#Sod in the Seed

[eldritch-spouse]

I'd give almost anything to be squished between Vesper and Santi.

[You'll give your holes, that's for sure. Fem reader.]

" Are you sure I'm ready? "

Santi watches you squirm in place, picking and plucking at an outfit that shows more skin than anything you've ever put on before. He assured you, several times, that by the standards of Lust you're being very conservative.

The incubus rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time, but tries to be patient. After all, going to Hell, even if just for a little visit, isn't something all humans treat casually. Especially not his darling match, poor thing that you are, so ignorant of his origins, his nature. Visiting the King of Lust specifically is twofold the stress for your little head, he must imagine.

" And why wouldn't you be, love? "

You huff.

" I... I don't know... What if I get nervous and say something really stupid? This is a -What did you call them?- An Icon of Hell, I can't be making a fool of myself- "

" Dearest. " The dark demonoid interrupts, lifting himself off a lush bed to stand behind your figure in the mirror. " Vesper may be a King, but he's also my friend. I only want him to know about us, you're going to do just fine. "

Averting your gaze from his, your lips are still firmly set in a frown.

Santi whispers sweetly. " Don't you trust me? "

" Y- Yes. "

There's a grin. He plays with the hem of your scarce top enough to let a nipple flash for a lurid second.

" Then do this one favor for me, I promise you'll like him. He's quite the character. " Understatement.

He can hear your heartbeat pound inside the vehicle.

The trip through his birth Ring has been uneventful for the most part. It could only have been that. You may be considered fresh meat by his kin that inhabit this particular zone of Hell, but you're accompanied by a high-ranker and being escorted in a limousine sporting the royal insignia.

No one would dare interfere.

It doesn't stop the curious glances, the oohs and aahs, or the sights Lust often has on display. The streets are an open ground for depravity, it's very standard to watch pairs and groups of demonoids crawling over each other in a cacophony of moans, humans and monsters alike giving into their carnal whims, lewd smiles on their faces as they're paraded in fetish gear and shown off like the prizes many of them are.

Santi watches your scandalized expressions as you nearly fog up the window in morbid curiosity.

" S- Santi! "

" Mm? "

" They're- Oh lord, they're tied to a post Santi! "

He arches a brow, fingers ceasing their casual groping of your thighs to glance out, seeing some poor sod of a human tied to a street post by the wrists. They look disheveled and pant in exertion, sweaty, infernal obscenities scribbled on their skin while gratuitous amounts of seed ooze out of their orifices. They lean on the post for support.

" Oh, the poor thing- " He jests, failing to keep straight-faced at your glare. " They're going to keel over! "

The fiend who had just finished using the community cumdump gives them a loving pat on the head and reaches from a bag to offer the human water. The two appear to be chatting idly. Santi watches confusion etch itself in your pretty complexion at the contrast of the human's bruised, exhausted state and the care they're shown by the one you recognize as an assailant.

The nature of Lust is conflicting.

It's oftentimes hard to tell whether or not someone is here of their own volition, partaking and letting go because they decided to, or because they caved under the Ring's influence and began to enjoy their unfortunate demise.

Some people argue that Lust is the most merciful Ring of Hell for those that get dragged into the annex, because while you may lose yourself, your last lucid moments are spent in utter bliss, and that bliss is what you'll know from henceforth. Others argue that Lust offers the ultimate humiliation of the soul, turning you into a beast of the flesh that craves only to use and be used.

Santi doesn't quite care. The end result is always the same, everyone enjoys themselves here.

Deciding that perhaps it's best not to let you get too into your own head, the incubus looms behind your concentrated figure and plants soft kisses on the back of your neck, gently coaxing you to turn around so he can pull you into his lap and shower you in idle affections.

" Santi... " You start while he kisses the back of your hand.

" Yes, love? "

" How did you and the King meet? "

What a question.

He doesn't want to think too much about those days, that past which seems so distant yet not at all. He was someone else, back then. Someone harsher, someone you wouldn't have fancied, someone who'd make you quake in fear even if your loins sang. He wouldn't have been able to appreciate you for the treasure that you are, during that period. You deserve more than that, you're worth the world and all its pleasures.

" I don't remember all that well anymore, but I know it was during a party, sweetness. " He vaguely replies.

" An orgy. " You correct him, having started to put two and two together about the cultural cues of a concubus' speech.

" Same thing. " Santi counters, knowing very well there's a difference.

A silence settles for a brief couple of moments where the incubus gets to close his eyes and bask in the comfort of your perfect form, feeling your every muscle twitch against him, the hitch of your breath as arousal has yet to fade from your system.

He's doing this intentionally.

For things to go well today, it's ideal for you to always be somewhat stimulated. Plus, he's always loved watching you writhe and try to conceal your own desires. Not as much as Santi adores seeing you boldly demand he do obscenities to you. For you. To please you.

" You used to live here before, right? "

" Mhmm... " He hums smoothly.

" What made you want to leave Hell? "

Santi halts, gathering his thoughts, coming up with a decently abstract yet still valid answer.

" I wasn't happy with myself back then, love. I figured a change of scenery couldn't hurt. "

Half-truths, oh bittersweet as they are, he almost doesn't feel bad when you smile your blind acceptance.

" I'm glad you decided to leave. "

The monster's heart stirs in its confines.

" What, you wouldn't want to move in here? The heart of Lust? " Santi mocks.

" Fuck no- "

And he cackles.

You've entered mansion grounds.

This sly-eyed imp with pointed hair introduced himself as King Vesper's head imp, and has been escorting you two through the halls of the royal mansion so far.

If you had to describe the place, you'd call it deceptive.

Deceptively ornate. Suspiciously calm. Questioningly beautiful.

There's something amiss, is a better way to put the vibe of this location.

Varying shades of pink fade invitingly into purples and reds that seem to comfort and beckon. Many were the gold-swirled corners and turns that you peered into momentarily before returning to following the guide. The furniture and décor is just standardly royal enough to make you wonder if many of the set ups are meant to be as phallic and yonic as they seem. You could swear one of the walls had patterns carved into it that resembled the vulvas of countless individuals. A statue was poised just suggestively enough that it resembled malehood. Many are the paintings and figurines scattered across walls and vases depicting pairs and groups of lovers entangled in dirty yet passionate acts. Are the objects on the shelves meant to be sex toys or just peculiarly shaped abstract figurines?

When passing by what Lacai called the "Hall of His Majesty's Favorite Commissions", Santi covered your eyes occasionally. As far as you could tell, it appeared to be furnished with many differently styled depictions of Vesper's raunchy adventures with a plethora of his attractive playmates. You trust Santi's judgement that maybe some of them are too potent for the human eye.

Since the moment you set foot here, your grip on the dark incubus' hand has been iron-like, trying to siphon some of his calmness. Santi looks absolutely enamored with some of the design choices present, making you wonder if maybe he'll do some tweaking to your living space later.

" And we've arrived. " The imp, previously idly chatting with your lover, exclaims.

Two incredibly tall doors separate you three from whatever lies beyond. Infernal is engraved in them, statements you can't discern, stylized in a type of perfect, gentle cursive and accompanied by sculpted tendrils embracing the torsos of emerging demonoid figures sporting androgynous builds.

You can't help but get lost in the expressions of such visceral bliss captured in their faces. They appear to be molds, almost. Alive. Suffering the torments of eternal pleasures. Grotesque, beautiful. Maybe you really are Santi's match after all... Or maybe that's this sweet smell you've been drowning in for a while getting into your head.

" King Vesper will welcome you shortly, if you need anything, do scream my name. "

A wink, directed at both of you, and the head servant is gone, slinking back into the previous halls without a moment's notice.

Perhaps your gulp was a little too loud.

" Deep breaths, you know what's going to happen- " Santi pulls you into a big-titted hug, rubbing your goosebump-riddled skin. " No need to sweat about it. "

Much more easily said than done.

Chuckling and giggling is heard from the other end of the doors.

" There there, all set to rights, head on out honey. "

One of the massive doors parts forward, and a small hand struggles to find balance upon it. A grayish monster woman emerges, shaky, glazed eyes unaware of either of you. She tries to rearrange her fur and tuck loose tufts into her clumsily worn suit, but only succeeds in nearly wobbling to the floor. The stacks of paper and cases under her right arm tell you that this woman came here for some kind of diplomatic task, and probably didn't get much done...

Santi politely helps the lady step forward, unable to wipe away the only slightly mocking grin on his face.

" Do come again, I believe our business isn't quite complete! "

The same voice calls.

It's hard to describe it. Strong, potent, undeniably demanding of everyone's attention to a scary degree, but also loving, desperate, begging you to listen, to come closer. Velveteen reverence and the authority of someone who can take it away from you in the snap of a finger, a tempter, a lover, a challenger.

You don't need to think too hard to understand whose voice that is.

The poor woman mumbles some kind of exasperated farewell before she too disappears into the same halls Lacai had left through.

You recall a conversation about royal etiquette you had earlier with Santi. When the King of Lust accepts a request for a meeting, even if he's not being summoned, it's considered polite and common sense to also bring him something to eat. This meal could come in the form of a second person, or the requester themself. You suppose you know the choice the monster girl made.

" Next please! "

A shudder wracks its way down your body, but a firm warm hand on the small of your back prevents you from stepping back.

You're guided forward, into what appears to be a lavish lounge room, sharing the same inviting tonalities from before. Big couches and beds and tall mirrors with rails and steps spread across the room, even what you think is meant to be a pretty discreet altar in the middle, disguised as an artistic design choice. A neatly arranged table is set up next to a balcony, half obscured by darkened curtains. A great chaise lounge is clearly meant for your majesty, the other smaller two are meant for guests obviously.

The two of you stand politely at the entrance, waiting for acknowledgment, and the odor permeating this room is so intensely thick it feels like it's dripping into your skull, caressing every inch of you.

Alarmingly, your skin becomes feverish and you gasp for much needed air, feeling the peaks of your tits perk immediately, a rush of blood flying to your nethers. You feel the overwhelming urge to drop your already light clothes and throw yourself into one of the many soft cloths offered.

Santi too sniffs and rumbles at the atmosphere, no doubt incensed by the scent of what might have transpired only moments earlier. Although he's much more in control of himself than you, a gentle touch guiding you back into focusing on the present. You thumb at the bracelet he gave you, the one that presses into the inside of your wrist, dispensing a countering substance into the thin sheet of skin there.

Said substance is the only thing that's keeping you from crawling on the floor like a dog in heat.

A large, flowing tail swishes, and the two of you finally have the composure to glance right, met with the visage of King Vesper, naked as the day he was spat onto Hell, grabbing belongings from a fancy cabinet. When he turns around, your breath catches.

It's not entirely news to you. Santi described him to you, and Vesper has got to be the Icon of Hell who most desires to be seen by everyone, so you knew he was pink, voluptuous and fluffy in a few sections.

But seeing him in person is a whole other matter. It doesn't compare to any detailed descriptions.

Only Santi has managed to captivate you more intensely than the demonlord standing before you. It's... Well, if you had to try to put it into words, when you gaze into those big, predatory magenta eyes, it's like the shock of when you first glanced at Santi- But without the warmth in your chest.

No, this here is just warmth in your loins.

No soul in Heaven or Hell is stopping your eyes from dancing all over Vesper's body. From flowing tendrils to piercing pinks, heart-shaped nipples, golden chains, neatly-arranged fluff and thighs for days, a second mouth grinning at the two of you- There's so much to focus on, so much to ogle, that your sight nearly crosses for a moment.

He's a lot.

It's hard to steady your breathing.

Eventually, you notice those purpled claws are holding onto a spiral-shafted bottle and three miss wine glasses. You don't know what's inside the bottle, but it looks like a regular wine.

" Your Majesty- "

" Vesper, Santi. We've been over this. " The Icon frowns.

" Vesper. Long time no see. " Your incubus smiles, a slight wag of the tail behind him.

In contrast, the Icon's entire head tendril curls with happiness. " Oh say less! Much too long! And after this news, I would drag you here myself if you refused my invite. "

Santi nods with an expression that clearly shows he doesn't doubt the King one bit.

Suddenly, the ruler's gaze snaps to you, like a hawk spotting its lunch a mile away. He bends, much too close, invading, before grabbing smoothly onto your left hand. This close, you can smell the lush, almost floral scent coming from what must be that mane around his neck.

" And where have my manners fled- You must be this harlot's one and only match, the human I've so been aching to meet. " A thumb runs across your knuckles.

" Hhh- Hello- It's a pleasure, your majesty. "

Brilliant. Flawless. You definitely didn't choke up like a cat trying to cough up a hairball. Santi chuckles, introducing your name to the monarch, who licks his lips.

" You may recognize me as a King, but just as I said to Santi, tonight you know me not as a ruler, but a friend. A lover, even. " The last part swooned dreamily, planting facetious suggestions.

Then, he does something you should have seen coming. Should have remembered, actually, but even knowing what was about to transpire, no one could blame you for blanking.

Gleefully, the Icon reaches down across his own figure, hands drifting along his front to grope and paw at his fattened slit. It looks good enough to make you want to shove your whole face in there, and frankly that might be the intended effect. In mere practiced seconds, Vesper's cocks proudly slide out.

To say he's hung is an understatement, but he wouldn't be the King of Lust if he didn't sport a trial of willpower between his legs. Two of them, actually. Ringed and slick, with this restless tentacle poking and prodding between them, occasionally latching onto one of those lengths before switching to the other like its indecisive. You can appreciate the pigment of his cocks, which is a weird thing to say but true nonetheless. It makes you wonder how they'd look stained by the wetness of your puffed cunt.

More than gawk, you huff some kind of bewildered animal noise, hues flickering between the Lord's own and Santi's face. When Santi kneels, so do you, blinking as Vesper grows half-hard in a twitch or two.

The lump in your throat won't go down while you observe Santi lean forward and chastely kiss the tip of Vesper's right cock, before swirling his tongue around the head as best as he can and leaning back. He made that look like the most erotic thing you've ever seen, seemingly unbothered by the effect that view had on you when he expectantly beckons you to tend to the spare member.

Nowhere near as charming as a concubus, your small lips tremble when you close your eyes and lean in to imitate the act, cheeks aflame. This will be the first person you've put your lips upon after having started a relationship with Santi. You decide not to think too hard about it. A small peck is planted against Vesper's length, and the shudder that rocks your body afterwards has you exhaling hard through your nose. Although you glance at Santi for approval, he smiles and arches a brow as if to tell you that you're not quite done yet. The cock hovering in front of you flexes and you understand you're going to have to put some heart into it.

By the time you decide to try and swirl your small tongue around the King's tip, he's already beading in excitement, the view of a still somewhat timid human trying to appease him probably doing something for the demonlord.

It's messy. You have to turn your head and put more effort into it than Santi, ever practiced, did. Unfortunately, Vesper tastes almost as good as the other incubus next to you, so even if you're struggling, it's hard to let go. You could suck at him all day if it meant keeping that taste on your tongue.

Eventually, when you do pull away, a string of precum follows, snapping onto your chin and making you try to clean it away with your fingers. A bad idea, they're sticky now. Thankfully, Santi is there to lick them clean for you, winking to let you know you did a good job.

" I do so love making new acquaintances. " Vesper seems to ebb satisfaction. He doesn't bother with his exposed malehood and motions over to the chaise lounge area. " Please, both of you, sit. Talk with me. "

And you do. Of course you do. Your legs might eventually give out if you don't.

The King gracefully splays himself on his seat, uncorking the bottle with his index claw and placing the three differently sized glasses onto the table. You and Santi sit closely on one of the opposite chaises lounges.

" Can I get you lovebirds some temptation rouge? " He purrs, beginning to pour the drinks anyway.

Santi nods. " I'll have some. None for the lady, please. "

Vesper pauses his pouring, the alluring stream of purplish delight fading enough to allow you to focus.

He frowns. " Oh come now. "

The high-ranker doesn't budge. " Vesper, this isn't something humans should- "

" Mmm really? I recall you offering it quite generously. " The King taps idly at the shaft of the bottle, his tone petty.

The black-horned demon offers a look that begs Vesper not to push on the matter, which is apparently met with mercy.

" But I understand, you're in love, the world has a different hue. "

" Yes... You couldn't guess how distinct. "

Not quite deciphering the exchange the two fiends had, you choose to speak up when Vesper inches Santi's drink his way.

" I can have some. "

Santi shoots you a look. " No. No, that's silly- "

Santi's tense, sighing.

But a large paw has already been raised. " Hush! The lady has spoken, and who are we to deny her? "

" Surely, just one sip is alright. Besides, she's a virgin of Lust, let her enjoy some of my land's exquisite offerings. "

You watch the King pour half a glass for you. You're no virgin, how could you be with Santi by your side? Though saying that someone is a virgin in Lust generally means that it's their first time visiting the Ring.

You spot a muscle on Santi's arm twitch when you cautiously grab the miss wine cup. You know the contents within are likely a very potent aphrodisiac, perhaps a psychostimulant, something that'll make you trip balls essentially. After all, concubi don't drink or eat out of necessity, so this clearly has a use.

" Thank you. " Santi responds, a bit flatter.

Reclining on the seat, the Icon sips out of his glass, the mouth on his stomach licking its chops at the shared taste. A tail flicks, you note that he's been idly stimulated this entire time by the tendrils still squirming between his two dicks.

" So, tell me sweetheart, what do you think of my Ring so far? "

You hope he didn't catch you staring, but that face says it all.

" It's... " You have to think for a second, finding it difficult to articulate a plethora of mixed feelings.

" Freeing, in a strange kind of way. " You trace the rim of the glass. " It's still Hell, still scary, and I don't understand much of what I see out there... But I wish- " Your cheeks grow warmer. " I wish sometimes... That I could join. "

When you look back up, Vesper is grinning, this very amused glint in those magenta pools. " Mhmm, an honest response. I appreciate it. "

You smile politely in return.

Conversation unfurls easily afterwards as both demons partake of the rouge, their faces darken with time and they seem to sway the slightest amount, bodies restless. When you take your first sample of wine, the room is already thick with a scent you've grown to understand means hungry concubi are looming around.

Pungent. Thin but so sweet that it seeps into every pore in a wave of fruity warmth beckoning more and more of its sampler's attention. You'd have this for breakfast, for lunch and for dinner, quickly turning into some shameless alcoholic. It's of little surprise that all of Hell's confectionary is as addictive as it is to humans, that's how fiendkind tends to assert their power over other species. You suppose Lust, as the Ring of desire, has a particular ease creating concoctions of great addictive power.

Your idle reckoning is entirely derailed by the jolt of wetness from your loins, something you expected but couldn't calculate the intensity of, throat burning as you clumsily choke down the whore noise that wanted to flow forth. Maybe you drank too much at a time? How can those two have several glasses of this and look only mildly buzzed?!

Right on cue, Santi reaches to pluck the glass out of your hands. " Aaand that's enough for you. "

" Hah, oh the poor thing! You know that's properly aged, honey, try not to waste it. "

An embarrassing amount of time clearing your throat later, the King pipes up again.

" Ah, I've been meaning to ask, what is it like? " He waves a hand, his head tendril wraps around it fluidly, allowing the demonlord to toy with it.

" The sex? " Santi prods.

" No, the fighting- Of course I'm talking about the sex, you bumbling slut! "

The incubus straightens, eager to talk. " Oh, well- "

" Nuh-uh, quiet. " Vesper's tail nudges Santi into silence. " I know that part. Oh, sex with a perfect match is like pure ambrosia, it's the richest source of energy, a taste so delectable it fries you harder than the cocktail of an orgy of kissless virgins! You can never go back and you'll never have an experience half as pleasurable, it's the greatest gift a concubus can have but also the bane of their search for newer sensuous experiences because it causes obsessive infatuation- Etcetera etcetera... "

The Icon rises much faster than you'd guess his mass could ever allow him to, only to drop to a crawl, gaze piercing into you with an almost violating intensity. " No... " He murmurs sweetly, stopping to squat mere inches from your already overheated body, the chain anchored by his tits swaying hypnotically in front of you. " I want to hear it from you, darling. Regale me! "

Put on the spot like this, you don't actually know what about your perspective can be so appealing to the King, but his tone is authoritative, demanding. You must give an answer.

And so, you allow the hellish alcohol to speak for you, memory drawing upon the moments of your most intimate moments with Santi. The definition of his body, the noises he makes as he partakes of your form, the form you never gave much thought to yet the same one he reveres and coats in his drool. The whispers against your skin that you can never quite make out and the dance of claws on sensitive areas bordering between the sweetest caress and the plunge of a jealous lover.

" I- " You laugh breathlessly. " Well, I didn't know what sex was before I met Santi, real sex, real desire. There isn't a thing he does that I dislike, every time I lay with him, I only wish that it never ended, and I'm thankful he knows when to stop, because I might just tell him to keep going until I draw my last breath. "

You don't know where all of that came from.

The King's wolfish grin now turns shark-like, and he nods ever so fervently, egging you on. Santi has set his own glass down, blinking in bewilderment at your words, until a rumble bursts from his chest, and he seeks to hug you closer to himself.

" I know it sounds cheesy a- and dumb but I always want to try new things in bed with him because I've always felt so appreciated and- Santi makes me feel like I'll always look gorgeous no matter what I have on or what little accidents we have. I never knew sex could be so fun and feel so good... And I guess I only have him to thank for it. "

Santi doesn't say anything, just pulls you into a searing kiss full of tongue and approval. One you get lost in far too quickly, uncaring of your surroundings, or the demonlord ogling the two of you like steaks on a platter.

Maybe the King was looking for something a little more lewd and descriptive, but it seems the drink took you to a more emotional lane. Either way, what you said apparently resonates with the incubus in question, because he beams like a spotlight, eyes bright and smile so full of heated love it might just melt you.

It wasn't always like this. You remember the rocky start of this relationship. It could have turned into something ugly. It could have hurt you badly. Don't think about it.

" Oh- Oh, love does win! " Vesper dramatically rises, pretending to wipe a tear that isn't there. " So romantic, so heartfelt, I could just about write a whole drama from this alone. "

Eyes closed, getting a tongueful from your now overly-excited lover, you feel hands pawing at your body. His, you initially think, squirming playfully as they nudge your barely concealed breasts and squeeze at your tummy, palming at the swell of your ass possessively. Then, what you thought to be two hands become three, become different. It takes you a second of sloppily making out to finally open your eyes and check.

The Icon is now looming above you both, all glowing eyes and slobbering chops, cocks twitching for attention while he hastily reaches to place both hands on each of you. You're barely able to complain before your shorts are pushed aside with your thong and a large hand is palming at you insistently, met with the rush of wetness Santi's saliva has helped create. Speaking of, the high-ranker himself has already parted his legs to allow the King to tease his girth out of his slit, getting leisurely pumped. You watch each other get fondled for a moment, the shock fading into shameless acceptance and a burning need for more. Your cunt clenches around nothing.

" Mm, why'd you stop? Enjoy yourselves. "

The other grins, placing a finger under your chin and guiding you into another embrace. This one is slower, more measured, not just to savor the moment but to make a proper show for the sovereign of carnality. Santi works just well enough in tandem with the King's hand to draw out a wanton moan from you, eating it up with his own. Vesper apparently finds this very appealing, sighing his appreciation and rewarding the two of you with more attentive touches.

Your clit is flicked a certain way that forces your legs to jerk, and the situation is fixed when Santi readjusts to hold your leg slightly upwards, encouraging you to slide down a little. Just so, just so... Until Vesper has a finger in you, his index. Then two- His hands are large, larger than the average demon's, this is a stuffing on its own.

Whatever shred of composure you had left is gone, starting to keen and whimper as the demonlord immediately hammers onto the spot that usually has tears welling in your eyes. You don't know what kind of faces you're making, but they're probably not pretty in the wake of such intense stimulus. It feels as if your entire body is throbbing with sensation, the peak of it making your nethers pulse like an epicenter of delight.

Vaguely, you feel someone tug your top down so your tits can bounce free with every thrust upwards, turning to spot Santi rocking into the fist offered to him while he bites his lip to the debauched sight you make. You didn't think you'd be getting off to something like this, but seeing the desperation to use you in his eyes has you fuming in arousal, and likewise, he's loving your helplessly wanton exhibitionism.

" Ahh, she likes that. " The demonlord keenly observes. " Don't you, princess? Like the sight of your pretty incubus fucking my hand like a needy animal because he can't have you yet? Does it turn you on how lost he is in you? Do you think I should make him cum like this? You're both adorable, I'm loving this so much already! "

His depraved purring is the straw that breaks the camel's back, you can only roll your eyes and choke out some kind of plea for mercy before squeezing like a vise around Vesper's fingers and soaking him for all you've got, barely able to breathe in-between the thunderous pulsing of your orgasm. He rides you through it, nice and hard and milking the entirety of it for his own selfish gain, until you're spasming and gasping erratically.

Unfortunately, you missed Santi's own climax, finding him sagging against the seat in a state similar to yours, while the King whorishly sates himself with the mix of your released fluids, sucking and lapping at his hands for every hint of slick and humming pleasantly at the flavor you make together.

" Not bad... Not bad at all. Again, now, I can't wait to see your bond up close! "

You're a little bit confused when he plops himself back down on his massive lounge chair, then taps his thighs invitingly. Santi gets the idea however, tickling and nudging your clothes off you before settling on the monarch's lap.

Vesper hums, rearranging him so Santi's back is to his front, and then you are invited on. The resulting position has Vesper serving as a kind of living support with you seated atop Santi, giving the King a perfect view. Casually rumbling his glee, the King takes hold of your hips and steals any kind of autonomy from you by leading the pace, grinding you against the delectable ridges of Santi's hardness.

Laps are delivered to the side of Santi's face, and you know the mouth on the demonlord's stomach is also sampling around, tendrils closing in to shift between stimulating him and coiling luridly around your bodies like he just can't get enough.

One moment the two of you are locked in an desperate rut against the slow pace of regal hands, the next, you feel the sting of the demon's exquisite girth as you're swiftly impaled, the pain much too quickly blossoming into momentous relief.

It's a frenzy of movement you can hardly process. Maybe it's the effects of that drink, maybe it's just the cacophony of pheromones that being glued to a high-ranker and an Icon produces -You hardly doubt that bracelet is doing anything to protect your poor mind at this point- But you get well and truly lost in it. The world spins, only flashes of the experience register in your muddled brain, goosebumps, a swaying vision, waves of pleasure heightened to such a degree that you cease hearing anything but the muffled echoes of your lover's moans.

In that moment, there's nothing more to reality than the monster in front of you, looking as depraved as you, and leaning into it. Santi drools onto his own chest openly, pupils dilated, eyes relentlessly hypnotic as he swallows every twitch of your tormented form's muscles. No hint of higher thought lies in those acidic green hues, only the beastly impulse to have you, to reduce you to a spasming mess, to make you lose your mind and grow addicted to him.

Faintly, you can hear low whispers in a foreign, harsh tongue, and it never occurs to you that might be the source of your current trance. You don't know what it's doing to you or Santi, and you don't care.

You don't care about anything expect the constant pistoning driving you to a filthy paradise. If the Icon wasn't the one moving your legs, you'd be mush by now, point proven further when your top half simply flops onto the incubus' body, useless.

It must have been about an hour or more when the two of you are stopped, and no matter how gentle the winding down was, you still grunt and whine wordlessly in frustration, met with laughter from the two of them. Santi recovered faster, because of course he did. Looking down to where your bodies meet, you're disgraced with the sight of a sticky mess coating not just your mons and thighs, but plenty of Santi's lower half. It doesn't even reek of sex, you've gone nose blind at this point. It's almost terrifying, you have no idea how many times you orgasmed, or how many times he did for that matter, but the overwhelming evidence is clearly there, and your throat is quite sore. Whether from gasping, screaming or simply breathing through it, you don't know anymore.

Vesper says something to your partner in clear infernal, met with a reply you cannot hope to interpret either, and you're pulled forward to kiss the King, the three of you exchanging lips in a disheveled mess.

By the time you start giggling and breathing hard, Santi sighs.

" We... We should stop for now, no? " There's a mildly guilty look on his handsome features. Probably because you're going to be feeling this for a week.

The demonlord huffs. " Ugh- Fine fine, but only because you two were such a show, the imps flocked to the doors you know? I can feel them peeping. "

The darker demonoid snickers in amusement, reaching out to pet your face and try to ground you in reality, to no avail. You're eventually lifted to a stand, latching onto his arm for support and starting to somewhat ferally bite him in adoration.

Vesper follows suit, look too predatory to mean anything good, and both hands coiled around vastly neglected lengths. Making quick work of himself to the filthy view you and Santi make. He's the one who gulps now.

" I have been very patient however, the least my adorable guests could do is give me a lasting farewell. "

Santi looks like he's about to try to politely renegotiate.

" Pretty please? "

You clap and cackle in enthusiasm, entirely out of your gourd. More, more!

The incubus watches you jump in place, then turns to his old friend. " You have spare regeneration ointments, don't you? "

[lightandfellowship]

(Last image doesn't follow directly from the second one, to be clear.)

Still don't really know how I feel about this, tbh.

The implication that Xehanort was mostly "pure of heart" before leaving Destiny Islands

The implication that the first whisps of darkness his heart ever felt were due to traversing a dark corridor unprotected rather than just...starting to feel dark emotions naturally on his own? (Admittedly though, if point #1 remains true but Xehanort never ended up using a dark corridor, then his first feelings of darkness would have still been due to his empathy abilities absorbing it from others...)

These are likely just seeds of darkness, so I don't think this changes his story too much (his fall to darkness was still very much motivated by his experiences and his reactions to those experiences), but I do find it slightly less compelling if the origin point of the darkness in his heart traces back to this moment. It turns the darkness in his heart into something...almost accidental? But also caused by Ansem SoD's time traveling meddling.

But that's just my gut feeling about it. What's y'all's take on this?

[obsessivevoidkitten]

One of the seniors who goes to the center was reminiscing about "trucker corn" and how her uncle used to grow and cook it for her family when she was a kid and how she missed it.

So I found some "trucker's favorite corn" and got the seeds. There's still time to plant and grow a late corn crop, but I need to get 4 three dollar bags of soil to grow a good patch of it.

I tried just tilling through sod and weeds but it's hard work on a cool day but for the next ten days it's 88-94 degrees. Also the hard clay soil is harder right now since we haven't had rain.

Anyway if some kind souls could help me do this kindness for an elderly lady I'd really appreciate it, I only need around 12 dollars. My Paypal is HERE and my Kofi is HERE.

[floreatetona]

Have a Pirate Fairy fanfic bc I can't be fucked to clean my room. James x Zarina, suggestive.

James had always been a little too good at pretending he was happy. Par for the course, considering his history. Even now, as he ran a brush through his captain's hair, he was surely faking that same, happy grin on his face. The smile curled up so naturally, his big eyes gazed so softly, and his brow knitted, tenderly, just enough to show his... care... for his dear captain, Zarina. And it was care, technically. Although, perhaps, it is a word to be used delicately. The word felt dangerous, like a silk ribbon uncomfortably tight around his throat. No, while he admitted she was at least enchanting and beautiful, in truth, James found that he nearly hated her. This care was less a care of love and friendship, but more akin to the care of a hunter. The cautious tracing of fingers over the dirt tracks of prey, as his own fingers traced her freckles. The precise timing of breathing as to listen for movement, as he himself tried to still his own fluttering heart. The hungry, unblinking watching and waiting to strike, as he himself pondered his options. And, of course, that final pounce, that fatal sinking of teeth, the care of one eating and spilling as little as possible, as James himself finally hinted at his own hungry, deadly devotion.

"Captain? May I say... if it's not too bold..." he paused as he set down his brush, carefully forming his thoughts as he began braiding her almond hair. Zarina, frankly lost in the relaxing grooming, finally opened her eyes with a hum.

"What is it?" She yawned. Her hazel eyes fluttered as her brain shifted its focus. It proved difficult: this body ached, and his touch felt so safe and soothing and easy. As easy as drawing a blanket up to your chin in the cold. As easy as being at home. But when it did refocus, she noticed his face, his smile, had finally come back. That same sweet smile he always wore, but it carried something different lately. No doubt that was her fault; the past few days had been a lot to take in. Her discovery of the wishing dust, her sudden growth and humanity, the setbacks in the search for blue dust; this was the first real moment alone they'd had in almost a week. Only days ago, everything had been normal. She was still tiny, and they still talked every night... and she was still confused as to why he wouldn't just sleep here in the cabin as he always had before. He looked so shocked, almost angry that day. He hadn't acted sad or disappointed, but everything had been so tense. Perhaps tonight was a good time to ask... Him first, for now.

"James?" She cooed, catching herself fearing his unusual silence.

How just like her, how haughty a yawn, with that honey drowned voice she put on whenever she spoke to him in private. She treated him with such matter of fact tenderness, such infuriating distance most of the time. How he hated that. But he swallowed that hate, chasing it with a little of his pride and an actual nervous gulp, because he needed tonight to go smoothly. His plan had been the same from the beginning, ever since this prissy little pixie demanded that she be the captain of these hopeless sods. Gain her trust, let her do all the work and magic and research while he acted as the real voice of command, plant the seeds of mutiny, wait, tear her down the moment the blue dust works, and plunder the world below in an uncatchable ship. But after this week? No, after this long, long year? ....how dare she be anything but an obstacle in his way. How dare this little cunt worm her way into his head. ...Into is chest...

His brown eyes faked shyness and flicked away from hers. Only his fingers, hurrying to clasp off the braid, gave away a clue of his real agitation. Tonight, he needed to know how exactly he could alter his plans. Was all still as it was, or was it now smarter to remain at the right hand? Would the mutiny still hold water, and if not, how then would he get rid of her? He looked up again to speak, but Zarina, infuriatingly, cut him off.

"Really quick though, you're sleeping in here again tonight, right?"

"I-.... pardon?"

"You've been sleeping in a broom closet for like three days. That can't be comfortable! You always sleep in here."

No... no fucking way that she was actually asking such a thing. And so casually!

"W-well this new... body is ...much to adjust to. I'd imagine. I ... took the initiative and assessed that perhaps you needed to um..." The unseen silk ribbon tightened. "Take some time to get in touch with this... new you!" His smile grew crooked and embarrassed as his eyes lowered in secondhand shame. She always made him feel like a fool, but THIS was a new emotion altogether. Not knowing what to do with his hands, or any of himself, he clasped the back of her chair to lean slightly. A poor attempt at seeming nonchalant while panic bit him every time his knuckles brushed her speckled skin.

"You dont know the half of it. I was prepared for the crazy scale change but the dizziness? I don't think it's even really gone, haha." Zarina let herself relax again, not at all aware of the tension in the room. She picked up her cigar from the vanity and took a long drag, but her eyes caught him in the mirror. He allowed his face to rest into a more honest expression. Drops of fear, anguish, uncertainty, and irritated confusion bled from his thinned lips like an overfull bowl. What's his deal, she thought, her own fear rearing its head, does he ...does he not like that I'm human now? But Zarina was too comfortable to spiral in negative thoughts. And she trusted that, as always, hed be honest with her.

"But I can't help but notice that you act... different now. No sugar coating it, you hate this new size, dont you?" With a smile, she lifted the cigar as an offering. James blinked at it, nearly caught off guard before quietly taking the roll in his fingers. He could only stare at the lipstick stain rung around it for a moment, trying his best to ignore his tumultuous brain growling like a mad, starving stomach. Then, a sharp breath, like a tiger hearing a snap of twigs and hooves; a gnawing growing violent in his chest, an idea that had electrocuted his mind the moment he caught his fingers tracing the freckles of her shoulders. Tonight, perchance, he very well could taste the meal for which he starved. He finally let his smile fall.

"That couldn't be farther from the truth, captain." He took a drag of the Jamaican roll, lips pressed exactly along where shed left her lipstick like a first drink of precious water. Then he sighed, presenting it back to her with the respect of a waiter bringing out the wine. She took it back and gaffawed.

"Yeah? You're all depressed because you just adore the new look? Right. That makes sense." She took another drag through mocking teeth and turned around in her chair, watching him walk over to the window side of the bed. She had no idea that he'd mentally called her a bitch at the comment. She probably had no idea that his hands had started shaking.

"No it is the truth, captain." He sat down and shifted as to rest an elbow on a propped up knee. At once he played up his saccharine meekness, that gentlemanly bashfulness that would surely draw his hunt closer.

"I want things to be as they were... and I adore our friendship. But...." a nervous glance, a deep breath. "But it was easy to merely play my part when you were a fairy. I never had a chance to be yours, merely your lowly cabin boy. Even if I had a chance to be... to call you mine... our sheer difference would never had let things work." A heavy silence fell over the cabin, and he locked eyes with his now startled captain.

" But now... now there is no such difference. And what's worse, you... " he couldn't bear to look at her for such an embarrassing confession. James turned almost his whole body to the windows. "I'm only a man." He pleaded. "And you are more beautiful to me now than you ever were." He'd been taught by the best; a woman can be tricked into anything, with the trap of one's own vulnerability. But all the same, a terror gripped him. Bastard opportunist though he was, deep down, he really was quite shy. That's why he nearly jumped when he felt the mattress shift.

"Mine? Your- hum. So that's what this is all about." She'd put out the cigar and slid from the chair to the edge of the four posted queen. She nervously fiddled with the new braid in her hair and crossed her legs under her cotton shift. For a moment, the tension returned in full force before finally, the spell was broken.

"James-"

"I know, I know. I forget myself." He stood from the bed and began his duty straightening up the room. "But I can keep no secrets from my captain now, can I?" Whether this was part of his game or whether he had talked himself out of the idea was totally unclear even to him. Hungry as he was, he couldn't afford to drop his act, and he only now considered the possibility of rejection, a possibility that repulsed him.

"James -"

"As for um.. well if you want me to sleep in here I can, perhaps if I may have a pillow-"

"JAMES." A firm hand pounced and locked onto his arm, startling him more than her sudden bark. The pair locked eyes, hers fierce, his scared and hungry, and she forcefully pulled him closer. She was only as tall as his chest, and as she sat on the bed she was even shorter to him still. But in spirit, in authority, she towered over him. His anger flared again, but not as boldly or as bright as his anxiety...or his excitement. Her hand released his arm, only to slowly draw down and clasp his strong, trembling hand. No act could hide his hitching breath.

"James?"

"...y-Yes? ..Captain?"

"Why do you think of all the things I could have wished for..." her face shifted from sternness to a smug, sly smile. "I choose to wish for this?"

"...............................ah"

The statement peirced his brain like an arrow of lightning, or like a dinner bell. For a moment, he was too shocked to even act, but then, oh then, he was almost too ravenous to think. Almost. James closed his eyes and let out a deep and shaky sigh before falling gracefully to a kneel, so dizzy from her revaluation that he dared to rest his forehead on her knees. He couldn't stop the chuckles that bubbed up from within him. She wanted this (wanted HIM!!!) and he had her right where he fucking wanted her; the table was set for a feast. He hadn't let go of her hand, clasping it with both of his as to uphold what little of his coy act that he could in this state. And after he'd wrestled back control of himself, he finally looked up and swallowed, smiling ear to ear.

"Well, well..." his breath fell heavily like a lion dragging off its kill. "I suppose you don't have any... new orders for me?"

"Orders? No." Zarina smugly leaned back, a king on a throne, amused at the dinner layed before her, and those big brown eyes just begging for a taste. She giggled wryly and spread her legs apart. "But I do have a few ideas..."

And then they fuck. The end. Goodnight.

[tsvwords]

You know, I can’t wait to see how your new god of the common people turns out different.

Have you thought about that? Have you considered the, um, inevitability of that moment?Do you imagine, when the first poor struggling sod is forced down its throat, he’s going to be able to be telling himself,

‘Oh, this is a new faith, this is a community-driven faith of the people, how wonderful, how different, I’m so lucky?’

A god must feed, daughter. There’s no blessing without sacrifice, there’s no harvest without soil and seed.

I can’t wait to see the look on your face when this great new god of yours makes you pay.

— Chapter 23: I'd Howl, I'd Scream, In Victory.

[ireallyliketalldarksultrymen]

Dapper duo (mumbo/skizz) ? Or gem and the Scotts cuz I too love their dynamic :]

i had sm fun writing this one!! (vote gem and the scott’s at @scottsmajorshipbracket and i’ll write you stufff)

—

Mumbo wasn’t particularly enjoying his shift at the graveyard. Sure, it was always fairly creepy, but with Halloween drawing close, more instances of people smashing pumpkins at headstones and teens hiding around skulls too realistic for Mumbo’s taste surfaced.

A shriek of an owl sounded across the area as Mumbo replaced the sod of a grave. The chill breeze that swept past him caused goosebumps to arise on his arms, muscles in it straining as Mumbo worked his shovel into the ground.

His tongue peeked out of his lips, brows furrowed in concentration as his spade clanked against firm dirt. Mumbo’s grip on the handle was tight, palms rubbed raw.

It was an odd occurrence; rainfall was heaviest this time of the year, and Mumbo often wore boots to protect himself from mud. Graves gave him easy access, too, a simple nudge of his shovel doing the trick. But for this one, it was like one of summer’s worst droughts.

Mumbo raised his arms over his head once. Then again. Then a third time, with no avail. He used his forearm to wipe the sweat dripping from his brow, bangs stuck to his forehead. “This hasn’t happened before,” he huffed. “C’mon, what’s up with you?”

He took a moment to glance at the headstone. A chunk of the stone at the top was missing, like a bite had been taken out of it. Water damage and erosion left it a musty color, and seeds caked in orange goop were lodged in its lining, a clear victim of secondary school kids.

Mumbo squinted, bleary eyes attempting to identify the uppercase lettering carved into the headstone. He titled his head, and slowly, he read out the name:

Stephen “Skizz” Man

His eyes trailed down.

1530 to 1575

Beloved Brother 

He looked at it for a while before humming. “Well, Skizz,” Mumbo muttered, lifting his shovel, “I’ve got a job to do, and it seems like you’re making it difficult.”

Again, he lifted his shovel over his head, and with all of his might, jabbed it into the ground.

The shovel broke through the dirt, and before Mumbo could celebrate, a bright green light erupted from the crack.

Mumbo gasped, stumbling backwards and falling onto his elbows, shovel abandoned completely. From the crack emerged a pale mist, wispy as it rose. 

The air grew chillier, and the birds quieter.

As the last of the smoke came up, the light in the ground dimmed, then stopped completely. The mist, still glowing, started to curl together. Mumbo watched it swarm as one, spinning like a pinwheel in harsh winds. For a moment, he stared at it with wide eyes, gaping at the scene before him.

Suddenly, there was a groan.

“Finally, man! I’ve been waiting to be let out for ages.”

In front of Mumbo was the pale outline of a man, floating a few inches above the dug out grave. He wore pointed shoes with bells attached to the tips, and was cloaked in a vest with a pattern of rhombuses, sleeves puffy and large. On top of his head was a large hat, two ends curved in separate arches.

The man drifted down, eyeing the headstone and huffing. “To think after all I’ve done, I’ve been narrowed down to a brother.” He crossed his arms and shook his head.

Mumbo’s mouth was an ajar.

Not easing his nerves, the figure turned around a few seconds later. His gaze met Mumbo’s. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t friendly eyes paired with a couple of smoky marks on his face. “Look what we have here!”

If it was possible, Mumbo’s eyes widened even more.

The man frowned. “What, you’re gonna leave me hanging?”

He swallowed. “Y-you can…see me?”

The man mimicked a motion that was similar to raising an eyebrow. “Were the streets of London grimier than anything else?”

“Uh…”

He cackled. “‘course they were!”

To say Mumbo’s mind was racing was an understatement; thoughts of confusion, denial, and panics blurred together. Surely this wasn’t real, right?

Maybe it were a group of kids coordinating a top-notch prank—yeah, that’s it! Teenagers pulling a practical joke, hiding behind a tree and waiting for the perfect time to pop out and laugh at him.

The man cleared his throat dramatically, arms folded behind his back. “Greetings…mortal?” He tapped a finger on his chin. “No, human’s the word these days…Well, hello, regardless! My name is Skizz—Stephen to some, Skizzleman to others.”

He glided closer to Mumbo. “Back in the day, which, in reality was a couple centuries ago, I was the loyal jester to King Impulse Vance. Not a shabby job, y’know, considering he was my best buddy, and all.”

Skizz groaned. “That was until I got accused of spreading news of our kingdom’s planned attack to the enemy state. The outcome wasn’t so pretty. I got publicly beheaded and everything!”

Mumbo winced, partly from the feeling of his elbows digging into the ground, and the other being at the story. “But did you? Spread information, I mean.”

The ghost squawked. “Of course not! I didn’t want a single thing to do with Mother Spore and lackeys.” Skizz shook his head. “But that was then, and now, it seems that you, mortal, was brought the great Skizzleman from his dead.”

He brought up a green hand, swirling with haze. “And since you’ve done a great deal to me, it’s only fair that I repay the favor, isn’t it buddy?”

Mumbo could hear his heart palpitations in his ears. On one hand, he didn’t mean to revive a ghost purposely. But this was a spirit he was talking to, something he wouldn’t interact with  for a lifetime. He didn’t think he could pass up this chance.

Slowly, he raised his hand and placed in Skizz’s. A nervous smile spread on his face. “Deal.”

The grin that he was given was toothy, yet the look in the jester’s eyes was something Mumbo had never seen before; mischief and schemes hid behind murky irises.

Void, he had no clue what he was getting into.

[stupidiinspades]

And what if Jesus asks if you spit or swallow… pomegranate seeds (obviously)? 🤨

There's something he's noticed, about all these tales and films about Christ's life and crucifixion that always had managed to stick in his craw; his tongue worrying it like a seed stuck in his teeth that just won't leave no matter how many times he flossed at it.

Their romanticism frequently flirted with the erotic.

They touch Him; reverent yes, but hungry. Desperate- longing- they weep when His hands lay upon them, and others seem unable to GET ENOUGH. It is a famine for which there is no cure save He, and daft sods they are, they don't realise they already have Him- that He, as He says, is always with them.

Intrusive thoughts are crawling along the backs of his eyes tonight; John having been sudden possessed by the compulsion to watch The Passion of the Christ after departing Yeshua's company. Chas said it was the gnarliest portrayal he'd seen. So why not, eh? What better, to try and understand the mortal mental machination of the Almighty than a marathon focusing upon His sermons and sacrifice.

'What if He told you to devour that fruit of PASSION? Would you follow the command of the Lord in this?'

There's something to be said for mankind's yearning for the divine. Be it to BECOME, or to be SAVED BY it. Sometimes it flies by 'skirting blasphemous' and careens utterly starkers into 'plunging one's rod into the celestial honey vat to give it a stir'. They devour sacrifice as if it were choice cuts, wrapping themselves in the warmth of the fire set at the foot of their martyrs.

Constantine exhales, eyes the fruit in his hand plucked from the bowl, and begins to score the top.

John's one of those cocked ones. Those that equate suffering to love, and blood to romanticism. Seventy years on this marble peeking behind celestial curtains like a naughty schoolboy, and the statement 'I want to skin you with my teeth' makes his chest heat- for gods and devils and spirits communicate in many ways-- but the one they all agree on, is HUNGER.

God be merciful, was he ever hungry.

Pomegranates had a few health benefits- and the niggling, intrusive hypothetical bounces around like an unwanted dog as he removed the top- blade trembling only faintly as it slides between the white flesh: the exorcist doing his damndest to ignore what screams down his nape to settle at the middle of his spine.

Spit the seeds? Or swallow them?

Jesus spoke in parables. In metaphors. Led one to the lesson at hand but did not force a revelation. He was an invitation to self-betterment through reflection of events undone. Through ephemeral vague query and direction, He taught the masses.

And John now can't help but think of the fruit's aphrodisiac benefits, the anti-cancer studies, the cardiovascular health boosts, and the ghost sensation of Yeshua's fingers along his jaw - the Man an ever-physically affectionate one - and wonders just what the absolute fuck it all meant.

Or if he was REALLY going to hell after the mental image comes of the Messiah placing a seed upon his tongue.

Spit? Or swallow? --- "Christ help me..."

[rodolfoparras]

Had a vivid dream and woke up at cold sweat to write this can I be 💫 anon? I don't remember if I already used this emoji but would love to use in your blog too, (hi gnomelord I'm cheating on you 🫶)

Tw for suicidal ideation ig? Not well versed in tagging

Imagine old man Price, way too physically unfit with the multitude of injuries his earned in his decades-long career or receiving a life threatening one, and booted honorably discharged out of SAS.

His life is thrown off balance, unable to function normally in his old hometown, friends and family seemingly moved on in their lives, attending to monotonous tasks day by day, children from relatives he never knew existed now full-grown adults and he is stuck.

He's ashamed, deeply so, self doubt seeds his mind, suicidal ideation becoming his go to each sleepless night and he just says fuck it

Packing the clothes on his back, like he would back in the military he drives off without telling anyone, landing in the middle of nowhere, landing a job at a shitty restaurant and an even shitier motel to stay in.

It's hard place to live in, but no one knows him and the weight of expectation from anyone is lifted. Comes reader, ever so kind and compassionate local handyman, town's people love him.

He helps Price in anyway he could, always making a stop at Price's smoke breaks after their faithful encounter on the motel.

He's the only person in the town that chats him up, hell the one that makes an effort to get to know the old mysterious sod that appeared months ago.

And oh does Price, swoon for the man. Taking more smoking breaks than usual, breaking the showerhead with a quick simple fix, just for a glimpse of this dilf reader trying to ignore the wetness in his thighs whenever he sees the man work ....

Idk if reader is a dilf, I'm just a sucker for old man yaoi, this is GOODNIGHT for me.

-💫

SUGAR WHY DID YOUBLEAVE TBIS MASTERPIECE IN MY INBOX PPLS PLS FINISH THIS AND POST THIS I ABSOLUTELY FUCKING LOVE THIS.

SUGAR THERE ARE TEARS PROCKLOMG MY EYES PLS FOMT LEAVE ME HAMGING GOING TO LOSD M MIDM

[theclairvoyage]

Chapter 1: Boomer Sooner

Part of Bloody Knuckles series

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x AUSA!f!reader

Javier's first day in OKC is nothing short of stressful-though that changes when he meets you.

Chapter warnings: alcohol consumption, smoking, adult language, mentions of violence, mentions of human trafficking, reader is able-bodied, has long hair and is roughly the same height as Javi (no other descriptors), Spanish usage (translations at the end)

WC: 3.2k

Fall 1992

Corpus Christi, Texas

Sweat drips from Javier’s forehead and temples as he pulls stubborn weeds from the dry dirt at his mother’s house in Corpus Christi.  The air is heavy and humid, compressing his chest like a thick heated blanket.  Mamá insisted she could do it herself, stubborn as the weeds.  Mijo, puedo hacerlo.  No necesito ayuda.  He’d waved her off and stepped out the front door, Tecovas boots clomping the wooden steps.

The screen door flies open with a screech, and out comes his mother, pitcher of vibrant red agua fresca in tow, garnished with fresh spearmint and strawberries.  In the fall, she loves to make Agua de Jamaica with the beautiful hibiscus flowers that bloom in late summer.  Her backyard garden is a utopia compared to the disaster of a front yard, filled with a smorgasbord of gorgeous flowers, vegetables, fruits, and bird feeders.

“Tómate un descanso, Javier.  Por favor,” she urges him.  He nods, tearing the sweaty gardening gloves from his hands, and tossing them on the porch.  He wipes his brow with the back of his dirt-covered forearm, no longer caring about how he looks or smells.  Only a cold shower would resurrect this mess.

“Gracias, Mamá.  Se parece muy bien,” he compliments her, relishing the sweet smile that stretches her freckled, weathered cheeks.  Her long, silvery mane is curled into a tight bun, wispy baby hairs fallen prey to the humidity in Corpus Christi.  She is a true Mexican mother—hardworking, resourceful, strong-willed, and unequivocally dedicated to her family.  It’s nice to see the softer side of her once in a blue moon—a refreshing break from the wooden spoon or chancla.

She pours him a hefty glass of the hibiscus drink before returning to the house, ice cubes crashing into glass with little clinks.  Javi plops himself on the old porch, sipping and observing the scene in front of him.  Fuck, that’s good, he thinks, licking his lips to savor the taste and the liquid that has seeped up into his mustache.  She knows this drink was his favorite, and boy, did she make it perfectly.

The yard, on the other hand, was not even close to perfection.  Javier’s dad passed away a couple years ago, and with Javi posted in Colombia, she had limited assistance.  Sure, family came around to help, and he knew she dabbled in some landscaping herself, but the weeds grew too quickly.

She was too proud to let any landscaping service come help her—he remembered the day a landscaping company tucked a pamphlet between her screen and front doors, and she called him enraged, smirking to himself at the memory.  “¡Pendejos estúpidos, déjame sola!”

At least he had made decent progress.  The weeds were plucked, but the grass was patchy and scarce.  He’d need to find some grass seed and plant it or convince her to buy sod—fat chance.  Chugging the last few gulps of his agua fresca, he stands and enters the house.  His mother takes the glass from him, patting his shoulder affectionately.

“Mijo, algún hombre te llamó.  No dio un nombre, solamente un número.  Está aquí,” she says, pointing a wrinkled finger at an old utility bill envelope with a phone number scribbled in blue pen.  The fuck, he thinks.  Who the fuck has my mom’s home number? Better not be some girl.

“Gracias, Mamá.  Perdóname, por favor,” he says, grabbing the envelope and returning to the front porch to punch in the number on his giant mobile phone.  It rings twice before a male voice responds.

“About time, Peña.  Ready to get back to work?” The voice echoes—cocky, smug.

“If this is DEA, you can go fuck yourself.  Already gave y’all my letter of resignation,” Javi spits.  The voice returns a few whoa, whoa, whoas, like he’s trying to rein in a wild horse.

“Got a great opportunity for you here in Oklahoma City.  Need you here by next week.  Already got an apartment and a desk saved for you.”  Javi scratches his head in confusion.

“Opportunity for what?” Javi bites back, fucking irritated at this no-namer.

“FBI.”

“Goddammit.”

The next week, Javier finds himself squinting and cursing on the sidewalk of the FBI Building on West Memorial Road in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, wondering how the fuck he got here.  He can’t remember the last time he craved a cigarette so badly.  It felt sacrilege, living in Sooner country—he was an Aggie through and through.  He pulls the rumpled utility bill envelope from his mother’s house out of his already-sweaty tan blazer pocket and re-reads the instructions for the 300th time.

-Enter parking lot via security gate and use code 584323, give them name

-Enter building on west side and go through security

-Someone will be waiting for me?

Shaking his head, he wipes sweat from his mustache and trudges toward the west entrance, straining to pull one of the doors open.  The heavy metal doors threaten to shove him back into the outside world—something he would welcome, at this point.

Walking through a maze to get to the metal detectors, he gazes up at the highly vaulted atrium, observing the boring taupe-colored walls, and stopping at a black and white photo of J. Edgar Hoover.  Two armored guards with solemn, stony faces wipe their gaze up and down Javier’s figure as he stops just before the metal detector.

“Come through,” one of them barks, beckoning to him to step through.  He obliges, before the other stone soldier puts a palm up in Javier’s face.  “Need ID.”  Javi fishes his wallet out, instinctively reaching for his phantom DEA badge.  The guard scans his Texas Driver’s License before handing it to the other guard.

“Any weapons?” One asks, as the other walks behind Javier.

“Nope,” Javi replies, assuming the familiar position of a search, hands posted up high and legs spread.  The gruff men pat him down and excavate his pockets, finding nothing but his phone, keys, wallet, and the rumpled envelope with instructions.

“Come this way, Peña.” He follows one to the round front desk to a tall, blue suit, leaning against the counter with a smirk on his face.  Javi doesn’t recognize him.  Blue Suit stands and holds out a manicured hand to Javier.

“Nice to meet you, Peña,” Blue Suit croons.  Javi recognizes the voice as the one that called his mother’s house in Corpus Christi.  Javi clasps his hand and shakes it a few times, grunting in approval.

“I’m Eddie Penn, supervisory special agent.  You’ll be with me for today—likely for a while,” he says with a grin.  Javi raises one eyebrow at him, suspicious.  Eddie trots toward some elevator doors, flashing ID at two more armored guards posted up next to them.  Javi follows him into the elevator and watches him press a yellow-stained 3.

“How’s the apartment?” Eddie asks as the elevator ascends noisily.  Javi shrugs.

“Honestly, I threw all my shit in there last night and haven’t had much of a chance to get any furniture,” he replies, studying the elevator inspection form above the floor number buttons.  Eddie chuckles.

“Sorry about that—I was pretty limited on the timeframe and places we could put you.  We’ll get you a car and help with furniture,” he apologizes, hands twitching in his pockets.  Javi shakes his head, long hair swishing back and forth.

“No worries.  I’m assuming this is important,” he says, turning to look at Eddie, eyes narrowing for a millisecond.

“Yes.  We’ll discuss everything in my office—the Assistant Director is waiting on the phone for us,” he says as the elevator screeches to a halt, doors opening slowly.  The two step out and Eddie leads Javi through a floor of gray cubicles, sounds of telephones ringing and keyboards clacking filling the air.

It’s not too different from DEA offices, Javi thinks.  There are more people, more suits and skirts, but the blueprint is the same.  Eddie nods his head at several people staring at the pair as they traverse the floor.  Javi tries to keep his eyes from meeting anyone’s—he needs to know why he’s here before he starts familiarizing himself with these people.

Eddie opens the door to an office, contents invisible to the floor, save for a narrow window above the handle.  There are two chairs facing a small wooden desk, with a giant computer monitor in one corner and a telephone in the other.  There’s a small window behind the desk overlooking the city.  Eddie gestures to one of the chairs as he steps behind the desk.

Javi sits into one of the stiff, unforgiving cushions as Eddie presses a few buttons and puts the phone on speaker.  Javi drums his fingers on the arm of the chair as he stares out the window, somewhat covered by stray hairs of Eddie’s combover.  Eddie clears his throat.

“Assistant Director, I’ve got Javier Peña here with me.  Glad to have you on the phone.” Great, so Eddie’s a kiss-ass.  A muffled, adenoidal voice replies on the other end.

“Thanks, Agent Penn.  Javier—it’s great to have you.  I read up on your work in Colombia—you’re somewhat of a hero here in the States.  What made you leave the DEA?” The Assistant Director asks.  Javi leans forward, elbows on his thighs and fingers smoothing his mustache hairs as he recounts his experience in South America.

“Well, sir—to be frank, it’s a shit ton of work trying to catch a drug lord.  The time I put in was enough,” Javi says honestly.  Eddie snaps his head up to glare at Javier—presumably for the cursing.  The Assistant Director laughs, voice even more nasally than before.

“Well, I do appreciate the honesty.  When I heard you’d quit DEA I jumped on the opportunity to have you join here,” the AD spouts.  Javi raises an eyebrow as he listens.

“Might I ask why?” Javi tests, glancing at the carpeted ground as he waits for a response.

“There’s a large-scale intelligence task force here dedicated to stopping arms and human trafficking in Oklahoma—funny enough, we know Escobar has done some dealings here, but that won’t be your focus.”  Javi raises the other eyebrow in surprise.

“In Oklahoma?  Interesting—figured he was only invested in Miami and other coastal cities,” Javi ponders.  The AD chuckles.

“He was—but he’s learned to be more discreet in his business operations.  No thanks to the great work of the DEA.”  Javi snorts.

“Anyway, Javier,” the AD continues, “Human trafficking in this part of the country has worsened in recent years.  The DEA doesn’t have enough manpower to tackle a problem of this magnitude.  So, the FBI has made it a priority.”  Javi listens, eyes scanning the room.  He leans back in the chair, crossing an ankle over his knee and pursing his lips.

“So, we are going to fast-track you to supervisory special agent, like Agent Penn here—we think your experience with the DEA has more than warranted that role, and your supervisor recommended you for this task force.  Sounds like you’ve got some great leadership abilities, Peña.  This job will pay well, a bit better than what you were making with the DEA,” the Assistant Director rambles, sounding impressed.  Javi widens his eyes.

“Penn here will train you once you pass the field tests—marksmanship, physical, drug tests—you know the drill.  Then you’ll hit the ground running with the task force.  Any questions?”  Javi furrows his brow, thinking.

“Don’t think so,” Javi replies.  He knows he can’t back out of this one—it’s a great opportunity, a pay raise—even if it’s in shitty Oklahoma.

“Great.  I’ll be in the Oklahoma Office in the next few weeks for a status report.  Looking forward to monitoring your progress.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Javi replies.  Eddie hangs up the phone and rummages through some manila case files on his desk, handing a thick one to Javi.

“This is what we’ve been working on as of late,” Eddie says.  Javi flips open the case file and pulls out some large pictures from the front.  Javi glances through photos of suspects, victims, crime scenes, and camera footage.  Some are brutal—young girls with brandings and tattoos, bruises and scrapes—some deceased, some barely alive.  Javi swallows loudly.

“Some fucking pieces of work that do this shit,” he seethes quietly, jaw ticking.  Penn nods.

“It’s tough,” Eddie says, “But we’ve made some great strides here.  Sadly, we can’t do everything.”

Javier continues flipping through the case files, now reading field reports.  Some are from the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs in Oklahoma, some from OKCPD and other neighboring police departments.

“I’m assuming we work mostly with local LEO departments?” Javi questions, snapping the case file shut.  Eddie nods.

“Yep.  We try to work cases in conjunction, whenever possible.  We also work closely with an AUSA who has taken a liking to this task force.”

“Oh yeah?  He tough on crime?” Javi questions, plopping the case file back on Penn’s desk.

“She is,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows.  “Real spitfire, that one.  Smart as hell.  And between you and me, she’s a sight for sore eyes.”  Javi nods, rolling his eyes.  He pictures a petite blonde in a pencil skirt.  He’s had plenty of those.

“Interesting,” he says.

“You’ll meet her sometime this week, she’s here at least two to three times a week working on cases.  Sometimes she’ll go out in the field with us, though she’s not supposed to,” Eddie says.  Javi tilts his head at Eddie.

“Why’s that?  Likes to keep tabs on the team?” Eddie shakes his head.

“Likes to talk to the victims, meet them, see everything firsthand.  Wait ‘til you see her in the courtroom—it’s something else,” Eddie says, reminiscing your powerful opening and closing arguments and connection with members of the jury.  Javi is unimpressed.

“Seen enough lawyers to know it’s all a show,” he scoffs.  Eddie shrugs.  Javi would be in for a real surprise when he finally gets the chance to meet you.

Later that evening, after filling out dozens of forms and answering questions, Javier finds himself at a local tavern, The Dark Horseman, a few minutes from his apartment.  The inside lives up to the name—dark and hazy, filled with lots of dark-stained wooden walls, tables, and chairs, with random horse paraphernalia lining the walls.

He’s the only one sitting at the bar, slowly sipping a glass of some cheap whiskey the bartender poured.  There’s an old, old jukebox adjacent to the bar blaring some sad Hank Williams ballad.  Some people are playing pool at the other end, filling the space with the smacks of billiard balls and random cheers.

The bartender steps in front of Javier, nodding at his soon-to-be empty glass.  Javi shakes his head.

“I’m good after this.”  The bartender nods again and steps away to wipe down some tables.  Javi sets the glass down and pinches the bridge of his nose, craving a cigarette.  He’d been trying to quit—but the move and the stress of a new job he knew nothing about had forced him to capitulate in the last few days.  He stands, letting the bartender know he’s going for a smoke.  As he goes to push the bar door open, someone pulls it from the other side.

There you stand, frozen in place as Javier almost slams into you.  Still holding the door, you step back a bit so he can leave.  He stares at you for a moment, entranced.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” you apologize, small smile on your face.  Javi’s eyes drop to your lips momentarily before hovering at your eyes.

“Not a problem, s’my bad.  Excuse me,” he says, mirroring your smile.  You’re taken aback at how handsome this stranger is—but you really need a drink after today.  He steps out, pulling the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and smacking them against his hand as he watches you walk inside.

You’re tall, probably as tall as him, confident, and elegant, though you’re wearing ratty jeans and a tee shirt.  Your eyes are what captivated him the most—beautiful, emotive, weary, yet still glowing.  And your scent was unlike any he’d smelled before—earthy, musky, and slightly spicy.  He shakes his head as he lights a cigarette, taking a long draw and leaning up against the wall of the tavern.

He doesn’t need to fuck a random stranger his first big day here.  What he needs is some food, a shower, perhaps another cigarette, and a long night of tossing and turning.  He finishes the cigarette and returns to the brooding bar, noticing you sitting a few chairs down from his glass of whiskey and his tab that the bartender slapped on the wood while he was smoking.

“Come here often?” he asks, almost involuntarily.  He winces at how corny he sounds, and you probably think he’s hitting on you.  He’s not trying to pick you up, but he is curious.  You turn to him as you finish a sip of some amber liquid—whiskey, maybe?

“I try not to, unless I’ve had a bad day,” you say, smiling at him as you set your glass down.  Fuck, you’re beautiful.  His breath stalls in his lungs for a moment.

“So, if I see you in here again, it won’t be for a good reason,” he says, fighting the urge to wink at you as he signs his tab.  He settles for a half smile, one side of his mustache twitching up.

You laugh and half-shrug.  He likes the sound of it—breathy, melodious, somewhat subdued.  You must be tired.

“There’s a good chance of that, though you look like you’re here for the same reason,” you say, studying him as he turns to you, stuffing his wallet in the pocket of his tan slacks.  He snorts.

“Something like that,” he says, eyeing you.  You turn to take another sip, and he takes the opportunity to study your features again.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Stranger That Also Had a Bad Day,” you tell him, pulling a chortle from him.  You’re witty—he likes that.  He better leave before he sits in the chair next to you.

“Same to you.  See you around?” he says, raising a brow at you.

“Good chance of that, too,” you say, giving him a close-lipped smile.  He nods at you and exits the bar.  He sure hopes so.

Spanish glossary:

Mijo, puedo hacerlo.  No necesito ayuda. = My son, I can do it.  I don’t need help.

Tómate un descanso, Javier.  Por favor. = Take a break, Javier.  Please.

Gracias, Mamá.  Se parece muy bien. = Thank you, Mom.  It looks great.

¡Pendejos estúpidos, déjame sola! = Stupid assholes, leave me alone!

Mijo, algún hombre te llamó.  No dio un nombre, solamente un número.  Está aquí. = My son, some man called for you.  He didn’t give a name, just a number.  It’s here.

Gracias, Mamá.  Perdóname, por favor. = Thanks, Mom.  Excuse me a minute, please.

Chapter 2 (coming soon-ETA 05/23/24)

Taglist: @burntheedges

[vandaliatraveler]

Hazy mid-summer day on the Sods, Part 2.

The planet's fantastic life energy reaches its peak in mid to late summer as the sun's precious light shrinks by the day and every living thing senses its time is running out. On the Plains of Dolly Sods, where the growing season is already compressed by the high elevation, plants compete for the swirling, buzzing masses of insects with their gaudy blooms and produce successive waves of berries to seed new generations. The drone of the insects carrying out their instinctive missions of renewal is constantly in your head as they dive and dart and skirt around you. You barely register as a distraction against the great drama playing out here - one whose stakes are survival, regeneration, salvation. I feel so privileged to have connected with this life force in the most intimate way, even for the few short years of my mayfly existence. I will die a happy man for having immersed myself in its lovely, purposeful chaos and becoming part of something much greater than myself.

[neige-leblanche]

planted corn!!

i havent gardened since i was a child so i'm very excited to see how this goes. i was disappointed to find out how bad the soil had become since then (some gravel had been put down and then reclaimed so i don't know how low the roots will be able to comfortably grow :'( it was worst in the front though so i'm gonna choose to have faith in the back two quarters ✊😔)

i assumed i wouldn't have enough garden soil to make the mounds so i actually ended up reusing some of the sod i had cleared to make the plot; i have heard of green manure and hope that this will have a similar effect without giving me a crazy amount of weeding work! i was actually more confident trying this than i normally would be because it's going to rain this evening; it actually began to rain just as i was burying the corn!!

my main worry right now is that the mounds stay intact through the rain; i also read online that june is too late to start corn though the seed packet said it was the right time for the area i live :0 i also bought some sunflower seeds that i realized too late actually take even longer to grow, so i think i might go and put a few in tomorrow; i was considering planting them in the corners between the plots (again. terrible soil so i don't have high hopes T_T)

i bought some natural animal repellent that i plan to use after the corn sprouts, and i think i might buy some more garden soil & my own watering can too, especially if i go through with planting the sunflowers!

[fancifulflora]

(SFW) Azad deserves a break and happiness so can I request a drabble where Azad's been having a hard day and gets a lot kisses as he cuddles with the Crown?

Terribly sorry that this took forever and a half- I literally spent a good few days trying to come up with ideas for this prompt that didn't feel too close to other things I've written. It may be a tad short since I'm still very much out of practice and am currently busy sacrificing my life to Baldur's Gate 3 lol

One would think that a childhood spent around the upper echelon of Arsurian nobility and the best tutors Arsur had to offer would have made dealing with the pests buzzing around the Crown easier for Azad.

The only thing it did manage, it seemed, was make the tired Captain all the more aware of the little plots and schemes being seeded around him. Not that he'd do much about it mind you, those matters were probably best left to the General or Sorcerer.

Still, it wouldn't hurt for some of these nobles to at least try a little harder. Even a child would be able to see through their thinly veiled promises and idle threats.

The sounds of nervous shuffling brought his attention back to one of the more persistent officials. Some lackey that was sent here to pressure the Crown no doubt. A gangly, unfortunate-looking one at that. Why were they still here?

"Were my words not clear enough?" Azad tilted his head a little as he studied the shorter figure before him, his glare making the poor official shrink back as if the look alone had struck them. "The Crown is currently preoccupied with important matters."

A complete and utter lie, but a believable one.

"Well, yes, I-I understand," The official stammered, fiddling with their hands as they frantically jerked their head left and right, searching along the empty corridors of the palace. Unfortunately for them, there'd be no one else to lend them aid at this time of night. "It's simply that the Mîrs were very insistent that-"

"They can and will wait till morning. Unless the situation is dire, I suggest you heed my previous warnings." Azad corrected his head, glowering down at the official who was quickly developing an interest in his khopesh, the metal shining under torchlight. "I will not repeat myself again, nor will I allow you to disturb the Crown's peace. Now go."

Though there was really no need to, Azad made the subtle movement of resting his palm against the hilt of his blade, finding a great deal of amusement as the official swallowed.

Without a moment of hesitation and with a flurry of apologies and deep bows, the poor sod dismissed themself. And once more, the hall was refilled with a blissful, beautiful silence. "... Are they gone?" A muffled voice called from behind him after a few minutes had passed. His Crown's voice.

"For now, yes," He nodded at an invisible guardsman, moving to enter the room just as said guard smoothly took his place outside the Crown's chambers.

"Thank goodness," The weary voice of the Crown breathed, paired with equally weary golden eyes. Azad couldn't exactly blame them either, anyone in their position would have been worn down by back-to-back meetings and a lengthy court session that, truth be told, went absolutely nowhere. Still, they managed a smile upon his entry. "I knew I could count on you to save the day."

"As much as I appreciate your thanks, it may be a little premature," Azad grinned, his posture relaxing now that he was off duty or as off duty as a Royal Protector could be at this time in the evening. "I've only postponed the inevitable. You'll have to deal with that mess in the morning."

A long groan came from his Crown, the ruler of Arsur springing up from their desk... only to wander a few steps and fall rather unceremoniously on their bed. "I need no reminders, thank you very much."

Azad stretched a little, feeling the slight pop of his joints that accompanied the familiar ache in his body from being so active for the past few days. The poor protector was so busy in fact, that the last time he could even remember being able to wind down like this with his Crown was...was...

Damn, that long, huh? He couldn't recall the last time they were together like this- being able to have each other all to themselves. The two still regularly trained together, but this was a different matter entirely.

"Have you eaten anything yet?" He then asked, clearing his mind and taking a seat beside his Crown who was now laid out on their side, facing him with a small frown on their face.

"I think I should be the one asking you that Azad," Their eyes studied him, the Royal Protector raising a small eyebrow under their scrutiny though he kept any retorts to himself. "You look... awful."

Surely he didn't look that bad, did he?

With a small laugh, he leaned against the back of the chair, glaring a little at his lover though his hazel eyes lacked any real fire. "You've got little room to speak yourself."

The Crown gave a small mock gasp, their body seeming to reenergize from the banter alone. "Excuse you, I thought I looked rather nice today!"

"Three meetings ago perhaps."

"Hmm... You didn't deny that I look nice though," With little effort, the Crown rolled on their stomach, elbows propping their body up while their chin nestled itself in the cradle of their hands.

Azad rolled his eyes at that one, the faintest warmth beginning to wash over his cheeks. "You're even worse than the Pale Sword somehow. Congratulations, it's no easy feat." Moving to stand and eager to change subjects, he gave his Crown a rather pointed look indicating that he was quite aware of their attempt to dodge his initial question. "Wait here, I'll go-"

"Oh no," Though still remaining playful, there was an intensity behind the Crown's words that did manage to make him pause for a moment, the ruler moving to get off their bed to push Azad back down into his seat with a gentle hand. "Stay right there. Get yourself comfortable while I go find someone to make a run to the kitchens."

The Crown didn't even wait for his answer, giving him the briefest of kisses before hurrying to the door to catch the attention of some passing servant.

Azad, knowing when to pick his battles and still worn from days of work, simply relented and carefully undid the fastenings on his weapons; getting up to leave them on the bedside table.

There were words traded between his Crown and a servant, the Captain pushing what he could hear to the back of his mind as he undid the clasps on his silver armor with practiced ease.

By the time the door shut once more, he had finished placing the last of his gear by the bed, Azad glancing over his shoulder at the Crown.

"It might take a while but I did request a small cup of mint tea for you."

"With honey?"

"Naturally," There with a hint of smugness to the words, the Crown getting comfortable once more with their back pressed against the plush pillows of their bed, only this time, beckoning Azad to join them.

The ruler of Arsur tried and failed to hide their smile when seeing their Royal Protector getting on the bed and settling by their side, his head pressed to their chest, drinking in the steady beat of his beloved's heart.

"That was easier than expected. Do you plan on saving the protests for later?"

Now it was Azad's turn to groan a little, closing his eyes to give them some much-needed rest. "Only because I'm far too worn out to argue against your wishes."

"You poor thing." The sarcasm was dripping as he felt light kisses press themselves against his cheeks and the corner of his lips. "Perhaps you want to trade with me? I could send you to tomorrow's court session in my stead, surely."

The mere thought alone could give him a headache, the Captain shaking his head. With his eyes still shut, he returned the kiss in kind. "Enticing as that idea sounds, I think the Mîrs are best left to you."

"Ughh."

"I'll be just beyond the doors if that is any consolation."

That got a laugh out of his Crown, Azad's smile pressing up against where he'd approximated the Crown's forehead would be. Another kiss traded between the two.

"Any chance I could convince you to stand guard, by my side, this time?"

Another kiss, this time from his partner, soft lips heating the edge of his jaw.

Ah.

The Captain opened his eyes with a slow blink and studied the grin plastered across his star's expression.

So that was how they were going to play it, bribery.

"Perhaps." Azad kept his voice light, resisting the urge to smile as another kiss was planted on him, this time on his brow.

"And now?"

"Still unconvinced." His voice was a soft velvet now, an observant gaze picking up the slightest shiver running down his Crown's spine.

Cute.

Another kiss was gifted to him, this time directly on his lips. His arms made their move, wrapping around the Crown. With the softest noise escaping his lover's lips, he pulled them into an embrace. The two practically melted together, a kiss the Crown had most certainly meant to be chaste and quick now slowing as the two got lost within one another.

Spirits, he truly did miss this, didn't he?

Somewhere along the sixteenth or so kiss was when Azad finally lost count, or rather, when he simply stopped bothering altogether. Time itself seemed beyond his comprehension as the Captain thoroughly savored each little reaction he could get out of his Crown. Not that he minded, of course, Azad being the type to take his time with his love.

He eventually pulled away for air, forehead pressed against his Crown's as the two recovered from their entanglement.

"Well? Have I successfully persuaded you?" The Crown's voice was lighter now, breathless, and a touch sultry, the glimmer of gold in their eyes swallowed by the darkness of their pupils.

Azad paused a moment to consider the question, weighing the bliss given to him by his love's presence with the hours of senseless prattling he'd have to endure.

"Perhaps. Though I might be able to give you a solid answer... after we eat."

The look of confusion on the Crown's face was priceless, the tender moment between them was cut off by a knock at the door. Azad seized the chance to get off the Crown and straighten himself out, though he did clock the look shot at him by his charge.

With a small turn away from his Crown who was undoubtedly disappointed by the interruption, Azad turned to answer the door feeling lighter than ever.

[syngoniums]

Seep muhly (Muhlenbergia reverchonii). Like its larger and more widely cultivated relative Gulf muhly, this is a bunchgrass, meaning they form discrete clumps rather than spreading out via rhizomes or stolons like a sod grass. These are just breaking domancy, allowing a clear view of the wiry, curly, dead blades retained at the base, forming dense mounds. These help trap seeds that might otherwise continue to wash or blow downhill. While the clumps themselves are too tightly packed for anything to grow through, you will often find other plants on their immediate perimeter.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Y'all know it's bad when I'm writing poetry on my own free will. Just here to shout into the abyss- Thanks for letting me talk my shit, it's not much, but maybe it'll help a little. if you're feeling at all like me, just know you're not alone 💛

I Wanted to Grow: an ode to the current state of the world (aka, I'm crashing out)

Long ago, they planted me

Deep under the soil of the Earth.  

I was buried with a promise,

That one day, I would sprout from the soil, 

Roots tangled and firm in the lush and fertile sod

My leaves rich and green, 

Bearing the same bountiful fruit of the fields that flourished above me. 

They promised me, 

That seed, 

when they tucked me into the ground, 

The earth would shed its care upon where I rested. 

That I would be blessed with sun and rain, 

Tended to and nourished by Mother Nature, 

So when I emerged, 

I would greet the plants that had come before me, 

Ready to provide as they had- 

To let the world reap what I had grown, 

As a thanks for their patience as I was given the chance to blossom.  

“Because”,

They told me, 

“What good are you to this Earth, 

If we plant you, 

and you have nothing to give in return?” 

And so, 

I waited. 

I waited for the rain and the sun that they had promised me. 

I waited to my roots to sprout, to become one with the dirt and soil, 

I waited for my stem to raise, 

I waited for my leaves to blossom, 

I waited for my fruit to flower. 

And yet, 

I did not grow. 

Because,

 What they had not told me, 

As they banished me to the dark and lonely hole

I had been planted in so long ago, 

Was that those things would never come. 

There would be no water, 

There would be no light. 

The ground in which they buried me 

Was never made for me to grow. 

Still, 

Day after day, 

Month after month, 

Year after year, 

They asked me, 

“Why do you still have nothing to show? 

How is it that you have not risen from the plot of precious land we have picked just for you? 

What good are you to this Earth, 

If we plant you, 

and you have nothing to give in return?” 

At first I thought,

It surely had to be my fault, 

That I could not feed the hungry who sat stagnant, 

Waiting for me to nourish them with my hard work and labor, 

With every day that I did not grow. 

But as time began to pass, 

I watched the roots of the once healthy plants, 

The plants I so desperately yearned to be, 

Begin to rot and die.

Their lifelines to the earth, 

Once thick and strong, 

Turned frail and weak. 

Their leaves began to wilt, 

Their stems began to shrink. 

Even the plants, 

The ones I was told mirror, 

To follow in their path

As they fed the many with their bounty, 

Could no longer fulfill their duty, either. 

The promises the plants were made, 

Were nothing but empty words,

Sweet enough to keep hope alive, 

Until they had been stripped of everything they had left to give, 

Letting their dreams die with them in the dirt. 

It was then I finally realized, 

I was not to blame. 

It was then I realized, 

A life above the soil, 

Where I stretched my limbs to the warmth of the sun, 

Or hung colorful, lush fruit from my branches, 

Ready to bear for those who had promised me, 

“Good things come to those who grow”, 

Would be a life I’d never live. 

I was given a promise by those  

Who have already raped the land

And stripped the earth

Of every beautiful thing she had left to offer, 

Leaving her naked and exposed,

And yet,

Were still cruel enough

To ask that I,

I, 

Be the one 

To bear the burden 

Of the promises 

They knew they could not keep. 

And now, 

As I sit in the dirt, 

With no choice left 

But to become one with the world 

That has forsaken me, 

I wonder, 

How many seeds sit buried underneath the earth, 

All alone like me, 

Still waiting 

And hoping

for their chance to finally grow. 

[jpdoingwords]

June 1929: Charlie

@ainulindaelynn speaking of talking to authors and getting offered things that others haven't seen... I don't know if this will ever see the light of day, so thought you might like to read it as the kind of tying off of certain elements of Stories from Wiacubbin 🤍

It was early in the morning late in June. The days were short and cold, and Charlie walked quietly to warm himself.

He paced along the back of the stables where he’d slept the night before, on some unnamed farm north of Dowerin.

At least there are hills here, he thought, looking around with sad eyes. It has little else going for it.

He’d worked his way west from Wiacubbin, taking whatever land clearing jobs he could pick up from farmers and road boards.

It was a sod of a job—hard, back-breaking labour—but he couldn’t bring himself to go back to working as a farmhand, and even less to go north again.

The memories of Wiacubbin and the mess he’d made there served as an unwelcome anchor which he had yet to successfully shift.

Anyway. He’d wanted to slog his guts out until he fell into a dead sleep at the end of each day. Then there were no dreams, no lying awake thinking, thinking, thinking; no remembering sweet words from lips he’d never see again and songs which could no longer reach him.

By May, he’d worked something momentous out of his system, and begun to ease up on himself. He’d even begun to consider where he might go next, what he might do.

He couldn’t go back, but he didn’t want to stay out here, on the frontier of colonisation; out here in the landscape which only reminded him of what he’d lost. An alien place, where the earth was red and the trees were spindle-sticks and the sky filled three-quarters of the world.

‘You there, Charlie?’ The voice belonged to Robert Lewes, the farm owner.

Charlie turned, and raised his eyebrows in enquiry as Robert came around the corner of the stables. Charlie noted he was fingering an envelope, lips pursed.

He said, ‘You still determined to go on today?’

Charlie nodded once. ‘I’ve places to be.’ It was a lie, but Robert didn’t know that.

‘A shame. I’ve plenty more work. If you come back this way…’ He handed him the envelope, and left the offer hanging.

Charlie nodded, saying flatly, ‘I don’t mean to come back this way.’

‘You’ll go to the city?’

He only shrugged, then held out a hand. Robert took it, and they shook.

Charlie rode into the hangdog town of Dowerin at midday. It was like every other town out that way—a few streets, with the usual collection of pub, general store and post office; admittedly, there was more there by way of speciality stores and the comparatively grand railways station though. For many years, this had been the only railways siding to service the dispersed settlements throughout the eastern wheatbelt. The hotel was consequently substantially larger.

He hitched his horse outside, and went in.

A group of young men, perhaps in their early twenties, were gathered together at the bar. They turned to look at Charlie as he entered, but he pointedly ignored them.

The barman took Charlie’s order and he gratefully took the ale when he returned with it.

‘You finished up at at Lewes’?’ the barman asked.

‘Yeah,’ Charlie said.

‘Where to next?’

He shrugged as he’d done when Robert asked. As he did to himself any time he asked himself that question.

‘Hard times to be looking for work closer to the city.’

‘I know a man at Gin-Gin,’ he said. ‘I worked for him before. Thought I’d try him.’

He nodded, though he observed quietly, ‘Seeding will see some need, but with the city boys being sent out here…’ He trailed off. Everyone knew times were hard.

‘I have experience. ‘That’ll help.’

The bartender said no more, moving along to serve the group of young men. Charlie’s attention came to rest on them for a moment, assessing them.

The nearest caught him looking and nodded. He nodded back, sorry to have been caught looking.

The young man came down the bar. He didn’t introduce himself, just leapt in with, ‘You a local?’

Charlie shook his head, doing what he’d once heard called his vinegar face.

He hoped it would drive this man away. It didn’t.

‘Me neither. I’m Luke,’ he said settling on the stool next to him. ‘Sent out by the government last year. Shameful circumstances.’

Charlie didn’t bother to return the favour of giving a name. He said nothing at all, only looked into his beer, willing him away.

‘The government is for the people, isn’t it? Yet they refuse to help us except by driving us out of our homes.’ He paused, looking to Charlie with brows raised, waiting for input; when he got none, he continued, ‘We pay taxes enough when we had jobs. Those taxes should be used to support us in our time of need, now.’

‘Mate,’ Charlie said, wincing. ‘Don’t mistake my silence for agreement. Every man should work if he can. If you choose to remain in the city and not work, then that’s on you. Why should the government pay you a dole to do nothing? You think your taxes just sit in a bank somewhere, for the government to play with? They pay for the roads, for the power – shit, they even pay for your fancy city trams and buses. The least you can do is work when there’s work available.’

Luke stared at him aghast, then his face darkened.

‘But there isn’t work available, not in the city.’

‘The city, the city,’ Charlie muttered. ‘Are you too good to do manual labour, is that what you’re sayin’? Afraid of getting blisters on your pretty hands? Afraid of a little sunburn?’

The man stood then, in a huff, Charlie thought – just as he’d intended.

‘A little compassion would go a long way, you son of a bitch.’

Charlie say back, scoffing. ‘Compassion for what? For you having to use the body God gave you to work? Boo-fuckin’-hoo.’ He’d finished his beer, and put the empty glass on the bar, knocking the bar twice for luck.

The barman, who’d been listening in, nodded goodbye and Charlie stood to leave.

Luke wasn’t ready to let it drop. He shoved Charlie from behind as he walked towards the door. Luckily, he caught himself on the doorframe, or he’d have tumbled down a couple of stairs onto the pavement below and broken bones.

He turned angrily, and shoved him back; and then fists were thrown.

He woke up a little later, in a bed upstairs in the hotel.

The last thing he remembered was copping a boot to the face from one of the other men who’d been with Luke.

He felt his nose – not broken at least, but crusted with dried blood. A black eye too, he judged, soon to be swollen shut.

Arseholes. He winced at the pain in his head as he sat up.

He stood unsteadily for a moment, an ache in his leg – another kick, he supposed, had given him a corked muscle; but fortunately, that seemed to be the extent of the damage.

He looked out the window at the late afternoon, the sun tending towards sunset.

‘Guess I’m staying the night,’ he muttered.

He went downstairs, seeking the landlord.

The group of men had gone – kicked out, Charlie supposed.

‘What do I owe you for the room for the night?’ he asked without preamble.

The barman told him, and he took a few coins from his pocket, dropping them on the bar.

‘You could just have asked him to leave you alone, you know.’

He raised an eyebrow, which hurt, so he stopped. ‘And he could’ve picked up on my disinterest in his opinions.’

The barman shook his head, but only said, ‘I’ve had your horse taken out back to the stable.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I’ve seen men like you come through that door a hundred times, you know. Abrasive. Never bending in a conversation. It’ll get you in trouble one day.’

‘A little late on the warning, don’t you think?’ he said wryly.

The barman smiled. ‘More than a little kick in the head, I mean.’

He shrugged. ‘Well.’ Then he turned away, going to fetch his saddlebags.

When he came back inside, he was startled by someone saying, ‘Charlie White? Is that you?’

How he fervently wished he wasn’t; but he turned, and couldn’t help but smile at a familiar and friendly face from Wiacubbin.

‘Ed. What brings you here?’

They shook hands as Ed said, ‘I brought some rams for the sale tomorrow. What are you doing here? You look like you’ve been in a fight.’

Seeing his face, hearing his voice, made it feel like the five months and more since he’d left Young’s Farm had melted away into nothing. He was back at the scrubbed table with the lead farmhand talking about farm matter, while Rebekah… well.

He couldn’t bring himself to think about that yet.

He smiled wryly, touching his swollen eye, but he didn’t remark on it. Instead, he explained, ‘Just finished a contract north of here. On my way to Gin-Gin again.’ He said it with much more certainty than he felt.

Ed nodded, and pointed at the saddlebags. ‘You’re here for the night?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Let’s go down to the eatery together then. I’m starving.’

‘Alright. Let me put these upstairs and tidy up.’

The eatery was a typically miserable affair. Some attempt had been made to make the place feel homely, but the curtains were drab and the tables were old with an ingrained greasiness about them. It wasn’t the worst place he’d ever eaten, but it was close.

They sat opposite one another, each ordering a plate of the special – a stew which came with one potato disconsolately floating in an awful lot of stock. The lemonade was good though.

‘You’re lucky you caught me,’ Charlie said. ‘I would’ve left already if I hadn’t upset some shithead from the city.’

Ed smiled but he shook his head at the same time. ‘The whole state is flooded with ‘em,’ he said. ‘We’ve had a half a dozen turn up asking for work. You know Frank – he ran them off again, saying he wanted experience, not desperation.’

Charlie felt his jaw tighten, but he said nothing about that.

‘Missus Young died during the summer,’ Ed went on quietly, looking out the window. ‘Everything has changed since. He married again during autumn, and brought the new missus home to the farm. She isn’t at all what you’d expect. Quite young. Talkative.’ He paused, considering whether he should say anything. ‘I suppose you want to know about...’

Charlie raised an instinctive hand, cutting him short. He looked at him, grimacing, torn by an equal desire to say yes and no. It would be better if he didn’t, but… he nodded.

‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you; she’s to be married. Did you ever meet Angus Doak?’

He shook his head, feeling sick. So soon… so soon; while he’d been tormented by imaginings of how she must be suffering!

What a fool he was. He flared his nostrils.

‘No, but I knew of him by repute. He’s a good man. He’ll be a good husband.’

He sounded bitter. By God, he felt bitter.

Ed just looked at him apologetically, and went back to eating.

It was a while before Charlie could bring himself to say, ‘I suppose Frank readily gave consent.’ He felt as though he had ashes in his mouth.

Ed studied his face as he said, ‘Not so easy. I don’t think any man was going to find a ready welcome there.’

Charlie sat back in his chair, a heavy feeling had settled in his chest. He sighed deeply, trying to shake it. He was upset, that was the truth, but he tried to rationalise.

Nothing had changed for the worse. If anything, it was easier now because she was gone, and forever. It freed him in some way – from feeling guilty; from the worry that she was unhappy; from the thought that, if he’d just stayed a little while longer, she might’ve changed her mind. The truth was she hadn’t loved him after all – Despite the ways she’d showed him that she did, and for all that she’d told him.

He sighed again, letting as much of it go as he could.

‘How’s your missus?’ he asked Ed.

He looked relieved to move onto other topics - and so was Charlie.

[grey-sides]

bentgrass

~2K, explicit, bottom!Steve

Billy's finished his shift, as luck would have it- Steve Harrington is at the tiki bar.

Billy's cut-off jeans and sweaty t-shirt might not exactly be course approved, but he shows up to work on time and doesn't fuck up the greens so the super lets him get away with it. He smirks as a couple rich ladies look his way and flush under their fake tans. He doesn't give a shit that they're looking at him though, his hair pulled back from his face by an old ass baseball cap.

He does flick his sunglasses down and flips his toothpick around because it makes them look away. They titter amongst themselves, while he tracks sod and sand through the pool area. The lifeguard is gonna give him shit tomorrow, but he still doesn't give a shit.

On the other side of the pool, sitting at the outdoor bar there's someone he's after. His shift is long over and Billy could head home, but that would involve passing this opportunity up.

There's a couple of players here, some of the first to tee off before Billy had even finished the back nine. He gets it, warm day in May, better to take the day off from the office and crack out a round.

He licks the sweat from his upper lip and pulls a rag out of his back pocket, dragging it across his face. It probably only dirties him more, judging by the looks a couple more rich ladies give him. They're probably homemakers, here for the pool and the tennis courts. They probably only pick up a set of clubs when their husbands need a foursome.

He tucks the rag away and skirts around the edge of the pool. It would be nice to take a dip, but he's a man on a mission. So he nods to the kid working the snack stand and heads over the bank to the lower tiki bar.

There's some vague island mix playing, more than a few businessmen who decided to have a long weekend lingering around it. Tables off to the side, overlooking the eighth hole.

And there he is- bored probably. Baby blue polo, khaki shorts, golf cleats changed out for loafers. His hair is a mess, probably run through a hundred times to kill the hat hair look. He has a cocktail in a plastic cup beside him, ice half melted and almost completely drunk.

Billy's not a fool, he didn't come here just for him, but damn he looks good bored like this. There's some old guy talking to him, probably someone from work. Steve's dad pays their membership and Steve likes to play whenever he has the chance to. Billy knows he's been here since early in the morning, before Billy had even finished the back nine because the pro shop told him.

No one here knows why Billy gives a shit that Steve is here, just that he does. So they always tell him. And Billy makes sure to get as good and fucking dirty as he possibly can.

"Harrington, heard you fucked up my second hole," he says, turning the heads of the businessmen. They're probably rich enough to buy Billy, but this is his turf. He's seeded it, treated it, evened it with precision. And Steve is the boss's son. So they turn away.

Steve shakes his head and picks up his cocktail as he gets up from his seat. "You didn't cut it straight."

"Not a chance, I spent hours perfecting that one," Billy replies, dangerous. He knows Steve put the divot back, but it's an in.

"How much do I owe you for seed then?" Steve replies, raising his brows. He pulls his nice leather wallet out and flicks it open.

Billy shakes his head and holds his hand up. "A drink'll do. No employee discount."

Steve snorts but he waves goodbye to his posse. They all nod back like they give a shit that he's leaving and tosses his cup into the nearest trashcan. He tucks his hands in his pockets as they head back up towards the pool.

"Nah, it was good today. I was only five short."

Billy looks surprised when he glances at Steve. "Really? Damn, you're getting good, Harrington!"

"Helps that I come here so damn often," Steve chuckles. He shakes his head and opens the gate that leads back to the hotel, holding it open for Billy. "You been here all day?"

"Course I have, grass doesn't mow itself," Billy scoffs.

Steve chuckles and looks over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching them when he turns to Billy. "You look like you've been. What did you do? Roll around in the sand trap?"

Billy shoves him and grabs for his wallet so he can pull out Steve's room card. "You're a fucking asshole. You're the one who likes this."

"And yet you keep doing it!" Steve laughs. He opens the door to the hotel and heads straight for the winding staircase. He has a permanent room here as part of the membership fee his dad pays. It always comes in handy, even though none of this is a secret anymore.

Steve grins at him when he slides the card against the handle, Billy takes the opportunity to crowd him up against the door. They're laughing as they stumble in together, cheeks flushed with delight.

"Mm, didn't think I'd get to see you today," Steve croons when he backs up, sliding his arms around Billy's shoulders. The door shuts behind them and all that's left is the whirr of the A/C.

"Nah, can't leave you high and dry after that good of a game," Billy replies. He slides his hands low, grabbing Steve's ass as he leans in to kiss him.

Steve tastes like whiskey when he slides his tongue into Billy's mouth, the expensive kind. He moans softly as Billy pushes him back towards the bed. It's fresh, far too clean for Billy to get into. He'll have to thank Gloria extra in the morning.

Steve falls back and pops the button on his shorts so they can be slid down past his ass. He huffs a laugh as Billy's t-shirt follows them and slides his hands up Billy's stomach and chest.

"Look at this man," Steve laughs, tugging on Billy's chest hair.

Billy dives his hands under Steve's shirt too to tug on his chest hair, laughing. "You're one to talk!"

It's easy, it's fun. It's so much different from how it used to be and Billy can't believe they found it on a golf course of all fucking places.

Billy works to get them both nude and reaches over for the bedside table where Steve has already set out lube and condoms. He stops to kiss Steve again on his way back, sliding his hands all over his body.

Steve hums into the kiss, smiling, giddy. They do this semi-frequently and go on real dates too, but sometimes it's just like the first time.

Billy does get off the bed after a moment to wash his hands, no matter how dirty Steve likes him, he's not giving him a fucking infection from shit like that.

"Billy!" Steve calls and Billy can hear the crack of the lube bottle from the bathroom.

"I'm cleaning up for you, princess! Giving you a nice man you can take home to Mom!"

"Don't make me think of my mom when I'm fingering myself, asshole!"

Billy laughs and dries his hands off. He wiggles his fingers when he walks back out, grinning at Steve. "Seems like you're still doing just fine to me."

Steve rolls his eyes, though they end up fluttering when he hits himself just right. He's three fingers deep, doing it just because he can and Billy loves to watch.

He busies himself with lubing up and rolling the condom on. He's heated, warm from the day and made warmer by watching Steve. He shivers a little and leans down to kiss Steve while he sees how far he can push himself.

"My turn," Billy breathes, steadying his hand so he can pull it out of Steve. He brushes their noses together and sighs softly.

Billy pins Steve's wrist above his head and uses his other hand to help him get into a good position. Face to face, but it's fine because Billy can kiss him this way.

"So fucking hot, even in your dumb little shorts," he murmurs. He lines himself up, lets Steve take his dick to guide him in.

"It's your fucking course's oh fuck rules!" Steve protests while Billy pushes himself in. He loves to watch Steve's mouth open and close a couple of times while he tries to center himself.

"No more work talk," Billy says and his voice is only a little strangled. Mostly. He bottoms out and leans over Steve to kiss him silly again.

Steve lifts his leg so he can hold Billy in place and stares back at him when they break apart. Then it's the push and pull. Billy moves at a somewhat slow pace, but hard like Steve likes it.

Steve does his best to move with him, though it can get a little awkward. He licks his lips and opens his mouth, panting out moans with each thrust.

"So fucking good," Billy praises, his hair hanging down around his cheeks.

"Yeah- right there," Steve begs. He arches his throat back and it's Billy's cue to lean in, to nip at the skin above his Adam's apple. He likes to leave it a little red, a little sore so Steve will fidget about it later and whine. Billy loves to listen to him whine.

Steve's other hand wiggles between their stomachs and he starts to stroke himself too. He almost always takes a little longer than Billy, which Billy absolutely does not mind.

"Shit," Billy breathes. His pace picks up a little while he chases that feeling. His balls keep slapping Steve's ass, but he swears they're tightening up against him. His eyes flutter shut and he moans, bending over Steve some more.

"That's it," Steve coaxes, voice wrecked. "Come on, give it to me."

Billy huffs through his lips, tightens his hold on Steve's wrist. He gets a little frantic, a little sloppy and then-

"Oh fuck, Steve," he grunts, fucking his hips hard as he cums. Right up to the point it becomes too much.

Steve laughs when Billy pulls out, half delirious as his hips come off the bed. His hand moves faster and Billy watches as he squirms until he cums too. He makes a mess across his chest and hand, but he smiles lazily when he catches Billy's eyes.

"Good?" Steve asks, reaching for a tissue to wipe his hand off.

Billy nods lazily, eyes slipping closed for a moment. It's been a long fucking day.

"Good." Steve rolls onto his side and leans up to kiss Billy's jaw. He needs a shave and something for dinner soon.

"I wanna take a shower and then we can order room service?"

"Can I have the fluffy towel?" Billy asks, yawning around the words.

Steve laughs as he sits up and pats Billy's chest. "Anything for you, tiger."

Billy listens to the bathtub start to run and forces himself to sit up. He hums as he makes his way to the bathroom, slapping Steve's skinny white ass when he passes him. He holds up the condom and drops it into the trashcan.

"Oh and by the way-?" Billy begins.

"Hm?" Steve asks, bent over to make sure the water is nice and warm for them.

"Seed's free of charge."

"Billy!" Steve whines, but he's laughing when he kisses Billy again.