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delldarling · 4 years

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lies & gardeners | merrick

chasing truth | chapter one male faerie x gender/body neutral reader 7525 words sfw | navigating human emotions = tricky, dangit chapter index? or the prologue?

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

By virtue of being within the human realm, Merrick knew that none of this would be simple. By Fae standards, and by human too, Garrick’s description is a fairly common one. He’ll find neither hide nor hair of the gardener if he goes around, asking after a fellow with brown hair and tan skin. Even with all the changes humans have made to their society with technology.

Frustration has been steadily welling since the previous day, and his first foray into a human shopping mall.

“It’s why you were chosen,” he mutters to himself, perched in the rafters of a park gazebo as he re-packs his bag. The wallet he’d pinched, weathered brown and full of bills, is shoved in roughly. The soft shirt Kiera had chosen to give him is tucked away more carefully, having been replaced by a human-made shirt in green. The shade is particularly nice, at least, but the material itches slightly, rough against the wings trapped under his skin. He’s highly tempted to find another market and purchase something sleeveless, but… The shopkeeper’s reaction was a deciding factor in covering up.

Plenty of humans might have pictures dotting their skin - he’d seen more than his share during his time in the mall - but had sported wings like Merrick. The shopkeeper had touched him, and asked after his artist and the conversation had lasted far longer than he would have liked. They’d finally come away under the impression that he was the original designer, but a tattoo artist had done the work, which was perfectly fine with him. All Merrick wanted to do was stop talking.

Merrick sighs, confused and tired, and leans back against the curving roof, ignoring the spiders hiding poorly above his head. His cap, at least, is in fashion. The color and the quality haven’t set him apart any, though at some point he supposes he will have to get another. If he’s here that long. He scowls and closes his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. A nap is in order.

If only the children running around the park would stop shrieking. Merrick rolls a shoulder, breathing out slowly, and then a shuffling noise echoes from underneath him. Little feet scuffing the stone. He grinds his teeth and ignores the noise, hoping the child will vacate the area without any prompting.

“If you fall asleep there, you might fall. For real,” the child says authoritatively, having had enough of waiting. Merrick is still and silent, hoping that the child will take the hint and leave, but the tap, tap of little feet turning in a circle below continues.

“I won’t fall,” Merrick mutters, knowing, even as he does, that he should have kept his mouth shut. Engaging with the child will only encourage them.

“I fell off of my bed,” the child proclaims, as if they’ve reached the pinnacle of worldly experience. “Haven’t you ever done that?”

“Why do humans do this?” Merrick asks instead, sitting up straight and nearly cracking his skull against a wooden beam. He stops himself just short of it and turns his gaze upon the child - a girl, he thinks - who can’t be more than 7 or 8 summers. She looks thoroughly unimpressed with his scowl, or the way he’s precariously leaning over the rafter. “Every-” The tang of a lie stops him from saying every human, and he has to amend the statement quickly, before the child can interrupt. “Many of the humans I’ve met over the past day cannot seem to stop themselves from questioning.” Merrick throws the strap of his bag over his shoulder, adjusting until he can lean an elbow on either knee as he speaks, feet dangling over empty space. “Who is your tattoo artist? How did you get up here? Are you looking for a good time?”

The child blinks up at him, still unmoved by his plight, her small mouth curled into a frown. “I think you’ve been talking to weird people,” she finally says, turning on her heels when someone shouts. She leaves, taking her haughty attitude with her, but the words stick with him.

His own almost-lie sticks with him. The elderly man, the shopkeeper, some of those people hawking their wares outside unmoving carts- all of them had peppered him with questions he couldn’t answer. They’d wanted to draw him back into conversation, had wanted to touch if given even the slightest opportunity. And then there was you.

You hadn’t asked invasive questions that he’d little hope of answering correctly. He doesn’t know that he recalls your exact wording, but you’d been impressed by his speed, and your eyes-

Merrick snorts. He’s work to do, or at least a nap to take, and here he is, wondering about a human who had just a bit more manners than any of the others he’s met. “Ridiculous,” he says aloud, and rearranges himself against the gazebo wall once more. It’ll be dark again in a few hours, and he can start searching for the glamour Garrick has likely smothered himself with. Until then, he’s going to catch a few measly hours of sleep.

He should be done with this whole mess in a few weeks time, and then he’ll be back in the halls of the King, lauded as a hero. Perhaps Roran will have started to move on, and Kiera will cease giving him those judging looks. He’ll have his choice of work, and he can hardly wait to see where those jobs will take him. Yes. As soon as he’s back...

But even after that night, even after the next and the one after, Merrick is no closer to finding the gardener. The city is sprawling and there are too many humans for him to fly through the skies - and on the third night, one of their city guards - a policeman - comes and tells him that the homeless aren’t allowed to sleep in the park. He could have glamoured himself, could have hidden.. Though that likely would have tipped off Garrick, if he was anywhere close. He leaves after the fellow suggests a cheap motel, shelling out two bills, and decides that he might as well listen. There’s little reason not to seek out a bed, even a human made one, if he’s going to be here much longer.

The motel isn’t much better than the gazebo, Merrick finds, but it is one of the central points in the city. He’s able to pick up a more extensive, modernized map in a corner market, which makes some of his work easier, but then- Then the days slowly fade into weeks and he switches between motels as he picks up the barest hints of glamour. Every time he lays his head on the less than comfortable pillows, he’s sure that tomorrow will be the day he ends this. That he’ll track down Garrick, knock him out and drag him back to Court. But he can’t ignore the thoughts clamoring for attention in the back of his mind for much longer. He.. Can’t help but wonder if the gardener is even in the city any longer. He worries that he might be inadvertently tracking the wrong faerie, never mind that he hasn’t seen any others but common pixies. He falls asleep, telling himself that he can worry about it the next day.

Merrick wakes as evening falls.

His room is empty, as are those near-by. Or near enough. He can hear a few humans having a hushed argument through one of the walls, a bottle sloshing with liquid and clinking against a table as they pass it back and forth. Automobiles on the street, going much too fast. He doesn’t know that he’ll ever get used to the noise or the movement of them all. He used to assume that humans were called Quick Ones because of their limited lifespans, but it isn’t just that.

Humans are restless. Even in sleep, they move about or speak, and they never seem to keep steady hours either. Merrick doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to catch more than an hour or two of rest with the constant noise of them all.

Still, it’s been a month, and he can sleep through it now, at least for a while. Not always well - but after tonight, he’s fairly sure he’s going to sleep like the dead.

Merrick fumbles for the small pay-as-you-go phone he’d picked up a week back. It’s full of iron and man-made metals - but it isn’t near as heavy as the high-end devices humans are so fond of. It still makes his limbs ache to carry it close to his skin, but he supposes he can’t write off human inventions entirely.

It’s a useful piece of equipment, though Merrick only needs it to check the time, having thrown the motel clock in a drawer after the first night here.

“Seven,” he mutters, pushing himself off of the mattress. Likely he could have found a better place than this. He’s seen the high end hotels with glittering balustrades and carefully cultivated flora, but he’d taken the time and the trouble to track Garrick down to somewhere close to this neighborhood. He hadn’t wanted to be further than a few streets away, just in case Garrick had attempted to make a run for it, or in case he’d been wrong and found a different Fae altogether.

He’s fairly sure he’s right though.

The level of glamour the near-by Fae is using is affecting the environment. The neighborhood isn’t a particularly kind one. It’s full of cheap housing and dirty establishments, but greenery has sprung up in recent months - evidence of one of the Queen of Land’s people.

And then, just yesterday, by some blessed miracle, Merrick had heard a small group of humans mention “- and I’m meeting up with Garrick- Gar,” they’d corrected, phone pressed close to their face, “and maybe some of his friends, tomorrow at 8 at the bar.”

There are two bars in this crumbling section of the city, just a few doors down from each other. If Merrick snags a high vantage point across the street, he’ll be able to watch them both.

He’d best get ready, if he wants more than a few moments to settle.

Other than his bag, still packed full of nearly all his things, there’s nothing Merrick wants to take. He uses the shower because the water is pleasant enough, and cleanliness is nothing to sneer at, but he doubts he’s going to do more than watch tonight. Though if he sees Garrick with his own eyes, if he’s managed to identify him correctly? It will take the edge of worry off of his shoulders. Merrick pulls on the shirt Kiera gave him, just to have a reprieve from mildly itchy human material, and covers it with a grey hooded sweatshirt he’d taken off of a clothes line. He still jams the red cap back over his ears though, unwilling to find a replacement for the item when anything else will likely be sub-par.

He locks up behind himself, praying he won’t have to return - though he knows it’s a far-flung hope, and trudges toward Vine Street, bag slung over his shoulder. Early evening has settled over the city, yellowing streetlights starting to flicker on. Some of the sourness of the streets is dampened by the lack of sunshine, but the exhaust of passing cars still makes his nose wrinkle.

It’s busy, when he gets there. There isn’t quite a line to either establishment, though people flock into the places in steady groups of twos and threes. He eyes the building across the street - some kind of factory, once upon a time, and decides it looks empty enough to risk it.

Merrick might not be able to wear his wings out for all the humans to gawk at, but he’s still a Fae with wings. He’s used to navigating heights, and half the building is lined with a rickety set of stairs anyway. Fire Escape is labeled clearly along one creaking stair, but Merrick hops right over it, taking the steps a few at a time. It doesn’t quite reach the roof, but when he finally comes to a stop at the top, breath carefully measured, he can see hand and footholds in the old brick.

He climbs, and heaves himself onto the roof with nary a scratch. He then finds himself a good vantage point and settles down to wait, crossing his arms and resting them on the building ledge.

The people heading into Corner Pocket look a bit more jovial than the crowd mulling around the doors of Harvey’s, so he thinks he’ll have a better chance watching that one. It’s boring work though, the waiting, and for the first time Merrick thinks he might actually miss Roran. At least a partner would fill the silence.

Truth be told, Merrick isn’t quite sure what to expect. He’s looking for fawn colored hair and skin weathered by sunshine - but there are a fair few of those about. He supposes, if he truly had to think about it, he would assume that Garrick looks a bit sickly. He’s been hiding from his Court for half a year at least, and between the month Merrick has spent searching, and the time the Land Guard spent hounding him, he should be weary.

However, when Merrick spots him, he can’t quite believe his eyes. Garrick might technically be in hiding, but he’s living. He’s tall, at least as tall as Merrick, though after a moment he grudgingly admits that the Fae might be taller. He has short brown hair and a much stronger physique than Merrick had been expecting- and he’s smiling. It’s almost enough to induce a bit of jealousy in him. Here he’d been expecting a knob kneed gardener with clammy hands, and yet Garrick might as well be in the Land Guard.

He seems fond of the humans, laughing with them, leaning into their casual touches and ruffling ones hair. With a start, Merrick realizes he recognizes one of them, and he leans over the edge of the building to try and get a better look.

It’s… It’s you. The one whose phone he’d nearly broke, the one who’d smiled at him, pleasant and quiet, and- Merrick wrinkles his nose and straightens his posture. He’s being utterly ridiculous, letting nerves get to him. It’s been plenty long enough, and he’s going to have to go down there anyway. You shouldn’t remember him, not when he’d made a hasty get-away and spoken so little.

To be safe though, he decides to stay out of your line of sight as well.

He climbs back down the building side and moves slowly down the stairs, watching closely for any eyes that might catch his movement. The humans are oblivious though, and he makes it down without upset, sliding into the tail edge of a rather large group just outside the doors.

Merrick gets into the bar easy enough - he does have to use a bit of glamour to charm the bouncer into seeing proper ID, but it barely counts, and- Garrick doesn’t seem to be particularly sensitive to its use. He doesn’t up and run, or shout. He’s still sitting at a table when Merrick waltzes in, and he’s surrounded by the same group of chattering humans, all of them laughing over something.

Merrick hurries to the counter, sliding easily into the line of patrons crowding the area, and turns towards the bartender. He should order something, make his being there look normal. His shoulder jostles someone standing too close though, and when he makes room, trying to mutter something unobtrusive and calming, the human interrupts him with a delighted noise.

With his heart in his throat, and his every thought flying from his brain, Merrick turns to meet your gaze head on.

“It’s you!” You declare, eyes roving over his face. That same genial smile, the one that had stuck in the back of his unwilling head, curls your mouth. “Mr. Glad-I-hurt-My-Pride! Never thought I’d see you again.”

And I thought you wouldn’t recognize me, Merrick thinks, panic taking hold of his heart. He hopes that you can’t see the shock or any kind of disappointment in his features. Though.. Truth be told, he isn’t sure what exactly it is that he’s feeling. Nerves are making his stomach twist, and his palms heat, but-

“Pride?” He asks, hoping he sounds like he doesn’t know you. He takes a step back from you, and then his neck grows warm when you close the distance he attempts to make. He nearly stumbles into another patron behind him, half expecting you to reach out, to touch him - though he isn’t sure why that has his nerves singing with hope. It turns out that you’re only moving closer to the bar, but it feels intimate now, when you lean in towards him to converse, to be heard over the crowd of customers.

“I said something about my pride being hurt,” you tell him with a shrug, and then motion for him to speak when the bartender asks for an order. “Him first,” you insist. “I’m ordering a round for friends, and it’ll take me a minute.”

Merrick orders the first thing that looks appetizing, some kind of blackberry cider that the bartender claims is good. He licks nervously at his lips as a thought occurs to him. You know Garrick. Enough to share his table, to order drinks - he can use this. Use… you.

“-and then you said good in this really serious voice and stomped away,” you tell him, as soon as the bartender takes his currency and darts over to a register. You arch an eyebrow when he frowns, though you don’t sound accusatory.

“Good as in you weren’t physically injured,” he clarifies, happily accepting the pint the bartender returns with and turning to survey the room. Garrick is still sitting at his table, though now one of the humans is whispering something in his ear and he looks- He looks fond. That human too, is one he could use to get in close to Garrick. Surely using them would be better?

Friendship is one thing, but physical attraction can be a vastly powerful tool. Merrick glances back at you, mulling over the pros and cons.

“That’s a relief,” you murmur, flashing a smile his way before you order for your table, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. It’s almost irritating that he isn’t irritated. He still doesn’t find anything about you grating. He should - you’re a human, just making casual conversation - but you haven’t asked him prying questions or tried to interrupt him.

“Is it?” He asks, unthinking as he takes a sip of his drink. His eyes dart to your hands, fingertips tapping awkwardly against the bar. You look… Nervous.

“Is it a relief to me that you weren’t being rude?” You laugh, ceasing your fidgeting. “Yeah. I don’t think relief would fit very well if I found out you were trying to be an ass. Besides, you did something nice, saving my phone from the pavement - I wanted to think well of you.”

He shouldn’t care at all, but he can’t help the small smirk that pulls at the corner of his lips. The sound of your voice, the way your mouth is shaped when you laugh? He likes it. He opens his mouth- only to snap it shut when the bartender returns with a pitcher and a stack of glasses.

“Interested in helping me out one more time?” You ask, glancing at him from beneath lowered lashes, and there’s a tone to your words that he believes might be flirting. He could help you out, but even if Garrick hadn’t noticed his glamour use at the door, standing right in front of him might very well tip him off. Might, he thinks to himself, irritated with the vagueness of his thought. It will tip him off.

“I’ll follow,” he says before he can think more on it. His mouth is dry and his heartbeat is starting to thunder in his ears. Better to get this whole thing over with and get back to Faerie. Merrick steadfastly ignores the realization that it would mean the end of any flirtatious hints between you, and takes the stack of glasses you hand him. It’s a useless thought. He’s not here to charm humans, he’s here to do what his King bade him. He leans back to avoid the brush of your elbow, waiting for you to precede him, and then turns towards the table you’re sharing with Garrick.

Garrick isn’t there.

Adrenaline crashes into his bloodstream at lightning speed, and it takes everything within Merrick not to drop the glasses to the floor, let them break and scatter in a fountain of glass shards and start searching. He stays on your heels, searching each visible corner of the room, but he doesn’t see him anywhere. Had he truly been so distracted by a few moments of flirting?

You set the pitcher down with a hmm, glancing at the two - two - empty spots across the table.

“So Gar and-”

“Yep,” one of your companions, a red headed man, interrupts you, grinning slyly. “But I see you made a handsome friend over at the bar! Care to introduce us?”

“Next time, I’m getting the drinks,” one of them murmurs.

You grin, accepting the glasses that Merrick hands you, but before you can ask for his name, or say another word, he’s backing away.

“Pardon me,” he says, trying not to look you in the face. He fails, eyes raking quickly over your startled expression a single time, just- just so he’ll remember your face. Just so he’ll recognize you again, if he needs to use you. To get to Garrick. “Enjoy your evening,” he tacks on at the last second, feeling slightly ridiculous, but mostly angry. He’d taken one look at you, taken one sip of fizzing cider and lost focus, and now Garrick is gone. Merrick slides through the crowd, using glamour heavily to slip unnoticed between talking friends and dancing couples, and heads straight for the bathroom. He doubts the gardener took his companion there, not if he wants either of them to live, but he has to check.

Both of them, frustratingly, turn up empty of Fae. Merrick upends his glass of cider in one of the cracked sinks, glaring at his reflection. There’s a heavy flare of glamour, like pressure building and bursting at the front that suddenly catches his attention- but it’s fading already.

He follows it anyway, sifting through the people making their way toward the bathroom and then milling about the bar until he’s made note of every face throughout the building.

Merrick finds himself back out on the street, shoulders trembling with tension, wondering how he’d gotten it so wrong. Garrick must have noted his use of glamour the moment he’d done it, and simply kept his calm until he realized Merrick was distracted. He should have known better, should have kept his boring seat on the factory building and waited. He would have been able to follow Garrick back to his home, or at least make a note of where his companion lived.

He’s going to have to throw caution to the wind, then, and head into the skies. He’ll have to risk Garrick feeling the glamour, because the chance of a human snapping a picture of a Fae launching himself off of a roof is far too great. He heads back to the factory roof, breathless now when he reaches the top, and stares down angrily over the edge. Merrick has been yearning to stretch his wings, but the wait doesn’t quite feel worth it when he’s lost track of the damn gardener.

He strips off his shirt and his cap, uncaring of the cool breeze and shoves them into his bag. It almost aches, the feeling of his wings slipping free of his skin, but he doesn’t have time for more than a quick rub of the muscles he can reach, before he needs to be flying. He won’t be able to catch him - not without diving upon Garrick like some great bird of prey - but he hopes he’ll see him. At least then, this won’t have been one big waste of his time.

Merrick rolls his shoulders, steps up to the building edge, and jumps. His wings aren’t exactly made for slow, sweeping circles through the air. The four of them are strong, but thin, veined with a shade that Roran has always claimed reminds him of copper. They buzz, fluttering fast enough that they’re nothing more than a blur. He’s always done best with short, sharp distances, and it’s still been a short length of time. Surely he has more than a fair chance of finding some human-loving gardener?

He zips over the street, eyes keen on the people below, and starts his search.

Four hours later, he has to trudge back into his motel room, too tired to keep up a cloak of glamour, or to even lay his wings back into his skin. One of the inebriated humans he’d heard earlier is sitting on the steps, staring at him with bleary eyes and a red nose.

“Tho- thought absinthe brought on visions of fairies?” The man asks, glancing down at his paper wrapped bottle in surprise.

“Weariness, too,” Merrick mutters, blinking heavily as he nearly stumbles on the last step. He’s three doors down the walk - he can make it. He’s not sure, but he thinks the drunkard whispers some kind of expletive. It’s the last coherent thought Merrick has before his motel door is shutting behind him and he’s flopping straight onto the bed. Darkness rolls over him like the tide, and he willingly gives in.

He wakes to housekeeping tapping nervously at his door and just barely gets up in time to catch it. He waves away their apologies, pressing his hands firmly against the placard underneath the peep hole to close the door fully - and then drops to his knees, wings sagging against the ground. The carpet is rough, and even though he’s relished having them out, Merrick slaps a hand to each shoulder, hiding his wings in his skin once more.

Perhaps, if Merrick weren’t stubborn, he would send word back to the King of Air. He could have used a bit of help - but the thought of Roran showing up on his doorstep flat out halts the thought. He needs more information, because what the Queen of Land had given them was sorely lacking. The traitor’s chosen name? Had been correct. As had the vague description. Faun brown hair, eyes near the same shade, and skin, weathered tan by the sunshine. His hands and ears had held a green tint - glamoured from the human eye - so he was from the Land Court.

But he knew how to blend in with humans, had made friends of them. He was living, and living well among them, and he knew how to lose someone attempting to track him. He’d vanished at the first sign of trouble.

“Or he really was passing time with his companion and they distracted him from me,” Merrick grumbles, lips pulled into a frown as he stumbles over to the rickety table in the corner. The chair creaks as he flops into it, pulling close the map of the city and the small pad of paper provided by the motel.

Merrick supposes that Garrick could have been human born - maybe his human parent had been spirited to his Court and had passed on their knowledge as he grew? Maybe human parentage did have something to do with being able to lie. Still. He’s tempted to swear something crass to prove that Garrick isn’t simply a gardener. Other than that single flare of glamour, Garrick had left little to no trace of himself behind, and even someone with Merrick’s talents would be hard pressed to do that. Roran couldn’t have done it so smoothly.

The only thing Merrick had been able to find out with any certainty is that Garrick is fond of the group of humans he’d gone to Corner Pocket with. He’d checked back into the bar after he’d canvassed the area and found nothing. They’d been gone as well, safe from being followed or questioned. He’d asked after the group from one of the workers, but he’d been run nearly dry by then, dizzy on his feet. The worker had only given him a strange look and urged him to call his friends after he’d grabbed a few hours of sleep. Of course, asking the worker in the back alley while they took their smoke break… Had possibly been ill advised. He hadn’t wanted to risk glamour, and he couldn’t head inside the bar without a shirt on. They’d likely assumed he was as inebriated as the two men staying in the room next to his at the motel. It could have been worse.

Though he can’t say he’s not convinced that Garrick didn’t double back after he’d left and gotten his human companions to vacate the area.

Perhaps- no.

For the breadth of a second, he wonders if Garrick has roped the humans into this, but it’s highly unlikely. With such a large group of them, at least one would have spilled his secret. No. They’d been too at ease, and he doesn’t believe that you would have li- It simply doesn’t matter. None of the humans could have known enough about Garrick’s true nature to fool him.

A very small part, that he studiously ignores, is pleased by the thought. Being distracted by honest flattery is one thing, but being lied to is quite another.

He wonders how often Garrick has dealt with human lies, and whether it galls him or not, tasting the sourness upon the air.

Merrick scowls, fingers tracing idle paths on the now creased and worn map. He doesn’t even know if those born to the Land Court possess the same drawbacks when it comes to attempting to lie.

Besides, it’s entirely possible that Garrick will decide to run again. Even though he’s done his best to make a home for himself here, and seems to be fond of the local populace, he’s run twice already. Once from the Queen of Land - the place he was raised, and once when the land Guard found him. Both times he’d run far enough that it had cost quite a bit of time to track him down again. And yet... he might decide that a random citizen of the Air stumbling upon him is nothing to worry about.

He might not be able to find Garrick at the bar for some time, but he imagines one or two of the humans will return. They’d been charmed by his appearance, at least, so he doubts it will take over much to befriend one of them. And if, by chance, Garrick comes to assume that Merrick is a fellow runaway?

He might just be willing to speak to him.

Corner Pocket soon becomes Merrick’s most regular haunt, and his least favorite place in the human realm.

The drinks make it bearable, at least some of the time. The vast amount to choose from means he’s not bored, but enjoying a glass of anything by his lonesome is… Not very entertaining. And most of the attention he draws? Merrick does not want in the first place. He’s offended at least three different humans there in the week following his decision to befriend one of Garrick’s companions. One woman he refuses flat out, which leaves her petulant and loud. One of her friends apologizes on her behalf, rolling their eyes as they tow her out the door. One man seems to be desperately looking for a debate partner on human sports teams, and another says he simply doesn’t like the look of Merrick.

“There’s a couple colleges here,” one of the bartenders shares with him after the last man is quickly ushered out, having decided to upend his barstool and his drink. “We have regulars, but there’s always someone obnoxious popping in. If you’re going to be in here frequently, look out for those ones.” The truth of it is staggering, and Merrick quickly becomes used to picking out the humans who show up too far into their cups.

He’s tempted to give the endeavor up - to go back to searching for flares of glamour or seeking out spots that have shown an uptick in greenery growth. He has no desire to spend his afternoons or evenings in this place, repeatedly being approached by pushy humans. Even if getting to Garrick via his companions is a good strategy, he doesn’t have to needlessly suffer time with others.

But then, you walk back into the bar one evening.

Unthinking, he hides, moving to a seat out of your view that still lets him hear your conversation with the friend you’ve brought with you. He thinks he might recognize the fellow as well - his patched jacket and red hair seem familiar anyhow.

“-still think it’s silly,” your friend complains, tapping a knuckle against the bar as he glances at the daily specials. Merrick leans back a little farther in his chair, drinking the sight of you in. “This is the closest and cheapest place to meet, and now we’re going to that dance club? Since when do we all dance?”

“I think it was Em’s idea,” you say with a shrug, smiling and ordering something for yourself. Your friend grimaces, looking only mildly more pleasant when he orders his own drink.

“I think she’s trying to make the moves on Garfield,” your friend adds, a huff of a laugh escaping him.

“No. Red, come on, is that really his full name? I thought it was something like.. Garrett. Or Gary. And Em is going to have a serious time of it, he really only has eyes for-”

“Everyone knows,” Red says with a gruff sigh. “And honestly, I don’t know. I just thought I’d try it out on him and see if it stuck.”

“You really want to saddle him with the name Garfield? What if it is his name and he’s ashamed or something?” You ask before you thank the bartender. You wait until your friend has his glass in hand before you both raise them in some kind of silent toast and drink.

Red wipes the beer foam from his mouth and shrugs. “Then he’ll say something and I’ll let it go. We better hurry up here though, Em will blow her top if we end up being more than a minute late.”

It’s all too easy to glamour himself and shadow the two of you to the dance club. Merrick keeps well back, wrinkling his nose when the thumping music is loud enough for him to hear outside the heavy doors. The two of you don’t even blink, flashing IDs at the door and trading a look that has you both laughing. Merrick follows and drops the glamour as soon as he’s in the door. He doesn’t want to leave half his attention on holding it, or risk walking up to Garrick like a glowing beacon.

Despite the discomfort of the loud noise and the press of the bodies, a stillness comes over him when he does finally spot Garrick sitting at a low table. He looks well fed and completely at ease, staring at a young woman who is talking a mile a minute - though Merrick isn’t sure if Garrick is actually listening to her, or just looking past her. He perks up when he sees you and your friend Red though, waving the two of you over in obvious relief.

“Just you two?” You ask, eyebrows raising when Garrick gets to his feet to greet you with an embrace. You return it kindly enough, but it doesn’t appear to be something that happens frequently. Em doesn’t look quite as happy to have you both there, and Red looks startled when he, too, receives a sudden hug from the tall Land Fae. The three of you take your seats, though Red waves away the drink list when Em offers it to him, grimacing when he sees the prices. Garrick’s hand closes around a half-full glass and he too, looks as if the selection isn’t exactly to his liking.

“Everyone else was busy,” Em says brightly, though the way her eyes dart around tells Merrick that she’s lying. Garrick winces at the lie too, glancing off into the crowd of dancing people.

“What a shame,” Red mutters, scowling at the press of people, just quiet enough that Merrick is fairly sure Em doesn’t catch it. “So did you just have a real hankering for the club scene or-”

“It’s you again!” Your voice pipes up and then Merrick realizes: he’s drifted too close, the crowd of human dancers had parted to let him through. You’re smiling at him again, eyes tracing over his hair and his mouth, and you’re inviting and lovely- and Garrick’s face has gone completely and utterly blank.

“Yeah,” Merrick chokes out, taking another unsteady step towards you when you lift your hand in a slightly shy wave. He can’t get distracted. He can’t, he knows this, but he forces himself to look away from Garrick anyway. The last thing either of them wants is to start a fight amidst the humans, right? He can approach if he sticks to manners.

“I remember you too,” Em perks up, arching an eyebrow. “The runaway. Was it too soon to meet the friends last time?”

“Ignore her,” you urge him, trying to scoot further into the booth to make room for him. “She’s like a sour patch kid,” you tease. The words make no sense to Merrick, but a little of the tightness in Em’s face seems to even out, and she smiles at you, shifting aside so everyone can fit in the booth.

“Join us!” You suggest. “Unless you’re busy. I’m not trying to force our company on you.” You shrug, glancing away, as if you’re regretting your sudden outburst.

“O-of course,” Merrick hastens to say, and wants to kick himself, twice over. He should be claiming some kind of important business with Garrick, he should be trying to complete the task he’s been given by his King and all he wants to do is agree to whatever you say. He takes another step closer, mouth opening- and then there’s a clatter and Red is cursing something awful and Em is squealing, trying to stand in the booth without knocking over the table.

“Seriously?” Red barks, pushing to his feet and trying to grab at any napkins on the table. Garrick’s drink is empty, having been poured almost directly all over Red’s pale trousers. Though there’s a small splatter across Em’s pale shirt as well. “Shit aim, man, look at this!” Red snaps, gesturing at his damp lap.

“Will that stain?” Garrick asks, and he looks guilty, cheeks gone ruddy from embarrassment. “Is there anything I can-”

“He’s crashing on my couch,” you rush to say, getting out of the booth. “It’s not too far, come on, you can grab the clothes you left and shove these in my washer.” You meet Merrick’s eyes and give him a slightly sad smile. “Nice to see you again. One of these days, I’ll actually get the chance to-” You jump when Em latches onto your arm.

“Please let me use your washer too, the dye in that drink-” Em starts, nearly pushing you over as she starts to walk you and Red towards the entrance.

The three of you rush off, apparently having forgotten Garrick- and that’s when Merrick notices the glamour. It’s been washed over the two of them like a shadowy bubble, separating them from the surrounding humans, dulling the noise if not exactly canceling it.

“If you’re here for me,” Garrick says, sounding weary as he rights his fallen glass, “then come after me. Leave them out of this. They’ve done absolutely nothing to you.” He gets to his feet slowly, lips curled into a frown, broad shoulders slouched. There’s still a bit of space left between them, and he’s staring at Merrick like he’s reached the end of a very frayed tether.

For a moment, Merrick believes this is going to be easy. Garrick is all but defeated, tired of running, ready to face the fate laid down for him by his Queen. Merrick unsheathes the small blade he has strapped to his wrist, palming it as quickly and quietly as possible. Garrick’s eyes track the sudden gleam of it in his hand, the sharp edge catching the flashing lights over the dance floor.

“The Queen of Land isn’t pleased,” Merrick tells him, taking a step. Garrick doesn’t move. “The lies you’ve been spreading-”

Tension springs through Garrick’s limbs and Merrick has to throw himself back into the crowd of humans to avoid being tackled to the floor. The humans shriek, and Merrick curses - he’s cut his own hand, and knocked a few dancers down, but otherwise they’re all unhurt. Garrick though, is heading straight for the door, much quicker than Merrick would like.

“Really?” Merrick snaps out, exasperated, and then he’s streaking after Garrick, as fast as his feet will take him, glamouring himself as he goes. For someone so broad, for someone once tasked with doing nothing more than growing the Queen’s garden, Garrick runs like he was born to it. Merrick only just barely keeps up.

He decides though, watching the Fae dodge between humans and hurdle over one parked car, that he’s going to have a long conversation with Garrick before he does as he was tasked.

The chase carries them both through the city on feet too swift for humanity. The glamour is going to make both of them lag after a while, but for some reason Garrick still wants to keep his presence hidden from the humans, more than he wants to escape. Eventually though, Merrick gets tired of running. He strips off his shirt, freeing his aching wings and takes to the skies, just as he realizes that Garrick is heading for the park.

It’s a race then, to try and stop him before he has a myriad of plants at his disposal - and it’s one that Merrick very narrowly misses out on winning. He uses the momentum of his flight to bounce off of a fence, brandishing his weapon in a swinging arch. Garrick dodges the swipe of his blade purely on luck, and then willow tree branches are snapping out at Merrick like whips. He slips his wings back into his skin, not wanting to get them hurt and falls to the ground, rolling across the grass at high speed, stopped only by a park bench to his back.

Merrick grunts with the impact and leaps to his feet, ready to fight, clutching the handle of his blade with a still-stinging palm, and halts.

Garrick is standing on the other side of a slide, chest heaving as he attempts to get back his breath- but he’s not fighting. There’s ivy near at hand, Merrick notes, and he could make swift use of that, but instead he’s just staring, eyebrows drawn together, a frown just barely tugging at his mouth. The both of them stand there and stare, the moon rising slowly overhead.

“The King of Air sent you?” Garrick finally asks, still fairly breathless, eyes darting to the ink lines of Merrick’s wings, wrapped around his biceps and trailing down over his shoulders and arms.

“Are you a gardener?” Merrick asks, rather than answer. The answer to Garrick’s question is obvious anyway. Merrick possesses wings. The question he asks makes Garrick’s eyebrows arch.

“Hardly,” he mutters. “I’ve never been a gardener,” he says at normal volume and his shoulders lose some of their tension, hands resting carefully at his sides. “Were you looking for one?”

Merrick scowls. The Queen of Land had given them incomplete information - or her guard had tracked down the wrong Fae. It’s hard to believe her guard could have been so utterly incompetent though.

“Did you betray the Queen of Land?” He tries instead, straightening from his crouch of a fighting stance. The heat of the chase is beginning to leave him, and he’s regretting abandoning his shirt.

Garrick doesn’t answer, just purses his lips, watching him, waiting for something else to happen, for another question, maybe.

And then Merrick does something absolutely idiotic. He’s searching for common ground, searching for a way to get Garrick to continue speaking, even if it isn’t about something important. The only thing he can think of that he wants to ask, that has nothing to do with the Queen or betrayal - is about you. Heat rises along his neck and face, but before he can stop himself, he blurts out his question.

He asks Garrick for your name.

Garrick’s belly deep laughter echoes throughout the entire park.

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

...turn the page?

#exophilia #faerie boyfriend #male faerie x reader #fairy boyfriend #male fairy x reader #fairy x reader

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wanderingcas · 5 years

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‘Graced’ Commission for @wayward-dream 3.1k words

. . .

The first time Dean saw Cas, actually saw what the angel is really made of, was the day that Dean returned to the land of the living.

His fingers clawed through the dirt. His lungs screamed for air. When his upper body was finally free, he dropped to the dirt, panting and exhausted, inhaling dirt and grime as he laid his face on the ground.

First, he was grateful he was alive. Then he noticed his surroundings.

Something flickered in the corner of his eye. He slowly lifted his head. Trees were littered around him and his grave, some unseen force having bowed them low to the ground. The ground was cracked and jolted. Among all this wreckage was something blue, silver, and almost fiery. Dean’s tired, reformed eyes tracked it across the ground: saw where the substance mingled with the dirt. Saw where it dripped across the fallen tree trunks, shimmering and glinting in the faint afternoon sunlight.

The blue and fiery substance was thinly shattered around the forest floor, with the thickest, most concentrated part of it practically submerging Dean’s body.

Dean reached out to carefully brush the silvery-blue with his fingertips. He nearly snatched his hand back at the feeling: it felt like air, instead of a thick liquid like he expected. It was freezing cold to the touch, to the point where it should burn, but didn’t hurt or bother him at all.

There, in the midst of his rebirth, half of his body still stuck in the grave, he ran Cas’s grace through his fingers. He watched as it glinted in his hands, practically humming alive with the energy of a living thing, seeming to attach itself greedily onto his skin.

He ran his fingers through the liquid. It shimmered and ran itself back across his hand, stroking with almost a familiar fondness.

“What is this shit?” he murmured to the empty air.

. . .

Sam’s situation with the demon blood was different, Dean had told himself. They were in completely different situations: Sam had a choice on whether he drank that blood or not, had a choice whether he used his powers or not.

With Dean, it was just a side-effect of him coming back to life; a flaw, a mistake that Cas made while yanking him up from Hell. Definitely not something that Cas meant to do, much less want to do.

Why would Cas want to put any of his grace in him?

. . .

The second time Dean saw Cas, really saw Cas, was in the barn.

The doors flew open. Sparks literally flew. Bobby and Dean both raised their guns, expecting the worst. Electricity zapped the air, a familiar blue shade.

At first glance, Dean saw an unassuming, dark-haired man in an ugly trench coat walking through the barn doors and toward them. As Cas walked closer, Dean could see, looming over the angel, was an outline of fiery blue and silver fire: an omnipresent shadow that seemed to suck Cas’s vessel right in.

Dean could tell, somehow, that Cas’s true form was meant to be much bigger, if it weren’t shoved into this tiny space. It glimmered and changed like mirrors twirling on their sides, as if Dean’s human eyes couldn’t quite take in the true essence of Cas’s form. All he could tell was that whatever this thing was, it was blue and brilliant and mesmerizing.

Sure, the man in front of him was handsome enough, Dean had thought—but this thing behind him… well, it’s beautiful.

Dean stood there, completely mesmerized, until Cas started walking toward them again. Promptly, Dean pulled out his knife and plunged it into Cas’s chest.

Cas blinked at him for a moment; tilted his head. As Cas’s human face stretched into a grin, that blue, imposing, huge essence behind him burn brighter.

. . .

Dean didn’t acknowledge, for a long time, what he felt in that barn.

For a long time he blamed it on Cas’s mistake. He blamed his feelings on Cas’s grace inside his veins, recognizing their source, their home, and reaching toward him.

What Dean refused to acknowledge was that small, but very significant, part of him that was reaching for Cas, too.

. . .

“So you can see angel’s grace,” Sam said over a steaming plate of egg whites and turkey bacon.

“Yes,” Dean said.

“And you can tell if a demon is a demon because you can see its real face,” Sam continued around a bite of wheat toast.

“Yup.”

“Because of the grace.”

“Yeah.” He leaned back in his booth, grinning. “And I can open jars more easy.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Real helpful. And it’s Cas’s grace? You’re positive?”

Dean taps the handprint that’s seared into his skin, underneath his layers of clothing. “It feels like it all comes from here. The… power of it, or whatever. And Cas obviously gave me this when he yanked my ass out of Hell and slam-dunked me back into my grave.”

“Okay,” says Sam slowly. “Have you talked to him about it?”

Trust Sam to hit it on the end with the uncomfortable questions. “Uh, no,” Dean says, shifting in his seat. “Haven’t had a chance.”

“Dean.” Sam fixes him with another look. “You should really let Cas know that part of him is inside you.”

“Jesus Christ, Sam...”

“Well, I’m serious! What if it’s dangerous? We don’t know a lot about the angels yet, you know. We don’t even know what their grace really is.”

“Yeah, but it’s Cas,” Dean protested. “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt us.”

“Wouldn’t do anything to hurt you,” Sam clarified, “because you’re the righteous man and part of Heaven’s grand plan. And this grace could inadvertently be doing the opposite of keeping you safe.”

There was a pang of something that Dean didn’t want to give attention to: a thought that he’s been dreading all along. That even if Cas’s grace inside him wasn’t a mistake, then it couldn’t possibly be to protect him. It was just to protect the righteous man.

Dean poked his fork around his runny eggs. “I’ll talk to him,” he said.

Sam leaned back in the booth, face relaxing. “Okay. Good.” He pulled out a few errant dollar bills and tossed them onto the table. “Ready to go check out that haunting in Connecticut?”

“Sure,” Dean grunted. He stood, leaving his barely-eaten food behind.

. . .

The third time Dean saw Cas’s grace, he was in a barn, again. With Bobby, again.

But this time demons had them surrounded, and with Bobby’s head wound and Dean’s probably broken leg, it didn’t look good for them. Sam had been out cold on the floor since a demon knocked him over the head with a four-by-four. Dean stepped closer to his body, Ruby’s demon-killing knife raised against the demons closing in.

Dean barely had a chance to think, Could use you right about now Cas, when suddenly Cas was there, hands outstretched and grabbing two demons by the forehead before Cas even fully lands. Dean could see the grace steam from Cas’s fingers as the demons’ eyes whited out, as their screams filled the barn.

Dean took the opportunity to plunge his knife into a distracted demon’s chest. Bobby slammed the butt of his gun onto a demon’s back as it pounced at Dean.

Dean heard a grunt behind him. He barely had time to turn before he saw a demon swipe an angel-killing blade across Cas’s chest.

Dean’s broken leg became a minor problem as he lunged toward them, landing his knife in the demon’s chest. It fell on top of Cas’s prone body.

Dean opened his mouth to ask if Cas was okay, if that grace he could see spilling out of Cas’s chest wound was normal, but Cas rasped, “Dean, behind you—”

There was a pain in his back; something felt as though it disconnected. Dean fell to his knees, catching a glimpse of Cas’s panicked eyes. Cas tried to scramble to his feet, grace sputtering from his eyes like a leaky spark plug, only to be pushed down by a demon’s foot. Dean stared at the ground, seeing his own blood begin to pool at his knees.

I’m dying, he thought. He needed to get to Sam, before he lost consciousness. Needed to…

A foot kicked him and he fell to the ground with a groan. He heard Cas frantically call his name. A demon stood over him with a gun pointed to Dean’s head and a grin on his distorted face.

“Looks like I get to kill the one and only Dean Winchester,” he said.

Dean would say something, some sassy last words before he went out with a bang, but the handprint on his arm was starting to burn, and his eyes were starting to water from how bright the air became around them. He saw blue grace dash around them like lightning, could see the demon’s distorted face melt into alarm.

Dean could feel that burning, that something, race down his arm to his hand. With an instinct that he couldn’t explain, he reached up and put his palm on the demon’s forehead.

“Fuck you,” Dean rasped, and then the whole barn lit up with grace like a fireworks show.

Cas’s grace burst out of him with a mind of its own. Dean could feel the demons dying around him, could somehow feel the wound in his back knitting back together and his spine getting reset. He felt the grace reaching out to Bobby and Sam, flowing through them and healing them even as demons were being smited left and right.

He could feel the grace treat Cas almost an afterthought, flowing right into the angel’s chest and knitting him whole.

When it was all over, Dean fell again to his knees, this time whole and breathing. Half the barn’s walls were torn and scattered around them. Cas stared at him, mouth agape, unable to speak.

“Surprise,” Dean said, before he fell unconscious.

. . .

It was a mistake, Dean told himself. A goddamn mistake. And if it wasn’t a mistake, it was because Cas was protecting the righteous man. Michael’s sword.

Even as he and Cas grew closer, even when things started blossoming between them that had no business being there, Dean reminded himself of the impossibilities: that there’s no way Dean was worth giving any sort of grace to. That there’s no way Cas saw Dean’s rotting, wretched, contorted soul in Hell and actually thought it was worth any redemption. Redemption past the fact that Dean was part of Heaven’s grand plan or the fact that Dean was Castiel’s mission; redemption, because Cas looked at Dean’s twisted soul and saw something bright and good in it.

Impossible, Dean would remind himself, even when Cas would latch onto his gaze and not let go.

Impossible.

. . .

“Wait a minute, you’re what?”

Cas blinks at Dean, once. “I said that I’m dying. My grace has almost fully burnt out.”

Holding an arm at length, Dean demands, “How can you say that so casually, Cas? What do you mean, ‘almost burned out’? Does that mean you permanently die? Are you human? What—”

“What can we do to help, Cas?” cuts in Sam above Dean’s frantic questions.

Cas seems to slump further in his chair. He looks older than Dean’s ever seen him. “Unfortunately, there’s not much.” His eyes travel to Dean’s; holds his gaze for a moment before flickering away. “There’s nothing,” he amends.

But Dean catches it. With Cas, he always catches it.

He waits until Sam has gone to bed. Walks out to the Impala in the parking lot and leans against it, arms crossed, chewing at his bottom lip. It only takes a couple of minutes for Cas to get the hint and show up in front of him.

They stare at each other for a long moment before either speaks.

“Dean,” Cas starts.

“I know it was a mistake,” Dean cuts in.

Cas’s face contorts. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb, man.” Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “The fucking grace.”

Like a light switch flipped, Cas’s face dims. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

Cas shakes his head. “Dean, you don’t understand.”

“I don’t, huh? Well, let me see if I got this right: you accidentally, mistakenly, get some of your grace or whatever inside me, however the Hell that works, and it makes me see your real form and demons’ faces and whatever. Now you’re depowering because the angels put you through the ringer, and without that extra grace that’s now inside me, you’re not able to heal yourself.” Dean crosses his arms. “How am I doin’ so far?”

Cas sighs. “Yes. That’s all true.”

Dean smiles, but it’s twisted and is the result of feeling like a knife is being planted in his gut. “Great. Awesome. Glad to finally hear the truth, Cas.”

“I’m sorry to have caused you trouble. We should have discussed this earlier.”

With a wry laugh, Dean says, “No shit.” He grabs at the back of his neck, feels the sweat there. “So, now what?”

“Now…?”

“How do you take it back?”

“I don’t want it back.”

“Cas, bullshit. First off, it was a fucking mistake. Second off, you’re dying—”

“I’m not dying,” Cas says petulantly.

“—and did I mention you put this crap into me by mistake?”

“It wasn’t a—” Cas cuts himself off and lets out an exasperated sound. “Are you going to let me explain myself?”

Dean hunches his shoulders in a shrug, leaning against the car. He holds out a hand obligingly.

“It’s true,” Cas says, slowly, “that in Hell, some of my grace did transfer to you. And I will admit, at the time, it began as a mistake.” He breathes. “But I realize now that it wasn’t.”

Dean scoffs. “You’ve got to be—”

“Just listen. Angel’s grace can often act as a subconscious does for humans. Involuntary, seemingly illogical at times, but a reflection of our true intentions.” He fixes Dean with that fiery blue stare. “I realize, after getting to know you better, Dean, that it was always my intention to give you my grace. To protect you.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. “Okay, sure, because I’m the righteous man or whatever.”

Cas takes a step forward. “No,” he says firmly. “Because you are worth saving. Because you’re my friend.”

Dean shakes his head, says, “But I’m not worth that, Cas. Not something as important as your grace.”

Cas’s expression shifts into something pained. “If you weren’t worth it, Dean, I wouldn’t have given it to you in the first place.”

For a long moment, Dean can only stare at him, mouth slightly unhinged.

Dean thought that his ability to see Cas’s grace made him able to really see what the angel is made of. That he saw was Cas really was.

But now, seeing Cas in front of him, determined and fierce even with his waning grace and exhaustion, declaring Dean’s worth to him, he sees beyond the grace and realizes what Cas is.

He finally composes himself; looks away. “Gee, Cas, buy a guy dinner first,” he mutters.

Cas cocks his head and his mouth hooks into a smile. “Is this another human colloquialism that I will never understand?”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah.” He pushes himself off the car; holds out his arm. “So, how we doing this thing?”

“Dean,” Cas begins impatiently, “I just said—”

“Yeah, Cas, I know. But you’re dying and I want to keep you around, okay? You’ll just have to keep me safe with your own dorky self, without your grace inside me.”

Cas still looks unsure, so Dean adds, softly, “I believe you, Cas, okay? That I’m… worth it to you, or whatever. God knows why. I just.” His hand moves on its own volition, reaches out to grab Cas’s arm. “I just would rather have you around, all of you, than just your grace.”

Cas looks down at Dean’s hand. When Dean begins to pull it back, Cas grabs it, and Dean fights a blush. “This may sting,” he warns.

Dean grins. “I’ve had worse.”

. . .

The last time Dean sees Cas’s grace is as it’s leaving him. The sheer fire of it lights up Cas’s face as it’s slowly pulled from the handprint on Dean’s arm. Dean savors every drop of it, how beautiful it looks.

When it’s all said and done, he still sees that same blue in Cas’s eyes.

. . .

Dean leans back on the Impala, body shaking. “That it?”

Nodding, Cas says, “That’s it.” He pauses. “Are you—”

“You’re feeling better?” Dean says.

“Yes. I’m feeling better.” Cas carefully leans against the Impala beside Dean, eyes searching. “Are you all right?”

Dean shrugs. The last thing he wants to talk about is how empty, how alone he feels without Cas’s grace inside him. “I dunno. Kinda weird, I guess.”

“Grace extraction can be unpleasant,” Cas says with a grimace. “If you’d like me to alleviate the side effects—”

“No, save your mojo,” Dean says, holding up a hand to stop Cas’s two fingers from touching his forehead. “I’ll be fine.”

Lowering his hand, Cas frowns. “I have to admit that I will still not be ‘fully charged’, as you put it. Even as our enemies are closing in on us to make this war happen, I won’t be a powerful, or even reliable, ally.”

“Cas.” Dean gives Cas a look. “Even you just fighting beside me and Sam? That’s good enough for us.” He shifts his weight between his feet, kicking at some dirt beneath his boots. “I got faith.”

That gets a grin out of Cas, almost a laugh. “Since when?”

“Well, not in God or whatever. No offense, man, but your dad’s a dick.” Cas nods assentingly. Dean continues, “It’s just faith in… us, I guess. You, me, Sam. As long as I got you guys on my side, I feel like we’ll all be fine.” Dean grins. “Either that, or your grace being in me so long has turned me into a devout and loyal angel.”

Cas smiles. “I surely hope not.”

Dean laughs. Tilts his head to look up at the stars. He can’t believe he didn’t realize it before, but they’re the same silver fire as Cas’s grace.

“They’re pretty, huh?” he asks with a nod up to the sky.

Cas follows Dean’s gaze. Quietly says, “I suppose they are.”

After a few breaths, Dean can feel Cas hesitantly push his shoulder in Dean’s a little more firmly. Dean fights a grin, and does the same. They stand, side by side, in their quiet moment of peace, knowing it won’t last long. Dean tastes the first piece of hope he’s felt in a while.

“You really think we’re going to be okay?” Cas asks, his voice barely above a murmur.

Dean smiles at the stars. He can’t see Cas’s grace anymore, can’t feel it; but he swears that he feels something warmly settling on his shoulders, guarding him against the cold, like wings brushing against him.

“Hell yeah, Cas,” he says, softly, into the cool night air. “We’re going to be okay.”

. . .

thank you, Cindy, for the chance to write this wonderful fic! ~September Commissions are Open~ ~my kofi~

#wanderingwrites #i loved writing this commission and i'm so happy i got to do it <3 #shout out to wayward-dream for that #destiel

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sassasquashedgrapes · 7 years

Text

Deep Love: Close to Ending and the Shorts

Hello Everyone! I sure hope you enjoyed Deep Love. If anyone think it sounds like something out of a terrible porn, it isn’t. It’s actually based from a song of an English trip hop duo called Mandalay. The song was an inspiration for the album, Instinct. Go give it a try on Spotify when you can, it’s a lovely song.

So again, just to remind everyone, I wasn’t really able to come up with a final finale for this story. Most stories I’ve written are usually in drafts and it takes me a long while to come around to end it. I guess you can say I do have that challenge, I’m pretty sure every writer comes across that. But ever since I took to heart the 5 Second Rule, a self-help motivational guide by Mel Robbins, I decided what the heck. I’m just gonna publish all my stuff on Tumblr and hope maybe someday, someone would pick this little humble blog up and love reading the stories the same way I wrote them so many years before. Truth be told, I must have written tons of stories. Short ones, long ones, all of which are either half-baked, or finished drafts. I had recently made myself a commitment I was gonna post my stuff no excuses.

So again, just read along! Thanks so much for making time for this lengthy reads and I hope to see y’all again soon.

* **

“So how does it feel to be the only female to have both Hargreave men chasing you? And who’s the leading contender?”

We were in the middle of dinner at Breadsticks when Chelsea had popped that question. She was perching with her chin on her fists as she innocently asked me before I could take a bite off my salad. I could swear I heard their grandmother, Constance Hargreave gasp. Neil turns his head and glares at his stepsister while Iain though nonplussed appears to be mildly intrigued. I’m so glad that my mother didn’t decide to join us as she had a late prayer meeting with her friends at church because I just wanted to die right now.

Instead, I feign ignorance and pretend that I misunderstood what the irrepressible pre-teen just said. I blink and purse my lips as I say “I’m sorry?”

“Chelsea,” Neil warns as he starts to intervene but changes his mind when Chelsea quickly adds. “Are you immune to their good looks and their wealth? Or were you just playing hard to get? Stop looking at me like you’re going to kill me, Iain because you’re not going to and it’s no secret that we’re rich. The jig is up. Besides, Quinn’s probably known that the minute she’s met you.”

Mortified, I look at Iain who turns to me expectantly. His facial reaction is contained, but I can tell from his body language that he wants to hear what I have to say, I swallow and lick my lips nervously.

“I know I’ve got this in the bag.” Neil turns and winks conspiratorially at me and I can hear Iain harrumph surly in response.

The entire conversation was so outrageous that I end up doubling over in laughter. I never laugh when I’m nervous and this has got to be the first time I’ve done so. I cover my face with my hands and lean back and let the nervous giddiness take hold. I laugh so hard that everyone in the table also start to laugh along that when I do come out with my explanation, the expressions on their faces makes me want to laugh again.

“Seriously, Quinn. What would it take for a man to impress you?” Neil prods, because he’s fascinated by this debacle.

“I---I----I--- don’t know.” I breathed in the middle of the peals as I take a peek at both brothers’ astonished looks as they turn to each other and exchange frowns. Seeing their reaction just makes me double more in the hilarity of this absurd situation and I continue to giggle in mirth. Neil starts grinning in amusement as if in truce and Iain’s eyes crinkle in amusement.

“Mention jewelry.” Constance promptly advises as if wanting to be a part of the conversation. “A diamond bracelet would be a good gesture.”

That incredible suggestion just pulled me over the edge that when I thought I’d stop laughing, I start bursting out another round. “I-i-is that what wealthy New York socialites do?” I manage to say between the fits. No longer did I feel self-conscious, I lift my gaze to Iain as he’s been remarkably silent throughout this whole scene. “What would you do if I ….I asked you for a diamond bracelet?”

Iain smiles at me, his eyes gleaming wickedly. He’s regarding me closely, slowly taking in the flushed appearance of my cheeks as I take in how his dark, almost black hair glints like raven and ebony silk under the recessed halogens of the dimly lit restaurant. His bright blue eyes are shining with amusement and something else that makes my heart do double flips and starts to pound overtime as those blue orbs darken and a lock of his hair tumbles carelessly against his forehead as if for added effect. He doesn’t breathe a word to answer, but I know exactly what he’s thinking which makes me stop laughing as I stare boldly at his scrutiny then when I remember that we’re not alone, I gaze downward as if to hide my eyes.

“On second thought,” Constance amends as she correctly interprets Iain’s thoughts. “Forget the bracelet, dear. Go straight for a diamond necklace.”

“Well now we know who won,” Chelsea murmurs. “At this rate, Quinn could probably ask for the whole set.” She turns and looks at her stepbrother sympathetically and clucks her tongue. “Sorry Neil.”

“You’re the one who’s going to be sorry when I smack your butt with this.” Neil growls as he warningly lifts his hand. But we all know it’s a ruse and Chelsea doesn’t seem affected in the least.

Time passes very quickly after that. By the time the bill was set up and the plates were cleared, I felt closer to the Hargreaves thanks to Chelsea. With democratic impartiality, the little outspoken girl had switched her attention from me and aimed her series of impertinent comments to her grandmother’s alcohol addiction and then at her brothers. No one was spared at the end of the meal that Chelsea’s victims had bonded in shared helplessness, sympathy, and hopeless laughter.

Judging from Iain’s knowing and sympathetic grin, I’d come to assume that he had lived a life of elegant leisure far above the stress of ordinary humanity apart from the melodrama that occurred between his parents. I knew he had once mentioned that he had a sister who was a ‘pain in the ass’, but the realization that he had to ‘endure’ the whims of a precocious child made him now seem very human and likable. Chelsea gave her grandmother absolutely no mercy and Constance generally let her get away with it. I notice with trepidation that the young girl might be right about their grandmother’s fondness for liquor as I notice that she’s already down on her fifth bottle of champagne.

Iain, on the other hand, had limits at Chelsea’s jibes which mostly involved his work. He ignores Chelsea’s jokes about his personal life and the women whom he’d allegedly been involved, most of which are familiar names of starlets and models, other than his longtime girlfriend Lily who sounds like a cross between a demented version of Santana and Baby Jane Hudson. When Chelsea gets to remake about his business and work, Iain’s jaw tightens and his voice turns ominous as he says “I wouldn’t go there if I were you,” which she surprisingly stops in midsentence and does not “go there.”

The car ride home took less than fifteen minutes. Because Neil now is under the custody of Constance, since she was named as the next of kin by their father he was now living with them and was staying at the Presidential suite of the Courtyard Marriott. Anton is acting as their chauffer and it’s amazing that they managed to hire a full scale limousine at such short notice. Iain still chooses to stay with me until my mother comes home so we’re dropped off in front of our house. I say my goodbyes and thank Constance for the meal and reserve my smile at Chelsea and say, “Thank you for the making me feel like a member of your family.”

For once, the girl was at a loss for words as I hear Iain murmur goodnight to everyone as he gently takes my elbow as we stroll side by side towards the front door in silence. Great, just when I thought I’d gotten used to Iain now that I know more about him and his family, I wouldn’t feel as unease as ever. I realize that Iain just about feels the same awkwardness and I break our weird interlude.

“That was interesting. Chelsea’s a riot.”

“You were the only interesting topic,” Iain smiles as he corrects me which strikes me as something significant. I blush in spite of myself and he quickly adds. “She also went beyond exercising her usual modicum of restraint to make you feel at ease.”

I turn my head to look at him to deny it but the minute I look into his eyes, I knew I could never lie to him. “You’re right.” I admit feebly. He relaxes his stance a little and shoves his hands in his pocket and looks at me in silence.

“Is it because of me? Or does my family intimidate you?”

Since the day I’ve met Iain, all plans of trying to flirt with him have flown out the window because I knew that I couldn’t bullshit my way around him. It was like he has this unnerving ability to read my own thoughts and actions because they mirror his own. I have lately come to realize that I can also read through his own actions and right now though he looks as cool as a cucumber, I understand that he’s also wary that I would think differently of him because of his social status and money. In fact, that would have also been true but seeing how gentle and patient he was in front of his sister and seeing the easy camaraderie he shared with Neil had made me change my mind about him being too capricious and cold. I’ve given up with playing games and for once, I try honesty instead.

“Just you,” I say lamely averting my eyes from his direct gaze.

“Why? Do you find me intimidating?” “Yes and because you aren’t like most guys I’ve ever met.”

Iain regards this in silence and nods. He knows he’s nothing like the boys I used to date. It’s the darn truth and I look at him and can see that he seems relieved by this admission for some unfathomable reason.

“That’s right, I’m nothing like Frankenteen and that Mohawk punk. And don’t you even dare compare me to that Ken doll.”

My eyes fly to his face and he looks to be smirking, as if amused by what he’s just said.

“Fact is, I like you Quinn. More than I really should. One of the things that I like most about you is that you are actually refreshingly open and honest especially when you’re alone with me. You don’t say it verbally as you could, but I can tell from your actions anyway. Unlike the rest of the world who sees you as the untouchable Queen Bee, I see something else. You and I aren’t that different from each other which is why I get you more than anyone else you’ve met.”

I don’t answer him because I know it’s true. In the distance I can hear crickets chirping and watch as a lone firefly make its way doing rounds in the lawn. I bring my arms closer towards me, utter grateful that Iain had lent me his jacket as the added warmth helps tremendously with the pressure. I stop and unconsciously rub my chin against the softness of his wool jacket, taking in the scent of Iain that’s mixed with Bergamot and sandalwood from his expensive bodywash.

“So was Chelsea right about you being attracted to me?” He asked bluntly.

I look at him sharply because he already knows the answer. I was about to retort a sarcastic question but stop myself in time and bite my lip in response as I play with the gold cross pendant around my neck.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“What else do you want to hear, Iain?” I ask irritably.

“I just want to know why you’ve been avoiding me. The last few days, you’ve spent more time with Neil than you’ve bothered with me and I want to know why.”

“Maybe you should try analyzing everything that’s transpired this evening,” I suggest my eyes blazing in anger. God, I hate playing this honesty card with him. It’s so frustrating. I’m tired of this one-sided approach so I ask him the same question earlier just as bluntly.

“Do you find me attractive?”

He looks at me as if I’ve lost my marbles. I should be insulted for it’s not a reaction I expect, but then again, because I know him too well I already know the answer to my question and as to why he’s looking at me in a way that’s telling me is that he can’t believe that I can’t see what he does.

He shifts his gaze from my blonde hair, marveling at its softness and slowly makes his gaze down my face as if memorizing each plane and imprinting it as it were the only thing he needed to do in order to survive before it settles on my lips and my breath hitches as I watch his eyes darken. He then moves on to stare into my eyes and we look at each other squarely in silence. My heart is pounding like crazy, my blood is coursing through my veins in a pool of anticipation over something I can’t even begin to describe as I mirror the exact same desire he’s feeling. My attention is drawn to his beautiful mouth that I so desperately want him to come closer to touch me and kiss me senseless, but he doesn’t. Iain stays where he is, even though I could tell that he’s restraining himself because he’s breathing harder than usual and there’s tension radiating from those broad muscular shoulders. I get this feeling that he thinks he’s doing this for my benefit, because if he doesn’t he may not be able to control himself.

“I think you’re so stunningly beautiful that you take my breath away every time I look at you.” He breathes softly, it sounds almost like a whisper.

“But why do you act like you don’t?” I wring my hands to keep them from throwing myself towards pulling my hair out or maybe from his but because Iain’s taller than me, it would just seem awkward for me to overreach. Not that I wouldn’t dare try, but I swear this boy is trying my patience. You’d think I’d get all addle patted after his declaration of what I think is the most beautifully thrilling lines a man could ever say, but right now I’m desperate for some action!

“Because I’m not the man for you Quinn,” Iain explains sadly. I stare at him stunned by his confession. This entire evening has now done a complete 360 turn. Whoa, Iain thinks he doesn’t deserve me? What in the world does he mean?

“Is it because I’m too young for you?” “No,” he shakes his head as he gives me a lopsided smile as he laughs sardonically. “I don’t even get why your parents have entrusted me to you as your legal guardian since you’re already of legal age in some states and a few European countries.”

“Then what is it?”

Iain runs his hand through his beautiful long, dark hair and musses it up. “I’m a fucked up individual that’s why. You already know what went down with my parents, their crazy divorce and drama that’s suitable for a day time soap plot. My Aunt Luna is a crazy megalomaniac; Constance is just as messed that she drinks herself into a stupor so she could feel numb because she’s never gotten over my grandfather’s death and can’t stand up against my great-grandmother who terrifies her. I hope to God Neil doesn’t end up as jaded as me.”

I stare at him wordlessly, my mind reeling in disbelief.

“So you’re saying that you think that you don’t deserve me?”

“I can’t give you what you need,” he says cryptically. He can’t be serious, I think but judging by the look on his face, he’s absolutely convinced. I’m about to give my own rebuttal but he continues on as if I’m allowed to speak my own mind.

“You’re a nice girl. Underneath that Ice Princess exterior, you’re warm, passionate, and so full of life. Despite everything you’ve been through, whatever drama you want to conjure to others because you want to keep up that image of yours, I know that you’ll want to someday settle down and have a few kids of your own you’d like to send to Yale someday. Am I right?”

“Well, I do plan to get married someday and if my kids want to go to Yale, that’s fine too. They can also go to Harvard if they want to, I won’t stop them either.”

“I don’t think I can be able to give you that kind of commitment you deserve. I’d make a horrible parent and a terrible husband like my father. I’m not the family man type.”

I could tell the note of bitterness from his words which made me tilt my head to look at him as my brows furrow at his words. The pieces were all slowly falling together. Iain was afraid that he’d share the same tragic fate as his parents did and was so convinced by it that he was pushing me away. He’s not so much different from me as I do a lot of self-destructive things in order to hurt and push the people I’ve cared about away. Sadly, it worked for most of those people but I wanted to convince myself and to Iain that I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m sure you’d make a wonderful father,” I say with all honesty. The sad truth of it all was though he was convinced he wasn’t genetically capable of caring for anyone other than himself, I know in my heart that he was because....well, I just know, okay?

Unfortunately, my time with Iain was limited and that in the next day, he was going to take that flight to New York with Neil in tow and that would be the last I would ever see and hear from him again. I had my whole life ahead of me at Yale and being in a relationship with Iain was almost impossible. What did you expect? My subconscious snorts as she plants her hands on her hips and clucks sadly in this ‘I told you so’ look on her face. He was going to visit you every day while he’s busy doing whatever it is in New York? Not to mention after all those string of affairs with models, starlets, yoga instructors, and pole dancers he’d want to settle with a small town girl who got knocked up by a guy who wasn’t her boyfriend? Did you really expect he was going to fall in love with you like you do?

Wait. Hang on a sec.

I’m in love with Iain?

Oh. Dear. God.

This realization is just getting more and more depressing. Iain is silent as if he’s trying to figure me out and I’m pallid with the revelation of this breaking news. How like me to fall in love with someone who’s leaving the next day? Until then, I planned to enjoy whatever time was left with him. Even the sad minutes like this. There was so much I wanted to tell him, about his strange family dynamic but I didn’t know where to begin of if he was willing to even hear out what I had to say. Instead I hang on the last possible self-control from stopping myself from sobbing all over him.

“I really wish things could be different,” Iain says softly as he opens the door. I know it’s hard for him to say that he’s sorry and judging from that too-handsome-for-his-own-good/sexy demigod face that’s full of sorrow I nod at his half-given apology.

“Good night, Iain.” I say weakly as I turn and head off to the darkness of my room.

*** Story cuts to here and goes on a time skip....***

****

Quinn

I sit idly watching this perky redhead named Gia who talks animatedly as I barely listen to her plans once she gets to Connecticut. I nod my head politely barely registering a thing she’s saying and barely notice a man wearing a train conductor uniform hand over a copy of Newsweek magazine. I hear Gia swoon as she looks at the front cover and gives out a lustful sigh. I’m caught out of my reverie and look at her blankly and she gives me this sheepish look.

“I’ve like had a crush on him like forever.” She explains and leans over conspiratorially “sometimes, I like to think he’s the real life Christian Grey from that 50 Shades book and the character is somewhat based on him than Edward from Twilight.” She turns the magazine. “Look—isn’t he the most gorgeous male specimen you’ve ever seen?”

My gaze slides from Gia’s goofy smile to the handsome masculine face looking back at me. Shock freezes over my system and I find myself being barely able to breathe for the slightest seconds.

“I know right, he is absolutely drool-worthy. I wouldn’t mind cuffing him to my bedpost too,” Gia giggles gaily, unaware that I am more mortified than awestruck. I swallow forcibly as I gaze into Iain’s arrogant dark brows, the faint sardonic smile bleakly recalling those hard lips when he kissed me that night at the prom. I remember the feel of his soft, dark brown hair against my hands that fateful night and I turn my attention to the bold print entitled: J. Maximiliain Charles Hargreave. President, CEO of Global Merchants & Holdings.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and my mind was still reeling at the thought of it all. I grab the magazine from Gia’s hands and read the article as the searing pain rips through my insides, tearing through me as I digest the words of the four page written article about his life. That he was a child prodigy with an IQ of 160 and possesses an eidetic memory, how he had gained the profits from a song that was composed by his grandfather when he died, no doubt the same man who taught him to play the piano, how he had earned his first billion before hitting puberty when he used those profits investing in computer and electronics stock, how he also developed a well known program software which quadrupled his worth, his life in England and going to boarding school in Scotland, and how he quit his final year in Harvard as an economics major with a degree in Computer Science a few months shy from graduation, opting to rightfully inherit his company when he turned 21 years of age. I also notice pictures of him with famous stars, him being seen arm in arm with some tall leggy model who I realize was Lily, the psycho ex-girlfriend bitch-whore who came after me during the week when Iain left.

***Story Cuts again****

“Mrs. Rolfe-Stuart will see you now,” the butler informs me and I follow him to a room that appears to be like a greenhouse overlooking a sprawling back lawn. I take in the magnificent sight of the surroundings and above the wall in the middle hangs a huge yellow banner shaped like a shield with a light blue checkered design cut in the middle, as if dividing it into two. There are statues of lions made out of ivory that were meant to guard the banner. On the other side of the wall is a crest of a pelican sitting on a nest feeding her young ones with the words: Vericite. Vulnare. Virtus. A tartan plaid in red with blue and green details used as quilts and pillow covers inside the solarium. In the middle sits a frail old woman with intense gray eyes that look hauntingly familiar. She must have been very pretty in her day as her even patrician features stand out and she still has the bearing of a statuesque queen despite the severe arthritis and old age. She gives me the one over look and I can tell from her sour expression that she isn’t amused or pleased.

This woman is my benefactor? She hardly looks like the type that gives anything to charity. She stares at me with those cold, disapproving eyes colder than subzero degree temperature.

“You’re different from what I expected.” She pauses again to pass another condemning look over my hair taking in the emerald green blouse, steel gray A-line skirt, and black Christian Louboutin pumps I’ve borrowed from Millet. “You’re too skinny by far, you’re not very tall, and you’re too pale. Put some blush and lipstick.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Rolfe-Stuart.” I answer bleakly as I take the seat she offers in front of me. Genevieve Stuart’s gray eyes narrow and her face is unreadable as I open my purse and do exactly what she commands. When I’m done I look at her straight in the eye. “Will this do?”

“Are you mocking me, child?”

“No, ma’am. I am not.” I answer curtly, feeling like a schoolgirl in a Prep boarding school. “I came here to thank you for the scholarship you’ve awarded me. As you aware of my intentions of changing majors, I am no longer worthy of receiving the grant you’ve offered. Though however, I am most grateful for your kindness and generosity, I am only truly sorry.”

“Is that all?” she barks after a long pause. I notice that she is now looking at me with a combination between curiosity and wonder.

“Yes.”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” she announces as I feel a surge of dread rise to my throat. “I assume that given the connection between Dean Pendleton and his wife, Constance whom you’ve met previously in Ohio, you already know that I am Iain’s great grandmother. I insisted in giving you the grant for several reasons despite Iain’s initial objections. Why do you look so surprised? For a rather intelligent girl, I’m certain that you’ve already known this long before you stepped into the walls of Yale.”

“Iain offered to pay for my tuition?” I echo bleakly, a memory of him telling me not to worry about my financial problem pops into my head. We were sitting side by side while he was playing the piano, his dark hair falling carelessly on his forehead, his blue eyes gazing intently as my heart beats in staccato, wanting to drown into the fathomless depths of those orbs.

“Of course he did. He bribed David Pendleton with an expensive sports car.” Genevieve snorts, her nose crinkles in distaste as she mutters something about men and their cars. “I however, found this piece of information interesting when it was relayed to me by Constance when she worried about her 4th husband’s safety and desire to drive an overpriced automobile. Iain is highly sentimental with this particular car. He won it in a ridiculous bet he made in boarding school. It was quite a scandal at the time, I’m afraid. I was glad that the headmaster Dr. Heussaff is a very agreeable man when it comes to monetary disclosure.” She hesitates for a moment before she says reluctantly. “Iain flashed the Duchess of Cambridge when he accepted his diploma. She wasn’t the Duchess at the time but a commoner visiting a relative who was in the same class as Iain, but still it was quite an embarrassment that the school nearly retracted his right to graduate had I not intervened. He gained a McLaren F1 GTR Longtail for his efforts, but in my personal opinion, that boy should have been horsewhipped.” Genevieve’s brows snap together as she frowns in displeasure, but I can tell that she’s amused because her lips were twitching as if with reluctant laughter and her cold gray eyes are squinting in merriment.

I feel dizzy again thinking of the car Iain gave to Dean Pendleton to pay for my tuition. It’s one of the world’s most expensive cars priced at nearly 2.4 million dollars. He gave up his car to pay for your tuition, my subconscious clucks in dismay while she checks out the banner, tartan plaids, and the other opulence found inside Mrs. Rolfe-Stuart’s house as she gives me a derisive look as to how I’ve fucked up big time by squandering away at my scholarship. Iain’s obvious wealth still hasn’t sunk in apparently either. I find it hard to assimilate the cold, business tycoon who was raised in money from the mercurial, talented pianist who had been my tutor and lived with me for almost two weeks. I’m so wrapped in thought, I barely notice Mrs. Stuart has observed my reaction in stunned silence. She nods as if she’s finally decided on something.

“Enough of the pleasantries,” Mrs. Stuart motions me to come closer and she offers me to sit beside her. “I must insist that after what you have done for my family, this scholarship is yours no matter how you choose to do away with whatever endeavors you wish to pursue.”

“But, Mrs. Stuart the scholarship is intended for a Dramatic Arts Major.”

“I’ll worry about the semantics later,” she snaps. “My, you are quite the stubborn creature. This grant is yours and yet you still refuse it. How you choose to dedicate your scholarly pursuits is none of my business. I will see to your scholarly needs as the grant will still be provided for you. I also get this feeling that you’re doing this out of ill will as I see nothing of your demeanor that indicates you’re interested in uplifting your social butterfly status otherwise you’d be terrified of me. I know about that ‘secret society’ you’ve joined and I used to be the Grand Mistress of the House so right about now instead of kissing my ass, you’re tossing away your scholarship like a wet, dirty rag. Is it because you truly feel that you are not worthy or is it because I’m related to Iain and you want nothing to do with anything that concerns him therefore this shenanigan of yours is like an act of spite?”

I stare at her wordlessly. She looks at me speculatively, almost as if she’s testing me. I get more nervous thinking that I might give her the wrong answer so I take in a deep breath and respond as truthfully as I could.

“Yes, it’s both. I’m not worthy of such attention because I feel like I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. I was helping out a friend, who was looking for his long lost brother. I knew nothing of his background as he had kept that information to himself. When I found out, I felt betrayed because he wasn’t completely honest with me.” I laugh shakily, remembering my reaction to his Newsweek cover on the train ride to New Haven.

“And now that you know who he truly is, how does that make you feel? I’m surprised you’re not knocking down his door begging him to marry you as many women have done far more desperate, yet convincingly clever methods into persuading my great-grandson.”

“We’re worlds apart. He’s sophisticated, worldly, and experienced while I’m just the small town cheerleader who nearly ruined her life by getting pregnant.”

Mrs. Stuart is quiet for a moment, as if digesting this news. When she finally speaks she says it in a way that surprises me given the way she treated me earlier as her voice is less gruff in quality.

“Do you still love him? The boy who got you pregnant?”

“I care about him, I won’t deny that. We share a bond having been two unwilling teenagers brought into a situation we couldn’t get out of for nine months. But if you’re asking do I imagine sharing a future with Noah Puckerman, then my answer is no. We had nothing in common except for Beth.”

“And the child, what of her?”

“She has a loving adoptive mother who cares about her. Beth deserves more than what I can offer. I’ve tried many ways to get her back, but in the end I learned to let go because I knew it was the right thing to do. I was a child and so was she. It wasn’t an easy thing for me to get over, because I‘ve just learned to love someone other than myself and to let go of that cut me deeper than any pain imaginable.”

“We all have our own skeletons, Quinn. It is of the past and we must learn to move on from it.” Two things take me by surprise. Genevieve Rolfe-Stuart addresses me by my first name and her voice has taken a quiet demeanor almost as if in an empathizing manner.

“So what major have you decided on? I take it Drama is not much to your liking since you have barely attended any of their classes.”

“Literature Major.” I shrug. “I’ve always enjoyed writing and reading books.”

“I’ve mentioned before that you can do away with your scholarship however you like.”

“I still cannot accept the offer, Mrs. Stuart.” I scornfully inform her.

“Don’t be impertinent, child! You may not be one of us, but you have more resilience underneath that delicate façade than Constance and Iain’s mother combined. Given from what I can already gather having just met you, you are not only proud, but stubborn, defiant, and manipulative in some degree. Look at you right now—so sure of yourself even though you know that I could buy and sell that pathetic little town of yours, you have the nerve to come to my house and throw back my money because you think you’re better than me. You, walking in here with the confidence of a king, even though you look disheveled in those obviously borrowed clothes, but still have the balls to stare me down thinking that I’m wrong and you’re right.” For some inexplicable reason, she finds this amusing and is almost restraining the urge to laugh. She settles down and looks me in the eye.

“You will accept the grant. That is final.” She continues on and raises a hand before I have a chance to object again. “In the past few months you have managed to turn my family’s life upside down. You’ve met my great grandson and reunited him with his brother, bridging a gap that has spanned nearly seventeen years. For that reason alone I am truly grateful am in your debt. So we will have no more talk about declining the tuition and boarding expenses I’ve covered for your entire stay at Yale. Even if it takes you ten years to graduate then so bloody be it.” She interjects again giving me another hard cold stare when I’m about to object again.

“If you won’t accept it in my behalf, then do it for Neil’s sake since he’s the only member of our family whom you bear a remarkable high tolerance for. You’ve done him a favor of bringing him back to us, now allow him at least the courtesy as his friend to assist you in your time of need.”

She checks me if I’m going to argue. When she notes my silence, she continues. “Furthermore, I wish to discuss something else because my concern is now geared towards Iain. Ever since he has met you, my great grandson has surprised me with his behavior. Before you walked into our lives, Iain was a determined, young man who cared about nothing but himself and his work. I theorized that it was because he was deeply hurt from his parents’ divorce and he did not want history repeating itself.” She looks at me oddly almost as if berating me.

“In all my years having had raised him, never has he expressed the bizarre conduct that he’s showed in these past few months. He may have had a long history of defying propriety at times, but never has he done anything outrageous to provoke a scandal. But from the time that he has met you, Iain’s actions have demonstrated something more than just personal gratitude. The first was when he offered to give up something of sentimental value and conspired with the Dean to create a fake scholarship by paying for your tuition. Then he walked out from an important meeting to be at your side when he heard about your accident. He not only cover all your hospital expenses, but he even went beyond what was expected by hiring a team of the world’s best Neurosurgeons to operate on you. He not only provided the doctors first-class accommodations and travel, he paid them handsomely including overtime. I can imagine the anguish he’s been through watching you for three days without sleep only to be rejected by you regardless of what he’s done. And even in spite of this, he then calls in one of the country’s best Rehabilitation doctors and provides every expense necessary for you to be able to walk again. When he returned from his trip, he’s been irritable, aloof, and angry to the point that he has frightened high powered consecutives and caused switchboard operators to cry from the strain. For someone he has barely known in a span of less than two weeks, Iain has gone through great lengths to prove to you that he cares and still you say that you aren’t worthy?”

I pale at the thought as each word she says cuts me to the core. He paid for everything? That explains why the nurses were commenting about how lucky I was. It wasn’t because they thought Iain was handsome, but because he did everything he could to take care of me. The doctors, the staff, everything was first class, how could I have not noticed that? Images of Iain at my bedside, his eyes red and puffy from lack of sleep as he watches dutifully over me. I even remember him crawling beside me on the bed, fast asleep with his arm draped around me, almost as if protecting me from further harm. I even remember waking up that very day seeing both our hands linked while he slept beside me during his vigil. I imagine again him looking adorably disheveled in his charcoal gray business suit, wearing a silk blue tie with pink elephants. Then I remember him wrapping the beautiful jeweled Birds of Paradise bracelet and kissing my wrist as he makes his pledge: “The fact is, I love you, Lucy Quinn Fabray. You have enamored, enchanted, and bewitched me more than any woman I’ve ever known.” I remember him smiling tenderly when I notice his tie as he removes it then wrapping it around my neck before kissing me senseless.

“I take it from your expression that you’ve never been informed of his efforts.”

“It’s quite a shock, Ma’am.” I admit anxiously, I say nothing more as words have eluded me for the time being.

“He also has been single for a very long time and hasn’t been on one of his usual night outs with a model on his arm. Considering now having finally met you, I can easily conclude that you are the reason for all this drama. I agree that my great grandson is out of his head. He would never act this foolish if he wasn’t thoroughly besotted.”

I turn my head, suppressing the urge that my heart is beating loud enough to explode in my ribcage. “If you’re thinking of matchmaking, and I think you are, you have the wrong woman.”

Mrs. Rolfe-Stuart eyes narrow as she snorts. “And you think Lily de Jong is a better option?”

“I meant Alyssa Hayworth.” I recall the auburn haired statuesque beauty in one of the many articles I’ve read featuring Iain. Society gossip magazines were soon hinting at the possibility of an engagement. Genevieve was speaking the truth because since Prom-asaurus, most of Iain’s photos were of him single. He no longer possessed an arm candy in the form of a Victoria’s Secret or Sports Illustrated model.

“Don’t be silly, she is merely his business partner. I’ve known Alyssa as our families are close friends. She is a business acquaintance. That is all.”

My heart soars with the possibilities. He hasn’t given up on me! I remember that fateful night at the prom before he let me go. “No, I won’t have you like this. Not when you still need time to figure things about your life. You’re young and you need to experience what it has to offer because it’s all a part of growing up. I remember what you’ve done to your exes and I will prove to you that I am not like them. I am a patient man, Quinn and if it means that I will have to wait forever, I will because I love you. Judging from that kiss, I know you feel the same way too and refuse to admit it because you’re confused about yourself and what you need. So no matter how long it takes, until then, I will anticipate that day when you finally admit that you love me.”

“Do you know what the banner says above?” Mrs. Rolfe-Stuart’s voice breaks me from my daydreaming sequence involving her great grandson. “I assume that with your grade point average this semester, you have conquered Latin? In the next succeeding months, I must insist that you also learn Gaelic.”

I’m too rattled to even consider that she wants me to learn how to speak another foreign language that I gaze again at the words: Vericite. Vulnare. Virtus.

“It says courage grows stronger in the wounded.”

Genevieve Rolfe-Stuart nods approvingly. “Yes, it does. It is the Stuart household code of honor. My ancestors were a resilient lot. You may not be of our blood, Miss Fabray, but there is a quality in you that reflect on these very words my family has stood and died proudly for. It comes to no surprise that my great grandson has recognized this as well, seeing how taken he is by you. I may have married a rich American Oil magnate and stood by my vows and despite it all, I still kept my name. In fact, I added my surname as a hyphenate to his. An outrageous thing to do, but my dear Edward, may the Lord rest his soul, knew it was futile to argue with me,” she laughs at the memory and simpers for a moment.

Story cuts here

***

Bonus material Thanksgiving Day : Based from Glee Season Four Episode 8

Quinn

***

I nuzzle up against him, eyes closed, my nose at his throat taking in the sweet sexy scent that I know belongs to the man I’ve been hopelessly in love with for months and now happens to be mine. Two weeks of being together after finally reconciling, I let my mind drift as I smile dreamily still in the haze of wake and sleep. I allow myself to fantasize that we’re happily married and on our honeymoon even though the last two weeks felt like it. I feel soft kisses raining down on my forehead as Iain gently nudges me awake.

“Quinn, wake up.” He whispers.

“No.” I rub my face against his bare chest against that denial and feel the rumble underneath as he chuckles.

“Come on, you’re going to be late for your flight.”

I clamber out of bed feeling stiff and yes, I am stark naked and feel for what of a better expression absolutely knackered. Yes, that would definitely be from all the sex we’ve been having. I’m too tired as my eyes still droop heavily. Iain is quickly at my side and uses his body as a form of support for me as I lean sleepily against him.

“Not much of a morning person, are you?” A slow, sexy smile forms across those lips that have explored every single part of my body. I’m rendered speechless and feel a bit embarrassed at my nudity. Iain is just as much as naked but he’s just the most beautiful man in the planet anyway so it doesn’t bother him.

I’m actually the one embarrassed for both of us at the moment.

And immediately, I’m now wide awake.

“Don’t over think it, sweetheart.” He says and it slightly peeves me that he can easily read my own thoughts as if I’ve said them out loud. He picks up one of his shirts lying on the floor and puts it on me, giving me one of those salacious, knowing smiles and I automatically tune in to what he’s really thinking as he pulls up a pair of boxers on himself. He grins and softens his rebuke by affectionately rumpling my hair more than it already was with his hand.

“When will you be back from Ohio?” he asks.

“Sunday.” I gaze up at him, drinking him in as I throw my arms around his neck and my fingers twist his just-been-fucked-like-crazy-last-night hair. Pushing my body against his, I kiss him back passionately and it takes him by surprise for a second before he responds with a low groan. His hands slip into my now long, blonde hair, his tongue darting inside my mouth. Just about when I think we’re going to go on at it again, he pulls back, his electric cobalt blue eyes hooded and dark with desire.

“That is going to be without doubt the longest weekend I’ll have to go through without you.” He murmurs.

“Ditto.” I agree, my arms still around his neck. I notice too that he hasn’t released me either and I’m just as reluctant to let him go. I lean against him and rub my nose against his. “You know, you can join me.”

Iain chuckles as he playfully twirls my hair with his finger. “I meant what I said when I told you that I trust you to go and visit your friends.”

“But don’t you want to meet my family for Thanksgiving?”I frown at him feeling slightly disappointed.

“I’ve already met your family.” He points out.

“I meant meet them formally as my boyfriend.” I look up at him and he’s gazing at me, his expression nonplussed. He immediately puts his hands on my shoulders and gives them a squeeze as if to reassure me.

“You called me ‘your boyfriend.” He’s grinning ear to ear. Placing his hands on either side of my face, he holds my head for me to stare into those blue orbs. “I like it.” He enunciates each word softly before he leans in and kisses the life out of me as if to seal the deal.

“So do I,” I answer back saucily when he finally lifts his head. “I need to shower.”

“I’ve got a few more calls to make before I go.” Iain lets me go reluctantly and turns as he scrambles around the bed looking for his phone muttering curses in his wake for not being able to find it. I giggle and shake my head at him before heading into the shower. While inside the shower, I recall the last few days that have gone with amusement. He’s been living in and out of the apartment I’ve been sharing with Millet and her brother Mark-Francis that it’s been hilarious having him sneak in and out like a thief. I actually think it’s more like a teenager sneaking in and out like Romeo and Juliet which actually makes it romantic. I once joked about him living here now more often than his own apartment in New York. How he manages to take a helicopter everyday to work is beyond me, but then again for a multibillionaire tycoon, I guess it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

I towel-dry my hair, comb it through I hastily put on a pair of clean lace bra and panties, which I flush thinking that I had bought these at an expensive lingerie store called La Perla, thinking that it might have been more to Iain’s taste. Then again, he pretty much likes me wearing anything….or nothing at all.and quickly grab the clothes I went shopping with Millet. It’s a mustard yellow Anthropologie blouse and grey Missoni A-line skirt. I know my Yale fashion tastes have evolved into something more sophisticated, but I still had to keep a bit of the girly in there. I shake my sinful thoughts away thinking that ever since my relationship with Iain, I’ve been behaving like the Whore of Babylon. Slipping on a pair of my favorite Spectator boots I got from Anthropologie, I straighten my dress and take a deep breath and head out.

Iain’s on the phone with his back facing me, but this time he’s fully dressed in his dark deconstructed Diesel jeans, black and white Mexico 66 Onitsuka Tiger sneakers, a grey puppy tooth patch pocket Paul Smith jacket that’s open at the buttons revealing a printed white shirt that’s got an ironic drawing of President Obama wearing a crown and a huge medallion. His hair is still slightly mussed from last night and I’m completely distracted again recalling those sinful events.

“No, Ron’s missing out the point on what it’s all about. This isn’t just one of those start-ups that come out strong and fold after a few months time. We’ve got our hands full as it is. Call Dylan and tell them to take the offer because after the next few weeks that shit is going to blow over so bad that they’ll be kicking their asses so hard in regret. Yes, the prototype looks good, but somehow I’m not completely sold on the idea. Like there’s something lacking….. I’ll go over it with Sterling and discuss things in the afternoon.” Glancing up, as if he knew I was watching him, his hard expression softens and says “I’ve got to go. Remember to book that charity event on Monday with Miss Lucy Quinn Fabray as my date. Yes, that’s right, Rosalie. Call Andrea from Bergdorfs and have her assist Miss Fabray in getting whatever it is she needs.” He rolls his eyes humorously. “Thank you.” He hands up.

“Hi,” I lean against the door shyly, feeling a bit guilty eavesdropping. It‘s still a wonder that I’m in a relationship with America’s hottest, richest bachelor who’s just as crazy about me as I am him.

“Hi there,” he greets, offering me one of those lazy half-smiles that melts me down to the core.

“Another boring night hobnobbing with the idle rich, I see.” I tease, obviously not really caring as much. The past few months before I rekindled things with Iain, I’ve followed Millet and Mark-Francis around the exclusive bars of Manhattan, meeting various celebrities. Because of my association with Millet, I was a shoe in at one of the most exclusive sororities that has Hilary Clinton as an alumna. I’ve also met a bunch of people whom I’ve only seen on TV who I’ve realized are close, personal friends of my boyfriend. It was daunting at first, but Iain has made it a point to make me feel so comfortable that I’ve forgotten my initial self-consciousness that most of the famous people I’ve been have become a bit of a blur. Lately, I haven’t been too keen on my studies because I’m two weeks behind my classes. Again, blame it on me and the sleepless nights I’ve been having sex with this gorgeous modern day Greek god in front of me, but I really am not that bothered.

“All part of the package, Miss Fabray.” Iain grins lopsidedly as he moves towards me.

“But I’m liking the ‘other’ package much more,” I grin back, feeling all giddy and hot again as I slide my hands across his waist and span his jeans. He laughs as he covers my hands and shakes his head as I frown in dislike.

“Be careful what you wish for unless you want to miss your flight,” he growls as he gives me another one of those meaningful glances. “Speaking of packages, you can still take my jet. I won’t be using it today so it’s at your disposal.”

I gape openly at him. He had offered his personal aviation fleet, but then again, I didn’t feel comfortable using it at the company’s expense.

“Quinn, it’s my company, my jet. Seeing that you keep me sane or sometimes insane, you’re now considered an asset so you don’t have to feel guilty about the whole thing.”

“But I like flying domestic publicly. There’s the falling in line part, arguing with the belligerent airport security, the crying babies during take-off...” I form a bunch of litanies as Iain rolls his eyes and groans helplessly. He looks ready to argue with me, but decides against it.

“Fine, have it your way.” He says. “Do you have your ticket with you?”

“Yup,” I nod towards my bag. He turns around and picks up my weekend luggage. We’re out of the apartment in a few minutes. Millet and Mark-Francis have been out partying all night so it wouldn’t be a surprise that they’re still asleep. I promised to text them as soon as I landed in Ohio. We hop in Iain’s dark grey Porsche Cayenne and drive to the Tweed New-Haven Airport in silence. There are times that I can honestly find peace in just such and Iain doesn’t seem to mind the non-conversation we’re having. He often looks at me from time to time and I respond with a silly grin as if we’re divulging in a secret silent language that nobody else knows but us. He reaches out to sometimes find a way to touch me as if to affirm whatever it was I had just mentally passed at him. As we near the airport, I realize that I booked my flight at La Guardia and look at Iain with a confused expression on my face. He stops the car and waits until I see a tall man with a shock of black hair wearing aviators who saunters towards us.

“Mister Hargreave.” He nods formally as Iain hands him his keys. “Miss Fabray.”

“Hi, Anton!” I wave cheerily.

“Is the Hornet ready?”

“All geared up and ready for take-off, Sir.” Anton replies politely, referring to Iain’s helicopter as he nods in approval. “Martin is waiting at the tarmac.” Even though my boyfriend is thoroughly capable of flying his own plane, Martin St. James is one of the pilots Iain frequently uses whenever he travels. Nice guy, a little taciturn but then again if he’s efficient at his job and keeps Iain safe during every flight, then I don’t mind at all.

“I’m really sorry I won’t be able to bring you to La Guardia myself,” Iain says smoothly as he walks over to my side and leans against the passenger door. “I have an urgent meeting in two hours and need to get home and shower since I’ve been busy the entire evening yet again.” He says purposely, throwing me a meaningful look which makes me blush furiously as I throw Anton a horrid look. The bodyguard seems unaffected and oblivious to us since he’s busy listening to his iPod as Iain opens the door to let me out.

“Will you miss me?” I ask as I step out of the passenger’s seat and climb to the back of the car. Iain grabs the seatbelt and buckles it for me and grins as if enjoying the idea of strapping me into something. He’s so tall that we’re still looking at each other face to face. I desperately want to change the topic since I know I’ll miss him like crazy being away from him for almost four days. These past two weeks, we’ve been inseparable and I try to ignore the hollow feeling of him still not wanting to join me for Thanksgiving. Iain once explained that the Stuarts don’t celebrate Thanksgiving and that he was to join his brother Neil into spending the weekend at the Hamptons with Constance and David, who also happens to be the current Dean of Yale. Chelsea, the boys’ stepsister will also be going and I shudder to think of their great grandmother Genevieve as she also will be joining them.

“More than you’ll know.” He murmurs softly. He looks at the bag beside me and leans over to reach for the scarf I’ve stowed at the handles. He gives me another heart pounding boyish grin and winks as he gently puts the scarf around me and deftly ties it around my neck. Just like that time he did at my senior Prom; my inner Cheerio is doing sky splits. Without warning, he pulls at the knot, making me lean over and we kiss as if it were the last time. Just when I think we’re done and I start to pull away, he gives the knot another firm tug as if he couldn’t break the connection just yet and I sigh with contentment against his lips as I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him for all I’m worth. I’m breathless and flustered when Iain lifts his head, releasing the scarf. I fix my hair and give my ponytail a pat as I’m embarrassed by the show of mauling in front of Anton, who thankfully unaware as he keeps his gaze fixed on the driver’s view ahead. “Next time, you’re taking the jet.”

“Yes, sir!” I give him a mock salute, reigning in my patience even though he’s talking to me as if I were a recalcitrant and not very bright child.

“That’s my girl.” He leans over again and kisses my forehead briefly. He then closes the door and knocks twice loudly, signaling Anton who removes his earplugs and nods in response. As the window pulls up, I look at him longingly as we drive away. He still doesn’t break eye contact until the car disappears from sight.

I arrive in an hour’s time at La Guardia. It’s early to noon and I’ve still got time to kill before lining up at the ticket booth. My parents are thrilled that I’m coming home that they’ve planned a small little gathering for my return. It’s the first time since their divorce that they’ve done anything like this. I yearn to find out how they’re doing. Hell, even what Fran’s been up to, though I doubt she won’t be as thrilled when she finds out what I’ve been sleeping with Iain these days as I recall those times she tried to unsuccessfully seduce him. Ugh, my sister is like such a desperate cougar sometimes it sickens me. I look around at the shops near the airport and figure I should buy some tokens for my friends at New Directions. Thinking that something off Yale would seem a little too elitist, I change my mind and head out to the ticket booth where a bored, chubby man of Asian descent behind the desk holds up his hand without looking at me.

“Ticket please?” he asks as I get a hint of a gay vibe off him. He reminds me so much of the comedian Alec Mapa that I almost stifle a giggle when I realize the uncanny resemblance. I keep a straight face as I hand over my ticket and driver’s license as ID.

The Alec Mapa lookalike appears nonchalant as he types in my name to the screen. His eyes turn into saucers as he now flashes a bright smile at me.

“Miss Fabray, you’ve been upgraded to first class.”

Wait. What? He ignores the incredulous look on my face as he continues on his merry speech which I feel he only reserves for those belonging to the high rollers of the airline. “Ma’am, we have a first class lounge where you can await for your flight. We at United America offer world-class worthy services that you may be interested in before your departure such as spa, massages, and other beauty treatments. Everything has been already paid for in advance and was added as complimentary to your flight. Thank you for flying with us and have a good day.”

Holy guacamole! Did he really just memorize that line?

“I think there’s been a mistake. I booked economy.”

“No Ma’am, no mistake.” He checks the computer screen again and tilts it for me to see for myself as he taps on my name. “Lucy Quinn Fabray – upgraded.” He hands me my new boarding pass and grins expectantly at me as if Santa Claus had just bypassed Thanksgiving and come early for the holidays.

“Next!!” he hollers as I turn around towards the first class lounge and silently lambasting Iain and his meddling.

In the next hour, I’ve had a manicure, a foot massage and a pedicure all the while sipping in a glass of Bollinger champagne. I open my iPad and have been on Face Time with Mark-Francis and Millet who have plied me with questions about my upgraded status.

“Oh darling, that’s so generous of him.” Mark-Francis agrees wholeheartedly. He’s been highly approving of my relationship status with Iain unlike his twin sister who still has yet to warm up to my boyfriend. I guess it’s because she still hasn’t completely forgiven Iain for not telling me who he was when I found out about him on that fateful train ride to Connecticut. I remember crying my eyes out and having her comfort me which I felt was an emotion she wasn’t very used to seeing how she and her brother have lived relatively ridiculously comfortable lives. I didn’t have the pleasure (I meant that in a hilarious, sarcastic sort of way) of meeting her elitist twin much later when I arrived at Yale. “I mean travelling coach. It’s not very chic,” Mark-Francis shakes his head in absolute disgust. “It’s stressful and ugh, the people there at the airports are so ghastly I just want to heave.” When he catches Millet glaring at him he amends. “Except for you darling, of course. We love you.”

“Tell Hargreave we said thanks for lending us his cabin at Aspen.” Millet says reluctantly as this time its Mark-Francis’ turn to glare at his twin. “It was nice…..Of him.”

“Oh, it was absolutely gorgeous. J’adore. ” Mark-Francis gushes as he talks about how he now wants to spend most of his time indoors than partying. For him, partying didn’t involve the hottest nightclubs in Manhattan, it was St. Tropez, Cannes, and most of the South of France that I’ve only read about in luxury travel guides. “It’s like I am so over nightclubs. People pushing and stepping on your feet, standing for prolonged hours with sweat dribbling all over…. Absolutely hideous. It’s not a look at all. I mean people these days don’t value their homes. They don’t spend their nights in when they should because it’s one of the nicest things.”

There was a time when Mark-Francis’ ostentatiously outlandish and snobbish remarks would have intimidated me out of my Lima Ohio small-town girl roots, but somehow nowadays, I’ve come to realize that his comments are mundane and are actually meant as a form of humor….Or so I think anyways. I’m much closer to his twin sister, Millet, who is underneath all that bitchiness and upper class aura is genuinely one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Sure, she can be just as mean and snarky as her brother and make even someone like Santana cry in fear, but I’ve come to realize that she’s actually down to earth and a good friend. After Millet pushes her brother away, we’re alone and we talk about me and Ohio which I feel is a topic which would make her twin roll his eyes at because the thought of Midwest America or anything that doesn’t possess a five star hotel would stress him out of his aura.

“Are you excited to come home?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I take a long sip of the Grande Anne Rose and savor the bubbly goodness. I recall reading it off from 50 Shades of Grey and how much Mark-Francis now hates the drink because it’s become too ‘mainstream’ and blames it on Christian Grey even though he’s a fictional character.

“You don’t sound that psyched at all.”

“It’s just—well, you know with all that’s been going on there, then Iain, and…”

“You getting fucked out of your brains every night for the past two weeks,” Millet smirks knowingly as I gasp in horror, glad that the manicurist is completely oblivious. I duly think maybe it’s either she’s used to such idle chatter or she’s been trained to keep her thoughts to herself. “Oh come on, stop acting like the virginial Christian school girl. The jig is up. You’re a woman now it’s safe to talk about things like this to your friends. Admit it, you love the D.” she breaks into the slang word and giggles uncontrollably in laughter. I reluctantly find myself unable to resist and join in the mirth.

“Well, just his.” I quip and we laugh again. I note that Sheena, the manicurist, is trying to suppress a smile on her face.

“Quinn, tell me you’ll be okay. I mean, I know you’ve been skipping classes and I hope you’re not running home to Ohio to escape?”

I flush. It’s true that I changed majors into Literature. I’m still doing the general subjects routes, most of which have been to be on the same schedule as Mark-Francis and Millet, but I missed out like almost two weeks of classes and exams are just around the corner. I admit that the sexing had been initially to blame, but then there were the parties that Millet and I have been doing, then the events and dates that Iain brings me that I haven’t had much time to sleep or study that I’d wake up at 2 in the afternoon. Plus there was that time when I had gone a-wall in deep depression missing Iain so much that hurt so bad, I’m still lucky that Iain’s great-grandmother hasn’t retracted my scholarship grant. Luckily, I managed to keep my GPA to straight As despite the turmoil.

“No, of course not, don’t be ridiculous Millet. It’s just a phase, okay? I’ll be doing mega crunch time on exam week.”

“I know. It’s just that….” Oh dear Lord, is Millet going to cry? Seriously I used to think that my friend was born without tear ducts because she’s so tough and scary, but lo and behold, her eyes well up in constant worry about my welfare that I’m utterly touched. “I worry about you, okay? You know that if you’re having any trouble with Mr. Moneybags or with anything, you’d tell me right? You can talk to me, I swear I won’t drag Mark-Francis along. I’m here for you and yes, even though I still think Iain is a prick, I won’t piss him off if that’ll make you happy because I know he makes you happy. You deserve to be after all you’ve been through in Lima and I don’t want you to ever forget that. I don’t want you to throw away what you have now. Hell, I wish things would be the same for me and Zac, but you know Hollywood celeb types these days. Promise me, you’ll tell me if something’s wrong, Quinn. I won’t judge. I’ll try to understand. I’m your friend.”

“I know.” I try to blink back the stupid tears that well up in my eyes. “I really love him, Mills. I don’t think I’ve ever been this elated in the longest time.”

“Babes, anyone can see that. He’s madly in love with you. He barely can take his eyes off you and if I may say so myself, when a man has to commute every single bloody day in a helicopter and live in an apartment with Mark and me that takes a helluva lot of commitment. If that isn’t love, then I don’t know what is.”

I laugh uncertainly.

“Has he told you he loves you?” “Yes. He never lets me forget it.”

“I’m really happy for you, Quinn.”

“I’m happy for me too.”

“Don’t screw it up, I mean it. Yale. Your scholarship. Iain.” She glares at me with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, like a gunslinger ready for a gun fight.

“You sound like my mother.” I then hear the announcement that we would be boarding in fifteen minutes time. “Got to go, I’ll talk to you soon okay Mills? Love you lots!” I then end our chat and generously tip Sheena when all is said and done with the pampering. I take in my LV luggage (which I borrowed from Millet) and my newly manicured nails as I breathe in the last of the New York air as I mentally prepare for not just the one hour and forty minute flight, but the longest four days of my life in the last place I thought I wouldn’t miss.

* * *

It feels so good to be home.

I’ve got a minion following me around and worshipping me. I do admit that Kitty doesn’t share my delicate bone structure nor my height, but with a little Quinn Fabray tutorial, I think she can manage. I admit it’s a little bit fun having someone worship the ground you walk on. Almost like my glory days didn’t end with me getting knocked up and that I had just pressed fast forward and gotten crowned Homecoming Queen and that I never gave it to Rachel Berry. I didn’t have the heart to tell Kitty about me dating Iain. He obviously wants to keep our relationship a secret, so I just go around telling people that I’m dating an older, married professor. It sounded much more dramatic in a sinister way because I doubt anyone would ever believe that I’m dating one of the world’s youngest multi-billionaire entrepreneurs who everyone here in McKinley can only recall as being the substitute teacher and once piano player at New Directions.

Actually, a little nagging part of me feels hurt that Iain would rather spend his ‘non-Thanksgiving’ holiday doing boring corporate mergers than with me. I know he trusts me and all, but I get this sinking feeling that he’s holding out on me somehow. You’re asking too much, Fabray. My subconscious glares at me as she leans against one of the school’s lockers as she gives me my signature ‘angry’ look: furrowed brows, pursed lips and hand on hips just like the one I did when I confronted the Puckerman brothers. I felt a compulsion to protect Marley, the shy but gaunt girl that Kitty’s been so concerned of; I get a mental image of myself. Lately, it’s like coming home to a reincarnated version of yourself in people you barely know and it’s creepy.

But what’s more creepy is Kitty’s “What Would Quinn Fabray Do?” poster on her locker. That is just, in Iain’s words, mental.

* * *

Iain

* * *

“Mister Hargreave,” the secretary bends down beside Iain, her voice lowered to avoid disturbing the other men present seated at the conference room as they were currently discussing an international trade agreement. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s a phone call for you...”

Iain turns his head and nods as his face betraying none of the alarm he felt over the interruption. “Who’s on the line?”

The secretary shook her head in trepidation. “H-h-he wouldn’t say, but he says it’s very important and tentative that you take the call.”

The other men present looked visibly irritated and with obvious reason. They were in the middle of a heated discussion of mergers between companies and Iain was presently acting as a consultant for the two of the world famous firms dealing with software while the other was a European car company. The current president of Loewe motors waves his hand hurriedly to dismiss Iain and he nods as he slides his chair back. The secretary showed him to a private room and Iain snatched up the telephone.

“Hargreave.” He answers.

“Greetings from Lima, Ohio.” A male voice drawls mockingly at the other end.

“Who’s this?”

“Iain, I can’t begin to thank you for helping me out with my pool business in LA. The connections you’ve given me have been a tremendous benefit.” Noah Puckerman says dryly. “Not to mention that contract stint with the Playboy Mansion where l got to meet and hook up with the hottest bunch of Bunnies ain’t half that bad.”

“Puckerman,” Iain’s voice had gone flat and deadly. “What do you want?”

“Oh, just wanted to give you a heads up on your girlfriend. I mean, that is Quinn Fabray, right? I’ve seen the lovely pics of you two on Google looking oh so right and tight…….or so that’s what I thought I saw---“ “You have a lot of fucking nerve, boy.” Iain snarls furiously. “Stay away from her or I swear I’ll—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, relax Romeo. That Quick ship has sailed. You’re far more than welcome to have all the loopy drama our dear girl is so well known for. I do admit she’s gotten hotter somehow over the past few months, but I guess that’s with all the---“

“I’m hanging up now.” Iain announced coldly.

“Alright, I’m going to say what I have to, but you better be listening real good, pretty boy, because I’m going to say this once.”

Iain slammed the phone back into the cradle after what Puck had recounted was Quinn’s latest shenanigans in Ohio. By the time he returned, the people present in the conference room looked at him with a mixture of polite concern and accusation. Iain sat down and continued with the proceedings. He tried to concentrate on the business on hand, but it was failing miserably. He was annoyed. He was so deeply pissed off to the point he accidentally knocked off someone’s glass of water when he moved his hand. He swore a mouthful as one of the secretaries huddled taking a tissue and hurriedly wiped it spewing an apology on his behalf.

The meeting finally adjourned at eight o’clock in the evening, when dinner was over, Iain excused himself and went up to his suite. He shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie as he walked over to the built-in bar and fixed himself a drink. He sat alone in the counter, deep in thought thinking of what Puckerman had just told him.

“She’s acting out,” Puck said tersely. “Quinn has gotten herself a minion and has this thing in her head that she’s the Queen Bee mentoring this girl into making this other girl’s life a living hell. She’s gotten into a slapping contest with Santana and thinks my half-brother is the spawn of Satan. Not that that should probably bother you but would you believe the stuff that she’s been telling everyone what she’s been doing at Yale? Did she ever tell you that she’s been busy rubbing elbows with Jodi Foster, Hilary Clinton and some defunct 80’s movie starlet? I just thought that you might be concerned because she’s telling everyone that she’s dating a married 35 year old psych professor who hasn’t been doing the deed with his wife for three years. I don’t know about you, pretty boy, and although this pains me to tell you this but you’re not old or stodgy enough to be a creepy pedophile professor because you’re too busy running that badass company and I highly doubt you’ve got some wife hidden away in a cellar unless of course you’re Bluebeard or something.”

Iain takes a long swig of his drink and narrows his eyes.

“If you really, and I mean really give a shit about her. You’d come to Lima for her and set her straight.”

Iain cursed and stalked off the lounge chair his drink on one hand and moved to the massive windows of his suite as he gazed at the Seattle skyline. There was something about looking afar at bright city lights that brought him comfort, but as of the moment it was doing nothing to soothe his tormented brain.

Puck was right. Quinn was indeed acting out. He suspected that Genevieve knew about her joining that bloody sorority but refused to confide in him. He felt responsible and blanched at the thought of her self-destructive behavior. If word got out about her spreading lies about her and some professor (there were a dozen of men in the entire campus who fit the profile but Iain had done his research and none of them had a class with Quinn nor had been spotted with her), or if were indeed true, she would be completely ruined and would royally fuck up her freshman year at Yale and that was his fault. He thought that she needed time to think things through, time to grow up, but what he didn’t realize that what she needed was neither.

Quinn Fabray needed him.

And he told her that he trusted her to go on about it by herself.

God, he felt like a fucking idiot for letting her go.

He also felt that no matter how much alcohol he was taking now, it was going to make him incredibly sleepy and he knew that he couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled out his iPhone and dialed a number.

“Mister Hargreave?” Martin St. James’ voice is on the other line.

“How soon can Delta fly?” Iain is referring to his newly acquired Bombardier Global Express XRS jet, the same one he offered to that frustrating blonde girl he couldn’t get off his mind.

“She’s all fueled up and ready to go, sir. The crew can be ready and leave Tacoma in an hour’s time.”

“Good. Set your coordinates and be ready to fly to Ohio tonight.” was all Iain said as he kills the phone. He then dials another number.

“Rosalie, book me a suite up at any of the best hotels in Lima Ohio.” He breathes in a long sigh of frustration at his secretary’s obtuseness. “Yes, Lima, Ohio in six hours time. I’ll be staying over for Thanksgiving.”

* * *

Quinn

***

Could this day get any worse?

Fine, I admit it was a bit fun seeing the guys all over again but seriously, it does reach to a zenith.

I honestly cannot wait to come home. Just a few more hours and we’ll be out of here.

I just have to get through the most awkward Thanksgiving in history with Mom and her new boyfriend the Reverend, Dad and Angelina Jo-hoe-lie and Fran. Actually, I don’t remember Fran mentioning ever bringing a guest home but chances are, she’ll probably drag some attractive poor dumb fellow off the street. If it were anything else, this holiday already sucks.

I’ve been e-mailling Millet and how she and Mark-Francis have decided to do an impromptu visit to Manhattan and already part of me is wishing I had used that damn ticket Rachel Berry gave me so I could meet up with them. I wouldn’t pay her a visit or anything, just drop by and see how she and Kurt are doing, no doubt I’m not really interested in going to that Meat Packing District house they now call home. Although I admit that it would be fun to see the drag queens and not just Kurt.

Seriously, I cannot wait to get home.

I just realized that I had called Connecticut home, not Lima.

I’m a bit worried about Iain. He emails me regularly and we do get on Face Time. Since we’ve been dating, he’s bought me the latest iPhone and since last night, I haven’t heard from him. I console myself into thinking that maybe he’s just tuckered out from that boring merge between Samsung and some European automobile company.

The last time I heard was that his company was thinking of making a prototype car that was designed to change the world. I give off a half-smile thinking of how excited Iain was about the whole thing. He didn’t want to bore me with the details, but he said that if the merge comes successfully, we could be looking at the first concept car that doesn’t require gasoline, but runs efficiently on electricity and sunlight. He could have said that if the car could run on water, I’d be impressed as well. I’m starting to miss him already. I give him a ring again but it just goes down to voice mail. Even singing that number with Santana and Britney the other day made me even think of Iain like crazy. I had Sugar take a video of it and thought about sending to him because while I was singing and dancing, all I was thinking was him, hoping he would change his mind and come see about me. It was like “Come See About Me” was me and Iain. I even had this idea that maybe it’d change his mind and have him come home and spent Thanksgiving with us.

Then I thought about the spat I had with Santana yesterday. It began with her accusing Kitty of giving Marley laxatives and somewhere along the way, it escalated into a slapping session. Britney had just broken up the fight and I’ve just stepped out still fuming mad. I shouldn’t have exaggerated about the professor, it was far from the truth. Yes, there was a psychology professor in Yale who was 35 years old and smoked a pipe, but the reason why his wife didn’t touch him for three years was because he was caught with his pants down doing the beasts with two backs with the star quarterback in his office. It was one of the biggest open secrets in Yale, and why I thought to use him was just another stroke of impromptu creative spark that I had picked up during a creative writing session. I would have been proud of myself of telling an elaborate tale, but right now I feel sick to the stomach. I couldn’t explain why I had felt the need to play the bad girl. It was like being around Kitty had just given me a jolt of pure power that I felt I was back in high school again wearing my Cheerios uniform and tying my hair in a high pony as if I never got pregnant and ended up staying with New Directions.

The next day the whole Slapping Santana fiasco is forgotten and everyone is busy with the preparations of sectionals. I miss the whole excitement, it’s almost like how psyched I used to get before every cheer dance. Finn calls on everyone for a show circle as we all gather around. I try as hard not to look at Santana and she pretty much avoids me as well. A part of me feels terrible for fibbing but then again the stubborn side of me stays put and shuts up her mouth. As Finn drones on about, I look upon the excited faces of the new team, wondering in awe how much similar and different they were from me and the original New Directions. I start making mental notes and comparisons all the while sending a prayer that they do well and win because at the end of the day, my glory days in high school are over and the torch has been passed to them. And I couldn’t think of a better bunch who deserve it as much as we did. I position myself next to Artie and I actually find myself missing his company. He was a pretty good friend who never took advantage of my situation behind the wheelchair. He’s a pretty cool dude and someday, maybe I could give a good word to Iain that he might consider helping Artie out someday.

Oh wow, I really do miss Iain. I look at what I’m wearing and it’s a white dress with red petals. I got this from an exclusive sample sale at Oscar Dela Renta thinking I was like Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City. I rarely got to wear this dress and for the first time I had actually more than wanted nothing more but to call Iain and tell him that I wanted to go back to New York and spend their non-Thanksgiving holiday at the Hamptons. As soon as we finish with our group high fives and everyone scrambles out of the hallway, Marley passes through me looking as pale as a ghost. Her eyes seem a little bugged out and catatonic and I know with a sense of dread that perhaps Santana’s accusations about Kitty turning the poor girl bulimic were true. I knew that look on her face. I’ve seen it on Mercedes when she tried losing weight as a Cheerio and before Beth, I had also been that girl. I shake my head and as I’m about the approach Kitty and confront about the Marley issue, I stop dead on my tracks as I watch Iain walking toward s me with a fierce glower. He looks furious.

Holy shit!

I must be imagining things. Yes, this is an illusion.

Then another thing distracts me. Iain isn’t wearing his usual wardrobe of shirts and blazers. Instead, he’s casually dressed in a Lacoste Navy green and white stripe pique Polo shirt, cream colored linen pants, and beat up canvas and suede free floating tongue TNT 5 skate shoes by Vans that my heart starts pounding like a clattered engine. He looks younger than the brightly ambitious twenty-something billionaire tycoon whom I’ve seen around in expensive custom-made Armani or suits he gets from Saville Row. In fact, today in that outfit, he could almost pass off as a high school senior. He’s also clean shaven and I’ve noticed the new girls: Marley, Unique and especially Kitty with that “Who is THAT?” look on their faces and I want to reply “He’s mine, bitches so back off.”

But instead, I watch open-mouthed thinking that if things were different, if he was a senior at McKinley High, I would be dating him, not Finn. I would have never cheated on him with Puck, and I would have never even considered being with Sam. If things were different, I would have given my virginity to him and if I did end up pregnant, I knew just knew that Iain would have done everything in his power to have raised that child with me and I would have never given Beth up. I also then imagined what it would have been like if Iain was a student at McKinley but that was just close to impossible. I envision him being the captain of the soccer team and whatever struggles he faced forming a team because Lima isn’t exactly warmed up to the idea of playing the European sport, I would have been there to support him head on. And because I know Iain’s reading off these exact thoughts running through my highly imaginative mind, his frown intensifies. I notice his masseter muscles throbbing and I know he’s pissed about something fierce. My head is swimming and I’m thinking of running to the other side when his even, deadly calm voice stops me.

“Quinn.”

“Iain,” I respond in the same deadpan tone as I ignore Kitty looking fascinated at Iain wondering who the hell he was.

“So is it true?”

Before I let him say another word I give him a pleading look. “Not now, please, Iain? Not here.” I murmur feeling my skin grow from pallid to now ashen. Please, please, can I die now?

“Wow, you are gorgeous.” Kitty spurts the words out as she gives Iain one of those seducing winks I’ve taught her and I groan when Iain spares her a glance then looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Uhm, Kitty this is Iain.” I give out the introductions hurriedly with a quick wave of my head. Kitty looks expectedly at Iain, hoping that he gives her his attention, but right now his gaze is deadlocked with mine and doesn’t dare waver.

“W-w-what are you doing here? I thought you trusted me.”

“I did, that was until I heard what you’ve been up to I decided you needed an intervention.” He’s staring down at me with his face carefully composed, giving nothing away. I look at Kitty who is suspiciously eyeing both of us with intense curiosity. What the hell has gotten into him? He sounds like a middle-aged man scolding me like an errant child. Part of me wants to yell and speak out my mind and for once I actually listen to Impulsive Quinn.

“Stop treating me like a child!!” I cry out and wring my hands in frustration. The entire hall turns quiet and I can already feel like as if we’re already causing a scene.

“Have you been acting like an adult?” Iain asks calmly. I peek at him and find that he looks more disappointed than irate. He walks closer to me and stops just when we’re almost close to touching, he sticks his hands in his pockets and looks at me levelly.

“Oh. My. God, you’re dating your Baby sitter!” Santana steps out and does a catwalk down the hall as she moves in towards us as she drawls out the obvious except what she doesn’t know is that Iain only posed as that so he could find Neil. She also doesn’t know that Iain is filthy rich and actually was the creator of one of the apps found on Santana’s Blackberry…..and everyone else’s iPhone.

“Nice seeing you too, Santana.” Iain greets curtly as he acknowledges her presence with a brief nod. She gets the picture and takes on Iain’s cue as she offers a benevolent smile towards Kitty.

“You see, Kitty. Is this the girl you look up to and want to become some day? Someone who comes back home and tells everyone how perfect her little life is in a fancy Ivy League and that she’s dating this older, sophisticated, married man but in reality she’s messing around with the help?” She emphasizes on the word ‘help’ big time. Iain doesn’t correct her, in fact he looks just as cool as a cucumber as if he hadn’t heard her insult him.

“I also used to be a substitute teacher,” Iain adds cheerfully as if he enjoys inflicting pain towards Kitty’s already mortified reaction. “And subbed for Brad, the pianist. You’ve probably met him, the quiet, boring guy wearing glasses with the unkempt facial hair who likes to sit around and tinker with black and white keys? I idolize the man and someday hope to be….Just. Like. Him.” He enunciates the last three words and then gives Kitty a slow wink as I watch the poor girl screams in terror and runs for the hills. Santana chuckles in the ingenious move.

“I always knew that there was something going on between you two,” Santana murmured as she pats Iain’s shoulder affectionately. “Ok, carry on. And you’re welcome.” She gives both of us a knowing wink as she sashays her way down the hall.

“Are you happy now?” I glare at Iain who looks as if he could care less. I instead focus my gaze back at my hands because right now I just want to ring them around his neck.

“Absolutely fucking ecstatic.” Iain answers dryly but I can hear the sarcasm dripping down like a leaky faucet. “Being a mentor to a psychotic teenaged brat who screams Single White Female isn’t exactly your scene anyway.”

“Who told you that?”

“Puck. So cut the drama and let’s get out of here because I believe that there are some things that we need to say, but I prefer to have it done in private.” He gently grabs my arm and is about to lead me when I stay firmly in my place and shake my head.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“No? Would you prefer I haul you up against my shoulder instead?” Iain’s voice remains calm but I can tell that there’s an underlying fury beneath that cold, detached façade he’s carrying. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t push me, Quinn.” Iain’s voice is menacingly soft. “I’ve had less than two hours sleep and missed out on a chance to witness an important golf match between Bill Gates and the President of Samsung who happens to possess a terrible handicap.”

Oh, so that explains the Caddy boy outfit. He looks great in anything anyway but right now I’m just so angry at him that I don’t forget myself this time.

“No,” I state stubbornly, I have to make a stand. He can’t just prance around acting like he’s right and I’m wrong all the time. He doesn’t have the right to control my life nor does he have to dictate how I should live it.

“Take it or leave it, Lucy Quinn. We are leaving. Now.” He calls me by my given names when he’s dead serious about something.

“No,” I scowl at him.

He raises his black eyebrows at me.

“No?”

He then half smiles at me, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Iain this is ridi—“ the words escape my mouth as he abruptly sweeps down grabs me around my thighs and lifts me easily against his shoulder as if I weighed close to nothing.

“Put me down right this instant!” I scream. It is absolutely good to scream and I could care less about the look of shock on the faces plastered on the entire New Directions team. I can see the Puckerman brothers looking on then glancing at each other with a smirk on their lips. Finn just looks on but seems unperturbed. Sam pretty much has the same nonchalant expression and Joe, well I don’t know. He just looks on giving me a sympathetic shrug, but I know he’s terrified of my boyfriend to ever butt in. Iain starts striding down the hall, ignoring me as I attempt to roll myself off, shouting for assistance but sadly even that just go on deaf ears. He swats my behind with his free hand for added effect and I stop squirming and prop my face on my hands.

Iain saunters down the hall and makes a turn for one of the emergency exits that leads into the parking lot. He kicks the door behind him and I’m glad he’s careful enough that the door doesn’t slam on my face. He easily lets me down and pushes me gently against the wall and seizes my shoulders, pinning me effectively so I don’t move.

I don’t even dare move because I'm shaking with fury. Instead of pushing his hands away I glare at him, but it’s a puny attempt.

“Who’s acting like the adult now?”

Underneath the warm blue brilliant Ohio sky, Iain releases his hands off my shoulders and throws his head back and gives out a crack of laughter. I’m too preoccupied seething in my recent embarrassed hauled-like-a-sack-of-potatoes scene that I don’t find myself laughing along with him. Instead I put my hands on my hips and give a frown when Iain quickly notices that I’m still upset, he sobers a little.

“You just bring out the best in me.”

“Oh that was definitely cave man behavior right there, Hargreave.”

“My primitive instincts kick in when they concern you,” he says dryly. “You haven’t answered my question.”

I know he meant about my so-called relationship with the professor. Every part of his body radiates tension and I could hear the panic behind his voice. My eyebrows furrow in confusion and sadness when I realize that this must have been the reason why he came all this way to Ohio. “No, it’s not true.” I watch how he visibly relaxes and looks at me questioningly. “You know it isn’t true because you’ve been the only one since Puck who has….you know, uhm…..” My voice trails and I feel the heat of the blush reaching up my face. This is so embarrassing. To admit that he’s been the one person I’ve ever made love to, Puck doesn’t count since I was drunk. Iain’s expression softens and he looks vaguely amused at my attempt to vocalize about our sex life.

“So why did you say those things then?” He whispers and I get this feeling that he thinks it’s because I’m embarrassed to admit our relationship that I respond by shaking my head. He gives a half ghost of a smile as if acknowledging that my transgressions had nothing to do with him. Hasn’t he realized that he’s the best thing I’ve got in my life and I didn’t want that part to linger here in Lima?

“I did it because Santana pushed me. She accused Kitty of giving that brunette Marley laxatives and I thought it was because she was jealous of me.” “That girl is just bad news,” Iain mutters shaking his head. I don’t answer him, but somehow I get the feeling that he’s right about Kitty. “So, what do you make of it now?”

Iain’s question takes me by surprise. It’s one of those firsts where he actually asks my opinion about something that doesn’t even concerns us. I take a moment to reflect and ponder on Marley. She reminds me of a frightened little bunny rabbit. She’s fragile, vulnerable, and looked about to be on the verge of tears whenever Finn mentioned about looking great on stage. I didn’t know her personally but from what I gathered from Kitty, other than her dating the Puckerman boy, her mother was the lunch lady and looked to be the next candidate for The Biggest Loser. Add that to the mix made her quite the oddball in McKinley. However, unlike Rachel Berry who was filled with a good sense of self-delusion, this one actually cared what others thought about her. For once, it was one of those qualities about Rachel that irked me because she was a strong girl who could give a toss because she had hopes and aspirations of moving out of Lima and making something out of herself. No, Marley didn’t have that fighting streak in her. In fact, she was a lot similar to someone I once knew and hated for the longest time.

Lucy Caboosey.

“I think Santana may be right about Marley being bulimic. But Kitty? I just…”

“Open you eyes, Quinn,” Iain encourages gently. “This isn’t high school anymore. You’re no longer that snarky little girl who picked on Rachel Berry and wanted to date the star quarterback so you could win the Homecoming title. You don’t have to feel guilty about it, that’s all in the past. Didn’t you notice the way Kitty was looking at Marley when you found me at the hallway? And by the way she just threw herself at me as if staking a claim?”

I swallow and nod, digesting everything Iain says. I did notice Kitty sometimes throw envious looks at Marley, especially whenever she was with Puck’s younger brother. I was too distracted by Iain to notice how possessive Kitty was around him that she had actually thrown the same expression. I don’t know much about Kitty Wilde. In fact, the girl has been blabbering on and on about how much she idolized me that I didn’t really know if she was truly genuine because while she had been singing my praises, she never at least once revealed anything about herself and her character. I had been her once, but somehow I knew that a huge part of me related to Marley with her insecurities. Kitty apparently had a backbone. I also recalled the sneer on her face when Iain tossed me over his shoulder, almost as if she had disapproved of me because of my relationship with Iain as she had mistakingly thought of him as hired help.

“You’re right,” I agree. “Kitty is one terrible little bitch. So what can I do about it?”

“Well, you can start by telling Santana that you believe her.” He cocks his head to the side as he looks at me. “I may never understand the friendship you have with her, but I think Santana’s a good person that she does give a shit about Marley’s condition.”

“Is that the reason why you came all the way here? Because you thought I slept with a married professor and you were worried about some girl you barely know?”

“I came here because I know you needed me and I felt ……guilty when I rejected your offer to spend Thanksgiving with your family. I realize now that it is important to you. Therefore, it should have mattered.”

I look at him wordlessly. So this is it. Iain’s half-given apology and admittance that he was in the wrong was what brought him here. But somehow it doesn’t explain why he looked concerned especially for Marley’s sake. There was something here I wasn’t picking up on yet. Then I recalled the story of why Genevieve separated Iain from his mother. She didn’t exactly spell everything out, and this was my chance to finally get a glimpse of it. Go on, my subconscious urges as my inner Cheerio and Queen Bee both nod in unison, ask him. But the thing is, I could but I don’t because I know he isn’t ready to open that painful part of his past just yet.

“It does because the last time I invited a boy for dinner, he sang to my parents about standing by my pregnancy and my father threw me out of the house.” My voice goes hoarse with emotion and my throat starts to ache as I try to choke back the tears that start welling up. I hear a breath of intake from Iain and his eyes widen with an emotion that I can’t quite comprehend. He understands, but he also looks furious about something. He says nothing but wraps his arms around me and I fold as I take in his warm embrace. I rest my head against his chest, inhaling the scent of him mixed with his aftershave, thinking how much I missed him, and letting it comfort me.

The truth is, my being thrown out of Casa de Fabray isn’t that bad….well, not anymore anyway. It used to hurt, but somehow it all feels like a distant memory. I lean into his muscular frame, taking in the strength as he buries his face in my hair taking in as much of me as I did him. We’re silent for the longest time and I know he’s doing this to comfort me but I feel as if it’s more on his behalf. We stay like this for a little while longer when he suddenly breaks his silence.

“It seems that I might have delayed us from joining your friends on their pilgrimage to Sectionals.”

“We can definitely catch up,” I say as I remind him that I brought my car.

“You’re driving again?”

“How else was I supposed to get here?” I ask, but note that his eyes narrow when I mentioned that I was driving again.

“Point taken,” Iain says grimly. “Next time, I’m adding chauffer driven car to your incentives.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “Incentives? Another part of your Iain Hargreave package?”

His mouth quirks in a half smirk. “Consider it a bonus. Or rather a compensation for my indiscretion earlier.”

“Are we pertaining to the ‘haul Quinn’s ass up my shoulder’ incident?”

“Oh no, that was payback for letting me worry about you.”

“That was Puck’s fault! He was the one who ratted on me.”

“Yes, well be glad that he did otherwise I would have been miserable in the Hamptons thinking only about you.”

“That is quite an outfit you’re wearing, Hargreave. Do you know what I was thinking about when I first saw you in this?” I tug playfully at his Lacoste polo shirt as he grins and shakes his head. “I was thinking that you look young to pass out as a senior here. And if things were different and this was high school, I would’ve fallen in love with you. I wouldn’t ever have dated Finn nor would have cheated on you with Puck. I would’ve given you my virginity and if we had gotten pregnant, I knew you would have been there to support me.”

“You bet the hell I would have. I also would have thrown your father’s ass out of your house before he had a chance to throw you out.” Iain answers flatly.

“That’s my father you’re talking about.” I throw him a mortified look.

Iain shakes his head, he still looks furious about the whole thing. “And it was an irresponsible thing for him to do. What kind of a man throws out his daughter to ‘save face’ because she made an error in judgment? You needed your family’s support and it was denied from you when it mattered.” He tilts his head and looks at me earnestly as his hands thread through my hair, sifting through the soft strands. “But there’s no use in wishing for things that’s already happened. You made it through and it’s that quality in you is what makes me in awe of you. I always thought of you as strong and that you could do things without me because I feared that it would suffocate you.” He whispers as his hands suddenly cradle my face, his eyes so tender that I lean against the warmth of his touch.

Now it’s my turn to shake my head. “That’s where you’re wrong,” I whispered. “I’ll always need you.”

Suddenly, everything else fell away. Everything else ceased to exist. Sudden hot tears brim from my eyes as Iain crushes me against his chest.

“I’ve realized lately that I need you just as much because I love you,” he says before he leans over and we were about to kiss when we were interrupted with the voices coming from the door as it swings open. I jump in surprise and Iain glowers at ‘our audience’ which pretty much was the entire New Directions group.

“Do you two ever get tired of making out?” Santana asks irritably, but I can detect a lack of acid in her voice. “Because we kinda need a ride since Finn couldn’t rent out a school bus.” Their grins were infectious because Iain found his first grin for that day.

“Sure, we can do better than that.” Iain fishes out his car keys and presses a button. A car behind us makes a resounding alarm.

“THAT’s yours?” Kitty’s eyes bug out at the silver Audi 4 door convertible. Her jaw is literally hanging open as she looks stupefied at the possibility that Iain’s filthy rich.

“Yep,” Iain throws in the key at Mike’s direction. “Try not to scratch it, Chang.”

“Deal,” he smiles ecstatically as Mercedes calls in shotgun while Puck ambles in at the backseat.

“You weren’t just Quinn’s babysitter were you?” Santana asks. I give her a half smile and she catches it and nods, acknowledging our truce. “What is it that you do?”

“I’m her boyfriend.” he says simply, his lips brushing against the top of my head.

* * *

We arrive just in time as the announcer presents the judges. The crowd’s bustling with excitement and it feels strange not only because I’m now part of the audience, but also because I’m just a bunch of nerves. I guess I’ll never get tired of the feeling especially for this new group of New Directions. As Puck, Santana, Mercedes and Mike take their cued seats and find that we’re lacking, I motion to another empty space where Iain and I settle in a few rows behind the group. I give his hand a squeeze in excitement and he turns and grins back as he returns the squeeze.

The Dalton Academy Warblers are first. Surprisingly, it isn’t Sebastian taking in the rein but this new guy whom I’ve never recognized from last year. He’s weird in an evil James Bond villain kind of way but it also takes me in by surprise that the Warblers have improved tremendously.

“I bet you must have been cute wearing a Prep boy’s school uniform.” I find myself leaning over and whispering that comment in his ear.

He shrugs and throws me a sideways glance. “My jacket would’ve looked thrice better on you than it did me.”

“Is that so?” I ask mischievously, my inner Cheerio is hugging herself happily. The Warblers move on to their second song and I happen to notice that Sebastian is frequently looking our way. He dances a little more enthusiastically than usual and is smiling and giving subliminal winks, more centered towards Iain’s oblivious direction. I frown and grab my boyfriend’s arm possessively. Iain turns and throws me a concerned look as I hastily explain about Kurt’s nemesis.

“That’s Sebastian. He’s gay and I think he’s into to you.”

“What? That’s crazy.” He looks quickly at Sebastian, who notices the attention and this time is grinning like the Cheshire Cat that anytime soon, he’s about to do backflips like his Evil James Bond Villain co-Warbler. Iain turns back his attention to me and I flush happily knowing that I know who he’ll always belong to.

“I mean, he’s like really crazy. In an evil Cruel Intentions meets Dangerous Liaisons kind of way. “

“Quelle dommage pour il because I’m not interested. We both know I don’t swing that way.”

“So which direction do you swing?” I teased as I take in that irrepressible unruly lock of dark brown black hair of his that just never stays in place. I reach out and attempt to fix it.

“Yours.”

Aww, he always says the cutest things.

I reward him by throwing my arms around him and give him a kiss that’s both possessive, tender, and with a need that makes him respond equally just when the whole crowd is shouting with excitement now that the song is over, but neither of us care. I open my eyes and glance at Sebastian who tries to cover his disappointment by smiling a little too brightly. I can also hear chuckles and guffaws behind us and we hastily break off. I’m flustered and try to fix an imaginary misplaced strand of hair as Iain throws his arm around me and pulls me closer towards him as we watch the next act. It’s a group of Amish students from Rosedale, and I instantly recognize that they pose no threat to the New Directions. I grin amusedly and find myself laughing and clapping along to “She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain”.

“Remind me to accompany you more often to events like these,” he says as he gives off one of those knee knocking boyish smiles. “I haven’t seen you this carefree.”

“I wasn’t like this before,” I admit and give another huge round of applause when the group ends their number. “Not until you.”

Iain is about to say more when the announcer then mentions the New Directions are up next. The whole crowd cheers on as I do and they burst in a myriad of black and gold singing to the Korean pop song Gangnam Style. Tina does an impressive job and I could tell that Puck’s younger brother has got moves rivaling those of Mike Chang’s. Iain raises an eyebrow in surprise as I’ve never even mentioned the number that they’re performing. I smile proudly watching Kitty give one of the old geezers my signature “come hither” wink and I know these guys have got it in the bag. The boys rip out the confetti and the crowd just goes insane.

That is until the climatic end when Marley faints.

* * *

Marley ***

It’s my entire fault.

We lost no thanks to me.

Everyone has pretty much left, Jake tried to offer me a ride home but I felt as if I didn’t deserve even his sympathy. I know my Mom’s worried about me and it was a miracle that I wasn’t brought in the hospital from my fainting spell. I sit alone in the steps trying to block out the things that went on by but it’s no use. My eyes well up in tears and sniffling again I bend my head and close my eyes tightly praying that this was just a bad dream and that I would wake up eventually.

I open my eyes but with a sinking feeling that I am not dreaming. I resort again to crying with heartbroken gulps when a voice--- deep, rich, distinctly male filled with quiet authority tinged with sympathy speaks to me. “Marley, right?” I nod as he approaches me, his steps assured with a confidence rarely found in a guy his age. I’m guessing that he’s probably in his early twenties as he’s wearing an expensive Lacoste polo shirt, white linen pants and beat up black gray vans that make him look like he had just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren catalog. In fact, he looked even better than most male models I’ve seen at the ads. I gulp back thinking that he probably even has the muscle for it and I look away before he sees me blush thinking of his bronzed tanned chest and six pack abs underneath that shirt.

“Can I sit beside you?”

Shock sends me surging to my feet but because I’m too weak it just reaches my throat. I nod wordlessly as the handsome young man sits beside me. He’s tall, around six foot two inches with a shock of dark black brown hair and piercing blue eyes that makes me even more uncomfortable and self-conscious than ever. He raises his arm slowly and offers me a scarlet red handkerchief that looks soft, and made out of the finest silk. “T-thank you,” I whisper reverently taking the billowing thing from his fine, tanned masculine and well manicured hand and offer him a teary smile of gratitude as I dab it at my eyes. Not certain of what to do or what was expected I hold it out to him.

He smiles as he shakes his head and waves an air of dismissal. “Keep it.”

“Thanks.”

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” The man asks, and I note for the first time that though I know he’s American, he speaks with a slight accent, but I couldn’t tell if it’s British but there’s something distinct about the way he pronounces the words like want as “wont” and talk as “tawk” that makes me start to wonder where he grew up. I then realize that this was the same guy who came in McKinley and hauled Quinn Fabray up against his shoulder like an angry primal Greek God. He even has the handsome features of one.

As I look closer, although he casually dressed, he’s slightly older than I thought, probably close to twenty five but the smile he’s wearing on his face now makes him look younger in a ridiculously good looking boyish quality that most guys his age and younger could never pull off. Also, he sounds more sophisticated and worldly to be just the housekeeper that Santana assumes he was earlier. Plus the fact that he had come by school earlier driving an expensive top down convertible sports car was more of a slap on Kitty’s face as she had been openly drooling at the sight of him the moment he stepped in the halls of McKinley High. But another nagging thought bothers me: why is he alone wasting his time talking to me and not spending it kissing Quinn like he did when they thought they were alone outside the school’s yard?

“You’re Quinn’s boyfriend.” I say because I’m too shy to voice out my opinion and to question why he’s here and not with his beautiful, blonde girlfriend.

“Call me Iain. How are you feeling?”

“Like crap. I just blew our chances at Sectionals.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “There’s always next year,” then he hunkers down closer as if to divulge a secret and looks sideways to see if anyone’s listening in. “Just between you and me, I don’t think the New Directions would’ve won favors singing a song that nobody honestly understands except if you’re Korean which unfortunately none of the judges were. Well maybe except for that obituary guy, he looks old enough to have survived the First World War.”

In spite of myself, I giggle. It’s the first time I’ve been able to relax in the past few days. I’m tired and haven’t had sleep and feel weak. I know I’m supposed to feel totally conscious about getting attention especially from some guy who could give any Hollywood A-list heartthrob actor a run for his money in the looks department, but somehow because Iain doesn’t belong in McKinley nor is he a part of the New Directions it makes me think of something else other than my recent muck. I relax a little and find myself doubling over in hilarity, but when I do I feel lightheaded again and Iain quickly steadies me until I signal him to let me go. He nods curtly and searches for something in his pocket.

“Here, have this.” He hands me a tiny gold sachet shaped like a bottle which he breaks the top first before I take it.

“It’s an energy gel,” he explains patiently when he notices my confused expression. “I use it whenever I do long distance runs and can’t eat anything. It won’t taste as bad unlike most because its chocolate flavored. Trust me, Marley you need one now because you look like you’re about to keel over again anytime.

I hesitate for a second but shrug and follow through. Iain was right about it tasting good. I take in the chocolate goodness as I hungrily swallow and consume the entire contents. At least my stomach has ceased its grumbling. I feel a bit peppier now and throw him a grateful glance.

“Why are you being so nice? You hardly know me. Quinn’s probably looking over for you.” “She’s busy lecturing her protégé.” Iain answers, however I get this feeling that he won’t tell me that his girlfriend is probably give Kitty hell now because he knows it isn’t any of his business and he’s far too much of a gentleman to admit it anyway. “I’m not doing this to be nice, Marley. You just…….remind me of someone.”

“Who?”

“My mother. You don’t look like her, but you have a certain quality in your eyes that remind me of her. Hers was big blue and kind just like yours.”

I note with alarm that Iain’s speaking in the past tense. Before I ask him more he hastily explains. “She died from cancer, it was a long time ago. But that’s not the only thing you have in common with my mother. She also made herself sick by throwing up whatever she ate.”

“Iain, I never—“

“Don’t lie to me,” Iain snaps and I flinch at the tone of his voice. It was clipped, authoritative, with an obvious contemptuous superiority that makes me feel antagonized and humiliated. Iain notices my reaction and he amends by grimacing as tilts his head slightly as if to apologize and softens his voice. “What I meant was I know that you do Marley. Look at your hands. I’m guessing you’re also right handed because there are chips on your index and middle fingernails and they’re also a shade darker than your other nails because that’s from the acid that’s regurgitated from your throat. Also because of that acid that’s been passing through your throat, you might have noticed that your voice isn’t what it used to be, it’s probably gone hoarse for a while hasn’t it? That’s why you’re so afraid you’d fuck up with Sectionals because you’re afraid the judges would notice. Your skin’s dry and pallid because you’re dehydrated and your hair looks stiff and brittle from lack of nourishment. You were lucky that you recovered quickly otherwise you might have been sent in to the Emergency Room to have intravenous fluids reach you before you die.”

“How do you know all this?”

He gives out a long resounding sigh as if it’s taking him a supreme effort to be patient. However judging by the look of pain etched on his handsome face, I realize that the attempt was not for my sake but for his. It dawns on me that this topic is painful for him and I can see that there’s more to this story than he wants to let on.

“I was a very young when it happened. I watched my mother lock herself inside a bathroom for an hour’s end after eating and I would stand by her door and keep an eye out for her. There were days on end when she had to paint her fingernails black so nobody would notice how brittle they’ve become or the acid stains on the finger’s she used to induce her vomiting. I did all I could to stop her from destroying herself….but it was…….useless.” His voice goes hard for a moment and then he composes himself when he notices that I’m looking at him. He clears his throat and smiles at me instead. “We’re not here to talk about my past, but I would like to know why.”

I knew he was referring to why I did it. For some apparent nameless reason, I felt like in some way we were kindred spirits in a twisted karma plot. Almost as if he needed to hear it in my own words the things that his mother should have told him if he had been old enough and like he needed some sort of redemption as to give me advice not just for my sake, but also as a way for him to vent out the things he should have said to his mother. My heart goes out for Iain and for the first time, I find myself opening up that the words just flow right out of my mouth easily that it takes me by surprise how honest I could be with a complete stranger.

“I was selfish and insecure because I didn’t fit right into my clothes. I was a nervous wreck and the pressure was getting to me.”

“How can you be so insecure? You’re talented and beautiful.” He looks dumbfounded and perplexed by the notion that I could act this way.

“You think I’m beautiful? Have you seen my mother?” The hysteria bubbles through me as I feel the panic again settling in. Instead of fleeing as I initially would have, Iain looks at me in a way that hypnotizes me to stay put. He doesn’t touch me but looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. I feel naked and exposed by his scrutiny.

“Yes you are beautiful and so is your mother, whatever it is people say she looks like.” He says in such humbled honesty that my eyes bug out. This gorgeous Greek god with the cobalt blue eyes thinks I’m beautiful? I know I’ve been showered with praises by Brody and Jake, but the way Iain says it makes me believe in his sincerity. He says it because he accepts it as the truth, not because he has something to gain or because he finds me attractive. This alone takes me by surprise.

“I take it you haven’t received much compliments from a paternal figure.”

He understands, he actually does get it. I nod wordlessly and was about to ask him how he knew, but he reads my mind quickly and supplies, “She was an orphan. Her father was sentenced in prison for being involved in a Ponzi scam and while her mother was too busy raising her and her twin on her own that she eventually gave up and ran too. For a while, she had lived in foster homes and relied heavily on her twin sister to survive. But despite the hardships she faced, my mother was the sweetest, kindest person you’ll ever meet. She never wished ill of anyone nor did she like to hurt people’s feelings. However, she was also very weak and susceptible that she succumbed to the pressures of the world that she took it out on herself. She never realized that when she did, she was not only endangering her own life, but was hurting the people who loved her most.”

“And that included you,” I add correctly guessing from the anguish that he’s trying desperately to suppress.

“Yes,” he answers tightly.

“I’m sorry.” Is all I could say and I honestly don’t know what I’m apologizing for. If it’s Iain’s sad story or because for once I never realized that being bulimic not only was self-destructive but that I’ve in effectively hurt the people who mattered the most to me. My mom, Jake, Brody, the entire New Directions whom I’ve let down because I was weak. I see the pain in Iain’s eyes and I knew deep in my heart that my apology was actually meant more for him than it did for me. I reach out and touch his arm giving it a little squeeze and he looks nonplussed and rewards me with a ghost of a smile as if saying that I’m forgiven.

We sit in silence, accepting that our sins of omission have finally been liberated and not a moment sooner, I glimpse Quinn Fabray walking slowly towards us. She’s more beautiful than Kitty will ever be, I note as she walks in a red and white floral dress and sparkly red pumps that looks like it came from a high fashion designer label and a large expensive manly leather jacket that I assume is Iain’s. Her long, straight blonde hair is immaculately perfect and her white porcelain skin is clear that I start to think that if ever she ended up with Iain in the long run, they were going to have such gorgeous babies. I quickly remove my hand from Iain’s arm as he steadily watches her walking towards us. She looks calm and contained, but I knew that from her narrowed gaze that she looks slightly jealous and I’m actually afraid that she’ll kick my head in for touching her man. She does relax a bit when I’ve given her a guilty apologetic look as she stops in front of us with an angelic smile on her face.

“Well, I guess Kitty’s going to be leaving you alone for a while.” Quinn says smoothly but even though I know she’s talking to me, she never lets her gaze falter from Iain who looks noncommittal but I seriously detect a sizzle underneath those frosty stares they’re exchanging. I mumble something about my mom looking for me and hastily move away from the couple. Iain just quickly nods as if dismissing me and when I’m a few feet distance away from them, I turn my head and smile gratefully at the man whom I just believed saved my life while I redeemed his.

* * *

Quinn

***

I’ve just given Kitty hell about the whole Marley situation. I quickly patched things up with Santana backstage and we both go full on the little brat who had just ruined their chances at Sectionals. Iain was right about her being a fine piece of work, the girl was a remarkably good actress, claiming that she was just helping Marley who took it too much further. The truth was, bullshit like that never worked on me because I invented that whole sham act I tell her as her eyes blaze in fury that changed her into something evil. Like Sue Sylvester when she was much younger, I simper thinking just how wrong she was to think I was anything like her. I adored the woman once, but seeing this kind of destruction on such selfish deeds made me sick to my stomach that I started to wonder how was it that I could have been so blind and think that those two were anything like me?

I would have never done this to Rachel Berry. Never!

Even though there was that time I had nearly convinced her to get a nose job. Hey, it would have definitely been an improvement in my defense. Plus didn’t she say something about it also improving her voice octave?

But something like this, destructive in a manipulative way was like a like to a man’s groin. It was definitely below the belt. I was used to stage-managing things to work my way, but these days the taste of it feels like it’s gone dry and left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth that I just couldn’t comprehend why.

Iain was right about me letting go of my past. I’m no longer that Cheerio who craved being the center of attention and wanted to be Prom Queen. I wasn’t the angry teenager acting out because she had just ruined her life by becoming pregnant. No longer did I feel the need for Beth, or the need to don the Cheerio uniform or be whoever people thought Quinn Fabray was in Lima, Ohio.

I am growing up.

Finally, Lucy Quinn Fabray, you have matured into a respectable adult, my subconscious gives a gallant bow of acknowledgement. My inner Cheerio smiles ruefully but this time she’s no longer wearing the red and white cheerleader outfit and has her hair tied up in a high pony. Instead the new Quinn is calmer, serene, and almost channeling Kate Middleton as she wears her hair loose letting the golden curls wave to perfection and is clad in an elegant blue violet Prada dress and Christian Louboutin skyscraper heels that sparkled in white and gold as I find myself thinking that it would be the most perfect dress to wear on Thanksgiving.

Iain would definitely love seeing me wear this! I smile giddy inside thinking of the possibilities of him trying to sneak me away from my parents and Fran that I find myself searching high and low for him. I don’t know how long I’ve been walking or how many minutes have gone by from my search that I’ve found myself stepping outside and almost walking into the couple who were lounging easily by the steps. My heart stills for a moment when I see Iain sitting comfortably beside a pale wisp of a girl with brown hair as they talk in companionable ease. Relax, he’s not hitting on Marley, my former inner Cheerio is now known as Grown-Up Quinn who steadies my arm and clucks her tongue disapprovingly. Just look at his face and you’ll know what they’re talking about, she urges.

And it takes a supreme effort on my part, dreading the pain and jealousy twisting my heart but as I turn to look for once my man wasn’t focused on me, I watch as a myriad of emotions pass through Iain’s face. For once, he isn’t his usual contained mercurial self. I see a vulnerability etched with pain and loss. The last time I’ve seen him like this was when I was at the hospital during my accident when I thought I could never walk again. I strain my ears to hear what they’re saying, but sadly even I can’t read their lips at this distance. He’s breathing heavily, almost like as if a bullet was lodged from his chest and was about to be removed. Marley looks on wordlessly sympathetic and apologetic at the same time an then it dawns on me that she isn’t even looking at him in a way that most girls usually have.

She understands where he’s coming from.

Suddenly, I recall the encounter I had with Genevieve a few months ago.

“I deemed Iain’s mother unfit to raise him. Perhaps that had been my mistake. She wasn’t strong enough to handle the pressures of being married to a man like his father. Maybe someday, he’ll be able to explain the details of his past.”

Could this be it? The one thing linking him to his past? I wasn’t dumb enough to assume that somewhere along the lines Iain also had another half-sister in Marley considering that they looked nothing alike except they both had blue eyes. But Iain’s was darker and shone like dark sapphires whilst Marley’s was light blue like marbles. They couldn’t be related but somehow the conversation they shared was so personal they seemed like kindred spirits.

Suddenly, I felt jealous and hurt thinking as of why Iain wouldn’t share his pain with me. I was sick and tired of waiting I found myself walking towards them, ignoring the pleas coming from Grown-Up Quinn who wobbles at my wake, apparently she’s going to need some time to get used to wearing five inch heels and my subconscious who rolls her eyes, having given up on me for the longest time when I know I want something.

I keep my control for the sake of Marley. The poor girl looks exhausted and probably will have to eventually face the angry mob that is Tina Cohen-Chang who is apparently pissed that her first solo minus Rachel Berry became an absolute flop. Not that I wanted to hurt Tina’s already busted feelings, but there was no way that they were going to win singing a song that nobody knows what it really means. In fact, I have no clue as to what Gangnam Style is or how if it has anything to do with the dance moves or if it was a manner of dress. I didn’t feel like pointing out that this was Finn’s fault either for picking out such a horrible number. He’s new to the whole being the new musical director thing since Mister Schuester left.

I have a feeling that Grown-Up Quinn’s maturity index is highly infectious that I’m now rationalizing things.

I focus instead to Iain who’s looking at me warily. Marley slips away from us and neither of us notice her departure.

“Are you done here?” I ask calmly.

“Yes.”

“I got off in time to watch you talk to Marley,” I say trying to cover the possessiveness in my voice but I know I’ve failed that seeing Iain raise his eyebrow. “If it’s not too much to ask, could you care to indulge me on what you two were talking about if it’s not too personal?”

“We were talking about her.”

“There seemed to be a lot more sharing on your part.”

“Hmm.” He tipped his head and looked at me as I sat down beside him. I then start to think that it had to be fate that I had chanced upon his great-grandmother telling me that she felt responsible for separating Iain from his mother when he was younger and now witnessing him and Marley divulge in a secret that I knew had a much deeper meaning which didn’t concern the girl who had just blown her chances at Sectionals. Now’s your chance, Quinn. My inner Queen Bitch has now morphed into a more assertive mature version of myself. She’s still dressed in the same cute, girly outfits, but this time she’s wearing moon-shaped plastic black spectacles and has her hair pulled back out into a tight ponytail and is now known as Miss Assertive. Go ahead and push him into telling you!!

“What did Genevieve mean that she thought that your mother was unfit to raise you? Is this why you’ve been acting so concerned about Marley?”

More silence.

“You know, this conversation is about as painful as having my teeth pulled out,” I snap.

“Then maybe we should change the subject,” Iain suggested helpfully.

I stand up from the steps and turn around to face him.

“Iain, please don’t shut me out. You promised you would never leave me, but how am I expected to stay if you won’t be honest with me? You said it takes a leap of blind faith to love someone and here I am doing just that. Now it’s your turn.”

He rose to his feet. “My, aren’t you the therapist of the day?” He tilts his head to look at me but I’m so angry I turn my head and wrap my arms around myself.

“No, of course not,” I deny that statement hastily without realizing then that I myself am not being as honest. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little.”

“I hurt your feelings again,” he said softly as he takes in my chin for him to look at him. I budge eventually an gaze into the apology written on his face and the sincerity of his deep blue eyes.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” He pulls me up against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. “I don’t know why in God’s name do I fuck up and keep shutting you out, but I sure as hell don’t deserve anyone as good as you.”

I lean into him, loving the feel of his warm, muscular body and the scent of his mixed with aftershave, bodywash, shampoo and him. He rubs my back in a manner that’s comforting and yet I get this feeling he’s doing this for his own benefit than mine. He takes a deep breath and swallows.

“My mother was bulimic, Quinn. I guess you were partially right about my concern for Marley because she reminded me of her.”

My eyes widen in horror.

Oh my.

This is bad. I fully understand now why Genevieve opted not to tell me this story. I lean back and gaze at him, waiting for him to explain. I don’t say anything because he continues on his ‘prepared soliloquy as if he’d practice this opening salvo for days and is desperate to be rid of it.

“My mother was a ballet dancer, so there was a certain figure that she had to maintain and she would make herself sick enough to lose all the weight. She stopped when she met my father and everyone thought that things were going on well. But she couldn’t handle the pressure. She was so unhappy with my father, because he was always away. She was lonely and depressed that she started making herself sick again. I was a toddler back then so I wasn’t much help either but I knew that she locked herself in the bathroom to throw up and I would just sit behind the door and cry, begging her to open the door until she came out. At first, nobody noticed because she was naturally slim, but when I had gotten older, people started talking. The rest of my family didn’t believe them. They easily blamed it on the stress from all the social functions that my mother hosted and attended. Then on the morning of my fifth birthday, my mother was preparing me my favorite cake. It was a triple fudge Devil’s Food cake. I remember even telling her that it was going to be the best birthday ever. I knew she was feeling sad because my father couldn’t make it to my birthday that I wanted to make her feel better.” He drew out a shaky breath. “I told her I loved her, and that afternoon during my party, she fainted and was rushed to the hospital. She was so weak and dehydrated that the nurses had some difficulty starting her on venous fluids and the doctors at the emergency room had to give her rapid bolus drips because they feared that she would have died right there.”

I let out a gasp of shock. I knew I recalled asking Iain if he remembered his mother and he said that he barely did, but I had no idea that he lived with a memory like this and had to block it despite feeling its terrible aftereffects through the years. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper as I hug him tighter. I close my eyes and try to imagine a little boy with tousled dark, brown black hair and big dark blue eyes crying and knocking on a bathroom door, begging his mother to come out because he was so worried for her. Tears fall unabashedly as I weep not for the man holding me in his arms, but for the youth that he had been and how traumatic it must have been to live in hell for an innocent child who must’ve been alone and depressed thinking it was all his fault that he couldn’t save her.

“So am I. I’m sorry for my mother, who was unhappy, sorry for my father who didn’t show her he loved her enough, sorry for everything that transpired thereafter that made me doubt in ever loving someone. Until you came along, that is.”

“Iain, I—“

“Promise me you’ll never be like her. I’m not like my father. I won’t leave you. That’s why I’m here and I wanted you to know that because I love you.”

I nod and gaze at the sadness in his eyes. He gently wipes a stray tear with the back of his knuckles.

“Yes,” I whisper achingly as I put both my hands on his face. “I love you, too.” A low groan tears from Iain’s chest as he smothers my mouth with his. He kisses me fiercely, passionately, then tenderly all reflecting that he could never get enough of me. I respond with the same fervor and return it as if it could erase every sad memory we ever possessed but I knew that could never be enough and that the only thing we have is here and now. And right now all I care about is the man who I’m desperately in love with, more so after his confession about his earliest childhood memory that left him traumatized. At last he drags his mouth from mine and holds me in his arms, pressing me against the rapid pounding of his heart. He doesn’t move for several minutes and when I raise my face to look at him, he gives me a weak smile.

Wait!!! You thought it was over did you? I added another bonus, this time with Iain befriending Artie. Enjoy.

***

As they walked into a huge paneled room, Artie noticed that there were no windows just large tiles plastered from ceiling and floor that just by looking at it seemed hard to distinguish which was up and which way was down. It reminded him of a chamber that could have been found in a computer game like the ones Sam and Jake Puckerman enjoyed playing. He turned over to the towering man with a shock of brown-black hair and startling blue eyes.

“What is this place?”

Iain Hargreave gave off a lazy half-smile as he scanned the room. “This is one of the training grounds used for potential test pilots for NASA.” He pauses and nods to a group of people who approach him eagerly. Some are donned in lab coats while the others look like pilot cadets in their shiny space-like suits. “Over the years, it’s been expensive to shoulder cadets with living and travel expenses that NASA has decided to expand their horizons so Ohio seemed like the perfect candidate. Besides,” he smiled wryly. “Unlike Chicago, Wisconsin, Michigan, and New York taxes are lower so it’s another win for the people who work here.”

“Is this the anti-gravity chamber?” Artie’s eyes bug in disbelief as he looks on in wonder.

“Actually, they call it a micro gravity chamber,” Iain corrects him. “Technically there is still gravity present in the room, but it’s been reduced significantly that it can maintain a body weighing less than 200 kilos suspended in air.” “How’s that different from a drop off point tower?”

He raises a dark eyebrow and looks slightly impressed by Artie’s knowledge of aeronautic physics. “Drop off towers test weightlessness, but the principle of dropping a human from a ‘theoretic’ cliff isn’t exactly a good way to test it. But yes, this in fact is the by-product of this. In fact, it’s the first one ever built. It would definitely be the less expensive alternative astronaut training since the only other way to simulate weightlessness is by flying an aircraft stimulating G force and inertia. Another plus is that the effects are far longer than 12 seconds. A person inside a microgravity chamber can maintain a state of weightlessness for at least an hour.” He speaks with such pride that makes Artie ask the next question.

“Did you invent it?”

Iain chuckles as his hard handsome stern face relaxes slightly. “As much as I’m flattered you’d ever think me as that much of a genius, Artie, no I did not.” He nods to the group of lab coats. “They did. I was only responsible for the funding and using the technology to develop an anti-gravity treadmill that could be used to rehabilitate runners, the elderly, and..”

“People who suffered trauma and have learn how to walk again,” Artie finishes now looking at Iain differently. He did this for her, he thought as he gained new respect for the man who won Quinn Fabray’s heart. He was now truly happy for her because she was like a friend to him for that short period when she herself was in a wheelchair. However, unlike Artie, she was able to stand and get back up thanks to that machine ‘Bruce Wayne’ patented.

He notices the look on Arties face and says quietly that only the two of them could hear. “Artie, if I could have made things different back then, I would have. The technology and the timing just wasn’t there when you needed it and for that I am sorry. But I hope that both could now at least compensate even for just the briefest of minutes.”

“What do you mean? Being in this chair is a part of who I am.”

Iain Hargreave looks stunned for the briefest moments as he gains a humbled respect for the boy in the wheelchair who has more courage than he ever will. He nods and clears his throat because for the longest time he really didn’t know what to say. He was raised in a cold, stark environment despite the rich, glamorous life style; but he had always reached out and helped those who were less fortunate than he was. He also knew the workings of a mind of the business men and those he dealt with and knew how to handle people relations and was good on reading people’s action. Iain had this feeling that Artie was like those stubborn businessmen who were too proud admit their sad condition. He expected that reaction, but not this scene where the boy tells him now serenely with the sincerest expression on his face that he was happy in a wheelchair as he would have been if he had still been able to walk.

“Have you ever considered that while you’re up there,” he nods towards the heavens, “your legs won’t matter?”

Artie lifts his head and just when he does, the black panels glow on the ceiling glow and each turns on like a flat screen TV displaying an array of stars. He looks on in awed wonder now that the wall panels have gone and done the same thing.

“Pretty neat, huh? It impresses me too every time,” Iain says dryly, but he’s actually smiling. He then swiftly introduces him to a tall, powerfully built older man who reminded Artie of Clint Eastwood in an orange space suit. “This is Captain Robert Reynolds. He was one of the astronauts present during NASA’s flight to Mars. He’s going to walk you through the simulator.”

Artie was speechless. For the first time, he was going to be able to know what it feels like to be weightless, and he was going to be just like everyone present in this particular room, people who were built like athletes struggle around in an almost zero gravity state. Iain was right that his legs wouldn’t matter, because he and these people present would all just be equals underneath a dark, starlit sky. It wasn’t close to walking again, or being able to dance.

This was so much better.

One of lab rats has removed him off his wheelchair and Captain Reynolds is carrying him like as if he was already weightless as he easily briefs him in on the procedures of what’s about to happen, just as Artie turns around to thank Iain, he notices the young man turn toward the door as one of the senior lab rats follows his trail.

“What about you? Aren’t you going to hang around?”

Iain turns around and grins wryly. “I’m afraid of heights.”

#glee #glee fanfiction #glee fandom #quinn fabray #kurt hummel #rachel berry #fan fiction #fan fic writing #ocs #romance

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canaliculi · 7 years

Text

The Fine Game of Nil

Gravity Falls

Bill/Ford

NC-17: Masturbation, consensual possession, masochism

Ever the caring and generous friend, Bill offers to give Ford a mental break while he's working on their dimension-bridging portal. Things get heated, pretty much literally.

Bill was beginning to suspect that he’d been duped. A flashlight clamped between his host’s teeth prevented the curses building in his throat from being released, though every now and then his lips would move around the metal cylinder, forming the phantom words. These words were not usually in any language humans could recreate, which only served to frustrate him more as the clumsy flesh humans deigned to call a mouth warped unsatisfactorily around the foreign phrases.

It had been a long time since the demon had been in full control of a borrowed body. Sure, he’d been in Sixer’s body before, but those were more-or-less supervised brainstorming sessions. Possession wasn’t something he had to do often, since Ford was always eager – more than eager, champing at the bit! – to do whatever it was Bill had decided needed doing. He engaged in it mostly to tease himself, give himself a taste of what was to come. All that sloshing fluid and squelching organ business was good fun! Bill had assumed that when he did get to take Ford’s body for a joyride it would actually be enjoyable.

This was not the case. Bill accepted that he had different standards for entertainment than most of the sentient lifeforms in this dimension, but he was pretty sure no one could have fun in his current position. Said position was deep in the mechanical guts of a quantum tunneling engine, on hands and knees in a tiny, cramped crawlspace using tiny, delicate tools on tiny, frustrating consoles in nearly impossible to reach places. As if reacting to his negative thoughts, one of his useless fingers twitched and he lost hold of a tool, an exasperated groan leaving his throat as the thing clanged around on its way to the floor.

There were reasons he made other people do his work for him – besides not having a corporeal form for himself – and this was definitely one of them. Sixer should be the one confined and irritated, all scrunched up in this miniscule area and reaching around blindly for some stupid wrench or whatever someone had made way too small. And he had been before, back when Bill was blissfully unaware what the term ‘aching joints’ entailed.

The demon wanted control, but he wasn’t one of those micromanagers; he would leave for days at a time, returning only when Ford had fallen asleep so they could play in the mindscape. The day to day minutiae of the physical world wasn’t something he was keen on following unless it was directly affecting him or his pet. Bill would keep an eye on everything – it was impossible not to – but didn’t find it worthwhile to intervene unless something was going seriously wrong. So up until this point, Ford and his buddy Fiddle-dick had done all the manual labor on the portal themselves.

Bill would have been perfectly content to keep things that way. While designing a dimension-bridging machine was exciting and fun, drawing up blueprints and slaving over equations, actually going about building the damn thing was decidedly not fun. As far as Bill was concerned, as soon as things switched into physical more than conceptual, he was out. Unfortunately, best-laid plans doing what they do, he’d been suckered into this bullshit.

He and Ford had a connection – a real one, not the emotional garbage the human tried to keep bottled up inside himself. Thanks to their deal, Bill was more acquainted with Sixer’s general mental and physical wellbeing than usual. Honestly, it could be annoying, like a fly wedged between two bricks. Mostly unnoticeable but constantly just there, and occasionally twitching and flailing around and causing them both discomfort. It was one of those squirming, writhing moments that had drug Bill’s attention away from the important things he’d been doing (he couldn’t remember them now, but everything he did was important) to Ford’s physical dimension.

Bill had found the man mentally and physically exhausted, his poor mammalian brain practically short circuiting. A brief stretch of awareness showed that the rest of the house was empty, Glasses having gone off to wherever he went when he wasn’t helping Ford. His little buddy was in the same space Bill was now occupying for him, diligently tinkering away, eyes bleary and barely focused. This was clearly a delicate situation.

“HIYA SIXER! Working HARD or HARDLY WORKING, am I RIGHT?” Ford had visibly flinched, flashlight dropping out of his mouth to clatter on the metal floor. Apparently, the human hadn’t noticed Bill’s arrival until the piercing voice echoed through his mind. Man, he must’ve been really out of it.

“B-Bill! How long have- what are you doing here?” the man stuttered out, sounding exhausted. His hand groped around for the flashlight.

“Just DROPPING BY to see how my FAVORITE GENIUS is doing!” Bill floated closer. “And if LOOKS are anything to go by, I’d say he’s about to DROP DEAD!” The demon laughed, but he did have a point. The circles under Ford’s eyes were so dark they resembled bruises, his untucked shirt was covered in wrinkles and smears of oil, and his hair was sticking up at strange angles. “I know they say don’t judge a BOOK by its COVER, but there’s a LIMIT, pal!”

It was clear that Ford wasn’t in the mood for the exuberant triangle’s mild ribbing, but he gave a half-hearted chuckled nonetheless. Leaving the flashlight where it lie, the human sat back and took his glasses off, rubbing at his eyes.

“It’s been a long day, Bill.”

“A long 34 hours, 42 minutes, and 25- no, 26 seconds, Sixer!” Sometimes it was amazing that Ford had survived as long as he had before he’d met Bill. “You’re only a COUPLE hours away from that STUNNING brain of yours going HAYWIRE! Which would be FUN to watch, but if you’re gonna start HALLUCINATING you shouldn’t do it in the middle of our work!” Ford looked embarrassed, and Bill had to fight to keep from rolling his eye. Sensitive, much? “I know you can’t HELP IT, Fordsy, it’s just biology! You know that too! So what the heck are you doing!”

“I…” Was that an attempt at conversation, or was Sixer just sighing? “We’re on a tight time frame right now.” Ford was sounding dangerously condescending. The man tempted a glance up, looking away again when he saw the glare aimed his way. “I know, I need to sleep, I’m exhausted, but I’m so close. I- we’re so close.”

If Bill possessed a heart to melt, it might have at least thawed a little at the man’s last statement, murmured more than spoken and heavy laden with unnamed emotion. As it was, he didn’t, but he felt slightly less agitated. After all, Ford was just doing what he thought he needed to do. And the man could be surprisingly stubborn when it came to building their portal – usually a trait Bill could appreciate, but there were times like this when it put everything in jeopardy.

“I’ll tell ya what, buddy,” Bill began, putting his arm around Ford’s shoulders. It was impossible to actually touch the man in this dimension – for now – but habits were hard to break. “Why don’t I take over from HERE? Lemme slip into that SKIN SUIT of yours and YOU can take a little breather!”

An unidentifiable emotion displayed itself on Ford’s face, maybe a mix between incredibility and relief and fondness and embarrassment. He replaced his glasses, self-consciously running a hand through his hair. “You don’t need to do that, really! I’m nearly finished-”

This was taking too long; Bill technically already had Ford’s permission to enter his body whenever he wished. The demon shoved his way into Sixer’s body, knocking the human’s consciousness out of it in the process. He was nearly overwhelmed by the influx of physical sensations, most of which were unpleasant. Over the white noise background, he could hear Ford sputtering protests about his actions, though the words came through blurred at the edges. Bill waved a six-fingered hand dismissively.

“Sixer, I got this,” he said, voice sounding rougher. The inside of Ford’s mouth felt like he’d been swallowing cotton balls for the past year. “I know you INSIDE and OUT, LITERALLY! I KNOW when you need a break!” He could see that Ford still wanted to argue about it. “Hey, I’m just giving you a helping hand! It’s what partners – friends – do, right?”

That was the ticket. Ford’s transparent arms uncrossed, and a shy smile came out. “You’re right, Bill.”

“Of COURSE I am! Don’t you worry that cute little head of yours! I’ll just finish up here LICKETY SPLIT and then we can skedaddle off to the MINDSCAPE for some well-deserved R and R!” They had shared a grin before Bill got to work. Ford had hovered in the background for a while, peering over his own borrowed shoulder before Bill had gotten irritated and shooed him off. No one helicopter-parented Bill Cipher!

And now Bill was stuck regretting his decision. He could feel the bones of Ford’s knees jamming together, pinching the delicate ligaments and cartilage between them. Shifting his weight from side to side wasn’t helping, either. At various points along his spine, the muscles were tensing and bunching together into painfully hard knocks, imbalances between his chest and back drawing his shoulders into a hunch every time he stopped paying attention to the body’s posture. It was a nightmare.

He just had to grit his teeth, and finish this last piece, and then he could slam this body onto a flat surface and escape to the mindscape. Never again became the mantra running through his head. This was all charity got you, a stress and sleep induced migraine! Bill piloted his body around, pulling himself free of the delicate tangle of wires and metal and out into semi-fresh air. It felt like a vice was loosened around his chest, and he idly wondered if he was claustrophobic or something.

Saving the thought for another time – or never, whichever – Bill pulled himself up to a standing position, practically wincing at the cacophony of crackling noises coming from all parts of Sixer’s body. Jeez, how long had the guy been in that position before Bill had come along? He rolled his neck from side to side, thinking about how much the human owed him for this, and walked over the main power generator. Halfway out of the room he had to pause as his vision suddenly split into doubles, eyes flickering as if they were rapidly crossing. Ford was really pushing his body this way, not just in terms of sleep deprivation, but also the chemical cocktail he’d poured into himself to keep awake and working.

Still, as annoying as it was that Ford would risk making idiot mistakes by fogging up his brain, Bill knew that he had at least another nine days before the man was in any real danger. Hell, Stanford probably knew that too, comforted himself with the thought every time standing brought a dizzying wave crashing over him. There was a phrase Ford could benefit from hearing, something about the Nile not just being a river.

The lights in the basement workshop flickered as the generator hummed to life. The strobing effect this caused did little and less to ease the headache throbbing at the base of his skull. Even so, Bill felt himself perk up when a quiet whirring noise joined the electric drone, signaling that at least something was going right. He stalked back over to the machine piece he had been working on, sickly yellow eyes glowing and searching for any possible complications. A distant rattling alerted him to one.

Oh, right, the wrench thing. When he hadn’t been able to easily lay a hand on it, he’d just left it in there, telling himself he’d get it later. Later had obviously come and gone, unheeded. Bill leveled a glare at the hunk of metal, blaming it for all his problems. He huffed and rolled his eyes, but that didn’t seem to accomplish anything. Accepting the finality of the situation, Bill dropped back down to a kneeling position, picking up the flashlight from where he’d – thankfully – left it near the opening.

The flashlight turned on with a satisfying click, and he aimed it into the dark depths of the machine. Leaning forward, he braced Ford’s forearm against the metal exterior, craning his neck to see if he could spot the tool and- oh. Bill jerked his arm back in surprise, a searing sensation scattering up and down the nerve endings all along the expanse of skin that had touched the iron. There was a slight smell of burnt flesh in the air.

Anger welled up inside his chest, throbbing in time to the burning in his arm, the rapid beating of his heart. He shot to his feet, marching back to the generator and heatedly switching it off. Hot, stinging pain was radiating from the wound in pulses. Bill brought his arm up, bending and twisting it to peer at the angry red splotch. It covered nearly the length of his forearm, and Ford wasn’t going to be super ecstatic about finding it.

Well, this was his fault, wasn’t it! Ford was the one that sleep-addled his own brain and then forced Bill to climb inside it. And who rolls their sleeves up when they’re working on science stuff! That was one of the first rules of 8th grade lab. Sally didn’t wear long sleeves and now she doesn’t have to because her arms are melted puddles of human trash. His internal tirade continued as he climbed the stairs, torn between wanting to stomp and not-wanting to alert Ford – wherever that nerd was hovering – to his current embarrassing predicament.

Bill jerked the cold water tap on and thrust his injured arm under the freezing stream. The pain seemed to recede quickly, but every time he pulled it out of the water the heat inside the wound would inexorably begin to climb again, hotter and hotter, crawling across his abused flesh like the jittery legs of tap-dancing spiders. After a few games of back and forth, Bill let out a frustrated growl and wrenched the tap off again, tromping into the living room and dropping bodily into Sixer’s favorite lounge chair.

His arms hung over the sides of the armrests, and for a while Bill was content to seethe and stare into the dark room. Stupid Sixer. Stupid portal – no wait, brilliant portal, stupid human. Stanford Pines. Bill was beginning to calm down. He lifted his left arm, examining the burn once more. It didn’t even look bad; just a bright, shiny red patch of skin, vaguely rectangular in shape. As if in response, a dull throb of hot, searing, burning slipped out, and his body shivered.

Huh. Shivered.

The demon had been so distracted by his own emotional reaction that most of the minutiae of the actual physical response had been lost to him. He hovered his right hand above the raw flesh, feeling heat radiate off. He placed his fingers against the undamaged flesh bordering the burn, steadily adding pressure, and felt his heartrate quicken as the action pulled at the tight skin. Easing up, he ghosted his fingers gently across his skin, barely brushing along the surface, and ran them over the edges of the wound.

Bill sucked in a gasp of air at the sensation, shifting his hips, suddenly uncomfortable in the chair. He repeated the action again and again, fingers tantalizingly light against the sensitive flesh. The feeling was like electricity, sending shudders wracking through his body. On the next graze, he turned his fingers to let his nails rake along the enflamed skin, and he nearly had to stifle a moan. Panting, he paused in his ministrations, pulling his hand away and traveling southward to where Ford’s cock was hard, straining against his pants.

He licked his lips, running his fingers up and down the clothed length. Ford would disapprove. Ford wouldn’t stop him. He pressed the flushed head against his stomach, hissing at the delicious contact. And what Ford didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Bill popped the button of his pants open with a deft flick of his thumb and spread his thighs. There was already a damp spot on the boxer briefs where the tip of his cock was steadily leaking precum.

It was an awkward position but he made do, shuffling to pull Ford’s dick out. The demon let out a shaky breath as he fisted the hot flesh, dragging his hand up and down and back up, thumbing at his slit. His toes curled in his boots. He let go, brought his hand back to his injury and scratched down the center, startling himself when his hips jerked forward and a groan slipped out of his mouth.

Bill tossed his head back, hitting the back of the chair with a muffled thud. His eyes slid closed and he slipped two fingers into his mouth, sucking and laving at the digits with his tongue. He turned his injured arm down to face the armrest, pressing and rubbing his wound against it as he glided his fingers in and out, hips giving aborted thrusts in a bid for stimulation. Bill pulled his fingers out, ignoring the string of saliva stretching between them and his lips, and licked down the center of his palm before bringing his hand back down to his straining cock, wrapping the now slicked appendage around himself.

Hot, hot, everything was hot. His face was flushed and heat pooled low in his belly as he fucked his own hand. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he found himself letting out stuttering, breathy moans. His entire body felt taunt and blisteringly hot, and his injured arm felt like it was engulfed in flame itself, a bright cacophony of searing, scorching, stinging, biting pain.

His right hand still moving, frantically jerking up and down, Bill yanked his left arm off the armrest, pulled it up to face. He licked against his own flesh, moaning loudly, traced patterns against the raw and burning skin. Close, he was so close. His teeth grazed against the overly sensitive wound, igniting sparks behind his eyes. He bit down in the middle of it, where it burned deepest, teeth sinking into tight, hot flesh, and his brain short circuited. Bill came all over his hand with a cry muffled against his arm, wringing his orgasm out over and over until his body sagged, utterly spent.

For a few long moments, the effort it would take to move any of his now limp muscles felt insurmountable. Or at the very least, not worth surmounting. There was something pleasant about drifting, and Bill didn’t want to break the sensation by moving even one fraction of an inch. All the tight points of pressure along his spine seemed to have loosened, and Bill could only sporadically think Ford should probably do this more often. His breathing steadied, deepening. He could feel his heart gradually stop racing, slow to a dull, rhythmic thumping that echoed in his ears.

Eventually, discomfort began to set in as well. His right hand, which had fallen away from his crotch, was sticky, covered in the milky pearlescence of Ford’s release. Some streaks of it had also arced up to stain Sixer’s shirt. Whoops. Absentmindedly, he rubbed the six-fingered hand against the rough material of his jeans, twisting his fingers to clean off as much of the goop as he could. What he couldn’t brush off, he brought up to his mouth and licked clean. The exhaustion in Ford’s body seemed to have doubled or tripled, making his movement sluggish and sloppy.

Bill had half a mind to leave Ford’s body right where it lie, and let the man deal with it when he had to join the waking world again. It would serve him right, for putting Bill in this situation to begin with. But the demon had to admit, his actions had been self-indulgent, even for his standards, and as funny as the idea of Sixer waking up to this mess was, he’d prefer the human not know about this. If he didn’t already.

The demon stood, tucked himself back into his pants rather carelessly, and headed up the stairs to Sixer’s bedroom. There was still no sign of his pal’s incorporeal self anyway, and he if had more brain power to devote to the matter he would wonder what exactly the man was getting up to. As it was, being in this body felt like it was draining him, and he hardly had the mental capacity to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Every few steps his arm would throb in a decidedly distracting manner, begging him to run a finger or nail against it.

Trying to dissuade himself from indulging his urges, Bill attempted to picture the face Ford would make if he’d seen what Bill had done in his body. The scandalized expression his mind conjured up only made him want to give into the impulse more, to see what Sixer would do when he inevitably came looking for the demon and his body. Pathetic. The hormone soup he found himself mired in must be affecting him more than he’d wagered.

Upon reaching Ford’s bedroom – decorated in an eclectic mix of mathematics and science fiction – Bill immediately began peeling off the layers of his clothing, eyes narrowing in distaste. When had he sweat so much? Sixer’s dick was half hard again. Bill blamed this on him. He steadfastly ignored it, ignored everything in favor of flopping face first onto the bed. His limbs flailed briefly, covering about a third of Stanford’s body with a blanket before the demon practically fled from the physical world, his triangular form emerging from the now unconscious man.

Well! That was certainly something. Bill was already feeling more clearheaded. Using the mental equivalent of a butterfly net, the demon reached out and scooped up Ford’s consciousness – the man was disturbingly close-by – and dragged them both to the mindscape.

#status!tag: complete #f!tag: GF

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theadasave · 6 years

Text

kavi’s house

NULL - 10/03/2017

"Aww. Still in a mood? Baby, baby, I'm sorry. Please take me back." He hovers after Kavi. "If it makes you feel any better, picture me in panties. It's making me laugh on the inside."

Barbor - 10/03/2017

Bor flies up to land on the counter top but they dip away from their path and only managed to land on the side of it, they were having a giggle fit all the way there. "Oh sweet satan I don't think I can unsee that now, pff-aahahah!"

Lunch - 10/03/2017

"I'm not taking you back until I'm finished changing! Get your pantied ass OUT of my ROOM!" Kavi tried to not imagine it. They were TRYING to retain their foul mood and be all scowly. Unfortunately, it's failing fast, so they're doing their best to get Bill out before they break into giggling.

NULL - 10/03/2017

Bill backs out of the room, but giggles manically as he does so. Manical giggling in panties. You're seeing it. He knows you are.

Lunch - 10/03/2017

Kavi slams the door shut, then breaks into helpless laughter immediately, slumping against the wood as they wheeze.

Lunch - 10/03/2017

Kavi emerges a small while later with some new clothes on, as well as a backpack over their shoulder. "Right, good to go. Except for the mental image that just scarred my psyche, of course. Hop on up when you're ready, Bor!"

NULL - 10/03/2017

"Right, here are the locations!" A display opens on his "chest" area with the appropriate coordinates. From the cabins to the woods, apparently.

Lunch - 10/03/2017

Kavi leans in to stare at the ChesTV, memorizing it as best they can.

NULL - 10/03/2017

He displays some images of the areas as well, just be to sure.

Barbor - 10/03/2017

Bor isn't even paying attention, this isn't their job to do they're just tagging along to sight see and grab some grub. that's a half lie, they can't see the images, their vision both in bug and out is incredibly shitty

Lunch - 10/03/2017

"Right, think I got it." Kavi waits for Bor to board on up, then lifts their right forearm. They begin to trace a pattern of runes, mumbling soft nonsense words and frowning hard as they focus in and-- POOF.

Lunch - 10/05/2017

Kavi takes a moment from putting away groceries to step outside and SCREAM.

Barbor - 10/05/2017

Hears the scream and throws their voice to sound like it's coming from the forest, it almost sounded like it came from another human.

Lunch - 10/05/2017

Kavi RUNS OUT OF THEIR ROOM. They still have some weed pajama pants on and an overly large t-shirt with a ghost that says "I'M HERE FOR THE BOO-S". "LET'S DO IT."

Barbor - 10/05/2017

Barbor jumped off from the second floor balcony and roughly headbutts the door open, their tail thrashing from side to side excitingly. "FUCK YEAH! THOSE SQUIRRELS ARE GONNA GET IT!~"(edited)

Lunch - 10/05/2017

"GRAB ON." Kavi shoves their arm towards Bor, ready and raring to go.

Barbor - 10/05/2017

The baph dashes towards them and jumps in to the human's arms, sure they're heavy but Kavi has mechanical stuff attached to them, it shouldn't be too bad.

Lunch - 10/05/2017

Kavi's STRONK like Russian bull. They heft Bor over their head and activate the runic inscriptions on their arm, poofing the both of them away.

Lunch - 10/06/2017

Kavi is outside with a huge grill and a huge smoker. There's a fresh rack of unicorn ribs on the grill at the moment, drizzled in sauce and roasting away. UNICORN COOKOUT.

Barbor - 10/06/2017

The baphomet was sitting outside gnawing on a unicorn femur as they waited for those ribs to be done, and they heard of rumors of unicorn flesh tasting like your favorite thing in the world and boy they weren't kidding. "Oh man that stuff smells so goood~"

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"Right? Man, we should've done this sooner. Remind me to go on regular killing sprees, those steaks last night were the best thing I've ever had."

Barbor - 10/06/2017

snrk "Remind you?~ I'm gonna drag you along when ever I go hunting!~ But I gotta hunt more mythical beings though, it's way more rewarding then killing the normal stuff."(edited)

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"Hell yeah! What do you think we should try hunting next? I've got a cool new weapon design I wanna try out."

Barbor - 10/06/2017

"How cool are we talkin? like that sploody type of cool or something different entirely?" They tapped the bone on their chin in thought.

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"I dunno. Maybe a giant cyclops? It's based on a bow 'n arrow, dependant on energy rather than a projectile. Hoping it'll do less exploding so I can actually gather meat. Maybe it'll even cook it in the process!"

Barbor - 10/06/2017

The baph perked up their ears to hear that this new weapon could take on cyclops, even probably cook it "Damn that is pretty cool~... I'm actually torn between a manticore and that cyclops."

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"Ooooh, manticore sounds cool too..." Kavi rubs their chin thoughtfully with one hand, the other grabbing the ribs with some tongs and flipping them over. Sizzle sizzle. "Maybe we could take a look at some books and see what we wanna fight? Then we can make a list or somethin'. Maybe roll a dice to pick?"

Barbor - 10/06/2017

The demon's nose twitched and wibbled as the smell of the unicorn meat filled the air again, "I'm not gonna lie, but it sounds like we're making a hit-list of some sorts and that's fricken cool.~" "Make a list of twenty and roll to choose? Sounds good. Though what if some mythical police starts noticing this? What do?"(edited)

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"I mean, I've never heard of any kind of mythical police. Well, not any inter-dimensional ones, at least. I should be fine here." Kavi shrugs, pulling the ribs off the grill and plating them. Some corn cobs go on next. Gotta have veggies! Plus, roasted corn is the shit, man.

Barbor - 10/06/2017

"Haha, nice!~ This place is like our nice little hide out, grazie vuoto(thank you void)!~" they cheered while motioning their bone in the air gleefully the demon's stomach grumbled and seeing the human guard the meat like this they huffed and crossed their arms. Wait are they putting vegitables on the grill? EWW?

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"Hell yeah! Plus I can use some of that unicorn hair, maybe? Iunno." They shrug, turning the corn and banking the flames a tiny bit.

The grumbling stomach prompts a siiiiigh-- and they finally relent. Kavi tears off half of the rack and tosses them to Barbor. "Catch 'em!"

Barbor - 10/06/2017

The demon's floppy ears lifted up to hear the sigh and once those rib pieces start coming at them, Barbor leapt up and caught the ribs in their mouth. "* Grazie Kavi.~*" the ribs is gone bones and all, even the bones they were gnawing on is gone.

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"So, what's that you're speaking, by the way? Sounds a little familiar, but I'm not really recognizing the words. Close to spanish though, maybe?"

Barbor - 10/06/2017

"It's just italian, you were kinda close though, spanish and italian share a lot of similarities actually.~" nod nod.

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"Niiice! Is that your original language?" Kavi pulls the corn cobs off the grill and moves to a nearby lawn chair. They plop down with a hard cider, some ribs, and some corn. MONCH.

Barbor - 10/06/2017

This is a good picnic, what's better then eating something you killed the day before with friends? Not much?

"Yeah! It is, my old mom and pop wanted to teach us both languages would help more then just knowing one." Bor chuckled and grabbed themselves a bottle cider of their own. "How about you dude?"(edited)

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"Oooh, nice! Nah, I only know a bit of Latin. Useful when dealing with demons and ghosts, y'know? But I'm pretty useless when it comes to language." They give a bit of a sheepish smile, then start to tear into the ribs.

Barbor - 10/06/2017

"That's still cool though! I guess it means you can understand me when I say something demonic, hehe~" Bor took a swig of the hard cider, "I could teach you some more latin, well that's if you want it."

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"Sure, dude! I'd love that. Some Italian too, maybe? Then I can sound like one of those mobsters you wanna be." A cheeky grin is tossed towards Bor.

Barbor - 10/06/2017

"Hah, that'll be great! We'll be a couple of mobster goons working under a dapper ranch dorito~*" Snrk! it sounds so silly right now but these two just rallied some friends to kill some fancy horses for fun.

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"Hell yeah! I bet I could make us some tommy guns or something..." Kavi taps their chin and mumbles to themself, something about mechanics of rapid-fire energy projectiles.

Barbor - 10/06/2017

"Oh man, I remember using that on a person who thought it was a good idea to send a "message" to my dad by killing me and my sibs," the baph placed their hands on their cheeks and purred delightfully. "That man was riddled with holes when we were finished with him, dude.~"

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"Then we could do some real drive by's! Pewpewpew!" Kavi mimes shooting a tommy-gun, using a rib bone as a prop. "You ever give someone cement shoes, dude? That's like, the one I always hear about when someone talks about mobsters."

Barbor - 10/06/2017

"YES!~" they pound on the table but not enough to disturb the human eating, "Fuck yeah for real drive by's!!" "Oh the cement shoes? Kinda, I didn't do it per-say? I was there to see it happen though, but it was only only a hand full of times since my dad isn't fond of putting dead guys in water, he felt it might be too easy for cops to find the dead body if they're looking hard enough."(edited)

Lunch - 10/06/2017

"Niiice. I can see why it might be too messy, though. Eventually the muscles around the leg will rot and the rest of the body will pop free and float away. That, or a fisherman catches 'em." Kavi snickers at the thought.

Barbor - 10/07/2017

"Dude, that's usually the case and whenever one comes floating up in the river some of us would wonder 'Shit, is that one of ours?'" The demon cackles before taking another swig of the cider. "But thankfully no fishermen found any, it still could be the case though! Most were smart enough to keep their mouth shut."

Lunch - 10/07/2017

Kavi shakes their head, immensely amused. "Can you imagine? Going out for a nice bit of fishing and BLAM. You hook into some poor dead fuck's rotting nose holes and think you've caught the big one, then have the shit scared out of you when you finally land it."

Barbor - 10/07/2017

The demon was so close to drinking off the rest of their hard cider but they burst out laughing as they imagine such a scene happening. Sure they'd be scared shirtless of it playing out that way when they were human, although now it sounds like a great prank to use on a mortal when they're bored. "Kavi, holy fuck! That's hilarious!~"

Lunch - 10/15/2017

--- Kavi is in a kitchen that seems to have straight up exploded. There's butter and sugar everywhere, at least 5 ruined pans in the sink coated in black ooze, and one perfect pan of delicious looking caramel on the stove. They're currently grabbing some pretzels and chocolate and marshmallows to dip in the caramel.

Barbor - 10/15/2017

Barbor trotted over to where the smell was coming from and when they got to the kitchen, the demon's nose was assaulted by the smell of caramel, failed attempts at caramel, and ingredients to make the stuff. They were so confused, what kind of cooking battle went down in here? "Kavi? Why do I smell butter on roof? How did you even manage that??"(edited)

Lunch - 10/15/2017

"Uhhhhh. I might have taken some drastic measures with attempt number three to try and stop the damn sugar from seizing up. And by drastic I mean really drastic. Explosions. I used explosions." Kavi's wearing the tattered remains of a 'KISS THE COOK('S ASS)' apron that's still somewhat on fire, but they're positively beaming over at the baphomet regardless. "But I got it right this time! Dude, lookit that. It's like, fuckin' perfect."

Barbor - 10/15/2017

The baphomet's constant smile grew a little bit, showing their teeth just a bit is a good indication that they were beaming over this too. Explosions. They used fricken explotions to make this stuff. "You're insane you know that?" bor said that in the most lighthearted way possible, they came over and took a pretzel to dunk it in the sause. They gave it a taste... their ears perk up in suprise. "YOOOO!~ YOU DID IT!~ This is spot on!~"

Lunch - 10/16/2017

"Pretty sure that's true in every sense of the word." Kavi gave him a very big, very cheeky grin, which quickly just turned into proud beaming at the praise. "TOLD YOU, DUDE! This shit is legit! I'm glad I didn't give up on that last try, this shit tastes amazing! Dude, try doing this--" Kavi grabs a pretzel stick and stabs a marshmallow with it, then dunks both of them into the sauce. Once they're good and covered, they pull them back out and shove that straight into their face, dripping caramel everywhere in the process.

Barbor - 10/16/2017

The demon tilted their head curiously to see what they were picking up, it looks like it was a pretzel stick and... A marshmellow!~ If this goat could do those sparkly eyes right now they would, it's really getting hard not to just shove their face into the pot itself. "That's genius!~ I wanna try that~"

They picked up a stick and a marshmellow to dunk it inside the caramel, but instead of dunking the marshmellow part in the pot Barbor dunked their hand into it too along with the snack. "...Shit." they totally ment to do that.(edited)

Lunch - 10/16/2017

Kavi cackles with amusement, reaching over and ruffling the top of Bor's head. "Just stick your whole hand in your mouth, dude. I'm not gonna judge you, I'd prolly do that too." In fact, they do that right now. Grab a chocolate bar, stuff their entire hand into the caramel, then pull it out and shove that hand into their mouth.

Barbor - 10/16/2017

Not getting reprimanded by a friend? Good shit right there! If this place wasn't messy already the demon removed their hand from the pot and made a mess like how Kavi did before. The goat demon was purring from having their head raffled but it got louder when they put their entire hand in their mouth along with their dipping pretzelmellow snack. It's hard not to nic themselves on teeth like barbor's but it's worth it the trouble for this yummy gooey goodness~

Lunch - 10/16/2017

Kavi's probably going to regret all this mess later but OH WELL. They're having fun right now and that's what matters. They show Bor how to melt a tiny circle in the chocolate by warming up the pretzel with some flames from the stove, then add it to the marshmallow kabob. "It's like a smore, almost!"

Barbor - 10/16/2017

Holy fuck, this human just blew this demons's mind! The demon took their hand out their mouth and exclaimed "YOOO! What the heck! No 'almost' all smores are good, this one included!" "...Wait, what if we coat the entire thing in melted chocolate?"

Lunch - 10/16/2017

"Duuuuude! Hell yes! Let's try that!" Kavi scrambles around for another saucepan, tossing a bunch of the chocolate bars inside.

Barbor - 10/16/2017

While Kavi is melting the chocolate, bor is getting the kabobs ready with the occasional crunch of a pretzel or two. "The smore kabobs are ready for dipping!~"

Lunch - 10/16/2017

"Chocolate is ready! I think! Good enough or whatever." Kavi shrugs, then eagerly snatches up a handful of the kabobs and shoves the handful into the chocolate, though making sure their entire hand doesn't go in. Shit's hot, yo. Then into the caramel it goes! There's some mixing going on now, but oh well. SHOVES THAT SHIT RIGHT INTO THEM MOUTH. NOM."MMMM."

Barbor - 10/16/2017

Bor however used their telekinesis to lift up a glob of caramel and melted chocolate out of both pots, the two orbs came together just as they spear it with the kabobs. Regardless if the chocolate was hot or not the baph is gonna eat it in one bite. If this demon could melt they would right now, it's THAT DELICIOUS!~ They didn't say anything but let out a delighted whimpers and bleats.

Lunch - 10/16/2017

They're gonna get sugar highs at this rate, but Kavi don't care. Kavi don't care about nothing right now, except this delicious shit right here. SO MUCH FACE STUFFING.

Barbor - 10/16/2017

Even with a bunch of molten chocolate and caramel sauces coated kabobs stuffed in their mouth, Bor wanted to try other snacks with it too. So this demon raided Kavi's cabinets for chips, and once they got the lays chips this beast just pours the entire bag in there! IN BOTH PANS!!

Lunch - 10/16/2017

GLORIOUS FOOD CHAOS. Kavi cheers him on and shovels some of those chips into their mouth. HECK YEAH, SALTY AND SWEET UP IN THIS MOUTH.

Barbor - 10/16/2017

This whole feeding frenzy was clearly getting out of hand AND ITS FRICKEN WORTH IT!~ They don't even smell the failed attempts of caramel around the kitchen, hell why would they waste the chip bag too? The baph dunk it in the chocolate and ate that too! Man the stomach aches is gonna be a killer after this

Lunch - 10/16/2017

This kitchen has turned to MADNESS. Tasty, tasty madness. They're probably going to both be covered in caramel and chocolate and various other unidentifiable food bits by the end of this. Kavi already has somehow managed to get chocolate into their hair.

Barbor - 10/16/2017

Jelly beans some how made it into this abomination of a snack fest, where did this goat get jelly beans and why is it sticking onto their cheeks?? They didn't even move from their spot and why is there so much chocolate and caramel sauce? Is this boi duplicating the stuff? THEY ARE! OH DEAR SATAN THEY ARE!

Lunch - 10/25/2017

Kavi bursts out of their room and runs to the fridge, ripping it open. Thankfully, nothing ever bothers to rot while it's inside their little domain, so all the food they'd made earlier can just be pulled out. The only reason they asked everyone to wait a couple of seconds was because they have to shove all the dirty pots and pans off the counter and into the sink. Eh....they'll get to them eventually. Plus there's a few things that need to warm up. They lay out a literal crapload of food, using one of the weird gadgets in their belt to zap stuff like the pizza back into the 'fresh out of the oven' range. You name it, it's here. This is one serious spread. But once again, nothing ages here, so none of it will go bad if it's not eaten.

Barbor - 10/25/2017

Bor scampers in rather quickly, they knocked into a junk pile or a chair occationally while they'd head for the kitchen. And It seems that they were already ahead of the game, there was a big king sized chocolate chip cookie in their maw. The baphoment didn't really bother to eat it fully until he head made it towards the counter to pick up some soda and a good slab of peppered jerky cuz he needed a good chew once in awhile.

Snark MUNCH CRUNCH, there goes the cookie and full can of soda, and yes even the can itself.

NULL - 10/25/2017

Bill pops it and tosses his hands into the air. "Boy am I hungry! Ahahaha! That's a lie! Can you imagine? I'm just saying human things for fun." He floats over to the flood, eyeing it curiously. It doesn't appeal that much yet. Maybe once he's in a vessle that benefits from it that'll change.

Deve/Jenn - 10/25/2017

There's a crackle and POP as Ribbons follows Bill in, tracing Devro's ribbon to get her. She looks like a mostly normal human right now, thanks to her extensive glamour. "heya!"

Lunch - 10/25/2017

Kavi rolls both eyes, offering a hand out to Bill. "Get in here, you obtuse. The whole point of this was to let you try food, s'what we discussed, remember?" The other hand waves to Ribbons, then reaches out to give the top of Bor's head an affectionate ruffle. "Heya folks, feel free to stuff your gobs. I got booze too if you want it."

Barbor - 10/25/2017

Bor bleats a muffled greeting to Ribbons and Bill while they chew and gnaw on the jerky, they're so glad that most of this stuff wont make him feel full any time soon.

NULL - 10/25/2017

"Oh right. Okay! This might take a minute since you've got anti-possession measures in place, but since you've shaken my hand before I should be able to bypass them." He takes Kavi's hand with a bright flash of blue flame, then melds into them, leaving a small stone statue of himself behind in his place....yeah this is going to take a while. (3 possession)

Deve/Jenn - 10/25/2017

"thanks luv. booze's always welcome." Ribbons goes to grab some noms, zeroing in on any chocolate around.

Lunch - 10/25/2017

Kavi shakes Bill's hand, then zones out. They try to help him get around the security they've laced into their body, but it's tough going. ( 6 help ) Meanwhile, there's definitely chocolate on the counter! There's a giant pot of melted down chocolate right next to a vat of homemade caramel sauce. Lots of little toothpicks surround it, with various things on the end to dunk in; brownie bites, pretzels, marshmallows, angel food cake, frozen squares of cheesecake, popcorn. You name it!

Barbor - 10/25/2017

The demon had an idea to get a medium sized bowl to put at least two or one of everything including a scoop or two of ice cream, cuz they know they're gonna just keep coming back to the table for some more. After getting it filled they went in face first and chow down.~

NULL - 10/25/2017

It takes a while, but eventually, Bill's in! He blinks Kavi's eyes a couple of times and they turn a bright yellow with his very own slitted black pupils. A stiff, unnatural smile spreads across their shared face as he takes a few deep breaths and tries not to fall over. Their legs seem to help him keep steady, unlike the wobbly, fleshy legs most humans have.

Lunch - 10/25/2017

Yep! The actuators and pistons in the legs work overtime to keep Bill standing. This doesn't keep Kavi from being extremely amused in the back of their own mind, though.

Deve/Jenn - 10/25/2017

Ribbons takes care not to inhale food like most Doves would, savoring it instead. Hey she had two years of not starving. She has manners. Not to mention cheesecake-brownie-caramel is to be savored.(edited)

NULL - 10/25/2017

Bill takes care not to snuff Kavi out completely. They're able to act if they please. This is co-op time, unless they'd rather stay in the background to avoid conflicting actions. He's practiced at this though, able to predict his host's actions through their thoughts and compensate that way. "Oh boy! This is still as fun as I remember." He gets them steady in front of the table and takes in the sight and smell of all the food. He's not sure where to start!

Deve/Jenn - 10/25/2017

chocolate-covered cheesecake bite is offered by the chocolate fiend.

Lunch - 10/25/2017

Kavi had to take a little bit to get used to the sensations, mostly. Once they've re-acquainted themselves with their own body plus one, they reach out and grab up a slice of fresh watermelon and take a big ole' hunking bite. Chewed, swallowed, then they hand the reins over to let him try the cheesecake.

NULL - 10/25/2017

Cheesecake, bitten. He doesn't quite understand how to swallow with this kind of throat. Assuming that Kavi helps him with that, he manages with only a little trouble. For the most part, Kavi's preferences are passed to him. Same body, same taste buds, same chemical responses, with only a few exceptions. Bill is usually drawn more towards the sting spicy and sour foods more than his hosts.

Barbor - 10/25/2017

The bowl of snacks they've made was gone in a matter of minutes and now they're refilling it with their favorite snack, fruit cocktail with the charries~ they got back into their roach body for this and plopped into the mini pool of the syrupy goodness.

Lunch - 10/25/2017

"Booze is in the cabinet, I've got all kinds. Feel free to make something for yourself, Ribbons. Bor, what the fuck dude." Amused snorting. "Guess you're feeling cherry good in that." Kavi's not too fond of the sour, but spicy definitely seems to appeal to them. Once they notice that Bill seems to like it as well, they grab a couple habaneros and chow down, then pass the reins fully over to Bill to check the reactions, grinning the whole while. (They also make sure to help with swallowing. Gotta stay alive and all that. )

NULL - 10/25/2017

Straight peppers? Their eyes water up, and just when it looks like they're about to cry, Bill's laughter emerges from deep in their chest instead. It's a good laugh. An annoying laugh with some evil undertones, but when he's having a good time, everybody knows it. "Wow! Wooh... oh boy. Oops! Uh oh! Oh no!" He's laughing and wheezing, holding their gut all red-faced and a little... something else.

Deve/Jenn - 10/25/2017

Ribbon's eyebrows shoot up and there's maybe an ERROR or two flashing over her before she averts her eyes and goes back to stuffing her face. Cake? CAKE.

Barbor - 10/25/2017

The little roachie chuckled at the pun and decided to throw one in for themselves, but they were cut off to see Bivi laughing up a storm, and to them it's a type of contagious laugh to get them into a giggle fit too.

Lunch - 10/25/2017

Kavi's laughing too much inside their mind to do much of any directing at the moment.

NULL - 10/25/2017

Alright, so he crunches down on one more raw pepper, letting the seeds sit on their tongue and burn away at it before swallowing all by himself. As inexperienced as he is, he's a quick learner. "Oh man. Now that was something new. Is there anything else that hits that hard?"

Barbor - 10/25/2017

"OH OH OH! TRY THE GHOST PEPPER!~" Bor screed while flailing their little legs!(edited)

Deve/Jenn - 10/25/2017

"yeah, yeah that'll probably do ya if ya like that."

Lunch - 10/25/2017

"Oooh, I was gonna grab something else, but that's a good idea." Kavi's back and grinning at Bor. They go to the pantry and grab a tightly sealed jar. It's popped open carefully, and one single ghost pepper is pulled out and popped into their mouth. Whole. REINS GO BACK TO BILL.

NULL - 10/25/2017

Metal or not, those legs get shaky. Their sinuses start clearing out and Bill doesn't know what to do about that. FACE LIQUID? WEIRD. KIND OF GROSS. He sits down, plunks their forehead into the table, and makes some noises of intense mixed feelings.

Lunch - 10/25/2017

Kavi returns for one quick moment to request a napkin for the face liquids, pointing out the pile to Bor and Ribbons, then disappearing instantly. Flop goes the arm.(edited)

Deve/Jenn - 10/25/2017

Ribbons reached over to gently patpat Bivi's back. There there, you poor masochistic fucker.

Barbor - 10/25/2017

Barbor is having a fine ol time, who knew watching a dream demon's reaction to new hot stuff was so entertaining? "Are you guys okay??"

NULL - 10/25/2017

"I'm great! Never been better!" As difficult as that was to say, it sounds sincere. He's doing pretty great. "I didn't think the point of eating was to experience extreme levels of pain, but hey! Who am I to complain?"

Deve/Jenn - 10/25/2017

"usually it's to experience extreme levels of pleasure but y'know, whatever floats your boat."

Barbor - 10/25/2017

"both is good! I ate some boiling caramel and that fuckin fun!"

Lunch - 10/25/2017

"It's not, I just thought your reactions would be hilarious. And I was right!" Sniggers, then stands and walks back over to the counter. "Pain, pleasure, same thing. My nervous signals are fucked to hell anyways. One last thing to try..."

They grab a bottle of really really spicy cinnamon whiskey and chug. Not the whole thing, but a few good swallows. It probably feels GREAT in the mouth that just got tenderized by capcaisin.

Barbor - 10/25/2017

"Hey can you pour some of that into the bowl here? it'd be nice to have this stuff spiked a bit!~"

NULL - 10/25/2017

Bill presses a free hand to the side of their head and tugs at their hair a little. As soon as that whiskey's swallowed he's panting, lolling their tongue with watery, half-lidded eyes and a far off look on their face. This was weird from the start, but he's making it weirder, as he's prone to doing simply by existing at any given point in space and time. "More tingly stuff? That feels warm all the way down. I'm-"(edited)

Lunch - 10/25/2017

Kavi sniggers after he's finished speaking, turning and pouring a little of the whiskey into Bor's tiny swimming pool. "Sure thing, my dude." They set the bottle down, then that weird look returns as the reins are given back over to Bill.

Deve/Jenn - 10/25/2017

Ribbons looks for something a bit smoother to mix in with soda. Rum and orange soda if she can find it.

Barbor - 10/25/2017

"Thanks!~" Bor stood on a peach boat and slurped up the sweet and spicy mixture. "OOooh man that's yummy~."

Lunch - 10/25/2017

There's some nice Bacardi in the cupboard and Fanta in the fridge for Ribbons!

NULL - 10/25/2017

Bill takes another chug of the whiskey all on his own. He's never been drunk in a human body before, and probably doesn't even recognize that that's where this is leading. Oops. His pupils fizzle for a moment then refocus with a smaller laugh that borders on a giggle.

Barbor - 10/25/2017

the bug lets out a small click while they're considering something, but after a minute of debating it the demon poofed up a bottle of Absinthe on the table. "hey try this too~"

Deve/Jenn - 10/25/2017

"oh boy. this oughta be good." She takes a good swig of hers. "oh, Bor, try this. tastes like an orange cream icecream bar."

NULL - 10/25/2017

Bill lets out a sharp gasp! "It's my second favorite color!" He takes Bor's advice, the brilliant dumbass, and has a big swallow of the Absinthe. He likes it so much that he tucks the bottle against their chest. It belongs to him now. All of it.(edited)

Barbor - 10/25/2017

The moment she said orange cream, he was already flying over to ribbons and dipping their head into the cup. They gasped softly in amazement "T-This is great!!" They dunk their head in again to take another sip

Lunch - 10/25/2017

Kavi groans. Ew, licorice. "You're only allowed to drink that one while you're in charge. Licorice tastes so bad."

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