speech changes and his body language screams that she needs to cuff him before he hurts someone - Carol worries that she's losing herself under the persona of DCI Jordan, who has the brassiest balls in the station and spits nails when she interrogates.No weakness. No compromising. Nothing to let on that under the shell, she's just as vulnerable, as feminine, as anyone else. Cold as ice and just as merciless. Unsurprisingly, she's had dreams where she found herself encased in ice, or turning into a female Midas, freezing everything she touched. You don't have to be a psychologist to see what fears prompted those dreams.She's just woken from the latest frozen-in-ice dream and it's 2:14 in the morning. Like she's sleepwalking, she gets out of bed, tugs socks and shoes over her feet, and trades her pyjamas for yoga pants and a tee-shirt that might actually have been Tony's, once upon a time. She drives over to his flat - doesn't remember turning the key in the ignition or driving along the streets or parking around the corner - and rings the doorbell.It's like he knew she'd be there, because he answers in just a few minutes."Can't sleep?" he asks, red-rimmed eyes and rumpled boxers-and-vest telling the same story.She shakes her head, and he holds open the door, following her after he locks up.
152440	Breakthrough	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Gregor Vorbarra, Laisa Toscane Vorbarra, Ivan Vorpatril, Duv Galeni, Miles Naismith Vorkosigan, Ekaterin Vorsoisson Vorkosigan", "Fandom": "Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Tel", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2011-01-15T00:00:00", "words": "1,244", "Additional Tags": "Barrayar, Translations by Tel", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Winterfair Open Exchange", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Gregor winced as the comconsole's emergency chime rang, perceiving it as a punishment from the Imperial bureaucracy for the few hours of free time he'd made in his schedule to see his grandchildren. The comconsole was there to relay those messages at night, though, otherwise it wouldn't be in their bedroom.Laisa uneasily rolled over, but didn't wake. The Emperor reached to take the call, and frowned when he saw the face of Admiral Vorpatril on the screen."You, Ivan? I hope it's worth it, at four in the morning. What's happening out there? An alien invasion?""Uh...Sire..." Ivan seemed forty years younger all of a sudden, his eyes mischievously twinkling. "Miles... he's back!""Through the collapsed wormhole?" Gregor began feverishly to get dressed. With a Vorkosigan around, things would get interesting. He'd deeply regretted not having a single representative of the clan on the planet at the beginning of Barrayar's second Time of Isolation."We're not sure, Sire. The ship appeared far from any known jump point and may have come in on a new route."In the middle of pulling on his shirt, Gregor reached for the button that called his chief of Imperial Security."Duv, you already know about this?"On his half of the screen, Galeni looked pained at his emperor's excitement."I have all of my analytical department working feverishly on this, sir. We're not sure how keep the arrival of this new ship secret, but clearly we're no longer cut off from the rest of the galaxy. The unknown vessel is currently is a zone of radio silence due to solar activity. Communications can be restored in no sooner than two hours. It... looks like it's really Vorkosigan.""Ivan, prepare my ship. I'll fly to meet him. Duv, what have your people discovered so far?""Will do, Sire!" Vorpatril's image on the screen winked out.On the bed, Laisa awoke, looking bewildered at her husband's frantic preparations. "What's going on, love?" she asked."I only have a preliminary analysis so far," Galeni reported simultaneously. "The ship appeared unexpectedly two hours and fifteen minutes ago. Its initial velocity was slightly less than 0.5 cee, causing serious communications difficulties. We successfully received a short information packet encrypted under the Lord Auditor's seal, but the noise in the signal has made decoding it difficult. So far we've only been able to determine that Count Vorkosigan and his wife are aboard."His wife? Gregor wondered about that for a second, but then reminded himself that their last meeting was nearly forty years ago, and in that time even someone with Miles's irrepressible personality could find a mate."We don't know how it got here. Sensors picked up a five-space disturbance, but there's no sign of an active jump-point at that location. Vorkosigan's safe return suggests that at least some part of Barrayar's galactic empire has survived in our absence..."Laisa gave her husband a stunned look, having finally figured out what was going on."And further, there's reason to believe that our second Time of Isolation has ended," Duv continued. "Miles, of course, may be crazy, but he seems to have managed to get here somehow.""We'll fly out there together," Laisa said firmly, and Gregor couldn't find it in himself to refuse his wife.* *"So it was Komarran terrorists after all," Gregor muttered to Miles, who, while greying, hadn't lost his charm. "I really hadn't expected that. A natural disaster or the Cetagandans, maybe, but Komarrans?""A small group of zealots," the Lord Auditor said. "You might not remember, but the mirror accident was their work. That is to say, their failed field test. We just missed them by a couple of hours - I was still en-route to the station when it went off. Their naivety was indescribable. They had no idea what kind of a genie they were letting out of the bottle. Imagine destroying the wormhole to Barrayar and thinking it would only affect Komarr! But after their hopes for a second uprising failed to materialize, things got very difficult. The Cetas tried to steal Komarr on the sly, but by the time they invaded, Professor Vorthys had reproduced the effect and begun mass production of the wormhole-collapsing device. We sent Emperor Giaja a secret ultimatum to back down or we'd destroy their wormholes, but he must have thought it a desperate bluff.""And then what happened?" Galeni asked. He'd been sitting quietly in the corner and biting his lip. "I hope you followed through.""Not completely." Miles shuddered slightly at the memory. "We left them a way out through Vervain. The ships of the Hegen Hub alliance have the tech installed, though, to prevent further Ceta interference. The fact that Barrayar... uh... the galactic part of it anyway... now had the ability to cut off any planet from the galaxy did cause major diplomatic problems. Especially with Beta Colony. But at least we secured ourselves from invasion and somehow put together a government...""I'd like to hear more about that, Miles," Gregor said, carefully concealing a smile. "I'm curious how you managed to keep together two-thirds of the Barrayaran Imperium in the absence of its Emperor.""Three-quarters, actually." Miles looked down. "We ended up having to conquer Escobar. Father bitched terribly, but we needed the R&D and manufacturing facilities.""I asked about what you did about the government, Miles," the Emperor reminded him. "Don't get distracted. We'll discuss your Escobaran adventure later.""As the Emperor's Voice, I had to declare myself Steward," Miles admitted, cringing a little. "An unpleasant job, I confess. How can you stand it, Gregor?""I'm used to it all," Gregor shrugged. "But we can talk about that later too. How come you're back? How did you manage to get here?"Oh, that! Yes!" Miles jerked his chin up and gave the room a blinding grin. "We continued to study, refine, and develop variants on the wormhole collapsing technology and pursued a few promising leads. Six years ago, Dr. Riva discovered that if you concentrate the energy pulse from five of those devices at one point in space, you can create a brief five-space anomaly very similar to a wormhole. Very brief, and unstable. Yet we succeeded in making it last longer, learned how to aim it - it's there for around three seconds now, long enough to shove one ship through if it's fast enough. Riva thinks we can make it last even longer, but I didn't want to wait. I've missed the mountains very badly.""Then the jump to Komarr is still gone?" Laisa asked. "You made a one-way jump?""We brought descriptions of all the science behind 'five-punch' with us," Ekaterin said. "The algorithms for calculating the arrival point need to be adjusted, but there aren't any limits on where you can go. One jump can take you to Beta, or Earth."Ivan shuddered, seemingly imagining what this technology would do to interstellar warfare."It's a revolutionary technology!" Miles confirmed. "And it's terrible to imagine what kind of a revolution it'll produce in interstellar politics. Fortunately, I can now surrender power over three planets to their rightful owner with a clear conscience!"Gregor exchanged a glance with his wife, and then looked at Duv. The two of them would support him, and Miles... would have to suffer a little longer."According to tradition, the reward for a job well done..." the Emperor of the Barrayaran Imperium began, clearing his throat.
153644	Sister Sister	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Sam Axe, Fiona Glenanne", "Fandom": "Burn Notice", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Evil_Little_Dog", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2011-01-19T00:00:00", "words": "292", "Additional Tags": "Friendship, Community: fandom_stocking", "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Fandom Stocking", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	X X XFiona’s high heeled shoes made a terrible clatter. Even though they made her legs look like, well, he wouldn’t think too much more on that. Fi was like a, a sister or something. Not that he was ever going to tell her that. Hell, bad enough he’d told Mikey he couldn’t imagine Miami without her.“Sam?”There was that little twist to her voice, the one she added whenever she was trying to get his goat.“Yeah, Fi?” Sam took another pull on his beer, not about to look back at her. Ignoring her wouldn’t make her go away but it gave him a little thrill to think about it.“You need to start carrying your weight. No more freeloading.” She stood in front of him, arms crossed, all her weight resting on one foot.Sam rolled his eyes up to meet hers. “Freeloading, Fi? Is that what you call all that work I did yesterday?”Fiona tossed her head. “That was yesterday. You haven’t done anything for me today.”“Who died and made you my boss?” Sam sucked some beer back.Leaning over, Fiona rested her hands on her thighs, making sure to meet his eyes. “Michael. Especially since you’re living at Madeline’s.”Well. All right. That did change things some. “So why do I have to do what you say? What about if I do what Maddy says?”“Because she might go easy on you.” Fiona smirked, spinning away. “Get up, get your shoes on, let’s go. There’s work to be done.”Grumbling under his breath, Sam finished off his beer. “Slave driver.”“I heard that!”“Ears like a bat.”“That, too, Sam.”Yeah, she was like a sister, all right. The bossy kind.X X X
143873	Easy Target	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Young Riders", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Not Rated", "author": "by Domenika Marzione (domarzione)", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2010-12-24T00:00:00", "words": "980", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Yuletide Madness 2010", "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	"What, you here to tell me I'm an idiot, too?" Jimmy asked sourly as Ike walked in. Red Ridge being either more prudish or more crime-ridden than Sweetwater, the holding cells had their own large room in the Sheriff's Office, with four neat cells and a watchman's space complete with desk and lamp, all hidden from the street view."You are an idiot," Ike signed dismissively, then went over to the empty watchman's desk and pulled over the chair. "It's not news."He sat down and pulled his hat off, arranging his gloves on his lap and putting his boots up on the lowest rung of the cell."You're here to keep me company, then?" Jimmy sighed, sitting back down on the hard, lumpy mattress and pulled the blanket back around him, too cold to care anymore if there were fleas. "Alright, then. I suppose you can stay if you can be quiet."Ike's obscene gesture needed no translation. But he was smiling as he signed it."Teaspoon here?" Jimmy asked warily. Emma'd already made her presence known - loud enough to be heard back in Kansas - but she hadn't said who she'd come with. She might've come with just Ike, but it was a long ride from Sweetwater and if anyone had known where she was going, they'd have made her take more than one rider for protection.Ike shook his head. "Sam and Buck."Made sense - Emma would've brought Sam along to help sort things out. At least with respect to the law; Emma's own justice was from another book entirely and Sam couldn't help him there. "Teaspoon know?" Jimmy sincerely hoped not. The events were bad enough; the circumstances were far worse. There were many ways to disappoint the man and Jimmy sometimes thought he was trying for all of them. This wasn't one he'd have chosen for himself.Ike nodded."He pissed?"An exaggerated eye-roll from Ike."Yeah, I know," Jimmy agreed. "I'd be pissed at me, too.""He's the one who sent me with Emma," Ike signed. "I'd have come anyway - seeing you in prison's always fun. Like a monkey in the circus."Jimmy frowned, annoyed. The signs were worse than hearing the words sometimes, more expressive. Especially when Ike was being a wiseass. "You know what? I changed my mind. Go hang out with Buck."Ike held up his hands to signal patience. "Buck is here to chaperone Emma," he signed. "I'm your alibi."Jimmy stood up and walked over to the cell bars. "Alibi? What do I need an alibi for? Everyone in Red Ridge saw me and it's not like I get the choice of pretending I'm not who I am. Not when Robertson called me out in front of half the town."The gunfight had been unwanted, as most of them were. It had been demanded by someone Jimmy wouldn't know from Adam, as most of them were. It had gone Jimmy's way, as all of them (thus far) had. Funny thing was that that last part might end up getting him killed.Ike nodded agreement. "Not an alibi for the law," he explained. "For Russell, Majors, and Waddell. For the drinking."The Pony Express contract forbade drinking, although that could and was interpreted by riders as "while on duty." But Jimmy had violated both the letter and the spirit of the law two nights ago, which was why even if he got out of jail, he'd still be in a lot of trouble."I'm on the schedule for the leg between Red Ridge and Fort Laramie," Ike went on. "You were enjoying a night off after a hard ride."Ike was not on the schedule; Jimmy'd been sent from Sweetwater to Fort Laramie via Oak Bluffs and Red Ridge and there'd been no relief riders in place. It was easy enough to fake, especially if Teaspoon was willing to back it up. But unemployment was still the least of Jimmy's concerns, heartened as he was that Teaspoon thought enough of him - and his chances - that he'd sent Ike to cover for him."Yeah, well, my night off is going to be my last unless Sam can come up with some way to poke a hole in Svenson's story."Svenson had appeared out of nowhere while there was still steam rising from Robertson's corpse. He'd accused Jimmy of forcing the gunfight when Robertson had begged off, had in fact begged for forgiveness and mercy from James Butler Hickok, known killer of more than a dozen men. It wasn't none of it the truth; Robertson had taunted him when Jimmy'd come to him in the sober light of day asking if he was determined to keep the appointment they'd made the night before, when they'd both been two whiskies past being able to shoot straight. He'd hoped that it had been the alcohol talking, but it wasn't and Robertson had instead called him six kinds of coward for not wanting to draw on him. And so they'd met in the street at noon and Jimmy'd done what he had to do. And then Svenson had done what he did and so here Jimmy was awaiting a trial for murder."Have faith," Ike signed. "Sam does."By the next morning, Sam had more than faith. He had a witness, a girl from the whorehouse who'd heard everything but had been too terrified of getting caught by her madam for contracting on the side to say anything. Jimmy was set free, although he might've hesitated a little before exiting the cell."Emma still mad?" he asked Sam."More at circumstance than at you," Sam replied with a grin, then sobered. "But you'd best behave for the next while because you're an easier target to hit than Circumstance."Relieved - on many fronts - Jimmy pretended not to see Ike's assessment of his ability to heed that advice.
118680	Cloth Ties by Tenaya	{ "Archive Warning": "Rape/Non-Con", "Category": "M/M", "Characters": "Daniel Jackson, Teal'c (SG-1)", "Fandom": "Stargate SG-1", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by tenaya", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2001-07-31T00:00:00", "words": "2,345", "Additional Tags": "First Time, Plot What Plot, Missing Scene, Amnesia", "Relationship": "Daniel/Teal'c", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	SG–1 had been reported dead, lost in the harsh cold of a planet caught in the depths of an ice age. In defiance of the odds they'd returned, confused and dirty, but in good shape. The truth was they had nearly died, but instead of exposure, the cause would have been lies, deception, and petty vengeance. Calder, an administrator on P3R–118, had seized the team, forced a memory stamp of false personalities upon them, and sent them to work as slave labor in an underground boiler room that provided heat for the domed city above them. For weeks, the team lived under spartan conditions filled with hard, physical labor. Despite their severe disadvantages of being out–numbered, out–armed, and not even having a clear idea of who they really were, SG–1 had managed to return home safely with fifty–one of their fellow laborers in tow. SG–1 was quickly separated from the large group and sent to the infirmary. Eventually, a surprised but very relieved Dr. Fraiser, pronounced them filthy — but relatively healthy — and sent them off to the showers.* * * * Still disoriented, Daniel Jackson trailed Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c into SG–1's locker room. He stood and watched as Jack and Teal'c went directly to their cubicles, shedding their homespun garments with relish as they moved confidently about the room. He frowned worriedly. Why were his memories not supplying him with the details of what he was supposed to be doing in here? What was wrong with him? Why was his recovery taking so long? Teal'c had regained his memories on P3R–118 through kelnoreem, and Jack's had come back in a sudden flood while he'd slept. How could they be so acclimatized while he was still wading though two sets of memories, neither of them complete?During his captivity, Daniel had been imprinted with the personality of Carlin, a strong, self–assured man. While Daniel had lived in the mines for weeks, all that had happened to him had been seen through Carlin's eyes and interpreted from Carlin's point of view. The memories were, in fact, Carlin's, and Daniel worried that he would never be able to absorb those images and feel that they were his own. The past few weeks seemed like a dream, or worse — somebody else's dream — and now he was having trouble accessing his previous memories; his real memories. Had they been erased somehow?He eventually found the cubicle with his name on it, although he'd had to stare at the letters until he could put sounds to them. Clean, fresh–smelling clothes hung in an orderly fashion and a half dozen brightly colored bottles sat on the shelves; but what were they for? Stalling for time while he considered them, he slowly pulled off his rough–woven shirt. As it slid down his arms, the material caught on a twist of cloth around his left wrist. Puzzled by the strange adornment, he held his arm close to his face so he could see it better. It was dull in color and tied snugly by a large knot. He fingered the tight loops and remembered…. * * * Carlin stood with Brenna on the metal catwalk and stared down at dozens of curious faces."This is Carlin!" she shouted. "How many would seek him out?"A large number of hands shot up, and voices both male and female gave hearty assent.Brenna took a long rag out of her pocket and tied it around his wrist. "This will give you leave to go to the Red Chamber for a few hours after the evening meal each night," she told him."The Red Chamber? I don't understand.""It is the place where workers may seek pleasure with one another. Efficiency must be maintained at all costs. When sex was forbidden, many workers spent too much time thinking about it rather than concentrating on their work. Now we know it is better for workers to have daily access to partners who they find pleasing to look at. You will go to the Red Chamber every night and join with any who seek you out; it is your honor — and your duty — to serve. Our lives — our very existence — depend upon our ability to work without distraction."Later that night, and every night afterwards, he went to the Red Chamber. It had bare, rough–hewn rock walls, and a number of pallets and cots strewn about. One small brazier was the only source of heat and light, its soft, warm glow leaving most of the room in deep shadow. Night after night, low moans, grunts, and harsh breathing surrounded Carlin as he lowered himself into the arms of the men and women who sought him out.He remembered strong bodies without faces, the pungent smells of sweat and sex, and the sharp slap of bare skin rhythmically striking more bare skin. He remembered feeling overwhelmed and when he did, he remembered becoming tense with a desperate need to be equal with — if not in control of — his companions. How many partners had he been with? Men, women; it hadn't mattered. They'd all stood before him wearing the same expression of hunger while they shed their clothes. Firelight burnished their curves and muscles, stripping away everything about them until all that was left was the one basic, primitive need to find release with another body. He did what was expected of him, but it didn't change how he felt. He knew something was very wrong and it worried him that he didn't know what. * * * Back in the harsh white glare of SG–1's locker room, Teal'c's muscular fingers closed over the knot and picked at its tight coils. Time froze as another wave of Carlin's memories struck Daniel. Shocked, he looked up and met Teal'c's dark, intense eyes. Suddenly, another version of Teal'c superimposed itself over his friend and he remembered…. * * * Carlin lay back on his mat, nude and propped on his elbows. He glanced up and saw Tor towering over him, wearing an expression as hungry as everyone else's, but with a wildness in his eyes. He looked dangerous as he jerked the drawstring of his pants. "I will have you," he announced, his voice taut with some hidden strain.'Bold,' Carlin thought as he nervously licked his lips. Tor was physically alarming, but at the same time, Carlin was excited by the immense, yet barely restrained power he exuded. With some trepidation, he eyed Tor's body, captivated by his powerful thighs and the way his muscles rippled as Tor stepped free of his discarded garment. Tor's cock, long, thick and hard, swung heavily as the big man straightened back up. Carlin cleared his throat. "I thought you never wanted me to speak to you again."Tor stared hard at Carlin, so hard that Carlin suddenly wondered if he could see something Carlin couldn't. Nearby, two men moaned and Tor glanced briefly at their eager coupling. "I…I want you," Tor growled, kneeling between Carlin's spread legs. Leaning forward, Tor dipped his hand into a basin of high–grade engine lubricant that was placed beside each pallet. He massaged the golden oil over his jutting erection and inched closer. Grabbing one of Carlin's legs, he stretched it up and extended it slightly outwards. As his gaze slowly travelled down Carlin's leg, Tor's breathing grew harsher and his lips curled back in a snarl as he stared ravenously at Carlin's genitals. Tor's hold tightened painfully on Carlin's ankle at the same moment he penetrated the younger man with slick fingers, sliding inside him with the same circular motion that worked so well when oiling a pipefitting. Then he caught Carlin's other leg and settled them both on his shoulders. He pressed forward, doubling Carlin in two as he set his hands on either side of Carlin's head. "I will have you," Tor gritted out, clenching his muscles and blindly seeking entrance.Tor's need and intensity was powerful and Carlin felt himself caught in the overriding desire that radiated from the other man. He slid his hands up the thick muscles of Tor's upper arms and shoulders and stared into the slightly crazed eyes. By rights, he should be frightened — Tor was very strong and was seething like a boiler about to explode. He had Carlin pinned in an extremely vulnerable position, but instead of being afraid, Carlin only felt the heat of raw lust. Fear was swept away by the need to know; he had to touch and be touched by Tor's passion, no matter the cost."I must have you," Tor gasped, curling tighter, winding like a spring around Carlin's body. Carlin felt Tor's cock probing at him and he shifted position until the organ was aligned and pressed against his oiled sphincter."Then take me," he urged. He pushed his heels into Tor's broad back, the only purchase he could find that enabled him to push his ass towards Tor.A feral smile lit Tor's face and he thrust forward, slow and strong. "Yes," he groaned as he imbedded himself deeply.Carlin was stretched, filled, invaded deep to the core. He gasped and felt the beginnings of panic. He had no control over this and was completely at Tor's mercy, pinned as he was with his body splayed open for the other man's pleasure. He gripped Tor's shoulders as the large man began his strokes, slow and deep. Tor stared unblinking at Carlin with an intensity that calmed the younger man. His other partners hadn't bothered with eye contact; they had only sought him out for his body and spent most of their time looking at it, or with their eyes closed. Tor, on the other hand, was memorizing Carlin's face, adjusting his movements as he gauged Carlin's reactions to his thrusts. The attention and the connection between them was incandescent, and Carlin gave himself totally to Tor and the moment.Tor fucked him relentlessly until Carlin cried out, shooting his seed over his own chest. His expression victorious, Tor lowered his head until he could lap at the viscous fluid and rake his teeth across a sensitive nipple. Restlessly, he hefted Carlin's legs higher and braced his hands closer together, gaining better leverage. He quickened his pace and pistoned ruthlessly into Carlin's pliant body until he suddenly froze as if in great pain, his muscles rigid as he came.When Tor's joints began to unlock, he slowly extracted himself from Carlin, his fingers lingering over Carlin's slick skin as their two bodies separated. Straightening up, Tor trapped one of Carlin's long legs before it could fall away and rubbed his cheek against it. He pressed a kiss to the ankle while his heavy–lidded eyes stared unblinkingly at the younger man. Tor was still breathing hard, and the warm, moist air gusted over Carlin's leg, stimulating its hair and sending electric shivers through his flesh.Carlin marvelled at how peaceful Tor now seemed; gone was his earlier restless agitation. Carlin stretched languidly and realized he also felt more at peace. His joinings with all the other workers, while they had provided physical release, left him feeling empty and dissatisfied. His coupling with Tor sated desires that he hadn't even realized he had. He rubbed his free leg against Tor's thigh and even that felt good to him.For the next two nights, Tor returned to Carlin's pallet and claimed the younger man before any other could. Their joinings were just as intense, hard, and needy as the first time. On the third day, Tor fell ill and was taken away. Unsettled, Carlin took to wearing his quilted jacket so that no one would see the cloth bracelet that proclaimed him available for sex; he had no desire to go to the Red Chamber if Tor was not there. Instead, he concentrated on what Tor had first said, on his own strange lack of memories, and why Jona and Thera also seemed important to him. * * * *Teal'c finished untying the cloth bracelet and pressed the scrap of material into Daniel's hand. He stared unblinking at Daniel, his expression composed and serene. Daniel stared back, his mouth open and his eyes so wide he could feel his eyebrows arch up into his bangs."Oh!" Confusion overwhelmed him as he realized Teal'c must've also remembered. Flustered, he began blinking rapidly."Daniel Jackson, you have regained your memories. No doubt you will have questions. When you are ready, I will strive to answer your questions, my friend." He stepped forward and grasped Daniel firmly by the shoulders. "Know that I hold you in the highest regard and with great affection. I do not regret what has occurred between us on P3R–118."Teal'c bowed his head respectfully, but before he'd fully turned to walk into the showers, Daniel thought he caught a glimpse of the barest of smiles on the normally taciturn face."Oh," Daniel repeated to the now empty room. Well, obviously Teal'c did not have a problem with this, er, strange turn of events.Daniel reviewed Carlin's memories and he felt a warm flush spread over his face. Teal'c was right: there were a lot of questions. Big questions. Carlin and Tor's attraction to each other — where did that come from, if not from how Daniel and Teal'c felt about each other? Did the actions of Tor and Carlin mean that Teal'c and Daniel desired sex with each other, or was it the natural attraction of friendship that had been misinterpreted by the unnatural environment? And if it was merely friendship, why did they both feel so, so complete after they had sex? Incredible sex. Blistering sex. Fuck me 'til I'm raw sex.Oh boy.Daniel fingered the cloth strip thoughtfully, but instead of tossing it into the trash, he carefully slipped it between the pages of a notebook he kept in his cubicle. He had questions, but the more he thought about what he and Teal'c had shared, the more he realized he didn't have a problem with it either.END
106802	Five No Fail Ways to	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Suoh Tamaki, Fujioka Haruhi", "Fandom": "Ouran High School Host Club", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by mellish", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2007-09-15T00:00:00", "words": "972", "Additional Tags": "Romance, Humor", "Relationship": "slight Suoh Tamaki/Fujioka Haruhi", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Five No-Fail Ways to Court a LadyAs Compiled by Tamaki Suou, Host Extraordinairei.He handed her the bouquet of roses with his head bowed so that she wouldn't notice his blush; he had nicked all the fingers on his right hand trying to pick out the thorns one by one, until Shima had bopped him on the head and finished the rest for him, snipping expertly with her shears. Hopefully the fair lady wouldn't notice. There was concealer over his transparent bandaids; a prince must have flawless hands at all times."The freshest b-blooms," he stammered."Thanks," she said, and his heart leaped up – and landed in the vase she dumped the flowers into. "It's just what the club room needed."ii."It was only a suggestion," Tamaki sobbed."Out of the question," Kyoya answered."Absolutely," Haruhi added flatly.The 'Tama x Haru Love Team' plan sank to the floor, rejected. "It's best if you leave that sort of thing to pros," the twins snickered, moving into their favorite incestful stance. Honey and Mori merely exchanged knowing glances.iii.Rojia circa 1500, sparkling red in two crystal glasses, complete with two olives and a cherry – it was perfect. She was sitting in the parlor wearing a criminally cute smile, munching on some grapes and almost reverentially tasting the cheese, although she had to hold her nose while she did so. He laid the tray in front of her with a flourish, and waited for the magic.Wine tasting with Haruhi under the guise of host training; it was so genius he could cry."Is that Rojia 1500?" she asked around a mouth of breadstick. He gaped. "I don't like alcohol very much." Her smile was beatific as she said so, but he could have sworn it had just blasted him to hell. "Besides, knowing you, sempai, you could be waiting for me to get drunk, then..." She watched him slink to the corner with smiting indifference, although she did feel she might have gone too far when he started growing mushrooms against the wall.It wasn't anything personal, really. Ranka had worked in a liquor store before, and she had simply developed a strong dislike for the stench he would come home coated in; but of course Tamaki didn't know that, and she wasn't about to tell.iv.Friendly, team-building sports would be good exercise for the club, and would also provide their customers with the once-in-a-lifetime-chance to play the role of cheerleaders (since Ouran disapproved of raucous noises during solemn occassions like fighting for your school's dignity) - so when the soccer team challenged them to a match, he merrily agreed. Of course, it would also be a great opportunity to show off his excellent skills at football, but nobody needed to know that, least of all the one elusive nymph he was trying to impress."I've done goalie twice in middle school," Haruhi suggested doubtfully; but by then they'd give her any position, they were just so glad she agreed to play. It was only bad luck that she and Tamaki ended up on opposing teams.Worse luck still that his Starlight Kick flew straight into her stomach.v.Words couldn't carry it. He always started out with the standards, something along the lines of roses are red, and that wasn't good enough for her; it would appear insincere even if he really, really meant it (he always really, really, meant it, from the bottom of his heart, no matter who it was, but maybe that was the problem). He wasn't awful at art class, either, but he doubted if she had any inclination to stare at paintings (and she probably didn't have space to hang it in her little peasant-home, but that was a very private thought, as it might,just possibly, break her heart in all its dignity).What he could do was let the notes sing it for him; but even that might not mean what he wished it to, because it wasn't like he had composed the thing himself. He sighed and pressed his hands to the keys and wondered why exactly he was feeling so confused. He was Tamaki Suou, after all, host extraordinaire; he could woo any girl he wished. This was not supposed to be a problem. Why was it even a problem?He prided himself on being Haruhi's father. Her father. And yet he couldn't help wishing it was as easy for him to touch her as it was for the twins; he couldn't help wishing he could smile at her as plainly as Mori did; he couldn't help wishing he could hug her like Honey, or have stimulating conversations with her like Kyoya. Maybe it was sacrilege, or, or simply tender parental feelings, but..."That's a nice piece, sempai." She sat next to him on the stool, easy-does-it and totally unassuming, and he was only imagining the quickening of his heartbeat, and for some reason he was suddenly fighting back tears, but there was no need to worry. Things might happen. Then again, they might not.He didn't have to be scared of falling; Haruhi would probably catch him.Daughter or otherwise."You really think so?" He looked at her without attempting any sort of smoldering gaze, and she looked right back at him and nodded, a smile around her lips, eyes asking for nothing. He played, and his fingers were his lips; they spoke all he had ever wanted to, about things like love and doubting and friendship and maybe it wasn't courtship, but Haruhi certainly wasn't an ordinary lady, and it was infinitely better this way.A/N: Some situations could have been funnier, but I thought I might make Tamaki have some semblance of dignity once in awhile. Comments would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading. :D
170875	Miles to Go	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Torchwood", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by SailorSol", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2011-03-15T00:00:00", "words": "974", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": "Jack Harkness", "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The first place he went was the Cromwell Estates. He didn't stop to talk to anyone there, hardly even slowed down, but he had to go, to see for himself, despite all of Gwen's reassurances, that Ianto's family really was alive and safe. He saw the woman who could only be Ianto's sister, a little girl and a young boy close by, and if he hadn't ripped out his soul and torn his heart into pieces already, he may have felt something, relief or guilt or anything at seeing the Davies alive and trying to find a way to live again.He sent a letter to Francine. They hadn't exactly been close, but he had promised to keep an eye on her and her family, to keep them safe, except now he couldn't keep anyone safe, and it was just better if he left. He didn't tell her that of course, just that he was taking some time off and wouldn't be in contact, and he left her a list of names and telephone numbers of people who could help, and please pass along congratulations to Martha upon returning from her honeymoon.After that, he made his way to France. He didn't talk to anyone except when necessary, rarely slept and hardly ate. He wanted to die, to just sit down somewhere and stop existing, but he knew he couldn't, and anyway, what right did he have to die? He would only come back, and somehow the coming back would be worse than any other time he could remember, worse even than the thousand years of hell under twenty feet of dirt or a year in the Master's hands or even that sharp, bone-aching pain of being exterminated by Daleks. Living was his punishment, now.He walked across Europe, pushed thoughts of Martha Jones saving the world out of his mind. Stopped briefly in Pompeii, because he had never seen it after, and it worked as an excellent reminder of who he was, who he really was, instead of whatever idealized image his team had formed of him, his team that he had gotten killed, like so many others, and really, how was this any different from all of the others he had led to death? Except somehow it was, and it wasn't because he had loved them any more than anyone else he had ever known.The Middle East was a relief, in its own way. He had never been there before, people had never heard his name, and so he didn't exist. He continued walking, and people gave him strange looks for wearing a wool coat in the desert, but he wore it like armor now, because it was the only thing holding him together and if he took it off he would break apart into a million tiny fragments and he wasn't ready to come back together again.He skipped Japan completely. He could still remember the shock waves rocking the airship, even as high up as they were, as the entire island nation was destroyed for the sake of one woman. The people didn't even have time to suffer, except for all that they had already done before annihilation. But more than that, he remembered the ancient city of Kyoto and a smiling blond, the reluctant laugh of a gruff man clad in leather, and how absolutely everything went to hell after that.America was something of a blur. He headed south, down into the ruins of ancient civilizations instead of towards gleaming cities and awe-inspiring skyscrapers. He had been to New York, had been to New New York, and three other permutations somewhere between the first and the fifteenth. He didn't want to be around people, needed to be alone, to remind himself that he would always be alone, that it was better this way and the only way to keep the ones he loved safe. The Amazon swallowed him and spit him back out, and so he made his way east to the jungles of Africa.The Congo wasn't much different, and the Serengeti was just like a thousand other plains he had seen, and the Sahara just another stretch of sand and scorching sun and relics that were not much older than he was, except he was so young, still had millions and millions of years ahead of him, and he knew what was waiting at the end of the universe for him, could still remember the black skies and fools' hope, a stark reminder that humans would never, ever change. The thought disgusted him, because if humans never changed, there would always be the worst of them, men like him who would destroy everything that mattered and not even regret it enough to say they would do anything different if offered the chance to try it again.He hadn't known how long he had been gone until standing on that dark hill, city lights twinkling like false stars. He knew Gwen wouldn't understand why he had run away, why he still needed to keep going, and that was part of why he loved her so very much, because she was so very human, in the best sense of the word, so alive and forgiving, and he hoped against all hope that she would never understand.He didn't run to forget, though he wanted nothing more than to block it all away. He ran to remember, because he had made a promise to a dying man, and Earth wasn't big enough any more. There were too many people he had to remember, too many who had died because of him or in spite of him, people he had betrayed and forsaken.This was his penance, and this was his punishment, and he would not stop now, could not stop now. He still had too far to go.
141454	Dexter by Daylight	{ "Archive Warning": "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", "Category": "Gen", "Characters": "Dexter Morgan, Brian Moser, Cody Bennett, Astor Bennett", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by unrequitedangst", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2010-12-20T00:00:00", "words": "3,093", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": null, "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Yuletide 2010", "Fandoms": "Dexter Series - Jeff Lindsay, Dexter Series - All Media Types", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	The sun is barely peeping over the horizon when I open my eyes to the newborn day, the grey sky streaked silver and rose with dawn, the morning air redolent with dew and diesel fumes and the sound of loud curses."-- motherfucker," screams my next door neighbor, "you fucking piece of fucking shit, I ought to--"Clank-clank-THUNK, the lawnmower wittily ripostes.I like to think of myself as a rational being, but even I have my moments of weakness. If Rita were sleeping beside me now, dreaming the rest of the innocent, perhaps I would get up to close the window before returning to my own not-so-innocent slumber. Perhaps later I would have a good, long talk with Mr. Joseph Gutierrez about the appropriate hours for improving one's lawn, the appropriate language to improve one's lawn by, and the appropriate volume the preceding should be conducted at. Perhaps this appropriate iteration of Dexter might even ask if there is anything he can do to help.But Rita and Lily Anne are not here in Miami now. They have left me Dexter desolate, a man bereft, to visit Rita's sister for the weekend.As far as I know, Joseph Carlos Gutierrez has not committed the sort of sins that require squaring away, but of course every man has skeletons in his closet. And I am excellent at digging secrets from their graves, both figurative and literal.There is an elegant symmetry in the idea of hacking the man to pieces with his own poorly maintained instruments of horticulture. I allow myself to contemplate the thought, as my Dark Passenger hums happily in agreement. How simple it would be, to come up behind him with a hoe, to gut him with a hedge clipper, to leave him shredded in his own mulch. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust and waste with waste, the great circle of life in action.And my teachers in school said I had no gift for poetry.Poetry or no, the pleasure of planned murder is a fleeting one. I must return to my usual state as Dexter the dutiful after a few all-too-short moments. Just like the Billups' Buddy and poor Nicky's dear sweet departed Rascal, Gutierrez is too close to home to make good prey. I am a family man now, after all. Just what would Harry think? The electric chair is not a luxury I can afford, not when there are college tuitions to be saved for Lily Anne and Cody and Astor.The sun is trudging wearily higher in the sky by the second, and soon Cody and Astor will be awake.I get up from my bed and close the window, ignoring my Passenger's piqued cough. I begin dressing myself.When I was younger and had no roommates other than my Dark Passenger and box of neat glass slides, solitude was something I took as a matter of course. It was easy to spend late nights poring over police dossiers, to dally with the prey du jour by moonlight, to clean up before dawn and be home in time to shower before heading over to the Miami-Dade police forensics lab with a cheerful smile on my face.But now I am daddy Dexter with responsibilities: a career ladder to climb, a mortgage to pay, three children and a wife and a Dark Passenger to feed. The silence in the house feels alien. I feel empty--emptier--without an immediate task at hand to rush toward: a daycare pickup, dirty diapers, a backed-up toilet. Having time to linger over the newspaper, as I crack eggs into a pan and throw sausage patties on the griddle, seems an impossible luxury.It's unlikely there is anything in the papers I haven't already seen, but one never knows. Just like a parent, a forensic crime scene analyst must be vigilant at all times. On page 8C, I find that a Louisiana senator is suspected of involvement in a New Orleans call-girl madam's strangulation. Yesterday, a ten year old boy vanished from a Tampa mall, the suspected victim of custodial kidnapping. A recent upswing in heroin-related teenager deaths leads investigators to believe that tainted product is being distributed. Miley is dancing on poles again, much to Billy Ray's despair.Truly, ours is a depraved world.I am nursing my third egg and an article on the correlation between cellular phones and testicular cancer when I finally hear Astor and Cody's footsteps on the stairs."Good morning, children," I say as heartily as I can to compensate for the present lack of maternal cheer. "Did you sleep well? Would you care for some Sunday breakfast? A bit of witty repartee, perhaps?""Weird," Cody says in his soft monotone, which I take as a 'no' on all fronts. Astor just rolls her eyes.I begin frying additional eggs for them anyway, because I am nothing if not magnanimous.As the food crackles in the pan, I contemplate the day that lies ahead. I have been worried, of late, that I have been giving Lily Anne the lion's share of Dexter's attention. Astor and Cody's Dark Passengers have become increasingly willing to rattle the cage bars, and I, well.Lost in work and diaper changing duties, I have not done my part to dissuade my childrens' dark impulses, nor to help them do things cleanly, right, precise--to square things neatly away like a good father should.But today! Today the Miami-Dade police department has a substantial case backlog, just as they always do, but nothing critical. Today is a chance to catch up on my parenting backlog. There is no Ice Truck Killer or Dr. Danco or Moloch waiting just offstage for Dexter to investigate on his day off, only everyday rapists and murderers. The children and I can bond over games of Hangman or Operation. I can guide them, answer their questions, teach them the things they will need to know to be happy, harmless members of society. They will look up to me. We will enjoy ourselves as a family--as though love is something we are capable of--and I will do my Dexter Daddy best to follow in Harry's footsteps.I plate the food when it is ready, even going so far as to sprinkle a few springs of parsley to add what Rita would describe as that certain jenny says wha."Breakfast is served," I say benevolently as I set the plates before the children, an upwelling warmth of fatherhood washing through me, "bon appetit!""I'm a vegetarian," Astor says. "This is meat.""But you ate three slices of pepperoni pizza on Thursday night," I say dumbly."I know that, Dexter," Astor says. "It's new. I started yesterday.""But you--" I start, unthinking, before I realize that --and your baby brother had no qualms about the Villegas' cat or darling Nicky's Rascal, now did you? is perhaps not the best way to finish that sentence. "Vegetarians can eat eggs. They aren't considered meat.""They are so," Astor says. "Chickens are meat and eggs grow up to be chickens.""Well, actually, the chicken eggs we buy at the grocery store aren't fertilized so they can't grow up," I say. "If we didn't eat them, they would never become anything except rotten.""Gross," Cody says, staring down at his plate, and I cannot tell if this is a comment on the egg farming industry or my culinary skills.I am in the process of being deeply wounded at my children's disloyalty when the doorbell rings.Surely this must be Deborah! I think. Or possibly Jehovah's Witnesses. Who else would be so crude--so crass--to show up uninvited at the Morgan house at this hour on a Sunday?When I open the door, my brother Brian is standing outside with two large paper bags in his arms."Dear brother," Brian says, with a bright, fake smile that is all teeth. "Dear, dear Dexter.""What are you doing here, Brian?" I ask. "Today isn't Friday."Though our weekly family dinners in past weeks have been uneventful and sometimes even enjoyable, Brian is a creature of routine just as I am, and we avoid each other outside that four hour window each Friday. We predators like our rituals. They make it easier to blend into a crowd. And in truth, I do not think the question so unreasonable, given the circumstances of our last unplanned parting, and the one before that, and indeed, the one before the one before the one before the one before that, in which Brian had asked me to slice and dice Deborah to pieces."Why so serious, dear brother?" Brian says. "Turn that frown upside down. Don't you know family is everything? I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Death, cannibals, out-of-state spousal trips--family helps each other out in times of need.""Today isn't family night Friday," I repeat, my Dark Passenger bristling warily, "and my back doesn't itch.""Family isn't just one day a week, brother," Brian says. "I thought you could use some help anyway."For a fraction of a second, his terrible smile falters and I get the feeling that he is as sincere as he is capable of being. That my brother does, indeed, care about me to some small degree beyond the concerns of whether I am arrested by the police or consumed by cannibals. I am almost touched by the sentiment. It is not an easy task, after all, for beings like us to form attachments to others. The fact that he would even attempt it is not insignificant.Then the smile is back full-force, brighter and falser than before, and the moment is gone."I brought IHOP," Brian says, nodding downward at the bags in his arms. "Also, movies.""Movies?" I say."Don't worry," he says. "They're educational, brother. None of these vampires or werewolves, just good, clean fun for the whole family. I thought we could catch up on three decades worth of movie nights. You and me and your little foundlings."And what is there to say to that, really? I know when I am being steamrollered. I step back from the door and let my brother within bearing gifts.It is never more apparent to me than in Brian's presence just how fickle children are. Although the food I slaved over earns nothing but disdain, Brian's IHOP pancake offering elicits a shriek of delight from Astor and a tiny, sideways smile from Cody. Syrup! Butter pats! Jam! Infinite delight in tiny containers. A small, irritated part of me considers pointing out that pancakes are made with eggs, and thus strictly are not vegetarian either, but that would be immature of Dexter, family man. I fill my mouth with pancake instead."Dear children," Brian says when all the food is gone. "It is so wonderful to see you.""Why do you always call us 'dear'?" Astor asks, and I abruptly reevaluate my previous estimation of her fickleness. The sudden caloric influx appears to be doing wonders for her ability to reason. "You aren't related to us.""No, dear child," Brian says. "But I am related to Dexter, and you are Dexter's family now.""Are you taking us somewhere today?" she asks. "Dexter always says he will, but he never does.""I take you lots of places," I say. "Just yesterday I took you and Cody to the grocery store to buy a gallon of milk.""Not interesting," Cody says, staring fixedly at Brian as though my brother will conjure up a stray animal in the midst of the living room to go with the Wii and Dragon Blade: Wrath of Fire."No trips today, I'm afraid," Brian says smoothly. Since the only two members of our household with a soul to speak of are currently hundreds of miles away, there is no reason for Brian to maintain his awful farce of a smile--nobody here but us killers, killers in training, and Dark Passengers!--but he still keeps it pasted on his face. "I heard it was just going to be you and your father for the weekend, so I decided to drop by and help out. I brought some educational films I thought the two of you might enjoy, and perhaps your dear father Dexter and I might get a chance to talk.""About killing people?" Astor asks.It is petty, but no less gratifying to see Brian struck dumb by Astor's unerring ability to ask uncomfortable questions. His mouth opens and closes and then opens again before he manages to say, "No, about family."Same thing, my Dark Passenger whispers, amused."Boring," Cody says, and looks at his sister."That's all you ever want to talk about," Astor clarifies."Well, it's a very important topic," Brian says, clearly nonplussed."I thought you said you and Dexter didn't have a family," Astor says. "So what is there to talk about?"It's true. Brian and I have nothing to talk about. We are more linked by the existence of our mother's blood than by anything in that blood, but perhaps the magic of IHOP is affecting me as well. I find myself surprised by how quickly I blurt, "We're making up for lost time.""So we are," Brian says, without missing a beat. Then: "The movies are on the kitchen counter, brother. I bought a brand new Blu-Ray player too, since it would be a great pity if these delightful children were to miss out on any details."Brian has indeed brought educational movies for the children to watch, although I am not sure if Rita or the children's school teachers would concur. Much to Cody and Astor's disappointment, I refuse to let them watch the Human Centipede in high definition, but they seem to enjoy Hostel. I even manage a brief lecture on the numerous scientific inaccuracies contained within, and how the blood spatter should be interpreted. Brian limits himself to remarks on the messiness of blow torches.We move onto Saw after that, and Red Dragon later still. The former, the children seem to find more funny than anything else, but the latter holds both children spellfast. Brian was right: the films he has brought are indeed very informative. I can see Cody and Astor and their small shadows absorbing the virtues of being a neat and polite monster rather than a rampaging beast as they watch, their faces rapt.It is different than the family nights I am used to and had in mind, late evenings drinking ginger ale and playing Poker and Go Fish with Harry and Doris Morgan and their daughter Deborah, but it is not unenjoyable.We even talk about things outside the purview of murder. Halfway through an introduction to Jame Gumb and his bucket, we must pause our fourth movie of the day so I can microwave pizzas for lunch. When I return with soda and fresh sustenance, Astor is in the middle of telling Brian about Anthony-the-asshole-at-school and how he came up behind her last week in the hallway and snapped her bra strap and then she kicked him in the testicles."You might try carrying a sharpened pencil in your hand at all times," Brian suggests in response. "Puncture wounds are a highly effective way to remove unwanted attention, and you can always claim you were startled."It goes like this, our short, wondrous day of familial feeling and film-aided bonding.("Perhaps we can go to a club for dinner," Brian says, hours later when it eventually becomes clear that IHOP leftovers, popcorn, and frozen pizza are not enough to sustain man alone. "Have a dance or two, meet some nice girls, maybe even grab an extra snack?""Ew," Astor says, wrinkling her nose.I clear my throat, and it is only then that Brian seems to recall that we are in the presence of children. Underaged psychopaths, perhaps, but nevertheless underaged."Or we could go to McDonalds," Brian amends.)But all things must pass, and so this does too at last. When the day ends and the sun sets and the moon rises high in the sky, it becomes clear that the day is waning and the children are growing tired, and so--and so.We go outside together, the two of us, Brian and I. I walk him down to the street where his little red car lies parked. In the darkness his features are very like mine, just as ours must both be like our mother's, and the moonlight glints pale and luminous and singing off his throat."Are you sure you won't come with me, brother?" Brian asks, "I have a date to keep, but I'm sure she'd be happy to set you up with a friend. I could even adapt my taste if that's what it takes to get you on a true double date. Go a bit more dangerous, so to speak.""No," I say. "But thank you."And I am not sure if I mean thank you for asking or thank you for today.I do not love my brother, just as I do not love Astor and Cody or Deborah. The thought stirs in me as we stand there facing each other. Just as I did not love Harry. It is not something in me. I know this, knew this, have always known this since I was three years old and born into this world for the second time. But if I could, if I were only capable--If I could."Goodnight, brother," I say, and watch until Brian and his Dark Passenger drive their car round the corner toward their midnight rendezvous and I cannot see them any longer. Upstairs, Cody and Astor are fine. All in all, it has been a surprisingly pleasant day spent with family, a grand day in.But there is still one member of my family left to spend time with, a sharp, sweet sibilant song singing in our veins. Of course, the children must be watched, I cannot leave them lest other predators come hunting, but we can work together within our humble domicile. Our laptop lies on the desk in our study, and with it our careful notes. Here a murder, there a disappearance, everywhere the crimes committed in the greater Miami area that the police can investigate and even solve, but not bring justice for.Outside our office window, the moon wheels clean and bright and full across the sky. It is a beautiful night for hunting.
193771	Twenty things in my	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "Multi", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Shin Kidousenki Gundam Wing", "Language": "English", "Rating": "General Audiences", "author": "by Sophonisba", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2011-05-02T00:00:00", "words": "1,782", "Additional Tags": "20 Things, List Fic", "Relationship": "Numerous relationships mentioned but none focused on", "Character": "Ensemble", "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Zechs Marquise and the five Mad Scientists are total, utter, diehard Kidou Senshi Gundam franchise fanboys. The scientists, when commissioned to build an armored personnel carrier and weapon, talked the government into letting them codename it "mobile suit," designed a Gundam, and invented gundanium trying to reverse-engineer gundarium. Zechs instantly identified a Gundam the first time he saw one, because it looked like a Gundam. Whenever he finds himself at a loss, he asks himself one question: "What would Char Aznavour do?" Howard thinks they're all nuts, although like any red-blooded colonial boy of his generation he watched Ultimate Transformers Neo when it was on. There were initially eight people on the mobile suit project. When they scattered, their youngest member went back to finish her master's and claimed that she'd only been the gofer and never let see anything (although she did wind up being put on the Leo project); their main programmer was too well-known to disappear and rejoin them, although she did turn herself into a Howard Hughes-like recluse until after the Colonial Revolution. (If she'd been on the team during the design of Wing Zero, she might have been able to design a shell program that rode on the Zero System and allowed people to use it safely; she would at least have designed a failsafe that cut in and kicked people out before their brain neuropatterns matched records of "dangerously psychotic.") Howard ran around with the sweepers making a big fat distraction of himself, and so the other four doctors and one doctoral student (H) were able to get together. The main cast are mostly bisexual, except for Wufei, Anne, and Howard, who are straight; Hiiro, who is gay (and a late bloomer; during most of the television series, it would have seemed just as accurate to describe him as asexual); and Dorothy, who stabilized into lesbian tastes, although when she was younger she had kind of a thing for Zechs. (Relena is the one woman whom Hiiro might, in time, bring himself to have an erotic relationship with, although he wouldn't get anything out of it physically that he couldn't get from his own hand.) The history of the After Colony world is distinctly not the history of ours: the two official languages of the Earth Sphere are English and Simplified Japanese, two large chunks of Africa are glowing holes in the ground, and tighter control on early computer patents stifled larger-scale development and led to the microcomputer not being invented until the Mobile Suit Development Team needed something complicated enough to handle all their giant robot's multiple decision trees and fuzzy logic (thus ruling out a largely-ROM computer) and small and light enough to fit under the pilot's seat. Before that, most of the world's computing consisted of remote terminals connected to interlinked mainframes by what is still known as "the Communet" (and now functions exactly as the Internet). Cinq is the country. Cinque is the adjective pertaining to that country. (It consists of what in our world are the Netherlands and Belgium, although after the last invasion a large chunk of the south was carved off, named "the District of Belgium," and proclaimed the equivalent of the District of Columbia for the Earth Sphere government.) Its last queen consort was Katelina. Her daughter was originally named Relena Jehane Peacecraft, although her foster parents turned it into Relena Irene Darlian. By Cinque law, their ruler must marry a commoner and citizen of Cinq, although many of the Cinque nobility are descended from rulers' siblings who founded or married into them and took their spouse's surname, cutting them out of the succession. Dermaill(e) is his title. Catalonia is his appanage. His and Dorothy's surnames are "Read y Domonova i (mother's surname) de la Catalonia." Dorothy tends to put that last part as "de la Catalunya" when dealing with her new inheritance; she is, notoriously, the first of her line in generations to actually speak Catalan. Treize is the son of Dermaille's sister. Dorothy's father's mother was a Peacecraft, Relena's great-aunt, who died before the first Cinque invasion. Dorothy's mother was a Cinque noblewoman, related to the Peacecrafts through three separate noble houses, and thus debarred from the Cinque royal succession. Lady Catalonia, who hid and reared Milliard Peacecraft as Zechs Marquise, hoped that he'd be able to change that law if he were set in power and thus make Dorothy his queen; short of that, she'd have settled for her daughter becoming his official mistress, as had happened a few times in Cinque history. Treize and Lady Anne are older than their publicly revealed ages. Zechs, Noin, and Sally Po are not. Treize's plan to bring lasting peace to the Earth Sphere called for him to be killed in battle all along. Lady Anne was the only other person who knew this. The stress of, in effect, planning for her loved one's slaughter was part of what caused her personality issues. Treize loved Lady Anne more than anyone else in the world, but not more than his principles. He never slept with her, though, instead having affairs with numerous other people, most notably Zechs Marquise. Leia Barton was not among them, however; Marimeia was cooked up in a petri dish from samples Leia had stolen while nursing Treize, and took more effort than the Bartons had initially planned because Treize was, in fact, sterile. (They finally stripped genetic data out of some of his other cells and mixed it in with their cocktail.) Marimeia considers Duo to be a big brother, Relena a big sister, and if pressed would say Anne is her godmother. She adores "Mr. Chang," and fully intends to marry him when she grows up. Wufei is fond enough of her, and thinks she'll grow out of it. Others aren't so sure. The "Preventer 5" short at the end of the Episode Zero manga did not happen; it's a dream that Wufei had after eating reheated curry with cold In-n-Out burgers and washing it down with flat Coke. The rest of Episode Zero, and the Blind Target radio drama, did happen pretty much as depicted. Wufei and Meilan did come to love each other before she died. They really sucked at communicating it, though. Both Trowa and Noin like sex for its own sake. Before Operation Meteor, Trowa/Nameless and Trowa-prime were using each other for sex but didn't actually like each other very much. Noin lost her virginity at the Academy and then was Zechs's first. (He was pining for Treize at the time, but Treize wasn't interested in a boy going through puberty.) While Zechs and Hiiro were preparing for their Antarctic duel, Noin and Trowa bonded over the idiocy of their respective counterparts and then had smokingly hot half-clothed sex in a supply closet. Later, Trowa slept with Nichol, and Noin was Quatre's first and then resumed an affair with Sally Po. Zechs and Noin have a stormy on-again, off-again relationship. First they're happy. Then they start arguing. Then they have an acrimonious breakup. Then Noin goes off and dates or has an affair with someone else. Sometimes Zechs does, too. Once he died. (Noin reacted by helping create Preventer and then by dating Relena for six months before Relena broke it off, suggesting that they both deserved better than the one who was there.) Then they get hit all over again by how much they really do care for and want each other and get back together. The running joke around Preventer is "Who hasn't slept with Noin?"; at the moment, the known list consists of Anne, Hiiro, Duo, Hilde, and Relena, and very few people actually believe the first and last. (Relena dated her but didn't sleep with her; Noin makes passes at Anne every so often, but Anne deflects them by deliberately letting them go over her head; and Hilde and Noin haven't run into each other at the right time, although Hilde says she's tempted to just to see what all the fuss is about.) Trowa and Quatre were drawn to each other from the moment they met. Trowa, perceiving Quatre as more innocent, feels reluctant to start anything -- partly because of this perception of innocence, and partly because he wants to give Quatre more than casual sex but has no idea how to go about it. At the end of the television series, and to a lesser extent at the end of Endless Waltz, Hiiro is nowhere near ready to have an erotic relationship with ANYONE. He's taking a year or so off to get being a friend down. "Maxwell Church" was officially named "Church of Our Lady the Queen of the Angels of the Porziuncola," attached to the Maxwell priory. At the time of the massacre, the latter had for some time only consisted of three nuns: the aging and frail Sister María Esteban, the young and rather vague Sister Tamsin, and the acting prioress, Sister Helen. The priory and church were served by a priest named Father Frederick, erroneously called "Father Maxwell" in some of the contemporary news reports. There was a time during the series when Duo and Hilde could have started dating. First he was hesitant to, and then she was hesitant to, and then somehow without their noticing it they'd slipped past attraction into a solid friendship where they don't think of each other that way; by the time they finally tried it, it was so utterly weird that they threw it up almost at once, although it did give them a taste for flirtatious behavior in order to mess with people's heads. Anyone wanting to date either of them will have to face the interrogation and implied threat of the other. Duo is widely regarded among Preventer and its loose affiliation of "People who once were on our side and who now are or we hope to make our independent contractors" as an expert on romantic and erotic matters, particularly the esoteric and murky field of What Women Want. Actually, he is a virgin and will remain so until his marriage, for the same reasons that he doesn't cut his hair, although he's certainly kissed a girl once or five times; he learned everything he knows about women and sex from reading largely-female-written erotica when bored (space travel mostly consists of a long time in a small space with nothing much to do; bodice-rippers are among the books most often donated to informal communal libraries, and pr0n still makes up a large percentage of the files downloaded off the Communet to be looked at in one's spare time). Relena reads, writes, draws, and knowledgeably discourses on yaoi doujinshi.
194353	The first frost	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": null, "Fandom": "Katekyou Hitman Reborn", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Kaesteranya", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2011-05-04T00:00:00", "words": "283", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Hibari Kyouya/Chrome Dokuro", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Her skin is cold, chilled by the air of the snow storm they just stepped out of. She has, however, always been cool to touch – it is the one thing that remains steadfast and unchanging over the strange and sometimes unfortunate(?) circumstances behind each and every one of their encounters. He makes it his goal to warm her skin, to have it come alive under his touch. He makes it a point to steal the air from her lungs, to obstruct her line of vision with the image of him, to mark her not as that one’s, but as his own. He is possessive and jealous and demanding and she indulges him, unfolding herself beneath his touch, letting him drag sounds of pain/pleasure/need from her lips the way a child would rip petals from a flower. He always comes to her brimming with murderous desire and killing intent; she knows this, and she spreads herself before him like an offering. She believes, after all, that she is a vessel, and a vessel is a means to an end. She completes herself, then, by letting him inside. In the weird gray of the morning after, he is the first up and she is left lying tangled in the sheets, watching him move about through her one good eye. She lifts her arm once he lingers close enough, fingers tracing his elbow. He kisses the pulse on her wrist, bites the tender skin between her pointer finger and thumb. They leave the apartment at different times, and in perfect silence. It will be another few weeks before they come together again, leaving time for the frost of longing to creep over her skin.
122015	Show Me Your Teeth	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Jim Keats, Alex Drake (Ashes to Ashes)", "Fandom": "Ashes to Ashes", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Explicit", "author": "by voodoochild", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2010-09-28T00:00:00", "words": "1,252", "Additional Tags": "Comment Fic, Plot What Plot, Rough Sex, Workplace Sex", "Relationship": "Alex Drake/Jim Keats", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	This place is eternal and so is he; the notion of "running out of time" is laughable.But he is.He can feel it, slowly and surely, ticking down to the inevitable. Every day Alex grows closer to blowing the lid off Hunt's purgatory. Every day, she seems more determined to have the truth. Every day, Hunt gains another soul for his side - Shaz, Ray, and now, finally, Chris. Too much longer, and Alex will swing back to him. He'll win, go on fracturing the world he's built without realizing it and ruling over his little domain like he's lord and master of it.As if it wouldn't have wrapped itself around another, equally strong soul that refused to die. Hunt isn't special; there are hundreds upon hundreds of corners of Purgatory, and each one hosts souls with potential to go either way. Each one a blank slate, waiting for a soul to claim it.This place could have been Tyler's, once. Could be Alex's still. He will not let Hunt have her, not when she has so much potential to be realizing. She's atrophying here, gone from making connections and fighting tooth and nail through her problems to Hunt's kneejerk apologist."It's just Gene being Gene. He gets results."But does she question those results any longer? Does she bother to notice that Hunt's usually got the wrong man?"No, he can't have murdered Sam Tyler."As if she hasn't seen him hold a gun to a man's head and pull the trigger. As if anything about Tyler's life adds up."He would never have hurt me on purpose."Alex is a bright light in this darkness - how could you shut her under a basket? How could you lie to her and belittle her and hurt her even unknowingly? It's clumsy, and worse, it's insulting to everything being a copper stands for. If you don't reason, if you don't have rules, how are you any better than the criminals you catch?Jim is better. Alex is better.She proves it, every single time she comes to him with another question, another clue. She's proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt tonight, when she answers her door during her expected tryst with Hunt, and agrees to meet him back at the office. She thinks they've found their holy grail, Tyler's body in a grave up in Lancashire, and that he has more to show her. He does, but it's not in regards to Hunt or Tyler.Knowing that she's left Hunt in her flat and come to him? It's intoxicating. It's confirmation - she's chosen him again. First, when she walked away from Hunt and CID professionally, and now, when she's walked away from Hunt personally. Two choices, and there's only going to be one more.He gives her the illusion of work, when she arrives. Ignores the way she smells of a complicated perfume and good red wine, and sits her at his desk as they go through old evidence reports. He watches from over his glasses as she doesn't find anything substantial - because there is nothing to find - and finally slumps over, head in her hands."Why are we sitting here?" she says plaintively. "We know the proof is there, all we need is a map to Farringfield. One of us can sleep while the other drives. Why do we need the falsified autopsy report when there was no body?"She's shaking-tense, and jumps when he settles his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs dig into the knots at the base of her neck, and she gives a low, shocked gasp."It's past two, Alex. Neither of us should be driving at this hour. And we need the evidence because I want my report to be airtight. No half-truths or unsubstantiated guesses. Isn't that the right way to do things?"Eventually, she nods, though she's paying more attention to his hands against her. She moans beautifully every time he hits a certain spot below her shoulderblade, and he can hear the scuff of her shoe against the floor as she moves her legs together. He bends down, inhales the scent of her hair and perfume, and she turns in the chair. Her pupils are blown wide; she's been aroused a long time. Hours, if he considers her dinner and then reprise with Hunt."Yes, god yes," she whispers, broken and sweet and so desperate, he can't even think of denying her.He considers a moment, then pulls her to her feet and seats himself in the desk chair. She's trapped between him and the desk, and she crawls into his lap, knees to either side of his hips. She burns hotter than anything he's touched in a long time, and moves slick and liquid against him. Pulling her shirts off, he lets her deal with her tights, flicking the clasp of her bra and licking a wet stripe up her collarbone.She lifts up to get her tights off, one hand possessively gripping his hair, and pleads again. "Jim, I need- "He kisses away the lines where her bra dug into the tops of her breasts, and smiles against her skin. "Tell me what you need, Alex.""You know damn well what-" she starts, but he bites down against the side of her breast, and she wails. "Harder."He obliges, because he does know what she wants - completion. Satisfaction. Someone who will fuck her until it hurts and not apologize for it. It's what she usually wants from him, except more, because she spent most of today soaking through her knickers at the prospect of finally bedding Gene Hunt and she didn't get it.Working a hand between them, he unfastens his trousers (she's been hell on his wardrobe) and pushes them low enough to tease his cock against her cunt. "Say please like a good girl, Alex, and I'll give you what you want."She doesn't disappoint."Please, Jim, please, fuck me."He never turns down a woman who knows how to beg nicely, and she sinks down around him eye-crossingly tight and wet. Not giving her even a moment to breathe - because she wouldn't want it anyway - he has her gasping and crying out and adding more scratch marks to the ones she's already put through his shirt. His tie is still perfectly knotted, and she pulls tight on it, licks her way into his mouth and kisses him hard and wanting.The knowledge that Hunt has never, ever had this (and never will) makes him less than careful. Always before, he'd kept most of his control even while fucking her; kept the marks and the bleeding and the bruising to a minimum. But her desperation undoes him, and her skin blooms red under him. She begs for it, begs for everything he gives her, and comes shaking and crying around him as he sinks his teeth into her shoulder.And still she hasn't had enough. Alex has never had any brakes, and he loves it even more tonight. She moves exhaustedly against him, hours after they started, then stopped, then started again. His tongue laps at a spill of blood down her left breast, and she comes again, watching him swallow and then kiss her with red-stained lips. He finally loses himself a few moments later, spilling hot and sudden with a surprised cry.Two choices, and now she's made her third. She's his, now, no matter what Hunt may try tomorrow.Because time has run out.
106317	Dream a Little Dream	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": "F/M", "Characters": "Angel, Winifred Burkle", "Fandom": "Angel: the Series", "Language": "English", "Rating": "Mature", "author": "by Lilbreck", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "2010-08-10", "published": "2010-08-09T00:00:00", "words": "1,433", "Additional Tags": "Post-Canon", "Relationship": "Angel/Winifred Burkle", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": null, "Fandoms": null, "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": null, "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	Every day it seemed harder to keep fighting. He wasn't really a champion anymore and he wasn't sure if he'd ever been one to begin with. The only thing that kept him going these days was the fact that Gunn, Spike and Illyria seemed to need him to be their leader. That and the dreams.Angel couldn't help thinking of those dreams as he made his way back to the hotel. The last time he'd had dreams this vivid was when Wolfram and Hart had brought Darla back to torment him. He somehow doubted that he'd find out Fred was sitting on top of him using some magic powder to get into his dreams. Though, he wouldn't be unhappy if that was the case. None of them would.Making his way up the stairs, he did his best not to appear too eager to be alone. He really didn't want to try explaining to the others that he was just looking forward to dreaming. He knew it was just a way of escaping and didn't want to admit to them that he had become that weak. So he slumped his shoulders and slowed his pace, saying his goodnights in a weary tone.Once the door of his room closed behind him, he quickly made his way to the bathroom, shedding clothes as he went. The water was scalding hot and the shampoo and soap were cheap, but he was in too much of a hurry to notice or really care.As he walked out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped low around his waist, the other drying his hair, he was humming softly. By the time he had put on his pajama bottoms and slipped into bed he was wearing a silly grin.The grin was still on his face as he opened his eyes and sat up in bed."What are you so happy about tonight?" a soft voice asked.She was standing just outside the doors leading to his balcony, soft cotton dress blowing in the night breeze. He loved her in dresses, especially the kind that moved at the slightest hint of wind. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat facing her still grinning."Just happy I get to see you."She smirked at his answer and backed further out onto the balcony, one finger motioning him to follow her. Stalking her through the doors, he backed her up against the railing, leaning in to kiss and nip at her neck. Her arms wrapped around his waist, hands playing above the waistband of his pants. The heat she gave off always amazed him. He couldn't remember if she'd been this warm in reality or not."What if I told you that soon you'd be happier when you were awake?"Leaning away from her tempting neck, he looked into her eyes, trying to see how serious she was. Deciding that it was just some mysterious test that women put men through, he leaned in with a small smile and gently kissed her mouth."Nothing could ever make me happier than being with you."Distantly, he could hear the radio by his bed click on and slow music filled the room. Pushing him back a little, she walked around him and back inside, her hand on his wrist pulling him after her."It's been forever since I've danced. Dance with me?"He was about to make excuses why he couldn't, when she turned around and looked at him with those big, hopeful eyes of hers. He couldn't say no when she looked at him like that. Pulling her close, he wrapped one arm around her waist and took up her hand in his as her other hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder. As she laid her head on his chest he began swaying slowly in time with the music and her quiet humming.It seemed to him that they danced for hours and the song never ended. He thought he could stay in this moment forever. That was, until he felt her body shift a bit and then felt the wet warmth of her mouth on his neck."Do you remember," she asked, slowly moving her mouth up towards his jaw line, "That night in the alley, when all of Jasmine's people were chasing after us?"He wondered where she was going with this, but was too distracted by what she was doing to him to do more than nod his head and softly grunt to let her know he was listening."Do you remember that kiss?"A memory of the feel of her body against his, her hand wrapped around the back of his neck hit him and, moaning softly, he pulled her impossibly closer. Softly laughing, she moved one hand around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.Lost in the kiss, he barely noticed she was slowly pushing him back toward the bed. He would have continued to ignore it if the foot of the mattress hadn't stopped their progress.She gently nudged him to lie down and followed after him when he shifted himself up toward the pillows. Placing her hand on his chest for balance, she arched one leg over him to straddle his hips. She settled herself atop him, wiggling more than was good for his sanity, and probably more than she strictly needed to.With a wicked gleam in her eye, she throatily whispered to him, "I remember it."It took him a second to remember what they were talking about, but before he could respond, she continued on."I think about it all the time, to tell ya the truth."Starting at his chin, she trailed the nail of her index finger down the centerline of his body, biting her lip as she followed it with her eyes."I wonder what could have happened if nobody had come along, if they hadn't found us."Leaning forward, she placed her other hand by his head, shifting her weight to give her room between them. It was her whole hand she returned to his stomach, fingers facing downwards. Slowly inching her hand under the top of his pants, she continued to tell him what she'd been thinking about."I wonder what your fingers would have felt like, sinking deep into me. Wondered if you would've talked dirty to me, would've taken me rough and fast."His eyes rolled back and his neck arched from the combination of the sound of her voice and the warmth of her hand. Just as she was about to wrap said hand around his shaft, they were both startled by a knock at the door."Grr.""Argh," was the laughing rebuttal from above him.Removing her hand from his pants, she leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss."You'd better get that, could be important."Pulling her back down for a kiss, he grabbed at her hand, urging it back between his legs."But I don't want to wake up; this was just getting really good."Smiling, Fred reached down and ran her hand over his eyes, encouraging them to close."Trust me, this will be good news."When he opened his eyes again, she was gone and the knock was accompanied by the sound of an impatient voice calling him."Angelus, get up, you sorry git, you've got company!"Hating Spike a little more in that instant, Angel got dressed and followed the bane of his existence down to the lobby, growling the whole time about stakes, crosses, sunlight and white-haired menaces.When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was brought up short by a sight he never thought he'd see again. Willow was in his lobby again. This time there was no expression of grief, or one of accomplishment on her face. This time she looked nervous and slightly guilty. He had a feeling Spike must have spent some time talking to the witch before coming to wake him up.Upon seeing him, she rose to her feet and held out a small wooden box in her hands like an offering."Look. I come bearing gifts. And hey, not a Greek, so no worries."The last was said like a question and, given their current attitudes about any of the Sunnydale crew, he could understand. He would have been suspicious himself, if he didn't suddenly hear Fred's last words ringing in his ears.A small and sudden spark of hope came to life in his chest, and he found it difficult to talk around the long forgotten feeling.
149938	Key	{ "Archive Warning": "No Archive Warnings Apply", "Category": null, "Characters": "Ninth Doctor, Jack Harkness, Rose Tyler", "Fandom": null, "Language": "English", "Rating": "Teen And Up Audiences", "author": "by firefly124", "chapters": "1/1", "completed": "", "published": "2011-01-08T00:00:00", "words": "1,015", "Additional Tags": null, "Relationship": "Ninth Doctor/Jack Harkness/Rose Tyler", "Character": null, "Relationships": null, "Series": null, "Collections": "Fandom Stocking", "Fandoms": "Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)", "Archive Warnings": null, "Categories": "F/M, M/M, Multi", "Bookmarks": null, "Chapters": null, "Comments": null, "Completed": null, "Hits": null, "Kudos": null, "Published": null, "Words": null, "Updated": null }	“Is he going to be all right?” Rose asked nervously as she watched the Doctor tending to Jack’s wounds.“He’ll be fine. Right as rain. Fantastic,” the Doctor replied. “TARDIS is helping keep him asleep so he doesn’t have to feel anything till we’ve got him all fixed up.“That’s … good,” Rose said as she watched the Doctor wrench Jack’s arm back into the shape it ought to be before running the bone sealer over it. “I still don’t understand what happened.”“Me neither.” The Doctor rested the mended arm down and turned his attention to the badly mangled knee. “Don’t know who that was, but it was definitely someone knew our Jack. Was never going to kill him, either. Just wanted something from him.”“What makes you say that?” Considering how close to death he’d seemed when they’d pulled him out of that rickety ship, Rose thought it was pretty obvious his captor hadn’t cared whether he lived or died. Of course, Jack would’ve come back, but the bastard didn’t know that.“Don’t just look at his injuries, Rose,” the Doctor said. “Look at where he didn’t get hurt.”Just then, Jack winced, not quite as oblivious to the pain as the Doctor seemed to think, and that’s when Rose noticed.“His face. Everywhere else but his face.” Rose scowled. “That other bloke was a Time Agent, wasn’t he?”“Had a Vortex Manipulator,” the Doctor agreed. “Bit crazier than most other Time Agents I’ve met though.”“Crazier’n all of them put together,” Jack muttered.“Hey!” Rose stepped closer and ran her hand lightly over his hair. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”“What, and miss all this attention?” Jack winced again as the Doctor did something else to his knee.“He got away,” the Doctor said flatly. “What was he after?”“The TARDIS,” Jack said. He shuddered, and Rose was somehow sure that wasn’t to do with the pain, especially as the Doctor seemed to be about done fixing him up. “You should never have given me a key, Doctor. He almost got it. And you shouldn’t have come back for me. You knew I’d get away eventually, and if he’d got hold of …”“Where’d you hide the key?” Rose interrupted. He’d had barely any clothing left on him when they’d found him.The Doctor ran a different sort of scanner over him and grinned. “Oh, it’ll be back in another day or so.”“Ew.” Rose pulled a face.“Hey, it was better than letting him …” Jack shook his head. “Anyway, he’s gone. He won’t remember he ever met us in a little while, never mind his whole twisted plan.”“What, you drugged him?” the Doctor demanded. “You just go around carrying memory-wiping drugs? After what they did to you?”“Not anymore,” Jack replied through gritted teeth, “but he does.”“Oh.” The Doctor nodded. “Well, tha’s all right then.”“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Jack pushed himself up to sit, throwing his legs over the edge of the infirmary table. “Why’s it taking so long for everything to heal up?”“Seems non-mortal wounds don’t react as quickly,” the Doctor said. “We still don’t entirely know how this works. Meanwhile, the TARDIS’ equipment will help.”“You know what’d really help? A nice, long, hot bath.”Rose noticed he didn’t say that with his usual leer. He must really still be hurting.“Bath for one, coming right up,” she said and went to go see to it. Something was still bothering her about all this, but getting Jack back to himself had to come first.~*~“I know he needs to rest, Doctor,” Rose said hours later, “but can’t we just check on him?”“The TARDIS would let us know if he needed anything,” the Doctor replied. His voice was reassuring, but there were lines of tension across his forehead as he said it. “But if would put your mind at ease …”“It really, really would.” She didn’t want to wake him. Didn’t want anything but to see that he was all right.When they slipped into the room he mostly used to store his clothes now rather than as an actual bedroom, he was asleep in the middle of the bed, curled into a tight knot of covers and shaking as if he were cold.“Oh, Jack.” Rose forgot all about just looking in and not bothering him, kicked off her shoes, and climbed into the bed behind him, wrapping her arms around him tightly.The Doctor mirrored her actions so they had their shivering lover between them. Rose met the Doctor’s eyes, wondering if they should try to wake Jack. The Doctor shook his head as if she’d asked aloud.She wondered if he was dreaming. Dreaming about what that other Time Agent had done to him. Dreaming about whatever things Jack wasn’t saying that made him shudder.“We’re here, Jack,” she whispered, hoping maybe her voice would make its way into his dreams. “We’ve got you, and you’re safe. It’s all right now.”The Doctor didn’t say anything, but she could feel his grip tighten around Jack even as Jack finally started to relax, shaking less and less. Slowly, slowly he started to uncurl himself until he was lying between them as if this were any normal night and they were in the bed the three of them usually shared.As her worry for him dissipated, Rose could feel her own exhaustion catching up with her as her eyes fought to close on her. Should they leave, though? He’d made it clear he wanted to rest up alone tonight, but then, he hadn’t really been resting at all until they’d arrived.As she lay there debating, Jack raised one of his hands to join hers over his chest, twining their fingers together. Rose smiled against his shoulder and looked up at the Doctor, who nodded as if he knew exactly what had just transpired. Well, he probably did. Satisfied, she molded her knees to the back of Jack’s, hugging him as tightly as a key in a lock, and let herself sink towards sleep.

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