#WHY IS XAVIER DRESSED FROM HEAD TO TOE

[mamoritxi]

[gay-dorito-dust]

Wednesday Addams, with a Male!Reader that is like Goro Majima

Just wanna know how much of pure wackiness it can get at Nevermore especially with our main characters bc of Y/N.

I’m doing this in a headcannon format cuz I’ve got some ideas on the chaos Majima!Reader would get into. Most of these are pranks but some (like maybe 2/3) are references to the shit he’s done in the games. (1. dressed up as a girl. 2.hide in a trash can for Kiriyu and 3. driving a vehicle into a building.)

Also warning: quite fucking long cuz I went away with the fairies a little bit.

I feel like when you first met Wednesday you were laying down in a makeshift grave you’ve dug yourself on school grounds. Why? It doesn’t really matter as for the reasoning behind the action since you did things purely by impulse. many people have decided to give up in trying to figure you out because your personality often changed on a dime; making you quite the dangerous enigma.

Also some rules were set in place because of you. What an icon. We love to see it.

“What is your purpose?”

“I dunno.” You shrug, beaming up at her with a crazed grin.

“Seems like a waste of a grave.” She said, watching as you dug yourself out with a grunt, uncaring of the dirt that clung to your clothes nor how it got under your nails from your climb out. She the noticed you kneeling down next to the grave and pulling out your signature metal bat. Her dark eyes brightened with intrigue.

“Were you planning on burying someone alive?” Wednesday questions with slight interest. You shrug again before looking down at the grave that you suddenly grown bored of and sighed, hauling your bat so that it rested against your shoulder as you walked off. “It’s all yours, I’ve grown bored and besides Weems says I should reconsider the type of pranks I pull but,” you turned to look at Wednesday over your shoulder, “where’s the fun in that.” You flashed another crazed grin before walking off to who knows where, “See ya new kid.”

“It’s Wednesday-.” She goes to tell you but you seemed to have disappeared without much of a trace. Xavier, who was passing by, notes her confusion and the empty 6ft plot of dug up soil next to her and immediately knew you were behind such an expression.

“You met y/n. Didn’t you?” He asked her.

“Is that his name, he’s quite the character.” Wednesday mused, your unpredictable nature and aloof personality made you stand out even in a school for outcasts. Your mental state must be quite the minefield for Kinbott to navigate if digging up plots of land for a prank was your rendition of fun.

Xavier scoffs, “you could say that again, he once put an eyesore of a canvas in my art studio one day and when I got a loser look at it. Y/n opened his eyes, scaring me shitless, before jumped away from the canvas, his whole body was caked from head to toe in paint, and pushed me over my stool with the end of his metal bat.” Xavier subconsciously rubbed the small of his back. “Bastard then ran out of the shed, laughing hysterically…fucking psycho.”

“Interesting, maybe this school won’t be so dull as I first interpreted.” Wednesday said, uncaring of the story Xavier was telling her before walking off, leaving him befuddled. Afterwards Wednesday would asked Enid, Ajax, Eugene, hell evenTyler about you to which they were all quick to look in every direction incase you were somehow nearby before speaking their peace about you.

Enid said that you were a loose cannon, an unstoppable force of pure chaos. Yet you had a charm that would swoon boys, girls and others alike and make everyone forget that your mind was the equivalent of a bagful of rabid raccoons; You protected those who needed to be protected even though your methods were quite…extreme, seeing as your weapons of choice was a metal bat that didn’t bend after a couple of bludgeoning blows and a collection of knives. This earned you the monicure of ‘the mad dog of Nevermore.’

You scared the poor daylights out of her and Yoko one day by dressing yourself up in a white wedding gown you somehow obtained, splashed large quantities of red food dye across it to make it look like bloodstains; you even went as far as to buy a reduced Halloween makeup kit to replicate slash marks across your neck and face whilst also putting in milky white eye contacts. You had a story made up and everything about being a poor innocent normie who got stood up at the alter by her husband and then was later killed by something beastly. (It was a bear but you liked to keep it anonymous for more authenticity.)

Before this however, you told this story to the girls one night at a campfire and with the help of some of your friends in making bushes rustle, twigs snapping and other various noises. You then ventured into the woods to ‘investigate’ much to Yoko and Enid’s dismay before quickly changing and hastily putting on a wig ontop of your head and rushing back out towards the campfire, screaming. Sending the poor girls running to their shared tent. When they found that it was just you, they gave you the silent treatment for such a cruel prank.

Ajax would find you chill for the most part but once you frightened him so badly by sneaking into the shower room late one night and stuffing yourself into a cramp bin where you stayed hidden until he got out of the shower, jumping out screaming ‘boo!’ Ajax was taken off guard that badly that he accidentally stoned not just you but himself by looking directly in the mirror. Oops.

Eugene actually had nothing but good things to say about you, funnily enough to Wednesday’s surprise. At this point she found out that you were quite the trickster and an advent fan for the morbid and the macabre. However Eugene’s tales concerning you were times where you brutally beaten up normies and bullies alike for picking on him. You even suggested that he helped you in getting even by setting up a bucket load of pollen/honey that once it’s contents were dumped upon their intended victims, Eugene would them send out a small swarm of bees to chase the off.

You treated Eugene like a little brother and so whoever messed with him, messes with you also; Eugene couldn’t help but view you as the brother he always wanted. While that didn’t mean he was exempt from your shenanigans but you tended to hold yourself back when it came to Eugene. Everyone left Eugene alone because of you and in payment, Eugene would often gift you a bottle of honey as a thank you for standing by him no matter what.

Tyler doesn’t like you.

You don’t like Tyler and you made that evidently clear by doing things like breaking into Weathervane and badly busting up the coffee machine or stealing sums of money out of the area where the bottom drawer of the registers were kept, so that when he opens up in the morning he’d be in big shit with his shift manager. Did you potentially get put into jail for this? Maybe but that nor Principle Weems’ warnings of your potential expulsion did nothing to deter you from fucking shit up for Jericho and it’s residence.

We don’t talk about the time you drove a forklift into Crackstone’s statue one Outreach day, toppling it over and cracking the head away from it’s body before using said head with the forklift and sending it crashing into the city hall. You got into some BIG trouble for that stunt.

No one knew how you became the person that you were but not many dared to ask in fear that it may bring up old wounds that you’d rather left alone. So when Wednesday decided that instead of deciding whether or not she should get close to you based solely on potentially fabled stories, she would go out of her way and join you in a joint effort of making the citizens of Jericho’s life absolute hell.

But there are days where she saw the softer side of you where you weren’t all crazy eyed or trigger happy. You were smart and willing aided her in her investigation about the Hyde and Laurel Gates; Even after nearly dying in the Gates’ family home. “Why are you still helping me? You nearly died.” She’d ask not long after Enid rightfully scolded her for being so careless with human life.

You shrugged, only to wince when you moved your clawed arm from protecting Wednesday. “I don’t mind getting a little hurt if it means bringing us closer to the truth and besides,” you pulled something out from your backpack, it was a small airtight sealed bag containing a clump of the Hydes fur, “I got you some more physical evidence.” Wednesday didn’t know whether to punch you for getting hurt in getting her more evidence or kiss you for getting hurt for her in getting more evidence.

[uraniumwriting]

Much More Dangerous

For @flashfictionfridayofficial ‘s prompt “The Devil You Forgot”

Someone makes an incorrect assumption about Melandra’s ability to commit violence.

(CW: some violence)

~~~~~

When I finally woke up, the room I found myself surrounded by darkness. My wrists ached, but any attempt to move them proved futile. They were tied tight against an incredibly uncomfortable chair, almost to the point where the blood wouldn’t flow properly to my hands.

For a while, I sat like that. I didn’t dare make a noise or struggle fruitlessly against my bindings. Whoever brought me to this dark room didn’t deserve that pleasure.

“Mel?” I heard Caspian’s voice behind me, and then a groan. “Mel, are you here?”

“I’m here,” I whispered. “Just hold on, okay?”

Something brushed against my hand, and I stiffened.

“That was me.” Caspian cleared his throat. “Are you all right?”

My head pounded and my dress was wet against my side (probably the blood), but I said, “I’m fine. We just need to be patient.”

“Who, who even attacked us?”

I thought about the cloaked figures who ambushed us in the street. They weren’t the green-robed cultists we usually had been dealing with. They were nastier, though. None of them seemed to particularly care about how badly were injured.

“I don’t—”

The lights turned on.

Immediately, I shut my eyes to protect myself from the sudden brightness. Even with my eyes shut, though, the change led to my head pounding even worse than before. If I had the ability to lay down, I would’ve.

“I apologize for the lack of warning.” As I heard the woman’s face, I half-opened my left eye. “You must understand, though, you’ve made this my only option.”

Instantly, I recognized the woman. “Emeri.”

“Melandra Godfrey.” Emeri grinned. Her dark hair was pulled up into a messy but functional bun, and she wore dark leather from head to toe. It only accented her ghostly-pale skin.

“You clean up nicely,” Caspian muttered sarcastically.

“Of course, you would like a woman in work clothes over a fancy dress.” Emeri gestured to a cloaked figure beside her. “Shut him up, will you? I need the girl to talk first.”

I glanced back at Caspian, specifically at his hands. He still had his rings on, and the last time I checked with him, they were the magical ones.

“I’m not going to be a pleasant conversationalist,” I said. “At least, unless you start explaining.”

“Explaining what?” As the cloaked figure went over to Caspian with a rag, Emeri slowly walked over to me, then reached out and gently smoothed my hair down. “I think it’s all pretty self-explanatory.”

“You ordered some people to knock us out and drag us to a room with no windows.” I shied away from her touch, but I couldn’t move far while tied up. “But why?”

“Poor, innocent thing.” Emeri dragged a sharp nail down my cheek with enough pressure for me to feel it, but not enough pressure to hurt. “I wonder how much he’s told you, then.”

“Who?”

“The man sitting behind you.” She held my face to keep me from looking back. “Don’t you know he’s trouble?”

My heart skipped a beat, but I tried to keep my voice steady. “Cas is a journalist. I guess they’re all trouble, but—”

Emeri laughed and shook her head. “Your father never told you about the dangerous Flame Thief?” She leaned closer to me. “Tell me, what is Cas doing here in town?”

Caspian grunted, then quickly said, “don’t believe a single thing Xavier told you.”

“Stay quiet or else we’ll knock you out again,” Emeri snapped.

I used the opportunity to scoot my chair back a bit. My hand pressed against Caspian’s. “He got away from the thieves’ guild. He just wants a new life.”

Slowly, I reached out and felt for one of Caspian’s rings.

“A new life poking around a party full of rich people?” Emeri took a step forward to close the gap again and loomed over me. “What was he doing there?”

I hesitated. Of course, I did know exactly why Caspian was at the party the day before. But letting her know would likely mean pain for both of us. “I know he wanted to speak to Janette Natale.”

Thankfully, Caspian didn’t fight me, and I pulled one of his rings off and slipped it onto my own finger.

I just had to hope my assumptions about the ring were correct.

“Oh, the councilman’s daughter?” For a moment, Emeri almost looked surprised. “Odd choice, but I can see why he would go after you, then?”

“What even is your business with knowing?” Gathering my courage, I leaned forward as far as I could. I was nearly nose-to-nose with Emeri. “Who actually are you?”

“All you need to know is his boss is not a friend of ours.” She stroked my cheek with her thumb, and if I hadn’t been worried about her hurting Caspian, I may have actually liked it. “Did he tell you why he wanted to speak to Janette?”

“It’s funny, because I know exactly why.” I focused on the ring. It burned, but I leaned my finger against the rope and did everything I could to focus the flames onto the rope. “I don’t know how much you know about Janette, but she’s had her spats with people in the past. Including Caspian.”

“He probably deserved it.”

“No, he didn’t.” I tilted my head and quickly blinked to keep myself from crying. “Because I’ve met his boss before. Eden’s terrible. Cas isn’t.”

Emeri furrowed her brow. “When did you—”

“Cas just wanted to see if they could get off on better footing.” I managed to get through enough of the rope to where I could wriggle out my hand. “Honestly, he was probably the one person there without some morally gray motive.”

“Ma’am—” One of the cloaked figures spoke up, but I didn’t let them finish.

“And I wonder, why aren’t you curious about why I was there?” I asked. “After all, we did dance for a long time, and you didn’t ask once.”

Emeri dug her nail into my cheek, and her grin turned into a scowl. “What do you mean?”

“I want to be nice, but honestly—” I pressed against the rope binding my other hand and quickly freed it—“if you threaten the people I care about, I’m much, much more dangerous than Cas.”

“We can speak about this.” Emeri backed up, which gave me the room to stand.

“I already tried that.” I kicked the chair away. “Next time, have this conversation on our terms, not yours.”

I brought my hand forward and let the fire out of the ring. The flames hit her side (I couldn’t bring myself to aim for her face), and I held the fire just long enough to get her off-balance.

Thankfully, Caspian got the hint and managed to get himself untied. He grabbed my shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

I looked back at Emeri and messed with the ring on my finger. “Just wait—”

“No.” As if he knew what I was about to do, Caspian reached over and pulled the ring off of my finger. “We’re leaving.”

I gave one last look at Emeri, then dropped my shoulders and let Caspian guide me out of the room.

The element of surprise may have been useful, but I secretly hoped she wouldn’t forget about my willingness to fight back if we ever crossed paths again.

[sunnyie-eve]

16 | Rave'N

Series: Valentine Addams | Wednesday

Paring: (Xavier Thorpe x OFC Addams! Tyler Galpin x OFC Addams!)

Word Count: 1949

Warnings: jealousy, opening up about secrets

15. Asking.. | 17. Under Arrest

The day of the Rave'N, I spend time with some of the girls and get ready alone with it was time for the dance. "Coming." I say going towards the door opening it to see Xavier smiling as he eyes me head to toe.

"It's very you." He says as I come out of the room to join him in the hall. 

"Thank you. I love what my mother picked out." I mess with my dress. 

"You look beautiful." He puts his arm out for me to link mine with his. 

"Just this one." I link my arm with him as we walk to the dance. Everyone we passed would stare at me and said I looked great which surprisingly I liked. 

"What's Wednesday's plans tonight?" He asks me. 

"Her and Eugene are spying out the monster's lair." I tell him having no idea her plans changed last night when I said I was still going with Xavier.

"You look gorgeous. So gorgeous!" Ms. Thornhill says as Xavier and I head inside the dance. "Welcome to this year's Rave'N." She smiles. 

"Welcome to the Rave'N. You look amazing, Valentine. Glad you decided to join the fun." Weems smiles as we enter the dance. 

"Thanks." I give her a smile back then stop when out of view. 

"Done with the act?" Xavier laughs as I remove my arm from him. 

"Yes." I look around at the decorations, "White is a choice..." I chuckle. 

"Look at you!" Enid rushes over to me, "I love it. You look amazing!" She claps her hands.

 "You look amazing too. I love the jewels." I give her a genuine smile. 

"Thank you. Enjoy yourselves." She goes back over to Lucas.

"Well look at you." Ajax walks over to us with his date. 

I grab him by the arm roughly and pull him away from his date and Xavier. "Ouch. You're going to rip my arm off." He groans. 

"Why did you stand Enid up? You're lucky I didn't go looking for you to breaking a limb for breaking her heart." I glare at him. 

"I didn't stand her up... I sorta stoned myself while in the shower. I was embarrassed so I've been ignoring her." He sighs looking over at her. 

"Embarrassed? She would understand if you took the time to go talk to her and explain what happened. Instead you did the worst thing you could do. I don't normally care for others feelings but Enid is an exception. Explain to her and apologize or I will, and I mean it, will rip your snakes out of your head." I stare him down. 

"I will. I promise." He tells me and I believe so we go back to our dates.

"I got you a drink." Xavier smiles as I sit at the table with him. 

"Thank you." I look over at Enid looking a little sad.

 "You threaten Ajax?" Xavier laughs. 

"I did. Said if he doesn't apologize and explain everything, I'll rip his snakes out of his head." I mess with my drink. 

"Damn, that's a bit much don't you think?" He tilts his head. 

"No. I've tried killing someone's remember. That's why I'm here at this school." I remind him. 

"I forgot you used to do terrible things." He nods his head. "I'm glad to be here with you." He adds as I look around again. 

"It's not as bad as I thought." I make him laugh. 

"Let's have some fun." He stands up putting his hand out to me.

"Yo, check it out. Wednesday totally busted out of her cocoon." Ajax comes over motioning at her coming in with Tyler. 

"What the? Excuse me." I get up going over to her as she goes to the punch bowl. "I thought you were going to spy on the cave with Eugene. Yet here you are with Tyler..." I tilt my head confused. 

"Change of plans. When I heard you were still coming with the potential monster, I had Thing take an invite to Tyler. He also stole this dress for me." She explains to me. 

"Why ask Tyler though?" I look over at him standing alone awkwardly. 

"Because you like him, he likes you, and Xavier hates him." She explains to me. "Go talk to him. I brought him here for you." She tells me so I go over to him.

"Look at you." I walk up beside him making him turn to face me. 

"Wow, you look... beautiful." He smiles. 

"Thank you." I smile back. 

"Your date is looking at us." He looks over at Xavier with Wednesday before they walk off some. 

"Who cares. I told him I didn't want to ask him originally but I'll still come with him." I explain to him. 

"Can I show you something?" He motions out of the room. 

"Sure." He takes my hand leading us out of the dance to the trophy case.

"See that woman right there?" He points at one of the girls in the fencing photo. 

"Yeah?" I look at him confused. 

"That's my mother." He looks at me. 

"She came to Nevermore?" I turn my whole body to face him. 

"Yeah, I found that out looking through files. My father kept it from me." He sighs. 

"She's pretty. I see where you get your good looks from." I look back at the photo, "That's my mother." I point at my mom. 

"I see where you get your beauty from." I see him smile down at me. 

"Thank you." I look up at him. "Sorry, you don't know much about your mother. It must be hell. Especially when your father never wants to talk about her." I look back at the photo. "It is. Makes me feel alone." He sighs looking at his mother so I take his hand into mine. "I'm glad you felt comfortable with sharing this information with me." I squeeze his hand. 

"You're the only one I would tell this too." He squeezes my hand back. 

"Why did you agree to come with Wednesday?" I ask letting go of his hand walking backwards making him turn to face me. 

"To see you and hopeful to talk to you.. About the other day, I'm sorry. It's like I said, you make me feel like I'm losing my mind as well." He looks down at the floor. 

"You don't have to apologize. I understand that it could be confusing for you since I don't know things compared to most people. But I'm getting there, I think, to understanding my feelings." I let him know.

"We should go back before Xavier thinks I kidnapped you." Tyler makes me laugh agreeing. 

"Xavier told me what you did last year." Wednesday speaks up as we walk back to the dance outside the entrance. I look at Tyler and leave him to explain to her while I go find Xavier. 

"Where did you two run off to?" Xavier eyes me rudely.

 "Just a walk and talk. I was curious why she asked him and why he said yes." I kinda tell the truth. 

"Was his answer she wanted to keep an eye on you with me, and he wanted to see you too and piss me off?" He says annoyed. 

"Are you going to keep this attitude all night now that they're here?" I cross my arms. 

"Depends if they try to ruin our night." He rolls his eyes. 

"Well you're ruining our night right now. We're all supposed to have fun with each other. Wednesday is my sister and Tyler is my friend."

I watch the two come back in and go to the dance floor and I could tell Xavier wasn't going to leave this table at all. Wednesday sees me looking at her annoyed so she walks over pulling me out of my seat to join her and Tyler. 

"If I have to be here, you will enjoy this stupid dance." She says making me smile and we dance together while Tyler watches us. 

"Get in to it." I grabbing Tyler's hands making him dance with us while Kent, Divina, Ajax, Yoko and Enid joined us letting loose. "There you go." I laugh as he moves his body to the music. 

Enid grabs my shoulder and we dance together laughing. "He can't take his eyes off of you." She whispers to me then bumps me towards Tyler.

I end up going to take a break and see Bianca sitting alone, "Why aren't you with Divina and Kent on the dance floor?" I sit next to her. 

"I went to go check on Xavier because he was alone at the table. We had a tiff about you." She looks at me. 

"Why?" I ask confused. 

"He wanted me to use my powers to forget about you." She looks away from me. 

"That's funny coming from him since apparently you were using your powers when you two were together. For the record, I don't believe you ever did. I could tell you really liked him. Xavier's just a stupid teenage boy." I make her look back over to me. 

"You're lucky." She says making me tilt my head, "You don't care what people think of you." She sighs. 

"Actually, I think I do now and that scares me. I'm not used to caring." I sigh getting up going back. "Are you done whining?" I walk up to Xavier. 

"I don't want to interrupt your fun with everyone and Tyler." He gives me a rude smile. 

"Are you serious? I said I would still come with you if you wanted me to but you haven't left this table all night." I walk away from him and he grabs my wrist pulling me closer to him. "If you kiss me again, I will smack you so hard you'll feel the sting for months." I get myself free and going to Tyler. "Where's my sister." I ask him. 

"Went out for a second." He looks around. "Where's Xavier?" He asks. 

"Being grumpy still because I'm having  fun with you." I roll my eyes. 

"Maybe he should have joined so you'd have fun with him as well."

"It wouldn't be the same." I say making him lock eyes with me. 

We didn't even notice Wednesday join us and everyone else for the last song. "It's the last song come on." Enid shakes me to dance before joining the others. 

"Come on." I sing trying to make Wednesday and Tyler to dance with me but they don't just staring at me. 

Wednesday and I notice something drip on Tyler's shoulder and we see red. He looks at well then up before the sprinkler go off raining red. "Thank god I didn't wear white." I laugh as everyone runs. 

"They couldn't even spring for real pigs' blood. It's only paint." Wednesday tells us. Someone bumps into me and I almost fall and lose Tyler as people run around more. 

"Wednesday! Are you okay?" Thornhill asks as she has a vision. 

"Eugene is in the woods. He's in danger." Wednesday says making us run off to find him.

We run for through the woods shouting for Eugene and finally hear him so we run towards his voice then his screams. We end up finding his bloody body laying down on the ground. "No." We get down next to him and I get a vision of him laying in a hospital bed recovering. "He's still alive. My vision was him at the hospital. He's not dead." I let her know and I see some relief on her face. 

"Oh my god. Is he alive?" Thornhill randomly runs up to us. 

"If we get him to the hospital he'll stay alive." I tell her.

[thehangeddemon]

Madam X’s Shoulder Strap, Part I || Rhys, Xavier, Rohan, & Ariel || July, 2023

Rohan/Xavier: “So you met how exactly?”

Xavier exhaled a cloud of smoke and looked over at Rohan, smiling fondly as he recalled the memory. “He surprised me while I was in the middle of helping myself to someone’s private wine collection.”

Rohan nodded. “I’m surprised he let you walk out alive.” He looked around, taking in their surroundings. The hotel they were standing in front of, the people on the street, the noise of the city. It wasn’t, he knew, the part of New York that had historically drawn Xavier’s interest, which begged many questions. The most pressing of which was, “Why am I here? You’re only in New York for a few days, wouldn’t you rather spend time with your friend alone?”

“Because you need a break and because you’re my friend, too.” Xavier looked at his watch. He’d informed Rhys of his arrival (and Rohan’s presence) and had arranged to meet him. It had been too long of communicating with just letters.

“He’ll be here soon. Then you can stop overthinking.”

Rhys: Xavier had informed of his presence only an hour ago. He had been groomed, of course, lounging as he so often did on the couch, doing his best to ignore the vibration of his phone which he knew to be January Dune. Every Friday on the dot, and almost every Friday he declined. Never would her nightclub be to his taste, but he knew he could only deny her so many times.

And then, rather than the usual short burst vibrations, two long hums. A man he was willing to see.

And, apparently, a new face.

Sapphira ran her fingers through his hair one last time before bidding him farewell and good luck. If he had to step foot in the noise factory, might as well be with welcome distractions.

Dressed in black from shoulders to toes, hair pulled back in a meticulous bun, gold earrings, rings, and glasses, the Lasombra smiled, polite and brief.

"I thought you would have a tan," he greeted.

Xavier: The way Rhys’ presence shifted the air drew Xavier’s attention mere seconds before he became aware of his approach. This such a familiar sight. Such a familiar scenario.

The vampire really did cut a stunning figure.

“I’m an Englishman,” he said, smiling as he put out his cigarette. “We don’t tan, we burn. Good evening, Mr. Mello.”

Rhys: "A burn? That's less likely on you." Pale as usual. Beautiful, as usual. That irresistible hair, just begging to be touched. He would not, of course. Not in the company of others.

The other in question was given the same brief smile. Rather than a frozen offered hand, he bowed his head.

Rohan/Xavier: “Less likely but not impossible, so I found.” Somehow in those initial weeks, and despite his advanced age and experience, he’d managed to underestimate the sun and his own proximity to the equator.

Xavier gestured to Rohan. “Mr. Mello, I’d like to introduce you to a very dear friend. This is Rohan. Rohan, this is Mr. Mello, a new friend but no less dear for it.”

Rohan gave Rhys a nod and a polite but soft smile. “Pleasure to meet you,” he greeted in a distinct Romanian accent. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

Rhys: "'Quite a bit,'" he echoed. "Good things, I hope." Of that he had no doubt, but, it was a coy enough reply, and the company kind enough to tease.

"Would you mind terribly if I stole an hour of your time to visit my friend's club? If EDM won't rupture your eardrums."

Rohan/Xavier: “All good. Where you’re concerned, of course. Xavier painted himself in a far less flattering light.”

Xavier had nothing to say for himself. He simply smiled innocently and shook his head at Rhys’ question. “It won’t. All things can be endured so long as there’s alcohol. Do you mind?” he added, turning to Rohan.

“Not at all.” It wasn’t his music but then again, was any music his music? As one partial to silence, he doubted it.

The demon nodded. “Lead the way then, Mr. Mello.”

Rhys: "Alcohol, dancing, dim lights," Rhys gestured to the east, waiting for Xavier to reach his shoulder before making pace.

"Less flattering, are you?" The demon was given a look behind his spectacles. "What nonsense did you tell this man?"

Only a few blocks from their beloved hotel. Bass could be felt before turning the corner. A gray unassuming building. January Embers in neon cursive of blue, red, and orange. The black door with the same name painted in white was guarded by two men and their blue velvet rope.

Rhys' cigarette was pressed out against the brick and pocketed. The line was ignored, much to the chagrin of a party of five young women.

"Mr. Harris. Mr. Lee," he greeted. A single finger was pointed at both Xavier and Rohan. Nothing needed to be said.

The rope was unclipped and pulled to the side.

The foyer was tight, leading only to a coat check and metal detector before opening wide to a single enormous room. A room that would have been pitch black if not for the stage lighting. Wide strobe lights glimmered in blue, white, and purple. The bar, of course, was like a beacon from Heaven. A long strip of light ran the length of the entire bar. Another illuminated the mirror wall behind the hundreds of bottles.

The music, a heavy rhythmic pump overshadowing retro dance, ran the risk of engulfing their ears, minds, and very souls.

Xavier: “The truth. After a fashion,” Xavier added with a grin. Although with how accustomed Rohan was to hearing stories of the situations Xavier got himself into—and just barely scraped out of—the ‘less than flattering’ light was probably not so much unflattering as unsurprising.

The club was an environment that, unbeknownst to either Xavier or Rohan, reminded them both immediately of John Ramsay. Only someone like him could regularly spend time in a place like this, being consumed alive by noise and movement and colored light.

Well, it was certainly the distraction that the demon had been wanting for Rohan. And the bar was rather stunning, he’d give it that.

Xavier touched Rhys’ arm and nodded toward it, not even bothering to speak. It’d be impossible to make himself heard.

Rhys/Ariel: After a fashion. He'd have to pry a little further into the night. Not so pressing to need to push now. There was certainly a correction pending.

A Rhianna song had been transformed into a progressive trap, mellowing out to chillwave and falling off the melodic cliff back to a heavy four-on-the-floor beat.

There was no sense in drinking other than the pleasure of pretending in Xavier's company. Long fingers brushed along Xavier's elbow, lingering for a beat and slipping away.

The DJ was impossible to miss. The stage was high and illuminated by the long table of equipment. His shirt could have been crisp white or neon pink. Impossible to tell in the dynamic lights. The man was a pure presence. With his arm in the air, it seemed as if he were controlling the crowd with every flick of his hand. Up and down. Up and down.

"You're going to see a woman in a tiara in a minute. That will be my friend," Rhys warned, whispering in Xavier's ear.

Rohan/Xavier: Impossible to miss was putting it mildly. It was near impossible to look away.

Rohan found himself drawn in almost in spite of himself, only giving his surroundings enough attention to avoid running into other people as he followed Xavier to the bar. This may not have been his venue or entertainment of choice but it was oddly…pleasant. Alluring.

Xavier’s brow furrowed. “Should I be concerned?” he whispered back, leaning in close.

Rhys/Ariel: Rhys just knew he could distinguish Xavier's cologne from the stench of over five hundred mortals. A scent he hadn't enjoyed in months. Too long. If he leaned an inch towards Xavier's neck, it was only for a heartbeat. Gone again.

"Nosey. Flirtatious."

She had yet to spot them. A woman with as much presence if not more than the DJ she was approaching. A delicate blend of Audrey Hepburn and Mia Farrow. Pixie cut hair bleached white. Not a tiara. Not even a diadem. She wore a circlet of silver and diamonds. A heart-shaped sapphire dead center, dangling just between her eyes.

The DJ introduced her as Lady Dune, the proprietor.

Rhys turned to face the stage. Glass in hand.

"Right on time."

Xavier: “Ah.” Xavier nodded to himself. He’d experienced no shortage of either nosy or flirtatious interactions but good judgment advised him to exercise caution. After all, Rhys himself—and the manner in which they met—had shown him that while humans could be safely underestimated in many senses, any other being could not.

Still, Rhys’ friend had an air about her that was as entrancing as it was nostalgic. She could have been a film star in another life, or perhaps a model.

“Lady Dune, hm?” Xavier tilted his head as he studied her. “Fascinating.”

Rhys/Ariel: "She was a noblewoman, once. Her own ladies-in-waiting. Too rich for my blood."

Said next to a man that should have had one hundred suitors. He smiled from behind his glass.

It was her turn behind the table. Shifting from house to trance between a single song. Her mirrored dress acted as a disco ball, glittering the dance floor like a thousand gems.

A word was whispered in the DJs ear. He waved to the crowd, applauded Lady Dune, and stepped down from the stage.

Only feet from the bar did the DJ finally turn from the audience. A second more, and he was frozen altogether.

Rohan/Xavier: “So a lady in the true sense of the word then.” Xavier couldn’t help but wonder how a noble ended up choosing this sort of venture but he supposed it made an odd sort of sense, especially if this wasn’t her first foray into the nightlife business. Boredom and wealth were old friends and often yielded interesting results.

Although there hadn’t really been a reprieve from the music—Rohan was trying desperately not to think of it as merely noise—the changing of the guard, so to speak, did offer a small reprieve. It felt like he could actually focus on the drink in his hand for the first time since they’d entered the club although that would soon prove to be short-lived as well.

He’d been noticed.

The man that had halted the DJ in his tracks had rather a different aura than his companions. He was elegantly dressed in a deep brown suit and midnight blue shirt, the top two buttons of which were undone. He was well-groomed, dark hair styled.

And the moment he felt a gaze, silvery blue eyes would meet his admirer’s.

Ariel: They were opposite ends of the coin. Chinos; Nike's as white as his shirt; a silver cross around his neck, just the right size for his frame; silver watch to match.

The man had not shaven in so long the precision was being lost in his scruff. His toffee hair accentuated his hazel eyes, and they were locked, trapped by two full moons.

He was supposed to talk to Rhys. Supposed to point him towards the VIP room and away from the crowds, away from the mirrors. His hand raised in gesture, but forgot the words.

Rohan/Xavier: Rohan felt the sudden urge to break eye contact but found himself unable to despite the feeling that he was caught under a spotlight. He was rarely, if ever, the focus of such attention.

Especially standing right next to Xavier.

Was the DJ trying to greet him or get his attention? He wasn’t waving so perhaps it wasn’t a greeting, and they were already looking at each other so he doubted the man wanted his attention.

He seemed unlikely to know Xavier, which meant that the person the DJ must have been trying to communicate with was Rhys.

Armed with this logic, Rohan finally managed to look away and intended to get Rhys’ attention, only to notice that Xavier had been observing the interaction and was already doing it for him.

“Mr. Mello,” the demon said in a tone that was impossible to discern. “I do believe we’ve been spotted.”

Rhys/Ariel: With eye contact severed, Ariel managed a hundred blinks, turning to the stage with a sigh. Just a moment of reprieve before returning his attention. Would have been nice, just a few seconds more to themselves, but he had to wonder if this was another vampire. Would make sense why he'd been as captivated with those eyes as he was with music.

Another astonishing moment, Rhys thought. A raised brow followed another brief smile, tighter on the lips. Appearances, then. He'd thought them past this, but perhaps with the recent death...

"She wants you in her VIP suite. You and your friends."

Rhys set aside his glass. Might as well indulge in a little curiosity.

"This is Ariel Cassidy. If you want to introduce yourselves..." A look was given to Xavier, to Rohan and back.

Rohan/Xavier: “Mr. Cassidy.” Xavier inclined his head toward the DJ. His smile could have reasonably been interpreted as polite but there was an undercurrent of interest and amusement that, though subtle, couldn’t be denied.

“You may call me Mr. Rossmara and this,” he patted Rohan’s shoulder, “is Mr. Dalca.” Given the circumstances, some formality was probably best for now. If Rohan wanted to give his first name then that was his decision and his business.

Rohan offered a nod and the same smile he’d given Rhys earlier.

Rhys/Ariel: The man had given his name, but Ariel had his eyes fixed on only one. Having finished his micro assignment, he was free to do as he pleased. At least until January had finished her set. Always one a night, and the timing couldn't have been better.

Rhys placed cash on the bar counter, whispered words in the bartender's ear, and set off for the spiral staircase. Fingers brushed Xavier's elbow once again but kept his silence.

Ariel's chest rose high and caved. Before Dalca could move, he leaned in. Damn near cheek-to-cheek to be heard.

"You like music?"

Rohan/Xavier: Right then. Xavier could tell when he was superfluous to the situation and at this moment, he and Rhys may as well have been painted on the wall.

He followed Rhys, grinning to himself and leaving Rohan to his admirer.

Meanwhile, that spotlight Rohan could swear he felt was only getting more intense. How did he even begin to answer that without sounding exactly like the sixty year-old man he was?

A nod was the safest option, and one that made sense given the noise. “I do,” he said, trying to maintain as much distance as he could. An impossible pipe dream.

Ariel: Just two words, but he'd managed to catch them. The nod more so. Having leaned in, some of Dalca's hair had brushed his forehead. Those little touches mattered. There was a scent he didn't immediately recognize, and he wanted another whiff. Couldn't just breathe him in like a creeper. Had to be organic. He knew just the thing.

"So, like, if you're not," he gestured between them, "like I get it. No hard feelings, but like, you wanna dance?"

Rohan: What was this odd mix of bold and friendly that was succeeding so well at flustering him? That was precisely how he was feeling. Flustered.

A sensation as foreign to him as the desert to a fish.

“I—well…” Oh, he was still holding his drink. There was indeed a higher power. He made great effort to sip and not gulp while he took a second to collect himself.

Of course, the moment he had to lean in to speak, his efforts were useless. “It’s not that you’re—I don’t really dance.”

Ariel: Yes, perfect. Another lean in. His cologne, shampoo, whatever that was, was nearly as addictive as his eyes.

Time was ticking. Adagio for Strings had the dance floor buzzing. He took a chance, maybe too eager, maybe too soon, but pinched Dalca's suit coat between two fingers and tugged once.

"All you gotta do is sway and jump. Fake it 'til you make it, you know? Trust me, you're perfect."

Rohan: Rohan took a slow, deliberate breath, reaching for calm from somewhere.

Sway…he could do that. Maybe not jump, but swaying wasn’t bad. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be considering this and perhaps the fact that he was considering it meant that Xavier was right and he’d needed a break from work. That was the only explanation for this temporary insanity.

Not the fact that the person asking was a very handsome man. No, that definitely wasn’t it.

Help me, he thought to the universe, finishing off his drink.

“All right.”

Rhys/Ariel: January plugged into her love of all things Tiësto couldn't have made for a better setting with someone unaccustomed to dancing. There wasn't much to this kind of music. Another gentle tug to Dalca's suit, he was led dead center of the dance floor. The safest place for someone awkward, in his opinion.

"Just feel it," he explained, using full voice to be heard over the swelling trance. "Just vibe." He laughed at his own explanation, not realizing they had their own private audience of two.

Rhys had yet to slip behind the blue curtain just behind them. Leaning against the railing, arms crossed, he watched on with Xavier in silence, to be broken by a question.

"This is unusual, isn't it? Or strangely usual." A guess, given Xavier's radiant expression.

Rohan/Xavier: Desert. Fish.

That explanation was decidedly unhelpful. It was impossible not to feel the music, it was making his atoms vibrate. Moving to it was—

He needed to stop overthinking or he was never going to do this. He’d follow the DJ’s lead and blend into the sea of bodies and with any luck, he’d avoid embarrassing himself.

Xavier laughed. Forget radiant, he felt positively giddy for the first time in weeks.

“Oh, it is. Supremely unusual.”

Rhys/Ariel: Rhys attention was stolen by the smile in Xavier's tone. At least he could still smile. Had he missed him? He didn't usually miss anyone. He had to be careful about that.

"You're going to tell me about this less-flattering light you painted yourself before we're interrupted again. First," he pointed down to the sea of bouncing bodies, "that man belongs to January." He didn't want to use the word ghoul in public. Despite the hum of music and chatter, he refused to take that risk. "What he is, is that going to be a problem for your man?"

Ariel had to try his damnedest not to touch. He wanted to, but this man was just seconds into his life. His arms raised, his hands went out, anything but touch.

"You're gettin' it!" he cheered. Stiff as a board but the man was trying.

Xavier: Rhys didn’t have to say it outright. Context was all that was required. Although the jump from baby vampire to ghoul was sure to put up a wall or two, provided things progressed…at all.

This was one evening. Why count chickens?

Xavier shook his head. “It won’t. He’s made of stronger stuff than he seems. And for the record…”

He turned his smile on Rhys. “Don’t go thinking I stooped to self-deprecation. I’m not quite so far gone. I simply told Rohan how we met and in that situation, you come off far better than I do.”

Rhys: Rhys and Ariel had one thing in common, at least in this moment; they couldn't take their eyes off of the man in front of them.

Quietly, Rhys reached out to cup Xavier's face in both hands. Pulled the demon close enough to kiss under his eye. He wanted that since the hotel, and it was his.

Xavier: The smiling, amused man of a few seconds ago became as soft as water the moment he was given affection. Even simple contact would’ve been more than enough.

The effect Rhys had on Xavier hadn’t been lessened by time, distance, or even circumstance; the smallest reminder of it was enough to make the demon yearn.

Xavier closed his eyes and, helpless to resist, leaned into it.

Rhys: He would never, ever understand what made this man a demon. This was no demon. This was an angel. He would know.

A cool, false breath was breathed against Xavier's skin.

"Come," he whispered, knowing he would be heard. Leaning away was a gentle torment and deliberately slow, waiting for Xavier to right himself. He was then led behind the curtain to their own private booth. Black leather wrapped around an acrylic bar table.

Xavier: There would be no righting himself so long as he remained in Rhys’ company, but an attempt would be made. At the very least he could unknowingly do what Rohan had done and take a slow, deep breath. It would have to do.

He followed Rhys into the booth and felt immediately relieved. Although the curtain did precious little to block out the noise, it was comfortable and private.

“I thought I was becoming accustomed to constant noise living in Bangkok. Apparently not.”

Rhys/Ariel: "Now, there is a place I haven't been in an age. Two, perhaps. Are you enjoying as much as your letters imply?"

Some two dozen more mortals had joined the dance floor. A perfect excuse to press in closer, turning to face the stage and the performance from January. Just enough attention so as not to seem his world revolved around his acquaintance. His arm raised as hers raised, singing along to Sarah McLachlan.

This was going to come to an end. How fucking tragic was that?

He turned, almost buried his face in Dalca's hair in a momentary loss of coordination.

"What's your first name?"

Rohan/Xavier: Xavier nodded, a smile returning to his face. Softer, but still a smile.

“I am. Prior to moving there I hadn’t been in over a decade, nearing two perhaps. I’m enjoying it more this time around. I’m…comfortable there.”

Knowing it was going to end eventually was helping Rohan relax, however…it would be a lie to say he wasn’t enjoying himself. Just a bit.

In the moments where he wasn’t hyper-aware of his company.

What was—that’s right. Xavier had only introduced him as Mr. Dalca, no doubt considering his first name personal information that wasn’t his place to disclose.

There was an instinctual reaction not to give it but this man had had him in a trance since he stepped foot in this building.

“Rohan. My name is Rohan.”

Rhys/Ariel: "Is it your permanent residence from this night forward?" His way of asking how often these visits would take place. Wasn't that obvious?

Rohan would be able to tell under minimal lighting that Ariel was testing his name on his lips. Not once but twice.

"Are you having a good time tonight?" January shouted over the microphone. His signal to return. He had to do something.

"Wanna see?" He pointed up to the stage.

Rohan/Xavier: “I suppose that depends on how one defines ‘permanent’,” Xavier mused as he recalled the similar conversation he’d had with Abel. “Let us just say that it’s my residence for now. And that now that things have begun to settle, I have some free time back.”

To write letters. To travel. To pop into Brooklyn.

Rohan looked from Ariel to the stage and back again. Getting away from the crowd was tempting but, “Not if it will get you in trouble.”

Rhys/Ariel: That would do. There was nothing Rhys could think of to say, and it wasn't his place to say anything at all.

Before he could open his mouth, the curtain opened. A man dressed in all black, hair and beard perfectly groomed, tattoo on his neck, smiled politely. Their conversation would have to remain in suspension.

"Champagne?" Rhys asked.

Trouble? Why would he think -

Ariel tried to laugh, not truly reaching his eyes. "Why... would I be in trouble?"

Rohan/Xavier: Xavier nodded. He’d never say no to a drink, even if it came at the cost of an interruption.

“Yes, please.”

Rohan could think of about half a dozen reasons stemming from the mere fact that he was a stranger alone. If he gave it serious thought, he could easily come up with more.

“Maybe your boss doesn’t want random people up there,” for starters.

Ariel: Oh. Okay. Maybe Father Mello had human friends after all, and this was all just a crazy coincidence that Rohan Dalca was like a living breathing drug. Just a wild, spectacular find.

Sure, and his boss wasn't a vampire that sank her teeth into his body every Saturday night.

"It's my shit," he laughed. "It's okay. Just... you sticking around?"

Rohan: The answer to that wasn’t entirely up to him but Rhys had mentioned staying for at least an hour.

“For a while, yes,” said Rohan, nodding. More importantly, why was Ariel asking? His company couldn’t possibly be that enticing.

Ariel: "So I'll see you." That wasn't a question. He knew where he was going because he had to give the message. This was a hopeful certainty he'd see him again before walking out the door.

"Come up to the stage anytime."

Rohan: No, it certainly wasn’t a question, and in any other situation, that had the potential to bother him. Here and now? When he couldn’t even begin to make sense of how and what he was feeling?

All Rohan could do was nod. He would. Either Ariel would see him or, more likely, Rohan would see him given how impossible it was not to look at this man.

“I should…” He gestured toward the stairs.

Ariel: His shoulders rose, as though startled. "Right!" The gap between them was closed, pointing as best he could to Rohan's point-of-view to the corner curtain.

As easy as it could have been to wrap his arm around his waist, maybe even a hand on his lower back, he denied himself both. It was simply too much. Just fantasies of a man he would probably never see again. But he would be thinking about him all night.

Rohan: Rohan nodded a second time. He’d send Xavier a text in a moment to ensure he wasn’t about to interrupt anything.

“Thank you. For the guidance and…for the dance,” he added with a smile that held some its usual relaxed warmth.

Ariel: Oh. The gratitude seemed to have caught him off guard. Ariel gave a boyish smile. One akin to a certain Ravnos.

"Absolutely. Absolutely. Hope I see you again." It just slipped, but there it was, and he was off to the stage before embarrassment took over.

Rohan/Xavier: That brief flash of familiarity felt like a rock lodging itself somewhere between Rohan’s throat and his chest. He didn’t want to think about it for too long.

“Right…” he said weakly, watching Ariel’s retreating back and only making his way toward the stairs when the DJ was back at his post.

Halfway up he remembered what he’d intended.

{Text to Xavier} Are you okay for me to come in or do you want time alone?

 Xavier felt at his inside pocket for his phone and read Rohan’s message, smiling to himself.

“It seems our Mr. Dalca has concluded his sojourn on the dance floor.”

{Text to Rohan} Come in

Rhys: "Has he now?" He had an idea why, but he would keep to himself. If he was correct, then January would not be far behind.

Rhys made no effort to conceal how close he had placed himself to the demon. Though, he would move aside the bottle and bucket of champagne to the empty side of the booth.

"Welcome, Mr. Dalca."

Rohan/Xavier: With the all-clear given, Rohan made one last effort at composing himself and stepped behind the curtain.

“Mr. Mello,” he greeted, slipping into the side of the booth opposite the two of them. Their closeness was barely even noted.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Xavier asked, using his glass to hide his smile.

Rohan made a noncommittal noise and poured himself some champagne. “Mm.”

“Did you not? Your skin is positively flushed.”

Xavier was given such a look. “It’s hot.”

Rhys/January: "I'm sure it is." Though, unlike Xavier, Rhys wasn't fighting a smile. He was not one to judge proclivities, but he would be lying to say he wasn't entertained by Xavier's response.

"The owner has yet to plant me on the dance floor."

"But one day!" A voice no harsher than a flute chimed from the other side of the curtain. A man as tall as Ariel, dressed in the same black suit as the bouncers, stood on the other side of the velvet curtain as it was opened and closed. A bodyguard if there ever was one.

"Hello. I'm January." Her petite hand was offered first to Xavier.

Rohan/Xavier: Almost as one, Xavier and Rohan got to their feet when their hostess entered the booth.

“Good evening.” Xavier gave her a smile that was all charm and took her hand, placing the most delicate, gallant kiss to the back of it. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Dune. I am Xavier Rossmara.”

Rhys/January: Rhys was the last to his feet, and after decades of knowing January, did nothing more than nod his greeting. He was ignored; she was all too flattered by the beautiful creature by his side. And this wasn't the one that had caught Ari's eye? Of course her bouncers had been of no use, telling her two men with no juicy details!

"Now that is a gentleman." Her hand was offered then to the one with eyes like ice. Not too shabby. No, not at all.

"Tonight's my lucky night!" she giggled, taking her place by Rohan's side.

Rohan: Rohan made far less of a show of his greeting than Xavier had, but he afforded their hostess the same courtesy and treatment, and gave her a smile that, though quieter, was no less charming.

“Rohan Dalca. Pleasure to meet you, Lady Dune.”

January: "Rohan," she said slowly, sounding out his name. No, he had not captured her in the same manner, but the second time that night, someone mouthed his name to remember it. The second person because of the first.

She turned back to Xavier and Rhys. Two seconds to study both, and she nodded once.

"Not every night a demon walks into my establishment."

Rohan/Xavier: Curious. Ariel had done the same thing down on the dance floor. Was his name that uncommon or was it simply a shared quirk? Something to ponder while he sipped his champagne and the attention was blessedly on Xavier.

Xavier smiled at their hostess. All cards on the table then. To be expected, and quite frankly easier. Whatever power Lady Dune did or did not have, Xavier recognized that by virtue of her not being human, the playing field between them was level enough to beget respect.

Respect, and cautious honesty.

"No, I don't imagine so. But I can assure you, my lady, that no trouble will be caused to you or to your establishment from my quarter. I am a gentleman."

Rhys/January: "I should hope so, or Rhys has lost his senses! Priests have such big hearts, don't they?"

Rhys was staring at his empty glass. Long fingernail circling the rim before tapping twice. His own language with his coterie, it seemed, as her smile dropped by a centimeter. Her attention returned to Rohan. Elbows on the table, chin in hand.

"Wow. Wow, wow. And you. You sure do... sparkle."

"Will you excuse us." Rhys said, getting to his feet. "Won't be long."

"Yes! You two enjoy yourselves. Please! Music, drinks, lovers, whatever you want. It's yours."

The curtain was opened before either vampire reached it, closed by January's bodyguard.

Rohan/Xavier: "You flatter me, Lady Dune," Rohan said with a smile. Was it the suit? Had Xavier had some catnip-like substance sewn into the lining? All of this attention was so odd. Not unsettling or bothersome, just...foreign.

Xavier wasn't about to comment on that. If he remembered correctly, Rhys no longer considered himself a priest and probably didn't appreciate being referred to as such.

"Yes, of course," he said with a nod as he and Rohan got to their feet. Their seats would only be resumed once they were alone. Well...alone was a relative term in a place like this.

Still, it was enough for Xavier to do some innocent prying.

"You never really answered my question." He grinned at Rohan. "Did you have fun with the DJ?"

Rohan heaved a good-natured sigh. "Must we?"

"Of course we must. I don't think I've seen you dance once in all the years I've known you. It's a momentous occasion, how could we not discuss it?"

"We could just as easily discuss why you're visiting a Maserati dealership when you already have a car."

"Can't a man just look at a car?"

"Can't a man just dance when they've been dragged to New York?"

They squinted at each other over the rims of their glasses.

Rhys: Rohan would have no way of knowing it was all about the auras. The distorted mess that made up a demon and the sparkling glow of a magic user. Then the obvious trance he had placed on her ghoul; Rohan was a man worth investigating. A Toreador had to admire what captivated another Toreador, whether that be a ghoul or Kindred.

The music had slowly transitioned from trance to house. Dark house to be specific. Rhys couldn't differentiate the many genres the way January could. A far cry from her previous lives. A lady-in-waiting, a duchess, a fashion designer, a painter. Just a river of hyper-fixations lasting decades only to nearly drown in the next current.

But that was only a fleeting thought from the Lasombra. This was nothing more than a check-in. January had made it seem urgent, and he should have known better. Had it been important Sapphira would have been in her office.

Rhys returned from behind the curtain within ten minutes.

Rohan/Xavier: Xavier and Rohan’s conversation was kept light and casual. Frivolous even. In unknown territory, the safest option was always to assume that the walls had ears, and that nothing said in private truly was private.

Paranoia had its uses.

So they discussed the merits of one luxury car brand other another, the various trinkets Xavier wanted to buy, the places they each wanted to visit while they were in the city.

Rhys would enter the booth to find Rohan with a fond, long-suffering look on his face while Xavier told him, with great disdain, how some random dilettante had swooped in like a vulture and made off with a painting Xavier had been in negotiations to acquire.

Rhys: The bodyguard January had left planted in front of the curtain was dismissed. One ghoul was an indulgence. Three was an agenda.

"Not another instance of breaking and entering?" Rhys greeted, returning to his seat no worse for wear.

Rohan/Xavier: “If only.” Any sourness in Xavier’s expression dissipated the moment he saw Rhys and heard his voice.

Rohan noticed.

“Breaking and entering would’ve been simpler, but the painting was meant to be a gift for someone who rather prefers me to acquire art through ethical means. So now I must contend with auctioneers who can apparently be swayed with a comped weekend in Atlantic City. Can you imagine?”

Rohan grinned into his champagne. “The absolute state of art auctions in this country,” he said, his intended sincerity easily won over by amusement.

Xavier gestured with his glass. “You joke but it’s true.”

Rhys: "I can't see you stooping so low as to seduce someone for a bit of art. Holding their head in a bucket of water, certainly."

The only one with an empty glass. Rhys was in need of sustenance. Reluctantly, he leaned closer to Xavier, sighed, and whispered, "I... might have to excuse myself again in a minute... for a drink."

Xavier: “I only seduce through bribes, I assure you.” Although now Xavier was certainly wishing he had held that man’s head in a bucket of water. It might have yielded a less infuriating result.

Xavier nodded and whispered, “I understand.” And he did, even if it brought to mind the memory of a certain jazz club singer and even if that memory happened to gnaw at him.

Rhys: A single nod, and green eyes climbed from that exquisite neck to those lips to those stormy blues.

His back then curved, slouching back, making no effort to distance himself from the demon as he looked at the one January called a magic-user.

"You were introduced to me as Rohan. You must be very dear to Xavier to be on a first-name basis."

Rohan: Rohan noticed that, too, but notice was all he did. The nature of Rhys’ relationship with Xavier wasn’t his business. Whatever Xavier wanted to disclose and when was up to him.

Rohan smiled and nodded. “We’ve been friends and colleagues for many, many years. Good ones.”

Rhys: "You've been to battle for this man," Rhys smirked, curious which way Rohan would take his phrasing.

Rohan/Xavier: “And I would do it again,” said the witch, directing his words and his smile at Xavier. There was more than fondness and loyalty in his expression; there was love as well. Love, but no possessiveness or ardor. Theirs was a platonic relationship.

Xavier smiled back. “As I would for you.”

Rhys: His expression seemed akin to the ones Sapphira would give him, and the ones given by January, when she was less distracted by her own life. That was all he needed.

Whether sex was a part of that relationship was of no concern to him.

"Tell me of your first meeting, if significant at all."

Rohan/Xavier: “We met through a mutual acquaintance,” said Xavier. “Or rather a mutual acquaintance suggested I seek him out. I was looking for an antique at the time and wasn’t having much luck finding it.” An antique with magical properties, but an antique nonetheless.

Rohan nodded. “I was working in a historical archive at the time. I had access to resources that allowed me to track it down and we remained in contact. The rest is history as they say.”

Rhys: "And this is something you still do for him, no?" Not the only thing, but a resourceful companion was a hell of a thing to waste.

Rohan: “Occasionally, yes. I no longer work for the archive but I enjoy doing research.” And he’d discreetly maintained most of his resources.

Rhys: "So, a resourceful, intelligent, charming individual as yourself... would or would not want this." A business card was pulled from his coat pocket. Dusk and neon purple. Placed center of the table. DJ Cass.

"A gift from our hostess, from her ghoul."

Rohan/Xavier: Xavier tensed beside Rhys. The revelation would surely come as no shock or great surprise; in fact, it was the most logical assumption that could be made considering who owned this club and how her kind operated. Surely Rohan realized that.

No, what gave him pause was how said revelation would be taken by Rohan given…recent events. Spring had come with a vengeance for them both.

However, Rohan…wasn’t really reacting outwardly. His initial surprise had tempered toward neutrality and he was now staring at the card on the table as if…well, it was impossible to say.

But this had been a gift, and it would be rude not to accept it.

“Thank you,” he managed softly, taking the card and putting it in his inside pocket.

Rhys: Rhys was watching intently. If Rohan took the time to study the card, read the name, number, or email. If his brows rose, fell; whether or not his blinks were soft or frozen altogether.

He was merely the perception. January had the wit to do something with his information. Just seemed a little silly to him.

"Where did you plan to go after this visit?" His attention returned to Xavier.

Rohan/Xavier: Not once did Rohan’s face harden or close off. His expression had remained soft, but to someone who knew him as well as Xavier or was studying him as closely as Rhys, there would be a definite impression that effort was being exerted to keep a mask in place. His thoughts were hard to gauge.

“Ah…” Xavier turned to Rhys. “Unfortunately most of the things I’d like to do will have to wait until the daytime but I had a thought that I might pop into a museum or two before dawn.”

Rhys: Ah, the daytime. He could just imagine the sun on that pale skin, in his hair, and the glow in his eyes. He wanted very much to request a photograph but would do no such thing with another present. Perhaps if ever alone again. Felt as though their privacy was merely a dream in a place like this.

"Which museums did you have in mind?"

Xavier: “The Met and the Guggenheim primarily. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to either one and going when all the tourists are there is pointless and a waste of time.”

Rhys: "If you'll allow me the honor of accompanying you..." He waited to gauge Xavier's expression, "...then please allow me to excuse myself, one last time."

Xavier: The smile returned. He’d wanted to ask but worried Rhys wouldn’t be available since this visit had been such short notice.

“I’d love your company,” he said with a nod. “Please, do whatever you have to. There’s no rush.”

Rhys: "Thank you." His eyes lingered as he bowed his head. He would touch him again, soon enough, but at this moment he needed to find someone. The bodyguard January kept on the second floor, perhaps. The one with silver crosses for earrings and the birthmark on his neck.

Rohan/Xavier: They had no more privacy now than they’d had the first time they’d been left alone in the booth, but Xavier needed to see how Rohan was doing.

So he got creative. Telepathic communication involved more of an effort with someone who didn’t possess the gift but it was still possible.

“Ro,” Xavier said softly. “May I?” He tapped his temple.

Rohan nodded and poured them both more champagne just for something to do.

‘Are you all right?’ the demon thought at his friend, lingering in his mind so he’d be able to hear his responses.

‘I’m fine, X. Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘You know why.’

Rohan sighed and sat back. ‘I’m fine. Really. This isn’t the first time the universe has had fun at my expense and it won’t be the last. I don’t think I can even say that’s what’s happening. It was a single dance, nothing more.’

Xavier shook his head. ‘I’d agree with you if he hadn’t gone out of his way to give you his card. That’s something people only do if they want to speak to someone again. Or see them.’

‘Are you telling me that’s what I should do?’

Xavier shook his head again. ‘No. Whether you do is up to you. I simply don’t want you to write it off because of everything that’s happened.’

Rohan went quiet for a while, watching the bubbles in his glass while he contemplated.

‘I’m not carrying a torch for him, if that’s what you’re worried about.’ He snorted softly and shook his head at himself. ‘Not that I even have a reason or a right to. He didn’t think of me that way. We weren’t in a relationship. I was alone in my feelings.’

‘But you did have them.’ Xavier reached across the table for his friend’s hand. ‘I’m the last person who’d tell you to pretend they didn’t matter. I just don’t want them to haunt you. You deserve to be happy.’

Rohan took Xavier’s hand. ‘It was only a dance, X.’

‘Nothing in this world is only anything.’

Rhys: The bodyguard, Jori, was just as pleased to see Rhys as Rhys was relieved to see his source of food. By now, after a year in January's service, he was certain this bubbleheaded mortal was her so-called gift. She did so love gifts.

His sigh of pleasure was drowned by heart-stirring bass. The stuttering writhing might have been pleasurable before, but tonight could not carry his interest. That was not the kind of love he sought this evening.

The little wound was sealed with a swipe of his thumb. The stain licked from his finger as he bid the young veteran goodnight.

The curtain was opened for the last time.

"Was the champagne to your liking?"

Rohan/Xavier: Again the immediate smile on the demon’s face. This was becoming a pattern. “Very much so.”

Although Xavier and Rohan had let go of each other’s hands before Rhys’ return, the effect of the comfort the contact had given would be noticeable if one were to look closely.

Rohan didn’t look quite so much like he was trying to keep his composure anymore.

“Shall we?” Xavier asked Rhys, getting to his feet.

Rhys: The curtain was pulled completely. He found himself irritated. Not with anyone but himself. The way he altered his demeanor for the sake of a new face. How close he wanted to walk to this man. To share a cigarette.

He felt out of balance. The worst feeling.

"I assume you have your means of being unseen? What of your man?"

Rohan/Xavier: Xavier patted his pocket. “But of course.” His means this evening didn’t take the form of the coin Rhys would’ve perhaps expected, which only meant Xavier would have the opportunity to show off a bit more of his magic.

“Rohan is going to return to the hotel. He’s a creature of the day and sleep is paramount.”

Rohan nodded. What Xavier said was true, but he wasn’t going to return just yet.

“It is. The two of you enjoy the museum. It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Mello.”

Rhys: A small noncommittal noise accompanied his nod. "Shame." The polite thing to say for someone tolerable.

"Please," he turned, offered his hand, "a friend of Xavier's is a friend of mine. Rhys."

Rohan/Xavier: “Perhaps another time.” And so was that.

Rohan shook Rhys hand and smiled warmly. “Then you must call me Rohan. Please be careful,” he added to Xavier. “And remember that you’re there to look at art and not to make a shopping list.”

“I can only promise the former.”

Rhys: "Enjoy what remains of your night."

Fresh air and a modicum of silence were all he needed for the next five minutes. Stepping out into the warm city night. Sanctuary given under a streetlight. Rhys raised his head to the moon and reached for a cigarette. Alone at last.

"I apologize for the inconvenience."

Xavier: Oh, blessed silence. For a moment there Xavier had forgotten that it existed. And knowing that the museum was going to be even quieter than the street? He could weep.

“No apologies are necessary,” he said as he followed Rhys’ lead and pulled out his cigarette case and lighter. “Errands are errands and my arrival was a surprise.”

Rhys: "You were the surprise I wanted." His own cigarette was offered to light the other.

Xavier: There it was again; the immediate utter softness in Xavier’s face and entire demeanor that to Rhys’ mind made him seem more angel than demon.

“I’m glad.” He lit his cigarette and put the lighter back in his pocket. “Which museum would you prefer?”

Rhys: "I have no opinion." If that didn't tell Xavier everything he needed to know.

Xavier: It did, and it made him smile.

“Then let’s go to the Met and look at beautiful art and enjoy being in silence together.”

Just as soon as they found a secluded spot from which to teleport and engage Xavier’s concealment magic.

Ariel: Last he'd seen of that suit was coming down from the VIP staircase. He almost checked his watch but stopped himself in the nick of time. Raised his arm in the air and sang along with the Ne-Yo.

Hours until the last call; he didn't need to check his watch to know the obvious. The club was still at full capacity.

He understood his domitor now; the long stares at walls, the hours of the same song on repeat. Her hyper-fixations had fascinated him before. She had promised one day soon he would have his own, and there it was like euphoria.

And now without those eyes, the music wasn't quite the same.

Rohan: As much as Rohan envied that Xavier was about to be embraced by the soaring halls of a silent, empty museum, he knew himself well enough to know that if he stepped out of this club, he probably wouldn’t ever step back in again.

And for reasons he couldn’t fully reconcile yet…he didn’t want that to be the case.

So he stayed. He didn’t know yet for how long or what he hoped to learn or accomplish by doing so, but he stayed. He found a seat at the bar with a decent view of the DJ booth, ordered himself a club soda, and watched while he tried to sort out what he felt and why he seemed so aware of the card in his chest pocket.

Rhys: In all his years in New York City, The Metropolitan Museum had been mentioned only once, in passing with Sapphira. A place she had slipped into on numerous occasions, never once invited a single soul. It was her private world, and if not for knowing for a fact that she was in Queens that very moment, he would have expected to see her stalking the very hall they had entered.

"This isn't your first time," he mused. "Not with that look on your face."

Xavier: Xavier breathed deeply and closed his eyes, letting the bliss wash over him. It had been too long since he’d done this.

“Not remotely. It’s been an absolute age since I’ve seen this museum with people in it. Any museum, really.” After the club, stepping in here felt like a cool shower on a hot day.

“Have you ever been here?”

Rhys: While he could have enjoyed another cigarette, Rhys slipped his hands into his coat pockets, denying himself cigarettes and touch out of respect.

"I can't say I have. Never had a reason to." He shrugged. "Now that I'm here, I wouldn't mind seeing the religious artifacts."

Xavier: “Then let us do precisely that.” As this ground was hallowed only metaphorically and he didn’t intend to touch anything, he’d be safe from whatever they encountered.

“If memory serves, the hall that houses them is this way,” he said, walking perhaps just a little closer to Rhys than he strictly had to.

Rhys: A hand slipped from his pocket, placed over Xavier's stomach as the reached the end of the hall.

"Security is still a thing with two legs," he whispered. Xavier was the seasoned explorer here, but a healthy dose of caution was his nature.

Xavier: Xavier could’ve told Rhys that the spell he was using to hide them protected them from being detected by guards as well as the security system, but then the vampire wouldn’t have a reason to touch him.

He let himself peek around the corner and cocked his head for any sound. It wouldn’t hurt to check anyway.

“We’re safe,” he whispered back. “The closest guard is on the floor above us.”

Rhys: It only dawned on Rhys in that very moment the lengths he had gone to spend time with this man. The noise factory that was January's club; hidden within a museum in the heart of Manhattan, not at all his territory, nor where he was welcome.

"Your lead, then." Said, though he had yet to release Xavier from his hold.

Xavier: “Right.” It would be another moment, or perhaps even two, before Xavier took that lead.

Their letters made it feel like he spoke to Rhys very often though in reality, months had passed without them seeing each other. Every point of contact, every look, every smile felt precious. Rare. Something to be treasured even if beneath it all there was an undercurrent of guilt.

But…at least for tonight…he wanted to try to forget it was there.

He just wanted to enjoy the quiet and look at beautiful things with the man that had so captivated him from the very first moment they’d met.

Rhys: Eventually, Xavier would have to be released. Time was of no concern in the grand scheme. But this man, despite time, space, and loss, was still his lover. A word Xavier had seemed to shun, but not outright reject. Didn't change how he felt. All he had wanted tonight was his comfortable silence.

There was too much museum and not enough night. Rhys intended to read the details of every interesting artifact, starting with a painting in a room off to the left of Christ and his mother. Surrounded by older artifacts of books, medallions, and saint pendants.

"Do you know your saints?"

Xavier: Despite what they represented, the artifacts were still beautiful and worthy of admiration. But watching Rhys admire them? Watching him learn about what he was seeing? That was infinitely more interesting.

"I did at one point." The knowledge had been beaten into him. "The only ones I can ever seem to remember are Saint Christopher and Joan of Arc."

Rhys: "The patron saint of travelers, loved by every mariner with an ounce of Christianity in their blood."

Rhys smiled from his hunched position, still admiring the golden pendant before him.

"I can tell you a secret about her. A rumor by association. Do you know the name Gilles de Rais?"

Xavier: And associated with one mariner in particular in the mind of a certain demon.

Xavier nodded. "I do, yes. His name is often associated with hers." The man had been a serial killer himself, if he was remembering correctly. One far more vile as far as Xavier was concerned.

"What is this rumor?"

Rhys: "From one elder to another elder to another elder, Gilles de Rais was a mage. I don't know what kind. But her supposed vision of angels was untapped magic that drove her insane. He might have had a hand in it. So the story goes."

Xavier: "Ahhh..." Xavier turned the matter over in his mind. Not only did that make perfect sense, it was so much more plausible than Joan's own account of what she experienced.

"I knew it had to have been something. Simply hearing angels supposedly renders humans all but deaf, actually seeing them would've blinded her if not killed her entirely. I'm more inclined to believe the influence of this mage."

Rhys: The statement of angels had Rhys sitting up straight, turning his attention to Xavier.

"Have you ever laid eyes on one?"

Xavier: "Yes and no. I wouldn't be standing here if I'd ever seen an angel's true form but..." He hummed thoughtfully. "Nothing will ever shake my belief that my father is a fallen angel and I've either just never seen his actual true form or if I have, it's been so warped by Hell that it's indistinguishable from a demon's."

Rhys: Rhys' chin rose and slowly fell.

"The one who made you? Your... sire." As he could understand it.

Xavier: "Yes," he confirmed with a nod. "Sire, father, creator. I suppose it all amounts to the same thing."

Rhys: "Dangerous line some cross, confusing sire as lover. Not unheard of. I rarely hear 'father' or 'mother' in my circle." He could assume the taboo was universal.

Xavier: In that moment Xavier could have sworn he felt Zagan's touch beneath his clothes, along with the all-too-familiar shame and despair and self-hatred licking at his insides like flame.

"Creator and father--or mother--seem to be used interchangeably among demons."

Rhys: "In recent years, you find childer making attempts on their sire's head. The respect it once carried has diminished." His mouth curled, incredulous. "Maybe it's just the abundance of frivolous embraces these nights."

Xavier: He thought, inevitably, of Holden White.

“Pardon me if I’m mistaken but aren’t there meant to be systems in place to prevent those frivolous embraces? Outliers will always exist of course but it seems like a terribly reckless thing to leave unchecked.”

Rhys: "Systems, yes. Keeping your equals in check."

His hand felt for his pack of cigarettes, squeezed. Not here.

"Camarilla run a tight ship. You hear a Scourge is coming for you, your time is up. The bringers of death to high generation illegals."

Xavier: “I take it at least part of the reason for the state of affairs is a decided lack of Kindred keeping each other in check?” An unsettling thought to be sure, just like whatever this Scourge was.

Xavier wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know.

“I hope no one in your territory is making trouble of that caliber.”

Rhys: "A lot of people abandoning the Ivory Tower. We don't like being told what to do."

Two fingers were pointed towards the nearest window.

"We're in Camarilla territory. Manhattan belongs to them. Anarchs surround them. It's a mess."

Xavier: “Politics usually are. But you can at least rest easy in one respect.”

Xavier smiled at the window, knowing full well that if one were to look in, they wouldn’t see anything but the items on display.

“No one but me will ever know you’re here.”

Rhys: His smile returned. "You make it sound as though you've stolen me."

Xavier: “It feels as though I have. Just for a little while.”

Rhys: Hmm. A thought tingled the tip of his tongue, urged to escape. With a little hum, it was bedded down.

"Then I am yours. For a little while."

Xavier: The demon smiled. “Is there anything you’d like to do tonight? Anywhere you’d like to go?”

Rhys: "You're the one..." in recovery, "tonight is for."

Xavier: “Then…after we’ve seen all we care to here…would you be opposed to sitting on the bridge with me again?”

Rhys: "Play a game of hawk-dove with the sun again?" A replica of that unforgettable night? "With pleasure."

Xavier: “A game that we’ll win,” he said with an easy smile that he had to turn away to hide. He needed to keep some of his excitement for himself, lest Rhys suspect an ulterior motive and ruin the surprise.

Rhys: What was that? He reached forward to pinch Xavier's chin. Affectionately, of course, wanting another second of that secretive smile.

"Lead on."

Xavier: He wouldn’t have to try hard to get it; Xavier was doing a terrible job of not appearing like someone with a secret.

“Let’s go seeee….” He went over his mental map of the museum. “The Greek and Roman art. I’m in the mood for sculpture.”

Rhys: Rhys' smile grew and his hand fell. Now it was his turn to look away. He should explain himself.

"Sculpture, yes. You're touch-starved." He shrugged, starting off towards the hallway. "January's theory."

Xavier: Xavier blinked, then kicked himself mentally. Of course January had a theory; she’d been observing and gleaning all the information she could about those observations because he was a stranger in her territory.

He’d accounted for the lack of privacy but not, somehow, for that little inevitability, fool that he was.

“Mm.” Xavier fell into step beside Rhys. “And here I was hoping my impeccable sense of style would take center stage.”

Rhys: "She loves her theories. One of her favorite stories is how her ability to read people saved her from a swift beheading." A diminutive hedonistic detective with no drive beyond her own pleasure. "Her joie de vivre will do her in."

A lot to say after so long apart. Too much, perhaps. The art opposite of Xavier was suddenly interesting.

Xavier: “Fortunate as it was that she managed to keep her head, one cannot always rely on their ability to read people. Humans and things like us are frighteningly unpredictable.” Yet another benefit of paranoia.

“Did she happen to share her theories about Rohan?”

Rhys: "Enough trust in my own judgement to give me his card. If she didn't like what she saw, he would be empty-handed."

He could face Xavier again.

"What do you know of ghouls? You tightened."

Xavier: Xavier heaved a long sigh. “Not much beyond know what they are and how their bond is established but that isn’t exactly what caused my reaction. Do you recall the fledging I told you about?”

Rhys: "Something happened to him." Or Rohan wanted something to happen with him for him to be the subject.

Xavier: “He walked into the sun. It all finally became too much for him to handle.”

Rhys: "I'm not surprised." Not with everything Xavier had told him. "It's for the best."

Xavier: “I’m inclined to agree. But Rohan was beginning to develop, or rather had developed, feelings for him.”

Rhys: "Feelings. Hmm. You didn't warn him against it? For a fledgling..."

Xavier: “Perhaps I should have, but I never imagined that he would begin to see him that way. In any event, those feelings were unrequited. The rabbit never stopped pining for the woman who turned him and Rohan never said a word to him.”

Rhys: "Would it be wise to play with a ghoul, then. He seems to be a stone enamored with flighty things."

Xavier: “I don’t know,” Xavier sighed. “I didn’t say as much to him but it almost seems as though the universe is toying with him a bit. He loved a Kindred, then cared for a fledgling, and now seems primed to be pursued by a ghoul.”

Rhys: "Forgive me, but, is he a masochist?"

Xavier: “Would that he was. Then this all might not be so tragic. You said he seems like a stone but really…he’s a harbor. He’s a harbor that wants a boat to keep safe.”

Rhys: "Saying that, does he need a lover or children?"

His shoulder rose and fell. "I had a captain like that. Wanted to be the leader of his misfit of lost boys. A menagerie of oddities. He's an only child, I assume."

Xavier: Xavier nodded. “He is, yes. In all honesty, he needs and deserves both. Someone to love him and make him happy and show him the same care and compassion he shows to everyone else. Someone who wants him and not someone else.”

Rhys: Rhys leaned over to read the history of an ornate mask embedded with lapis lazuli. Rohan seemed with them even in their privacy.

"And what do you need and deserve?"

Xavier: Xavier managed to catch himself before saying the first thing that came to mind, which was that he didn’t think he deserved anything. He had a feeling Rhys would find that answer unacceptable.

“A Maserati,” he said, choosing the most frivolous, casual answer to steer them into less fraught waters. “And a cigarette on top of the Brooklyn bridge.”

Rhys: "You're not already bored of the museum." The column read, he turned back around. Both hands held out, palms opened, then closed.

"Show me your favorite artifact."

Xavier: He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been bored in any museum I’ve visited. Granted, I’m very picky.”

He looked around the hall. “My favorite artifact here or in the whole museum?”

Rhys: "The artifact you must visit every time you step foot in this building."

Xavier: The answer was immediate.

“Follow me.”

Xavier took a moment to listen for any guards before leading Rhys through hall after hall and gallery after gallery to the opposite end of the floor they were on. He led them into the American wing, to a small cozy corner where their goal lay waiting.

“There she is,” said the demon, gazing adoringly at the portrait of the infamous Madame X.

Rhys: Rhys followed in step, making no effort to hide the way he glanced at Xavier, admiring the flow of his hair and the click of his heels. This man belonged here. And for a moment, all he could imagine was his pale, lithe form splayed on the floor, surrounded by his beloved art.

His spectacles, which had been sitting gingerly between his teeth for the length of the journey, were returned to his face as he leaned in to study her. He could not by a margin understand the depths of beauty a Toreador could, but he could appreciate complexity when it was in his face.

"These straps on her shoulders are meant to be diamonds? Gold, maybe," he mused. "Her face is familiar to me. Masculine. Tired. She seems... human."

Xavier: “Mhm. Jeweled in some fashion.” He sighed wistfully. “She does, doesn’t she? When I first saw this painting I sat in front of it for hours, studying every inch of the canvas, every nuance of her expression. Coveting her. Do you know the story behind it?”

Rhys: "I can't say that I do. She's not fantasy. That much is clear."

Xavier: “Indeed,” Xavier said with a nod. “Madame Gautreau was very real. This portrait is what you may call a revision.

“When John Singer Sargent originally painted it, this strap here,” he indicated the strap farthest from her face, “wasn’t sitting on her shoulder. Do you see how its placement disrupts the line created by her profile, the direction in which she’s leaning, and her arm? It doesn’t quite look natural because that wasn’t what Sargent intended.

“In the original, the strap had slid from her shoulder. When Sargent exhibited the portrait, it was deemed so scandalous that he was forced to paint over it.”

Rhys: Over a strap. If prudish critics were to go so far, might as well condemn straps altogether. Cover her shoulders entirely.

"If only those same people were dropped in Lady Dune's club," he smirked.

Xavier: Xavier laughed softly. “Oh, they’d faint clear away. They deserve far worse in my opinion.

“You know…I’ve often thought of taking her. The first day I saw her, I wanted to take her. I’d even picked a spot for her in my mind. But I didn’t—and haven’t—because it’s never quite felt right knowing that how she is portrayed here isn’t how she was meant to be portrayed. So instead I’ve spent years searching for a painter with the skill required to reproduce Sargent’s original vision of her.”

Rhys: "And your replication, was it ever produced? If ever comes a time... I would like to compare." He wouldn't mind seeing more than a painting. The wallpaper, curtains, wood floor. Every decision Xavier made for a house he no longer calls home.

Xavier: He shook his head. “I’ve never been able to find a painter equal to the task. You see I don’t just want my cake, I also want to eat it.”

Xavier finally looked away from the portrait and smiled at Rhys. “I want a perfect reproduction, indistinguishable from Sargent’s in every way except for that single detail.”

Rhys: "That is something you cannot create from your magic?"

Xavier: “Personally, no. I’m not quite sure what sort of skill set would be required in order to do it with magic. Perhaps I should look for a painter who also happens to be mage.”

Rhys: "Plenty of those, I'm sure. But if you're willing to be in her presence, you could call upon a certain Toreador. She was once a painter herself. Her style is... Monet. The one with flowers."

Xavier: “Ah, yes. His famous water lilies.” The notion wasn’t entirely unappealing. He certainly had nothing against January, only a reservation about her apparent penchant for putting people under a microscope.

“It’s an option to keep in mind.”

Rhys: "Mm." He looked back at the woman, wondering what she was looking at during her modeling.

"Have you ever been painted?"

Xavier: “I have. I’ve sat for portraits and been both subject and canvas for an artist friend of mine.”

Rhys: "Elaborate on canvas."

Xavier: “My friend is a body painter. He’s quite literally painted me.”

Rhys: That had Rhys staring at the demon with fresh eyes. "Now that's scandalous."

Xavier: If Xavier were a weak-willed sort, he would’ve blushed at the prospect of Rhys trying to imagine what that looked like. “Scandal follows art like a shadow and like beauty, it’s in the eye of the beholder.

Rhys: Speaking of which, "Is there any more beauty you wish to dazzle me with? I am yours."

Xavier: “Countless things more, but then we’d be here all night and miss our time on the bridge.”

Rhys: "The night is young, I assure you. You have me until dawn."

Xavier: Not young enough. It felt like the night was going by so quickly and so slowly at the same time. Xavier wanted to show Rhys the entire museum but knew, or at least hoped, there would be another opportunity in the future. He wanted to take him to the Guggenheim. He wanted to show him beautiful things.

But more than anything, he wanted to be close to him and give him what he’d been wanting to give him for weeks.

Xavier held a hand out. “Come with me to the bridge.”

Rhys: Xavier had said he wanted to take him here, and here they were. Nearing an hour, possibly longer. He'd expected to stay until the first rays of the sun, dodging security guards and whispering in each other's ears until the inevitable could no longer be ignored. That was the kind of passion this demon harbored, and he was a willing tourist.

There must have been a reason he was intent on leaving.

Pale fingers in a pale hand, squeezed, saying nothing more.

Xavier: Xavier hardly knew where the sudden urge to leave had come from, only that…he was suddenly feeling too many things. Rhys’ comment about stealing him had been made in lighthearted jest but it had a ring of truth.

Xavier did feel like he was stealing something, although it was hard to discern precisely what he was stealing and from whom. Was it Rhys? His time? His affection? A moment of levity and comfort?

Or was it all of those things, neatly wrapped in a package of guilt and the undeniable feeling that he did not deserve any of it?

These questions would haunt him in the days to come, of that Xavier had no doubt. They’d steal his sleep, unsettle his mind. But maybe, just maybe, if he whisked them to the top of the Brooklyn bridge and let the night air shroud the two of them, the wind could fend off his thoughts for just a little while longer.

So that was precisely what he did. He took them back to the spot they’d visited all those months ago and felt himself finally able to breathe out.

Rhys: Stolen was a word used carelessly. Xavier had done nothing of the sort. In Xavier's presence was exactly where he wanted to be. Not in the heart of a club, and despite good company, not with anyone else. In privacy was how they had begun. He had become spoiled by their intimacy, even in correspondence.

The high winds were an old friend. Rhys pulled a cigarette from his coat and took a seat. This night would be different. Tonight, Xavier would have his arms around his waist.

"Come."

Xavier: Leaning into Rhys, the demon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Though his hold was tentative, he could slowly feel himself returning to his center, returning to calm. They were alone and together and that was a comfort.

“Thank you.”

Rhys/Ariel: "Don't thank me." His voice just managed to carry over the insistent wind. There was not a single hesitation in leaning his weight against the demon, offering his cigarette to share. Their version of a kiss.

Ariel had the best vantage point in the club, but no amount of height was going to shine a spotlight on a dark suit in a room of darkness. He had accepted the loss after an hour of passive searching.

He needed to think about something else. Editing his latest video; the dance class on Wednesday; the conversation he'd have with January tomorrow night.

It was time to start wrapping up. Transitioning into his chillwave mix to set the tone. People needed to take the hint and start for the door. Just an hour remained.

Rohan/Xavier: I have to thank you, thought Xavier, taking the cigarette. Thanking Rhys and writing to him and being here holding on to him were the only ways Xavier knew to express his eternal gratitude for this man’s presence in his life.

Perhaps it was for the best that Ariel hadn’t been able to spot Rohan. Seeing the storm of emotion in his face probably wouldn’t have inspired any confidence.

And it most certainly was a storm.

While he’d sat and watched and contemplated Ariel, Rohan had had to stop himself from leaving half a dozen times. He’d stopped himself from drinking more alcohol. He’d stopped himself from calling Abel or Ramsay and begging one of them to tell him what to do.

By the time the music seemed to settle into something less frantic, Rohan had no more insight into how he felt than when he’d sat down. All he knew was that he couldn’t make himself leave, and that he simply could not take his eyes off of the man onstage. He was surprised Ariel’s skin didn’t catch fire from how intensely Rohan was staring at him.

He also knew that when the music stopped entirely? He was going to have to talk to him again.

Ariel: The music came to a crescendo at exactly 2 AM. Half of the club knew the ritual and had started outside. Some didn't want to leave. Some never left. The guards upstairs began ushering people to the spiral staircases. January was nowhere to be found. Tucked away somewhere enjoying yet another meal.

No sooner had the music ended did Ariel grab a bottle of water, finishing and crushing the thin plastic. The next priority was his phone. Hunched over his equipment, his shoulders wilted.

Rohan: As was almost always the case, the silence brought clarity. And in Rohan’s particular case? Resolve.

He didn’t know what he wanted to happen as he finally slid off his barstool and crossed the emptying dance floor with a singular focus, moving against the tide of bodies toward the stage. He didn’t know how he wanted the DJ to react. How he would react. Would he be surprised? Glad?

Had he expected anything at all when he’d asked January to pass on his card or had it been just a shot in the dark?

“…Ariel.”

Ariel: The word almost didn't register. Ringing in his ears to blame. And then, for just a moment, believing he had imagined it. Looking up was only to confirm his sanity.

His phone was placed face down on the table. Both hands hold him steady. He rocked forward and back. Stared, processing. Not disenchanted or listless. Surprised, elated, confused, enamored.

"Hi," came a small, modest voice.

Rohan: Out of the turmoil that had been his emotional state for most of the night, the feeling that rose victorious in that moment was relief.

Ariel seemed glad to see him. Surprised, but glad. That at least could be a comfort.

“Hi.” Rohan breathed deeply. Now that he was here he didn’t quite know what he wanted to say. “I um…I received your card.”

Ariel: "Shot in the dark," he blurted. A glance was given to his equipment. A hundred ideas. Hardly any of them worth the same shot. Quickly filtering out something worthwhile.

"Did you - Did you, like, go and come back?"

Rohan: Rohan blinked. Oh. Well that was one question answered immediately. He suddenly felt a bit better about his decision-making this evening.

There was a possibility that telling the truth might make him sound pathetic, but he didn’t see the point of lying about such a small detail when it wasn’t necessary.

He shook his head. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

Ariel: Ariel's smile was a bit incredulous. There was no way. Right? Couldn't be.

He began shutting down his equipment.

"You don't look drunk," he said through a suspicious laugh.

Rohan: “I’m not.” Although it had been very tempting, being drunk wouldn’t have helped him one bit. “I’ve been drinking club soda and ginger ale.”

Ariel: That was...

Enough to have Ariel look up. This man hadn't plastered himself in the hopes of getting laid. Having a night with someone he could brag about later on Instagram or Twitter. Rohan didn't even seem the type to have social media. Maybe he was judging that suit too much.

Or maybe this was a serial killer, and he'd never trust himself again.

"You hungry at all?"

Rohan: “I—“ Rohan had been about to say that’d he’d already eaten dinner but it was two in the morning. Dinner had been hours ago.

“…I could eat.”

Ariel: "Some of us go to a place called Greasy Spoon. It's around the corner. You know, breakfast food. Bad burgers. They got like thirty kindsa omelets."

He looked up again, bit his lip.

Rohan: Xavier often described his jaunts to hole-in-the-wall ramen shops and street stands of questionable repute in the middle of the night as a way to help his mind when it needed to sort itself out. A balm in the form of a midnight meal.

Tonight felt like the kind of night for that.

“Would you like to go with me?”

Ariel: Ariel was back to swaying. Forward, back, forward. This was obviously a habit.

"I'd love you to come with me. You're not tired?"

Rohan: He shook his head. “I’m used to staying up late.”

Ariel: His job, maybe. At least now he had time to ask.

"Occupational hazard," he smiled.

"I'll be done real quick."

Rohan: More like force of habit for reasons that…no longer existed.

“I’ll be here.”

Ariel: "Ever...?" He motioned to his lifeless machines.

Rohan: “No, never.” Ariel may as well have been shutting down a spaceship for all that Rohan knew of his equipment.

Ariel: His smile returned. "Oh," he rubbed his hands together, "I'm starving, but next time. Next time I'll show you everything."

Rohan: Next time…

For Ariel to say that, he must’ve had enough optimism about this meal they were about to share—and about him—that he anticipated another meeting. It was flattering in a way that Rohan wasn’t accustomed to, even if part of him did want to caution Ariel that he might well be disappointed by him outside of this club.

Still, Rohan smiled and nodded. “Next time.”

Ariel: He said next time! His body was both alive and exhausted, but one was clearly winning with that ear-to-ear smile. Bouncing on his feet as a large cloth was thrown over the equipment. Having another set at home had been the most sane purchase of his life.

"Awesome." He suddenly looked over Rohan's shoulder.

"Joey!" The bartender was given a wave.

"Spoons?"

"You coming?"

"Not tonight, bro."

Ariel nodded, secretly relieved. "Take it easy."

Rohan: Ah, so the bartender’s name was Joey. Rohan was almost embarrassed to look at him after all the hours he’d spent sitting at the bar staring at Ariel.

He took a sudden interest in his phone that was mostly to save face but also an opportunity to tell Xavier where he was going.

Ariel: Yeah, Joey was cleaning glasses and staring, wondering how that would go, and if he'd ever see that face again. A lot of people were in and out of these clubs. Men and women for January, the guards - hell, he'd had a few tasty treats himself, before asking one of those treats to give marriage a try.

Enjoy your snack.

No sooner did the summer breeze kiss his skin did Ariel tilt his head back and sigh.

"I can't believe you waited."

Rohan: Rohan had never been so glad to be out of a building before in his life. Even though his bones weren’t being rattled by noise anymore and the city wasn’t exactly silent even at this hour, being outside still felt like the first real quiet he’d had since earlier that day.

Ariel wasn’t alone in his disbelief. “Neither can I,” Rohan said softly.

Ariel: So, around the block, then. The streets were still saturated with inebriated fools talking as loudly as they had with his music, taking selfies, or hugging a little too long.

"So, where you from?" That accent wasn't lost on him.

Rohan: Cities at night all tended to be the same. Their charms were highlighted during the day but when night fell? They became the universal dominion of drunken humans and the things that usually lurked in the shadows.

“Romania. I was born in Bucharest.”

Ariel: "Oh, uh... this is gonna sound dumb, but like, Dracula?"

Rohan: At last! A smile. “It doesn’t sound dumb. Yes, he’s Romanian, too. From Transylvania.”

Ariel: "Always get that mixed up with Hungary." Now that he'd made a fool of himself, moving on. "I'm from Seattle."

Rohan: “You’re not the only one. Their capital is Budapest. Easy to get them mixed up.”

Rohan turned to him. “Are you really?”

Ariel: "Born and raised nineteen years. Clam chowder is still the best shit ever."

Rohan: “A friend of mine lives in Seattle. I lived in Washington too when I was growing up.”

Ariel: A few waves to shouting fans. Rohan was kept to his left, away from the street and away from line of sight. Nosy people.

"Oh yeah? Where?"

Rohan: “Near Spokane. My parents like being close to nature.”

Ariel: "Jeez. You might as well have been in Idaho!"

Rohan: Rohan laughed, and realized as he did that it was the first time in a while.

“Idaho wasn’t as appealing to them as Washington. I think they liked the sound of it better.”

Ariel: This song and dance was familiar. Where are you from, what do you do, how long are you staying; it was expected, and they'd already begun. He didn't want that to be all they had.

Another wave to a group of five drunk heathens as he rounded the corner.

"How do you know Father Mello?"

Rohan: “I don’t really,” Rohan said, watching Ariel out of the corner of his eye. He was popular, seemingly well-liked. Easy to talk to.

“I only met him tonight. Rossmara is the one who knows him.”

Ariel: "The one that looks like Dracula?" he asked, making a point not to look at him. Anywhere else.

Rohan: Rohan laughed again. He had to. Everyone looked at Xavier and wanted to put him in a museum and now here this man was with such a biting assessment.

“You think he looks like Dracula?” he managed, clearing his throat to try and get his mirth under control.

Ariel: At least he was laughing. His logic assumed if the man had been a vampire, his reaction would have been much more offended. Again he wondered if Rohan knew anything about the things in the dark.

That laugh was perfect.

"Yeah! Thought he'd have your accent!" he smiled.

Rohan: He shook his head, unable to stop another small bout of laughter.

“Nope. No Dracula and no Romanian. He’s an Englishman through and through.”

Ariel: "There any English Drac - Draculas?" He laughed now, too. "Bro, I think we found one!"

Rohan: Somewhere in this city Xavier’s ears must have been burning. If they were, Rohan wouldn’t tell him why.

He might tell Abel though.

“I think we have. He even has a castle.”

Ariel: And Ariel had shit to tell no one. Everyone at the club spoke to January, using any information for favors. It was better to keep the important things to himself. A little suffocating these past few years.

"No shit? Fucking where?"

Rohan: “France, Germany. Technically it’s castles, plural.” Vague enough information to divulge. Besides, at least two of those castles were about to be sold.

Ariel: Who the fuck was this guy? Had to be a vampire, or January and her associates would make him one.

He'd save his next question, for now. The diner was packed with people from the club and the bar across the street. Ugly yellow tile for walls and records hanging from the ceiling. Pictures of famous people framed on the walls. A run-down jukebox by the equally run down cash register. Cash Only written in sharpie and slapped on with tape.

The Hollies' "Long Cool Woman" played over the drone of a hundred voices.

The DJ was quickly recognized. People from across the street knew his face and wanted a handshake, half-hug, or how you do.

Rohan was noticed as well.

"You a DJ, too? Can you take our pic?" A woman in a red sequined dress asked.

Rohan: It wasn’t as quiet as the street, but Rohan much preferred a crowded diner to a crowded club. At least here he felt more in his element, even with Ariel getting recognized as much as he was.

“No, not a DJ.” But he would take their picture and make sure it came out nice.

You really do look good with anyone, Rohan thought as he tapped the screen.

Ariel: She and her friend in a backless drape and shorts hugged to either side of Ariel, holding up peace signs as he did the same. Now that that was over, a single tug was given to Rohan's suit before making his way over to a table with dirty empty plates. A woman in her thirties with the name tag Rachel was quick to finish tidying up.

"Lemme finish first, Ariel!"

"Sorry, Rach!"

Rohan: Rohan thought nothing of being tugged along except for how foreign it was. And a little endearing. It made him happy in a way that made his chest ache.

He apologized to their waitress for rushing her and took his seat opposite Ariel.

“You really must come here often if you’re on a first name basis with people.”

Ariel: "Thursday to Saturday. If I eat before work I feel weird, so," he threw his hands up.

Right, the question he had pending.

"So you like, the Dracula's secretary or something?"

Rohan: “More like second-in-command.” The Dracula, he thought, shaking his head with a smile.

“I manage some of his business interests. Not nearly as interesting or exciting as being a DJ.”

Ariel: "So, vice-president of a company? Or, I know this, fuckin' - COO?"

Rohan: “Mhm, exactly.” It was actually more accurate than it appeared on the surface, especially these days with Xavier in Thailand.

Ariel: "Wow, wow." Man probably made more money than him! So this wasn't someone trying to jump in the sack with him, wasn't drunk out of his mind, wasn't trying to get his own picture snapped, and wasn't after his money.

"I'mma start calling you Prince Charming," he laughed.

Rohan: “Please, that’s far too generous a title for someone like me,” he chuckled, shaking his head and looking down at the table. “I’m not usually…”

He gestured at himself, his suit.

Ariel: "Oh yeah?" Ariel leaned forward, arms folded over the table. "What's usual look like?"

Rohan: “I work in jeans from a home office. This is only because I went to a nice dinner earlier.”

Ariel: "A nice dinner when?" Was he about to have a glass of water for a meal, and this was all for him?

Rachel returned in the nick of time. Ariel leaned back in his seat. He didn't even need to look at the menu.

"Well, you're a new face," she greeted Rohan. A little too fresh for Greasy Spoon.

She looked between the two. "Sweetie, you know what you want?"

"I know what I want." Ariel looked to Rohan. "Think we need a minute. Been talking his head off. He ain't even looked."

"Oh! Well, our specialty's omelets. If you can eat the Monster Clucker you get your face on the wall, Facebook, all that."

"That's like, a dozen eggs. I think he'd die."

"Well for now, what you wanna drink?"

Rohan: “A while ago.” He only wasn’t feeling the hunger full force yet because he’d kept himself well-hydrated back at the club.

Rohan returned Rachel’s greeting with a nod and a smile. A dozen eggs? He’d have to tell Abel about this place.

“Coffee, please. And French toast.” No need to look at a menu; he knew exactly what he wanted.

Ariel: "Coffee. Strawberries, chocolate, or smores?"

"You sure? It's like a huge dessert."

Rohan: Rohan nodded. “I’m sure. Strawberries.”

Ariel: "Was gonna ask if you like fried cheesecake, but I think you'll die if you have both."

Ariel ordered himself an egg sandwich with chard, extra bacon, hash browns, orange juice, and fried cheesecake bites with caramel.

No sooner did she leave was he back to leaning forward.

Rohan: “Fried cheesecake?” He asked when Rachel had gone. “That’s the most American thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

Ariel: "It's so good. They do smores french toast, pizza, waffles, pancakes, but their fried cheesecake? Oh my god. It's like Lucky Charms kinda marshmallows."

Rohan: “So pure sugar,” Rohan chuckled. Maybe he’d give it a go next time, if there was a next time. “At least it’s something it makes sense to fry. I’ve seen lots of questionable fried foods in this country.”

Ariel: "Fried Oreo is God's gift to mankind."

Rohan: “I won’t argue with that. It’s like eating an Oreo wrapped in a funnel cake.”

Ariel: "Oh shit, it is!"

Ariel leaned back long enough to stretch, arms over head.

"You going back to Washington or a castle?"

Rohan: “Neither actually. The company’s in California. San Francisco.”

Ariel: "I didn't see you being a San Fran kinda guy. More like... Spokane."

Rohan: He smiled. “I don’t live in the city. Nearby, but not in San Francisco proper.”

Ariel: "So, nice suit," he counted with his fingers, "work for Dracula, you're from Dracula's country, you... work in San Fran but too fancy for that shit. You're hot. You're... You're smart." You hang around vampires. "Prince Charming."

Rohan: Rohan’s efforts to appear calm, which had almost been working up until Ariel started in on his list, vanished in an instant and he went right back to feeling flustered.

“You’re far too kind,” he said, shaking his head. Where was that coffee, he needed a distraction. “And you’re giving me far too much credit. I promise I’m no Prince Charming, I’m just me.”

Ariel: Coffee, orange juice, and two glasses of water arrived before Ariel could think of anything to say. Only word to come to mind in that moment was sophistication. The next he managed to fathom was modest.

"We'll see." For now a lull in conversation, momentarily distracted by "Roadhouse Blues" by The Doors.

Rohan: He sent up more thanks to the universe for giving him the much-needed reprieve of stirring sugar into coffee and sipping it to ground himself.

It served another purpose, too. There was something he’d wondered from the moment Rhys had given him Ariel’s card until now and for whatever reason, he finally felt brave enough to find out.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ariel: By now his hands were being used as pillows for the back of his head, staring first at the ceiling and then Mr. Charming. In this light, the red under his eyes was becoming more prominent.

"Anything."

Rohan: “I just…why me?” His voice and expression were genuinely curious, and maybe just a bit confused.

“You said it was a shot in the dark but something must have made you take it. You could have your pick of anyone. Everyone. So why me?” Back at the club, Ariel hadn’t known the majority of the reasons he’d cited when he called him Prince Charming; all he’d known at that point was Rohan’s name.

Ariel: There was truth in his questions. He could have practically anyone.

"So I'm Prince Charming?" His smile was brief.

"Because." Not good enough. "First your eyes, then your voice. Then... I dunno. You seem... genuine. Like, there's no filter on you." He gestured to his own face.

Rohan: From where Rohan was sitting, Ariel certainly came closer to Prince Charming than he did.

“So…it was because you were attracted to me?” The most normal reason in the world, yet this man looked surprised.

Ariel: "Course." He looked Rohan in the eyes. "How can I not be?"

Rohan: Look at you. Look at me. Something doesn’t add up here.

Rohan sipped his coffee and was grateful that there was still something in his immediate universe that made sense.

“I have no idea how to answer that.”

Ariel: "Can I ask a question now?"

Rohan: “Go ahead.”

Ariel: "Did someone hurt you? You're acting like no one's ever wanted you before."

Rohan: “Getting hurt is a part of life, isn’t it?” Rohan said quietly, staring into the depths of his mug. His words were neither admission nor denial.

Ariel: Absolutely fucking not, he was about to say, before Rachel arrived with their orders. A thank you was muttered, waiting for her to be out of earshot.

"When my grandparents die of old age, yeah. When someone's kid gets hit by a bus. Yeah. Someone being a douchebag, you don't gotta take that."

Rohan: Yet another distraction. Rohan thanked Rachel and let his attention shift to his food instead. He still wouldn’t meet Ariel’s gaze.

“That’s just it. Existence isn’t always pleasant. Things can happen that are no one’s fault and sometimes those things can hurt people.”

Ariel: Ariel would have to think on that a moment. Take a bite of his sandwich and stare out the window. The man spoke with such eloquence.

Ah ha.

"You loved someone that didn't know you loved em?"

Rohan: “No one escapes being a teenager without at least one unrequited crush.” More generalizations, more avoidance of eye contact.

Either he was pathetically easy to read or Ariel was far too astute for his own good.

Ariel: That was just it, he could catch a lot of things a lot of the time; didn't mean he had any wits to utilize that information effectively. That, or he chose blindness. Jessica suddenly flashed in his mind. A mistake on the cusp of his adulthood.

"How old are you?"

Rohan: “Thirty-two.” A lie that, tonight at least, felt bitter on his tongue. Ariel might have been a ghoul but that didn’t mean that they could discuss the complexities of that question in a public diner surrounded by people with no awareness or knowledge of anything supernatural.

He finally looked up. “How old are you?”

Ariel: Raised brows gave away his surprise. He couldn't put his finger on why that caught him off guard. Not at first. He thought maybe 29 by his clear skin and healthy eyes. His demeanor, on the other hand, older. Much older. He didn't fit at any age.

"I'll be 28 on the 29th. You're invited to my birthday party. Gonna be a little thing at my place. Then some shit at the club."

Rohan: Rohan just hoped that it was actually surprise and not disbelief, however justified it might have been.

Regardless of how Ariel reacted to hearing his age, Rohan looked more than a little relieved when he heard Ariel’s. Why? He wasn’t about to say.

The smile made a tentative return. “Are you looking forward to it?”

Ariel: One day, he would have to lie about his age, but not for a long time to come.

"Looking forward to you being my date," he smiled, taking a bite of bacon.

Rohan: “So I’ve gone from guest to your date, have I?” A good-natured tease now that they were in less complicated territory.

Ariel: "Wanna come? I'll show you a good time."

Rohan: He was just being nice. They’d only met a few hours ago, there was absolutely no reason to interpret it as anything other than a friendly invitation and therefore no reason to say no.

“Sure. I’d be glad to go to your birthday party.”

Ariel: "Yes!" Fist and all. "It's a date." But then he remembered the obvious. "How long you in town?"

Rohan: Cute, Rohan thought as he took a bite of his French toast.

“Just a couple of days this time but that’s not a problem. I can come back.”

Ariel: "You'd private jet back just for me, Mr. COO?"

Rohan: “I’d commercial jet back just for you, Mr. DJ.” Another white lie but again, time and place.

Ariel: "Over there making me feel special."

Rohan: “Everyone should feel special on their birthday.”

Ariel: "You make me feel it and it ain't even my birthday yet."

Rohan: “I wouldn’t be a very good date if I didn’t.”

Ariel: "I make you feel special?" Nothing else in the diner existed.

Rohan: Only an honest answer would do. Rohan may have found it surprising, it may have felt foreign and perhaps even undeserved but the fact of the matter was…

“Yes. You do.”

Ariel: His empty plate was pushed to the edge of the table. Orange juice given a sip. Courage without the alcohol.

"Can I sit over there?"

Rohan: Unknowingly or not, Ariel was giving him no time to settle. He was determined to fluster the old man sitting across from him.

And the old man was helpless to stop him.

Rohan nodded. “Yes,” he repeated.

Ariel: No one would say a thing. His bisexuality had been known from his very first posted video. If people didn't like it, they could say it to his face. Preferably when a gentleman like Rohan wasn't around.

Around the booth he went. Both hands on the seat, shoulders up. His smile was between ecstatic and sheepish. No secrets behind those eyes. He was enjoying every inch of exposed skin. Looking beyond, undressing only in a daydream.

"Hi."

Rohan: All there was for Ariel to enjoy was some of Rohan’s chest and his neck. Everything else was covered by his suit and it would be up to Ariel’s imagination to fill in the blanks.

There was an instinct to lean away but Rohan tamped it down. He was sixty dammit, not sixteen. He’d been close with a man before. He’d been in relationships.

He would not lean away, he’d meet Ariel’s eyes, and he’d return his smile.

“Hi.”

Ariel: Ariel had kissed people this soon. Men and women. Sex in gyms. On rooftops. He didn't feel compelled to rush things, but there was an honest yearning. He didn't want to fuck this up, but he wondered about those supple lips and whether or not they were warm.

He forced himself to look away. Rachel didn't need to swing by with the check.

"I'm gonna go pay, and when I get back I'm gonna ask if you wanna come back to my place for more coffee, or chill, or whatever. Don't gotta be anything. Just think about it til I get back?"

Rohan: For a moment—one brief, fleeting moment—Rohan thought Ariel was going to kiss him. Then he didn’t, and everything in Rohan seemed to relax.

A tiny corner of his mind voiced its disappointment but he paid it no mind. Rohan didn’t go around kissing strangers, even if they looked like Ariel.

He also didn’t just go into stranger’s homes but…he didn’t get a bad feeling from Ariel. And if that changed, Xavier was just a thought away.

Rohan nodded. “Okay. I will.”

Ariel: God, he was right there. Just a few more inches and he could have those lips.

Instead, he got to his feet and over to the cash register. Paid for both meals plus tip. Rachel was given a cheek kiss. She whispered a ‘good luck’ and a wink.

Rohan: Another small battle between relief and disappointment raged in Rohan's mind as Ariel moved away, with relief coming out the victor. Letting himself get swept up in the moment and acting on impulse would only lead to trouble later on down the line.

He didn't want to get attached or get his hopes up or start making more of things than he should. Not again. Better to be sure of what he felt and what Ariel wanted before anything happened.

For all he knew, Ariel just wanted to be friends. Attraction or not.

Rohan got to his feet as Ariel returned to the table.

Ariel: The door was opened for Rohan to leave first. Ariel never too far away, brushed his shoulder and stretched yet again. DJing was a mental and physical workout, no matter what anyone else said. He felt different coming from the club than an hour at the gym, but still an ache from his legs to his jaw.

But he had no intention to sleep. Not anytime soon.

"Thought about it?"

Rohan: Back out into the quiet of the night. Like before, the silence strengthened his resolve. "I did."

Rohan turned to face Ariel. He was an adult, he had his failsafes, and he trusted his gut. There were no bridges to cross or things to overthink. He was completely free to do as he pleased.

"Ask me."

Ariel: Ariel's stomach twisted. The delay in a response had him expecting a decline. This man wasn't like that. He didn't kiss on a first date. It was a miracle he had taken his card.

But Rohan had stayed for hours at the club. Had gone with him to dinner. Had allowed his nearness, his insistent gaze, and his flirtations.

To ask again had to be a yes. His eyes lit up with the very prospect.

Both hands were ever so gently claimed. He didn't give a fuck who was looking.

"Come back to my place? Lemme play you some music. Talk. Get to know you."

Rohan: Rohan let his hands be taken. They were warm and steady, and just calloused enough to suggest that they were used for things other than typing on a computer and handling paper.

He took a deep breath and nodded, smiling softly. "Okay."

Ariel: His smile became a grin. He wasn't going to ask if Rohan was certain; he didn't seem the type of man to say when he didn't mean.

"Fifteen-minute walk or an Uber?"

Rohan: There it was again; that achingly sweet enthusiasm. "It's a nice night. I don't mind a walk."

Ariel: "Alright." He might as well have been walking on air. This kind of happiness made him want to dance, but that could wait. For now, he clapped his hands once in celebration and started for across the street, heading deeper into Brooklyn Heights.

Rohan: Ariel's reaction alone was worth having accepted. Whatever else ended up happening tonight, at least Rohan got to make him happy and know that he was the cause.

"What would you normally be doing after work? If I wasn't here."

Ariel: He had planned for nothing short of honesty the moment Rohan had uttered his name. This question made no difference.

"I wrap up at the club. Get paid right there or wait til Saturday." Get bitten or given blood. "Go to the Spoon. Find an after-party to go to." Teeth softly raked over his lip. "Get high, drunk, both. Pass out til like, I dunno, 9 or 10 AM. Then it's like, gym, audition for some shit, work on my channel."

Rohan: Rohan nodded as Ariel spoke. Minus a few details, that sounded almost exactly like Ramsay’s routine on any given night. Perhaps that was why Rohan seemed so unfazed.

Except of course for one little thing.

“Your channel?”

Ariel: "Yeah. Got a thing on YouTube." Man, Rohan really didn't know him. Didn't follow any of his social media. He wasn't upset about that at all. Just confirmed this man wasn't after any shallow fame.

"Got my music on there, a music video, some vlogging. Working on another song right now. Thinking about doing some dance tutorial shit."

Rohan: They were back in the desert and Rohan was once again a fish.

Well, not entirely. He wasn’t so old that he didn’t know what YouTube was, he could give himself a little credit. All was not lost.

“That makes sense,” he mused, mostly to himself. Ariel was a musician; it was logical for a musician to put their work out into the world to be appreciated and enjoyed.

“Is this what you always saw yourself doing?”

Ariel: A question which put a smile on his face again, looking up at the sky and shoving his hands in his pockets. A safe place for them.

"Nah. Most my life I thought I was gonna be a dancer. And then like, the guy teaching the dances. Like I wanted to be the guy in all the music videos. Still... sorta doing that. Been in some but," he shook his head. "I'm - I'm not a choreographer. Like doing my own thing more than telling a buncha people what to do. Music's way less stressful.”

Rohan: “You certainly have the face for it.” Rohan suspected he had the body for it, too.

“I can understand though. It’s more freeing to only be responsible for what you create without having to think about different moving parts. We only have control over ourselves, after all.” He imagined that especially applied to a creative field.

Ariel: "Oh, well thank you," he beamed, hand sliding over his stomach.

"You sound like you're not the COO of someone else's shit." Or had his own dreams, once.

Rohan: Rohan smiled back. It was the truth and after all the little white lies, it felt good to tell the truth.

“I’m only in charge of one small part of a very large whole. Usually the part I’m in charge of is even smaller. The moving parts have always been Rossmara’s to think about.”

Ariel: "So what do you wanna do? If you could do anything you wanted to do, anything at all, where would you go? What you wanna be?"

Rohan: “Would you think me boring if I said I’m already doing it? Not the COO part, of course, but I have a lot of freedom. I get to travel, I get to indulge all my hobbies, I get to spend time with people I care about.”

Ariel: "So you're a sentimental guy. Still should do something that makes you happy to get outta bed in the afternoon - morning, whatever."

Rohan: “I do. All those things I mentioned make me glad to get out of bed in the morning. That’s all anyone can ask for.”

Ariel: "Agree to disagree, but, you're happy. What's these hobbies, anyway?"

Rohan: Rohan chuckled to himself. “You’re really going to think I’m boring but, I used to be an archivist so…I like doing research.”

Ariel: "So reading?" he chuckled.

Rohan: “Reading, learning things, tracking things down.” Slowly losing his mystique and appeal in the process, he added silently, heaving a great internal sigh.

Well, there was nothing to be done. It was going to happen sooner or later. Ariel was a DJ and he was a boring old man.

Ariel: Not his mystique. More and more he seemed like an international man of mystery. An educated man that wanted for nothing. So what would he want with a disc jockey.

"What about... hiking? Skiing? You know how to swim?"

Rohan: Rohan hummed and nodded. “I can ski and I can swim. Spend a lot of time hiking since I live in the woods. I fish sometimes. I can drive a boat.”

Ariel: "You fish? My grandpa says we fished when I was little but I don't remember at all. Been on a cruise once. Was fucking dog sick most the time."

Rohan: “Mhmm, there’s a creek and a fishing hole near my house. I went sea fishing not that long ago, too.” Thanks in part to Abel and his insistence that Rohan come along on his birthday trip to the beach.

“Don’t do well on the water?”

Ariel: "I dunno what that was. Maybe something I ate. I dunno. I barely left my room after the first night. Maybe try it again?" His hands weighed up and down.

"You take me fishing, and I'll take you... to... Tomorrowland in Ibiza."

Rohan: “If you do, get a sea sickness bracelet. Just in case.”

He had no idea what Tomorrowland was, but given Ariel’s profession, Rohan could make an educated guess.

“Is that a music festival?”

Ariel: "Yeah." He thought everyone knew what that was. Thousands upon thousands of people. An entire town's worth every single scene. Blew his mind what Rohan didn't know.

"What's a sickness bracelet?"

Rohan: “They’re basically wristbands that put pressure on a specific acupressure point that helps nausea and motion sickness. They work pretty well.”

Ariel: "Sounds like new age kinda thing." He bit his lip. A new question presented itself, but, "Here."

A modest building, given the location. Eleven stories of red brick. A code was placed in the door. The next set of doors required a key card.

He felt an instinct to tell Rohan the code, but one only needed it coming in. He said as much, for Rohan's security.

"I'm on seven."

Rohan: Rohan was debating how to respond to that when they arrived at Ariel’s building. Saved by the metaphorical bell.

Why Ariel felt the need to share that, Rohan could only guess, but he’d file it away regardless.

“I almost expected you to live in a skyscraper.”

Ariel: "What, like Manhattan?" He pushed the elevator button.

"Brooklyn just feels better. Ever been to Coney Island? Wanted to live over there until I met January."

Rohan: “Not necessarily. Just something, I don’t know…more modern.” More suited to a DJ.

Rohan nodded. “I have. What made you want to live there?”

Ariel: "Something about it felt like Seattle. Families. Fun. Food. Music. It's got good vibes. Brooklyn Heights, Dumbo, ain't bad, but it ain't Coney Island."

Seven stories, and the first white door on the left with a silver handle. A code was punched in as a camera above them came to life.

A modest loft, some might say. Clean and minimalist in its beige and gray and single yellow chair. A table of DJ equipment sat against the window in the living room. A Tomorrowland poster in neon hung behind the couch. Laptop shut and forgotten on the kitchen counter. One floor to ceiling window took up the entire back of the loft. This space would have been an astronomical price in Manhattan. Here... still shameful, but convenient.

"Want a drink? Water? Juice? I don't have wine. Seem like a wine guy."

Rohan: Yet more surprises. They’d just met but even so, if Rohan had to picture the kind of space Ariel would live in, he wouldn’t have pictured this. If not for the equipment and the poster, this could have been anyone’s apartment. An accountant’s, a banker’s. It didn’t quite fit the friendly vivacious man he was coming to know.

“Just water is fine. I’ve had way too much wine today.”

Ariel: The aesthetics of a man rarely ever home.

Rather than pulling from the tap - perfectly acceptable - a bottle of water was pulled from the fridge. Long ago Ariel had stocked his house for things a guest might prefer. He was never more grateful than the night half the guests from a party crashed all over his house.

The TV was turned on. An R&B playlist clicked and turned low. The back of the TV came alive with a slow transition rainbow of color.

Rohan: Rohan smiled to himself. Not at the music, but at the colored light. That was more like it. Such a little thing but already the space felt so much more like Ariel.

Still smiling, he took his water and went over to the window to see what sort of view Ariel had.

Ariel: A view back in the direction they had come. Not much of a view from the seventh floor but that of other buildings and a party going on at the neighboring apartment complex. The roof had been this building's selling point; a distant view of the Brooklyn Bridge.

His host had yet to bother with a curtain.

Ariel made his approach with his hands behind his back.

"Dance with me?"

Rohan: He turned away from the window and the party across the way and gave the man in front of him a helpless smile.

“You’ve seen just how much I can’t dance and you still want to dance with me?”

Ariel: "Ain't nobody better to dance with. I can teach you. It's just you and me. Look as dumb as you want. I won't tell."

Rohan: It’s because it’s just you and me. That’s what Rohan wanted to say. In the club he’d almost been able to hide; in the sea of people, in the dark, in the noise. Here it was quiet. Intimate. There was absolutely nowhere to hide.

So why on earth was he unable to help saying yes to this man he’d only just met?

Rohan sighed fondly, setting his water aside and shedding his suit jacket.

“All right.”

Ariel: Something about the loss of an article of clothing had Ariel sitting up and hands falling to his thighs. This momentary shock to his system lasted about a second before righting himself, turning to position by Rohan's side.

"Don't know any dance?" Before he began any instruction he needed to know his student.

Rohan: “None that would help here. I can waltz if I have to but that’s about it.” And the only reason he could do that was because of his mother and her insistence that everyone should know how to waltz.

Ariel: "I've never waltzed. That how you say it? A waltz. Never even been in a suit."

Alright, time to inspect. He ran his fingers along Rohan's arms, feeling the tension or lack thereof.

"We're gonna do something called a step touch. All about bending your knees, okay? Add a little bounce to your body."

Rohan: He nodded. “Yep, that’s how you say it. And like a suit, it comes in handy every now and then.” At weddings, at events, and, according to his mother, whenever one wanted to make a good impression. Not that he’d ever had the opportunity to use it for that last one.

There was tension but not enough to make Rohan stiff. Just a bit nervous.

Rohan nodded. Bounce, bent knees. “Got it.”

Ariel: He'd made at least one fantastic impression.

Ariel moved to stand in front of Rohan, showing the very basics of hip-hop dancing, only to return to Rohan's side to bring it all together. Every laugh that followed was pure happiness at his good fortune, and never at Rohan's expense. Going so far as to avoid laughing when he felt it might be misinterpreted.

"You look so good like this."

Rohan: Rohan took it all in stride. For all that this was foreign to him, as long as he had a task he could avoid thinking too much and focusing on the intimacy and nearness of the situation.

And besides, it was making Ariel so happy. How could he not relax and enjoy himself?

“How?” he chuckled. “Learning how to dance in your apartment?”

Ariel: "Relaxed." God, could he just kiss this man already?

Instead he sighed, blissfully, and turned around to find the remote, switching the music to something as retro and silly as possible. A little "Pump Up the Jam" would suit their purpose.

"Okay, follow me. We're gonna bust a move," he laughed.

Rohan: The song change succeeded in getting another one of those laughs Ariel liked so much.

“Do you know how many years it’s been since I heard this song? I forgot it existed!”

Ariel: "You fucking millennial!" Ariel laughed along with him. "Come on! Move your arms! Lemme see you work it!"

Rohan: Oh, if Ariel only knew.

Rohan had no idea how to work it but move his arms? He could do that. He could do anything as long as Ariel gave some guidance.

Ariel: And guidance came as easily as his smile. Eventually his fingers came to rest over Rohan's ribs, no gentler than tickling feathers.

"Don't just move side to side, really move your knees. Put your hips into it."

This was not at all as he danced to EDM, but that wasn't the point of this lesson; it was an excuse to get in close, not to mention learn a little about the man he'd become obsessed with.

Rohan: Whatever Ariel told him to do, Rohan would do—to varying levels of success and embarrassment. But he remained relaxed and smiling, even when Ariel touched him.

Because as long as he kept moving, he wouldn’t have to think about how intimate this was. That would come later.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Ariel: "Fucking right I am." As though his bright tired eyes and dimpled smile wasn't evident enough. By now he had brought himself in. Hips dangerously close to what could be considered a grind.

But something held him back. The lack of Rohan's hands on his body, possibly.

The song came to its inevitable end, moving on to something soft by Usher, and Ariel began leaning away.

Rohan: Dangerously close was close enough. Any more and there was nothing in the world that would be able to keep Rohan from overthinking.

Thankfully the universe gave him a reprieve.

He let Ariel put some distance between them and fish that Rohan was, he took refuge in his bottle of water. An easy out considering all the moving around they’d been doing.

“Surprised you’re still standing. You must be exhausted.”

Ariel: "Got someone to stand for." No one else in the room, nothing else to see. His eyes were fixed exactly where he wanted them. The flesh of his lip softly bitten. He smiled at his own line and retreated to the kitchen.

Rohan: Rohan couldn’t have second-guessed himself even if he’d wanted to. Not with Ariel looking at him like that.

This man…really knew how to walk up to a line and come just close enough to crossing it to leave Rohan flustered.

“Too smooth for your own good,” he muttered softly, all but gulping his water.

Ariel: A glass of tap water for himself. Chugged in merely two gulps. He kept his distance, the few feet of sanctuary in the kitchen, but he couldn't keep his gaze from Rohan for long.

"Nah. I haven't done what I wanted all night. If I were really smooth... I'd know what you taste like."

Rohan: Rohan nearly choked on his water. Nearly. But even though he’d saved himself the embarrassment of that, there was no hiding the cough or the way his entire body seemed to freeze for a moment before he pulled himself together.

Well, one thing was for certain; Ariel was a dancer in the literal sense only.

“I—you—hmmm.” Water wasn’t cutting it, he needed to look out the window. “Case in point.”

Ariel: That reaction was almost as delicious as he imagined his lips to be. He savored Rohan's expression while it lasted.

"Look, I dunno... why you waited all night at the bar. I dunno why you came home with me. But you can say no anytime. But I want you here, and I don't care if that's with or without a goodnight kiss."

Rohan: How could he explain it to Ariel when he didn’t know himself? When he’d sat for hours trying to figure out why he was sitting for hours? When he’d probably walk back to his hotel later and wonder why he was walking back from Ariel’s apartment?

“I don’t have a good answer.” For either Ariel or himself. “I just…it felt…like something I couldn’t not do.”

Ariel: A hundred things he could say. As with any moment of his life, there were always a hundred things. Some clever, some shitty, some perfect. The perfection always eluded him, but he tried in the fleeting seconds that felt essential.

He took a step towards his muse.

"If you could be selfish right now, do anything you want, do it."

Rohan: “I’m already doing it.” Rohan doubted that was the answer that Ariel wanted but it was the truth. Selfishness was the only explanation for his completely self-indulgent actions this evening. He couldn’t call the last time he’d behaved this way, if ever.

“What about what you want, Ariel?” he asked softly, meeting the DJ’s eyes in the reflection in the window. “What do you want from me?”

Ariel: "If this is what you wanna do, and this is all you wanna do, then... I've got nothing." Because if he answered truthfully, Rohan would become a stuttering mess of modesty, and he would probably never see him again.

He didn't just want from Rohan. He wanted with him. Wanted to be with him. Wanted to kiss him. Wanted to be naked with him. Wanted to hear the music this man made between the sheets.

Wasn't that obvious?

Rohan: He may have been modest, but a blushing maiden Rohan was not. He also wasn’t naive; he could feel the intent behind every lingering look from Ariel.

They were adults and the writing was on the wall.

“Can we put all our cards on the table?”

Ariel: "Mhm." Not knowing what Rohan was about to say was giving him a bit of a thrill.

Rohan: “If all you’re looking for is sex, I’m not the person for that.” It was best to just get it out in the open. They’d already established that Rohan wasn’t a dancer.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting that and only that but I’m not your guy if that’s the case. I’m sure you could find dozens of people who would be. But if you’re looking for something else, something…more, then…I’d be open to that. To talking and getting to know each other and, if things go that direction…” His voice trailed off.

Ariel: "I've had the that and only that. Had the other thing, too. But... you waited for me at the club, and you - you clearly don't think I'm a serial killer," he laughed, briefly.

"I don't wanna not see you again. You feel me? But I think - I think we can do both." And he was willing to explain, if Rohan needed a guided path.

Rohan: Oh, the turns his life had taken for being a serial killer to not be an immediate deal breaker.

“You mean be sex friends? Or friends with benefits or whatever you want to call it?” His tone remained steady, open. Earnest. When he’d said he wanted all cards on the table, he’d meant it. Life was easier when you talked about things honestly and with good will.

Ariel: They had been so close to clarity. Just a few better-chosen words. Now, at last, it was Ariel blushing. Hand wiping at his mouth as he looked away. He wouldn't have minded that, either, but he couldn't believe himself. Couldn't believe what he was about to say.

"I feel like I'm being weird. I'm - I'm sorry... if I'm being weird. But I feel like you know where I'm coming from. Is that crazy? Like - the you staying, like... it means something. What I said before. What I mean is, would you... uh, would you wanna try... being... "

Rohan: It wasn’t often that Rohan felt his age in such an…endearing way. Somehow knowing this bold, outgoing DJ was actually capable of blushing was what finally had Rohan turning away from the window and leaning back against it.

He tilted his head as he listened, arms crossed over his chest and a gentle, teasing smile on his face.

“…being something more?” he said, finishing the sentence. It would seem he’d gotten his answer. “Are you saying you want to date me, Ariel?”

Ariel: "Yes!" he blurted, grateful for the reprieve. He couldn't help but laugh. Rohan was smiling about this! The audacity to laugh at his fumbling! It was cute and maybe confident. From Rohan, it seemed like confidence.

"Do you - Do you give a shit if it's long distance? This is crazy. This is crazy! Yeah. I wanna date a man I just met. It feels right. You feel right."

Rohan: Oh yes, Rohan was absolutely smiling about this. He hadn't even been trying to fluster Ariel and now that he had, he was delighted. Ariel delighted him.

And surprised him. He'd had no expectations and still Ariel was managing to subvert them. It didn't quite feel real. Nor did his own feelings and behavior. Was he actually considering this? Was he actually considering dating a man he'd met less than ten hours ago simply because his gut wouldn't let him walk away?

...Yes. He was.

"No distance is ever really that long in my world so no, I don't have any objections to that." Crazy? Yes, this was definitely crazy.

Ariel: He knew this was desperate. He'd never offered such commitment on the first swing. Sex, absolutely. Different levels of intimacy, desires, and willingness. The expectation of never seeing someone again never stung. The opposite of what he had placed between them.

Rohan had to have known he would say yes to anything. Had to see right through him, and feeling seen made him feel exposed.

"Can I kiss you?"

Rohan: Rohan wouldn't have called it desperate. Like almost everything else about tonight, including his own thoughts and feelings, it was an unexpected surprise. He couldn't see through Ariel any more than he could see through himself, explanations and rationale as far away as stars.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Rohan was letting himself be led by instinct. Whatever it was that drew him to this man, he wasn't fighting or embracing it. He was simply letting it draw him. Simply letting it exist.

He nodded. "Yes."

Ariel: By the time Ariel had asked his question, half the distance of the loft had been crossed, and by the time Rohan affirmed, two large hands were cupping Rohan's jaw, bringing the exquisite man to his lips and tongue. This was a ghoul, not a vampire, and his skin was damn near feverish. His tongue like cashmere silk, eager and begging for an invitation.

Rohan: Selfishness wasn’t the only explanation for this; it was pure madness. He who had always been so careful about his relationships, who never took a step that wasn’t thoughtful and deliberate, was now standing in a loft in Brooklyn and was letting himself be kissed by a man who felt like the sun.

That’s exactly it, Rohan thought as his hands came to rest on Ariel’s waist and his lips parted just so. Ariel was the sun, and Rohan was getting swept away by the intoxicating heat of him.

Ariel: Those lips fit lock and key with his own. In the throes of love and lust, he could not be dissuaded from believing Rohan's tongue was nectar, and a taste he knew by heart. The accepted invitation leaned Ariel closer, hungrier as he pressed Rohan against the glass. His hand dropped down to explore as he had daydreamed all night. Feeling for strength in his chest, and the shape of his body.

Rohan: The juxtaposition of the coolness of the glass at his back and the heat of Ariel at his front had goosebumps covering the whole of Rohan’s body. He was barely aware of them.

He felt drunk. It was as if Ariel were seeping into every one of his senses and making his head swim. There was something about him that felt so comfortable and familiar and thrilling all at once.

He wouldn’t stop Ariel from exploring. Although their difference in height was slight, Rohan wasn’t as broad. His frame was smaller, toned but not quite athletic. There was give to him, a softness that couldn’t help but press against the wall of muscle that was Ariel.

Ariel: Ariel understood he was being reckless. A part of him believed the blood of his domitor had caused some manner of temporary insanity. But Rohan felt so good in his hands, and being allowed to explore, his fingers roamed from Rohan's ribs to his shoulder, down his arm to his wrist, finding a beaded bracelet with some sort of charm. He felt the vague shape of it, assumed a cross, and brought Rohan's hand to his lips to kiss.

And froze when finally laying eyes on the ankh. How he had managed not to notice until now, he couldn't say. Not at the club, not at the diner. All excitement drained from his eyes.

"Ro?" his voice had become small, with a world of caution behind it.

Rohan: He had forgotten about it completely. It was so much a part of him that he’d simply stopped noticing its presence.

It followed, then, that the bracelet Rohan wore was the farthest thing from his mind while he was tentatively surrendering himself to Ariel’s hands and lips. He was too caught up in the moment to think about how much there was to explain between them. He was enjoying Ariel’s touch and his kisses too much to remember just how many things would eventually need to be laid on the table with the rest of their cards.

For a while it felt as if nothing could break the spell between them, until Ariel stopped and said his name in that quietly alarmed voice.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned, confused eyes meeting Ariel’s. His brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Ariel: He didn't know how to word his intention. If he was wrong, this man would surely think he was stupid, or a lunatic, and he would never see his face again. But it couldn't have been a coincidence. Not at January Embers. Not with everything he knew.

He had yet to release Rohan's wrist.

"I - I uh... Do you... believe in supernatural shit?" That felt clumsy as hell, and easy to misinterpret.

Rohan: Only with Ariel’s question did he realize just which wrist Ariel was holding and what was on it.  And just like that, reason and reality came flooding back in.

Rohan sighed and leaned back against the window, catching his breath. He would answer the question with an explanation, as that would spare the need to dance around the issue.

“I bought in Cairo years ago. I go to Egypt a lot. I do know about the supernatural and I do know what the symbol is associated with outside of Egyptian mythology, but I can promise that that’s not why I wear it.”

Ariel: For everything Rohan admired, his stature, strength, and heat, Ariel's hand had just the slightest tremble. Too subtle, perhaps, if not paying attention.

The symbol had put the fear of reality back in his soul, but also a dangerous possibility that caused a wave of guilt churning his stomach like a terrible cramp.

"I'm sorry," his voice shook. "I'm sorry. I thought - I thought for a minute you... you were... like you played me."

Rohan: Rohan shook his head. Now it was his turn to take Ariel’s face in his hands, to hold it gently, to offer comfort. The tremble hadn’t gone unnoticed. Not when they were this close and this attuned to everything about each other.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said softly. “I should, for alarming you. I’ve worn the bracelet for such a long time that I don’t notice it anymore.”

He took one of Ariel’s hands and placed it over his chest, holding it there so Ariel could feel how his heart thundered in his chest.

“There is a reason I wear this bracelet but it’s not the reason you fear. I’m human. I’m alive. I promise.”

Ariel: "So you... you know?" That was one dance he had been dreading since their first conversation, and now they didn't have to. He stood there, hands cradling Rohan's jaw and chest and doing everything in his power to control his breathing. A wave of warmth washed over him so completely he knew it was relief in its purest form.

There was a heartbeat. He'd seen this man eat. Felt this man breathe. Basked in his warmth. The bracelet was from Egypt. This man had a heartbeat. This man... had a heartbeat. Safe.

Rohan was suddenly lifted into Ariel's arms. Held up by his thighs and gently pressed against the window once more. From this angle, the rest of the loft could be seen. The upstairs softly glowed from neon purple squares on two sides of the room. If Rohan would notice at all with warm lips roaming from his neck to his chest.

Rohan: “Yes, I know,” he said, taking slow even breaths both to calm himself and, subconsciously, to encourage Ariel to match them.

Reality had thrown a bucket of cold water over them both but it had been needed and there was no harm done. They were okay.

Caught by surprise, Rohan inhaled sharply as he was lifted. He hadn’t expected them to pick up where they left off after he’d unintentionally put the fear of god into Ariel but apparently Ariel was recovering just fine. Better than fine.

Before his brain could short-circuit again—and it would if those lips had anything to say about it—Rohan gave into an urge of his own and, taking advantage of his position, kissed Ariel’s hair in silent, tender apology.

Ariel: How much Rohan knew he couldn't exactly say. Enough that fear had been swept away like a breeze, for now. Tomorrow morning promised something else, but he didn't have to think about tomorrow. Only the pulse beneath his lips and tongue and the mindful use of his unnatural strength to massage Rohan's thighs.

Burying his face in Ariel's hair was much like nuzzling into his neck. The scent of citrus and spice was as strong there as it was everywhere else. Hiding the heart note of his own natural scent.

"I'm gonna carry you upstairs. That okay?"

Rohan: There were multiple conversations that needed to be had and multiple things they needed to share. But not now. Not tonight.

Tonight, they could give themselves the luxury of staying in this little bubble where the only things that mattered were Ariel’s hot hands and the scent clinging to him.

“Yes.” Murmured softly as Rohan wrapped his arms around Ariel and breathed him in.

Ariel: The man moved about as though Rohan weighed nothing more than a child. Up the stairs, pausing only a moment to make certain Rohan's head wouldn't strike the loft beam. The upstairs was simple. Bedroom, bathroom, closet. On the one wall by the stairs towered a six-by-six grid of clear containers, each filled with a variety of shoes, mostly sportswear. A long braid of purple lights had been draped over the square, mimicking the same shape over the gray platform bed frame. A camera had been set up on a tripod by the foot of the bed.

Still holding Rohan in his arms, he laughed.

"When I vlog," he explained, "I sit there," he nodded to the foot of the bed. "Nothing kinky."

Rohan: Like downstairs, Ariel’s personality was reflected in his space in very specific, if sparse ways. The wall of shoes, more colored light.

But if there was one thing that would always give a person pause, it was a camera at the foot of the bed. Or anywhere near the bed really.

“I see,” he laughed softly. He didn’t entirely believe that camera had never been used for kinky purposes but he’d take Ariel at his word. “Why don’t we…move it out of the way.”

Ariel: Yeah. He could do that without releasing his prize. He bent just enough for Rohan to reach, stifling another laugh.

"Go on, grab it!" No hiding it. He was terrible at hiding it. Shoulders quivering and all as he chortled.

Rohan: Rohan was not a gymnast. But.

He’d been on enough horses and climbed enough trees to know how to hold on very, very well with his thighs. So when Ariel bent for him to reach, Rohan released him and, holding onto him with only his legs, used his newly freed hands to remove the camera from the tripod. There was no need to move the entire thing when only the camera was the issue.

“Where do you want this?” he asked, smiling.

Ariel: "Where do you want it?" He squinted. "You want it moved." And he didn't care where he put it, so long as it wasn't thrown. He didn't come from money, so things that cost an arm and leg were valued as such.

Rohan: “A drawer somewhere, so it doesn’t feel like we’re being watched.” Of course he wouldn’t throw it! That would be unacceptably rude behavior.

Ariel: "Ohh." He wanted to laugh again, point out what he did for a living, all of his entrepreneurship, but it went without saying. Rohan was carried to the floating end table and bent again to tuck the camera away. Only then was his guest placed gently on the edge of the bed. Ariel then lowered his knee, looking up with no pressing expectation.

"Hi."

Rohan: A shame to have to let Ariel go, but getting to look at him properly more than made up for it. Again Rohan had to wonder just how the hell he'd ended up here.

"Hi," he said softly, smiling at the beautiful man in front of him. "Are you okay?"

Ariel: "Yeah." His tone had become something tender, whimsical even. Looking Rohan over in the purple light, doing everything in his power not to pounce. Rather, he leaned up and over, offering a softer, almost chaste kiss.

Rohan: Rohan would take it, placing his hands on Ariel's shoulders and squeezing them for the pure pleasure of feeling all that muscle. And maybe to offer just a little bit of reassurance and gratitude for Ariel's restraint.

Ariel: If this bed wasn't leading to sex, then he wasn't certain by any means where this was going. Rohan had agreed to the bedroom, but to what end? He wanted this man to lead him in this confusion. He offered lips, tongue, and patience, waiting for Rohan to do something else, tell him something. Until then, he continued to lean, and lean, until his beautiful guest was flat over the mattress.

Rohan: Somewhere between being set down on the bed and being pushed back on it, Rohan had made up his mind. All it took to confirm that choice was breaking their kiss, just for a moment, and looking at Ariel’s face.

The uncertainty Rohan read there made him smile.

He hooked a single finger around the chain on Ariel’s neck and tugged him down with the most delicate, feather-light touch to meet his lips again. Then he began to explore.

Rohan’s hands traveled across Ariel’s shoulders, down his arms, across his back, over his chest, learning him. Mapping him but making a point not to touch bare skin. Not yet.

He found Ariel’s nipples through his shirt and teased them, wondering what his reaction would be while keeping him trapped in a kiss.

Ariel: It hadn't occurred to Ariel that Rohan might desire a certain behavior from him. Not at all a thought on his mind as he lowered when commanded. He became a pillar for Rohan's explorative touch. This was his boyfriend now, wasn't he? He could take as much time as he desired to memorize and map every nuance of the unseen. It only served to stimulate an already encouraged man, his erection hidden and pressed into the mattress. An undulation he could not pretend was anything else.

Rohan's determined pinching sent a shiver through the ghoul. A pause was needed to exhale, pressing their foreheads together and smiling.

Rohan: Delightful, just like everything else about this man. But it wasn’t nearly enough.

Rohan hooked a leg around Ariel and rolled them so that he was on top, giving his DJ a smile before continuing his exploration.

His lips now joined his hands, kissing everywhere he touched but still refusing to move clothing out of the way…until he reached the waistband of Ariel’s pants.

Then that shirt would begin to be pushed up one agonizing inch at a time, and every sliver of skin kissed as it was exposed. Rohan wouldn’t let Ariel take the shirt off and wouldn’t do it himself. It was so much more wonderfully maddening for it to stay on.

Ariel: This delicately beautiful, perfectly sophisticated, painfully modest man flipping their positions was the last thing Ariel had expected. His grunt of surprise was followed by a flighty laugh, dissolving into a barely-there moan. Hands left over his head, denying himself an equal touch.

What Rohan would find was an unshaven auburn treasure trail, gooseflesh, followed by the only cause of self-consciousness. Only a glimpse at his protruding navel, before his hand appeared from above to cover his stomach.

Rohan: A treasure trail went both ways, and getting denied access to Ariel’s navel had Rohan looking up at him with a gentle smile.

“You don’t have to do that,” he murmured, kissing and nuzzling Ariel’s hand. “It’s cute.”

Ariel: Another response he hadn't expected. He bit his lip and slid his hand away, head falling heavy on the bed.

"Okay," he breathed. "Sorry, just..." He had nothing to say. His actions were obvious enough.

Rohan: “It’s okay.” Now that Ariel’s cute little navel was exposed, it was getting kisses like the rest of him. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

But, to distract Ariel, Rohan continued his slow torment. The higher the shirt went, the higher his lips went, not stopping until he got to Ariel’s nipples. They’d be given relentless, loving attention.

Ariel: Ariel suffered from a bit of farmer's tan around his hips, worsening the further Rohan pulled at his shirt. There were no other tattoos than those at his forearms and hand. A freckle by his left nipple, and a thin white scar over his ribs.

The man underneath him was writhing and taut. His moans floaty and bordering on a laugh.

"Ro... fuck."

Rohan: Would Ariel be able to feel Rohan’s smile against his skin? Because not only was it there, it grew and warmed with every passing moment.

He gave each nipple one last kiss and sat up, looking fondly at Ariel as his hands slid down his body and came to rest at Ariel’s waistband.

“May I?”

Ariel: Even this request was given so sweetly. What a man. What impossible luck.

"Can I?" He reached out to pinch Rohan's button-down.

Rohan: “In a moment.” I have plans for you.

Rohan undid Ariel’s belt and his pants before bending back within proper reach of his DJ’s hands. If he wanted to undo Rohan’s shirt, he could. If he wanted to remove it, he could do that, too.

Rohan, however, had no intention to remove anything. Instead he was going to slip his hand into Ariel’s underwear and squeeze him gently.

Ariel: The answer was enough to return his hand by his head. He could only stand so much of this slow torment before using his elbows to bring them deeper into the king-size bed, sitting up long enough to offer Rohan his lips and falling back. Their foreplay nearly slid them both from his bed. And no sooner had clarity returned was it stripped by the warm grasp of Rohan's fingers.

"What hap - happened to taking it slow?" He couldn't believe he was jeopardizing this by opening his mouth. "If you don't... want..."

Rohan: Ariel’s questions were answered with a kiss every bit as sweet as he was.

Rohan was absolutely sure of himself and what he wanted. Foreplay didn’t always lead to sex, and sex didn’t mean only one thing. They didn’t know each other well enough for a lot of things, but they knew enough for this.

“I’m sure,” he whispered, nuzzling Ariel’s cheek and squeezing him again, more deliberately this time. “Let me give you some relief. Let me make you feel good.”

Ariel: "I wanna make you feel good, baby." By now he was brave enough to reach out and cup the back of Rohan's head, burying his fingers in thick brown locks.

He didn't want to lay back down. Sitting up on his elbow, holding Rohan close as he was caressed and massaged. Forehead-to-forehead as he breathed, eyes closed, just within reach of a kiss.

Rohan: It was so tempting to just lean in and kiss him, but Rohan wanted to hear Ariel’s reactions even more. He wanted to see if Ariel’s brow would furrow, how his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. He wanted to torment himself staring at Ariel’s lips while he learned and mapped even more him, while he committed Ariel’s shape and girth to memory.

“You already are,” he said, working his hand up and down Ariel’s shaft, occasionally massaging his scrotum.

Ariel: In the limited light, Rohan would only see enough to tease a complete image. He would not see that his eyelashes were the same color as his treasure trail. Would not see the goosebumps that had reached his entire body or the tear of precum he could only feel with his thumb, threatening to drip over his pale cock.

He would see the concentration behind those lashes. Eyes that could not stay closed for long. Wanting to study and memorize just as much. With the loft window directly behind Rohan, he was little more than an erotic silhouette.

He could not stop the whimper that escaped his throat any more than he could cease the throb between his legs. He was being denied so much and it was driving him crazy.

"Fuck, fuck." If Rohan wouldn't stop him, he would reach out to unbutton his shirt, frustrated and needy to see more of his boyfriend's bare skin.

Rohan: No, he wouldn’t stop him. Ariel was free to touch and do with Rohan’s shirt as he pleased.

For his part, Rohan was far too enraptured with his DJ to care much about himself at the moment. Even if the dark was hiding much of Ariel from view, Rohan could feel the affect he was having in his firmness, his whimpers, the gathering moisture at his head that Rohan simply couldn’t resist squeezing out.

It was a delicate balance between drawing out Ariel’s pleasure and giving him the relief he needed and prolonging his own enjoyment, but Rohan couldn’t bring himself to deny this sweet man everything.

So Rohan indulged them both and gave Ariel his lips.

Ariel: It was now, with Rohan's body covered in shadow, that Ariel ever considered a curtain over the loft window. Frustrating was putting it mildly. But he couldn't deny the truth of it. The delayed gratification was a thrill he never wanted to experience again.

Collapsing back, both hands felt blindly at his chest in victory. The exploration was clumsy but well-intentioned. Kissing was proving a distraction.

This was just a hand, but it was Rohan's hand. It made all the difference. His stomach was alive with butterflies.

"Baby," was a barely-breathed warning, "I'm gonna come."

Rohan: Rohan’s approval was given with a soft hum and a deeper kiss. His hand squeezed a little bit harder to give Ariel some more friction but kept its steady pace in a final mild effort to make Ariel’s pleasure last.

He had no idea of the effect he was having beyond that, or that part of Ariel’s pleasure stemmed from the simple fact that it was Rohan giving it to him. That he wanted to touch because it was Rohan, that he felt frustrated because it was Rohan.

Ariel: The man had given him nothing but a faraway noise and the promise of his tongue. If this was their relationship going forward, tonight was another promise: the promise of further torment.

Pleasure had begun as a tickle in his scrotum and thighs and ended in devastating waves. There was nothing he could do but clench and cling for dear life as thick white spilled onto Rohan's hand. Only a broken uttered, "Fuck," interrupted their kiss.

Rohan: “That’s it,” Rohan whispered in Ariel’s ear, kissing his cheek and his neck as he reveled in the throbbing heat of him in his hand. He wouldn’t stop until he’d gotten every last drop and Ariel was little more than putty in his arms. “Dulce băiat frumos.”

Ariel: Through the fog Rohan had created, only one word had registered. The limp and useless man beneath him barely managed a laugh. More like a cough.

"No, you're sweet," he mumbled.

Rohan: Rohan laughed softly, nuzzling Ariel’s neck. His DJ looked utterly spent and all the more beautiful for it.

“How are you feeling? You okay?”

Ariel: "You okay?" For some reason he believed his hands had been too strong. Had squeezed too roughly.

Rohan: “I’m perfectly fine.” Tiny praising kisses were littered across Ariel’s chest. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Ariel: Then just as easily as Rohan had flipped them, Ariel did so in kind. At last, he could see this beautiful body, and immediately put his lips over one of his nipples.

Rohan: Oh! Here Rohan thought he’d be coaxing this beautiful rag doll into the shower and then to bed in a minute but it appeared that Ariel was getting his second wind.

It wasn’t until Ariel’s mouth touched his skin and elicited a gasp that Rohan finally became aware of his own body’s pressing need. It had become background noise while he pleasured Ariel, easy to tune out and ignore. Not so now.

Ariel: This body was softer than his own. Pale and perfect; as delicate as his voice. He should be praising god just for looking at him. The ebbing current of his orgasm offered clarity, and a more constructive activity.

Removing his belt, button, and zipper took calculated strength, and only one quick pull with both hands to bring his clothes to his knees.

Ariel looked up, watching for permission to continue. Fingers climbing back to his nipples to tease.

Rohan: That body couldn’t have been more of a contrast to Ariel’s. Rohan was slighter, paler. He had no tattoos, only a few artfully scattered moles to add any visual interest to his skin. All his body hair seemed to begin below the waist. But, despite his appearance, there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t warm to the touch.

He gave an involuntary groan of relief as Ariel removed his clothing and freed him from their confines. There would be absolutely no mistaking the effect that bringing his DJ to orgasm had had on him, and even though his whole body shuddered beneath Ariel’s hands, Rohan still said, “You can but you don’t have to,” with a breathless chuckle.

He hadn’t done what he’d done because he’d wanted something in return. He really had just wanted to make Ariel feel good.

Ariel: As sexy as tattoos could be, he hoped there wasn't one hidden on his body. The ink would have been an insult to the canvas. A fleeting thought as he smiled up and shook his head. The very idea of leaving Rohan to ache was unacceptable. His pleasure was the only cloudless intention.

"I want to." The last affirmation before sucking the warm, soft tip into his mouth. One hand restless on his chest while the other slid down to cup his scrotum. Not long for Rohan to feel the back of his throat. Bright amber eyes watching his every breath.

Rohan: Rohan swore softly in Romanian and felt another shudder pass through him from head to toe. The heat of Ariel’s mouth was nearly unbearable in the most delicious way.

He held Ariel’s hand against his chest, idly and sporadically caressing it while he made his best effort at taking slow, complete breaths.

Any sound he made would be soft and quiet, always accompanied by either a shudder or a furrow in his brow, as if he were concentrating and losing himself in sensation at the same time.

Ariel: For a half-second, Ariel was concerned Rohan's hand had meant something. Permission had been granted, he reminded himself, and continued to suck to the point of wanting to gag. A small tear from his efforts rolled down his cheek, paid no mind as he came up for air, licked down his impressive length, and buried his nose in his balls.

Rohan: The permission held. Holding Ariel’s hand was merely Rohan indulging his desire for contact, as well as a way for him to ground himself. He didn’t want to lose himself completely to the moment; he wanted to be present, to enjoy it as if he was never going to get another.

A gasp and a bloom of goosebumps followed another involuntary noise that was pulled from the depths of his chest when the cool air hit his aching shaft. Something between a moan and a whimper that sounded too much like Ariel’s name to be anything but.

His free hand searched for his DJ’s hair and buried itself there, petting him gently.

Ariel: Was that his name? He wanted to hear it again. Selfishly, again and again. How could he care so much about someone so quickly? Lust was an acceptable excuse, but this was more than that. More profound than any guiltless lay on any given night. He could swear he knew this man, but he wouldn't. No matter how many supernatural oddities surrounded him, he would not dare say he harbored anything as significant as clairvoyance.

And another fleeting thought was thrown away as he licked underneath his scrotum and back to the tip, sucking everything down as though life-sustaining air. His head began to bob, losing himself in his determined rhythm.

Rohan: Although presently Rohan’s mind was a haze of pleasure, Ariel wasn’t alone in his thoughts and questions. Before today, before meeting this man, Rohan never would have believed he’d be doing this with someone he just met. There was something about Ariel that was special, something that drew him and held him and wouldn’t let him go, something that was absolutely making it so that Ariel would hear his name again.

And again. And again.

So long as he maintained that pace, his name would fall from Rohan’s lips like a chant in between gasps and breathy moans. He wasn’t going to last long at all if Ariel kept this up.

Ariel: Truthfully, he loved hearing his name from the lips of lovers. Loved giving just as much. In the span of a single night, Rohan had spoiled him rotten. Nobody else would give as exquisitely ever again.

Eyes finally closed, pouring all of his concentration into coaxing every last salty sweet drop from Rohan's writhing body. He swallowed, moaning, licking his lips of his sweet treat. His shoulders bowed as he hunched, licking across the length again and again, suckling the tip and kissing his stomach.

Rohan: Rohan just managed to give Ariel a bitten off warning before the exquisite tension that had been building and building and tightening and tightening finally released into blessed free fall.

“Ariel…Ariel…”

Even breathless Rohan couldn’t stop saying Ariel’s name. He moaned softly as his DJ lovingly brought him back down to earth, petting his hair, squeezing the hand he’d yet to release.

“Ariel…”

Ariel: One could easily believe the eyes looking up at him were loving. Eventually, Rohan would be too tender to play with, and even nuzzles would be too much. When that time came, he would kiss his ribs, nuzzle one last time, and ask, "Can I kiss you?"

Rohan: He’d somewhat managed to catch his breath but at Ariel’s question, Rohan found himself all too glad to lose it again.

He nodded, giving Ariel a dreamy smile as he opened his arms to him.

Ariel: Open arms he wanted to collapse into. He climbed the few inches back to Rohan's lips, offering all the energy he had left, and the remnants of his flavor on Ariel's tongue.

"Thank you." He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to say it.

Rohan: Rohan would take that energy and offer what remained of his own, happily letting Ariel flood his senses like he had been all night.

“That’s my line,” he whispered, nuzzling Ariel’s jaw like a cat.

Ariel: Clothes still trapped both of their legs. A disheveled heap they were. He would laugh in the morning, but for now, with what remained of his strength, he wrapped his arm over Rohan's ribs and hauled them to the pillows in just two shifts.

"Why?" His eyes were already closed, now resting his cheek on Rohan's shoulder.

Rohan: “Because I’m the one that just had the orgasm.”

He’d intended to talk Ariel into a shower but he’d still had willpower then. Now that his body was spent and he had his DJ resting on him and was comfortable, all that willpower had left.

Besides, playing with Ariel’s hair and stroking his arm were infinitely more appealing.

Ariel: Rohan could count the seconds until the man in his arms breathed evenly with sleep. Thirty-two seconds spent fighting the oppressive urge to sleep. Too many hours awake. Too much excitement. Too much all at once. Another five minutes before Rohan was nuzzled, and not another movement.

Rohan: He hadn’t quite counted, but he certainly didn’t discourage it.

Rohan would keep offering his quiet affection long after Ariel had fallen asleep, thinking and reflecting in the purple illuminated dark for a few long moments.

“What have you done to me?” he whispered to his sleeping boyfriend, kissing his forehead and sighing contentedly as he let himself drift off.

[crxwnedbarbie]

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌 so much and ( still miss ) she had been very unbearable since their split, but of course, in the lowest of her low, she was hidden in the darkness of her own chambers until she gained the willpower to show up again ( she always does that, when she doesn't feel good ). Mentally, she was praying for a natural disaster like a lighting hitting Xavier or something, because she really did not know how long she could resist his presence, despite being utterly angry with him. Why did it hurt a little noticing the smallest details like his messily curls, and his growing beard?! Did he really miss her then? ❛ New style? ❜ She asked softly, her grey-bluish hues met his, and having trouble avoiding his gaze, she liked the way he eyed her, it made her feel, special.

❛ At different times it'd be fun. ❜ Part of her wanted to him feel the taste of his own venom. How much she would love swimming and drinking with him, she wanted to ignore the pain and just go ahead and have a little fun with him just for one time… Barbara knows if she starts the one time, she won't be able to stop. The princess eyed him from head to toe, having inappropriate thoughts and a racing heart, which she was grateful to be outside, so he wouldn't be able to hear the beats, because of the winds and the chirps of the birds. The Hungarian blonde did not drop the stoicism of her expression. Barbara thinks she deserves an award for resisting Xavier… Although she doesn't know how long she will resist. She is so weak for him, and she wonders if he knows it!? ⏤ She chuckles at his words, dimples showing at her own cheeks, and now avoiding looking at him, looks down, melting, another bead of sweat sliding through her delicate skin. ❛ Right. Because I'm the one who only cares about nice and good things and can't survive without them, correct?! ❜ Her gaze met him with a hurt in her tone. ❛ I'm glad you think of me that way. Not everyone thinks like that, but I don't care what people think of me. ❜ She looked at her own nails, as she spoke, only having one ring in her pink finger, but no engagement ring yet. In the fashion department, Barbara never cares about what people think of her, she dresses for herself and pleases herself only. ( There is this small part of her that she dressed to catch his attention…So, he would come and talk to her. It worked. ). She gave a little space near her if he wanted to sit by her side, she tilted her head backward on the trunk of the tree, resting it and closing her eyes. ❛ So, Xavi how's the things going with your king? ❜ She did not notice she called him by his nickname, but her eyes remained shut.

Xavier wonders if she can sense his longing and hoped, in equal parts, that she could and could not; he wondered which would be more of a comfort to her. After all, he knew that he was less put together in the aftermath of their parting; his beard was a bit longer and his hair curled somewhat messily. It wasn't terribly noticeable for most, but she had always seen him a little better than he would have liked. She, it seemed, had not been broken by their parting. If anything, the heartbreak had only served to make her more ravishing. The red of her dress brought out the color of her plump lips, leaving him with decidedly sinful thoughts as his gaze moved from those downwards, along with a bead of sweat, to the low neckline of her bodice. Coming over had been a decidedly bad idea.

"Yes, the heat is from the summer, of course," he chuckled. "If these were different times I would suggest a drink or a swim, maybe both, but that would be unwise of me." The words left his lips before he could stop them though his face could not manage sheepishness. "I am fairly certain, in any case, that no one would ever think that you were behind in fashion. If anything, you set the trend."

[mouthfulloftoothpasterry]

Hooked

Summary: Harry and Y/n meet again. This time spending more time together and getting to know each other. 

warnings/ disclaimers: Swearing, mentions of death, mentions of childbirth. 

Harry was out searching for a book. He had left Loralie with his mother for the day since he had some errands to run and it would be a busy day. He had finished all of his books and he was on the search for another, maybe even some extra ones for his classroom. He had stopped by his favorite coffee shop and ordered his favorite black coffee to start his day of errands, then he went to the market to get everything for dinner tonight- he thought he might as well get it out of the way since he hates grocery shopping.

Now he’s on the way to a bookstore, he didn’t want to order it on Amazon or just go to a big chain store so he did a quick google search and found a small book store a block down the road from the coffee shop he had gone to. He wanted to find the book burning in water, drowning in flame- his sister had recommended it to him and now he was itching to read it.

He made his way to the bookstore, it looked like a homey place just from the outside of the store. It was a rust colored brick with two sconces on either side of the top of the book shop, a rather tall building- possibly a flat at the top. Harry looks at the cacti peeking through the windows, little flower stickers to decorate.

Harry walks into the book shop, opening the door making the golden bell at the top of the door frame sound off. As soon as Harry steps in he notes the warm scent, it smells like the owner had been baking cookies. “Hello!” He hears a cheerful voice sing while he steps toward the poetry aisle in search of the book. “Is there anything I could help you with today?” He hears the voice again making him turn his head. To his surprise it’s Y/n, he’s been thinking about her. “Oh, hi.” He says bashfully, smiling and stepping over to the cashier counter she was behind.

Y/n smiles, continuing to add price tags on the back of her new shipment of books. She had started her little business officially a bit after she had gotten pregnant with Milo. Milo’s dad had left her after she broke the news to him, they were in their early twenty’s (Y/n being twenty one and him being twenty two) so it was understandable that he didn’t want children yet but the way he dealt with the situation was just dramatic and too much on Y/n. So she put everything into her little book shop, she took out a loan and bought this place, starting planning and putting her all into it, it wasn’t easy but it was worth it.

“Hi Harry.” She says, adding a book to the stack. Harry blushes at her tone again, she’s hard to read. “Um… do you happen to have burning in water, drowning in flame?” He asks, whirling around her display of different styles and colors of bookmarks. He is a twenty six year old man, why is acting like one of his students who thinks he’s handsome? Y/n laughs, nodding while she pulls her mug up to her lips- Harry thinks it’s hot chocolate (and he’s right). “It’s in poetry, first aisle, third shelf, second row.” She says, impressing Harry in how she has memorized every single spot of her book store.

Harry gives her a tight nod, walking over to the poetry section and looking for the book. “Is this your place?” Harry asks, making conversation while the rest of the store is dead silent.

“Yeah, me and Milo live in the flat upstairs.” Y/n admits. Harry’s ears perk up, she didn’t say anything about a partner. He walks back to the counter placing his book down, not handing it over to her yet. “When did you open this place?” He questions, looking around the shop. He sees some crystals, some candles- that both look up for sale and also her personal ones. It’s cute.

“After I got pregnant with Milo. Right after Xavier left me.” She says, leaving Harry wondering. “Xavier is…?” Y/n sighs, rolling her eyes a bit. It’s only their second time meeting and she’s already giving him her sob story. “He’s what would be Milo's father.” She says, picking at her bare nails. She doesn’t consider Xavier Milo's father, he’s never been there for him so he’s not a father. Harry’s lips form a tight line, “um, Loralies mum died… so… we’ve all got baggage.” He laughs, trying to cut the tension.

Loralies mum had died, she died during childbirth. She already had a particularly painful and rough pregnancy with Lora and that was just extremely unexpected, Harry just thanks his stars everyday that his little one is safe with him. “That’s awful, Harry. I‘m sorry.” Harry smiles at her, “it’s okay. I’ve got my Lora so I’m okay.” Y/n nods, smiling and grabbing the book from between his fingers. “She’s a sweet girl.” She compliments.

Harry nods, feeling a little cocky over how well he has raised his daughter. “Is this all for you?” She asks, pulling out a small brown bag with the logo and name on it- they are cute. “Yes please.” Harry politely says, making her laugh under her breath. “If this is your first time here? You get a free bookmark with every book you purchase if it is.” She says, nodding over to the bookmarks. Harry nods, looking through the bookmarks and picking a random Fleetwood Mac one- cute, he thinks. Y/n adds the bookmark to the bag, setting it infront of him. “13.22” she says, Harry fishing his wallet out.

“Are you doing a lot today?” He asks, motioning down to all the books stacked around her while he hands her a ten and four singles. She shrugs, “the usual.” Y/n says, handing him back his change. Harry thinks for a second, pausing his response making Y/n a little nervous. “I could help?” Harry offers, setting his coffee on the table. Y/n gives him a questionable look, sharpening one of her eyes at him. “You want to put tags on books and reorganize with me?” She asks, making Harry laugh. He nods, putting a bookmark back in its place “see, I’m already helping.” He says cheekily.

Y/n smiles, shaking her head. “I guess you can help.” She says.

Soon enough they are sat on the brown carpet, mountains of books around them. Y/n has a blanket wrapped around her and Harry has his legs stretched out. Y/n is tagging books while Harry is setting by the book shelf closest to them organizing. “I swear they put something in the water fountain at that school, the kids are always running and screaming around my classroom while I’m trying to talk about how Van Gogh cut off his own ear.” Harry says, making Y/n loudly giggle, thinking about how Milo probably gives him a horrible time on Wednesdays.

“You like working where Loralie is?” She asks, Harry of course nodding. Loralie is his baby, he loves knowing she’s just up the stairs- especially if she were to get sick or hurt he would be right there to take care of her. “Yeah, I wish I could always be with Milo but one of us has to make the money.” She jokes which makes Harry laugh.

“She always comes waddling into my classroom screaming for me- which disrupts the class but I don’t care.” He shrugs, his mind going back to Loralie. “Oh shit, I’ve got to pick her u-“

“Hi! How are you, baby!” Y/n cheers, Milo running toward her then crashing into her in a hug. Y/n’s friend Mikaela had babysat Milo for the day while Y/n tried to get as much work done as she could. Usually on the weekends (like today) Milo will be in the store with her… which tends to distract her. “Um, I’ve got to go but we should do this again? Maybe… over dinner?” Harry asks, Y/n’s face lighting up.

“Are you asking me on a date?” She teases, Harry blushing and nodding. Y/n laughs, slipping her phone from her pocket, “take my number and we can schedule that date you’re begging me for.” She teases.

Harry gets her number, thanking her for the book and letting him stay before he slips out. Now he’s got to get back to Loralie. But he’s got a date!

**

Later that night when Harry and Loralie are practicing her memorizing her ABCs his phone beeps. He ignores his at first, just expecting it to be a stupid text from his friend Mitch, but once he looks down he sees Y/n’s contact name. “Keep going, bug.” Harry says, grabbing his phone from the carpet while they set on the floor of the living room, unlocking his phone.

Hii, im free next Friday :) let me know if that works with your schedule!

Harry laughs at her cute little smiley faces, trying to think up a response that doesn’t make him sound a thousand years older than her. The tip of his tongue sticks out while he types back his response, his eyebrows knitted in concentration.

Hello! Friday works, how about 5:30? I can pick you up.

He lays his phone back down and helps Loralie with her letters, pulling her onto his lap. “D is for Daddy!” She cheers, making Harry smile, chuckling and kissing her round cheeks while she squeals. Harry hears his phone ding, grabbing it and reading the response, thanking god she answered. He thought his heart would explode out of his chest. It was beating so hard.

That sounds good ☺️ see you then!

Harry got her to say yes, but now he has to deal with the anxiety of actually going on the date. What should he wear, where should they go? Should he be opening the door and pulling out her chair or is that not in-in dating anymore? He hasn’t dated since Loralies mum and his baby is two years old now, it’s been quite a long time since he dipped his toe into trying to charm a woman. He just hopes he’s still got it.

****************************

The day is here. Loralie is with her grandma so Harry can get ready for the date. He’s been panicking and running all around his little house. He showered and smothered himself in lotion and his best cologne- he wanted to smell nice for her. He was adding leave in conditioner to his hair (which he hardly remembers to do) to make it more silky and the curls look a bit prettier than they usually do- he doesn’t know much about hair, he just does what his sister tells him what his hairdresser tells him he should do.

He planned out an outfit, a pair of tan dress pants with a white tank top and a cardigan over it. He had thought over the outfit a bit too much, was it too casual for the date? Was the cardigan too much? He decided against his thoughts and layers some pearls on, sliding his rings on that were in a jewelry dish, placed in there before his shower. He takes a look in the mirror, readjust his cardigan before he gives himself a little nod. He feels good about this.

He makes his way over to Y/n flat, walking up the metal steps to her flat and knocking on the door. When she opens the door he notices just how amazing her home smells, just like her book shop. He needs to remember to ask her where she gets her candles. “Hi,” Harry smiles, looking his date up and down. She was dressed nicely. It was a sage green dress with spaghetti straps, it stopped a couple inches above her knee. Harry thought it was cute.

She paired it with gold jewelry and a black cross body bag. Dirty white vans to go along with it that added a child-like feel to the outfit. Harry thought that was cute too.

“Hi,” she smiles, glancing behind her. “You look nice.” Harry says, suddenly feeling hot. Y/n laughs under her breath, thanking him. “You look nice as well.” Harry smiles bashfully, looking down at his feet. “Thank you”

Y/n says her goodbyes to Milo, hugging and kissing him before thanking her friend again for watching him. It’s the same one from last week, Mikaela. They get into Harry’s car, a bit of awkward silent before Y/n breaks it, Harry stopping the tapping of his fingers along to the low radio once her voice interrupts it. “So, where are we going?” She asks, smoothing her dress out against her thighs.

Harry laughs, he’s not prepared for dates and for some reason he hadn’t thought about the most important part. “I’ll eat anywhere to be honest.” Y/n admits, looking through her window at all the different places.

Harry was looking around in a panic and he finally pulled something out of his ass that sounded good, especially on his teacher salary. “Olive Garden?” Harry says, trying to say it confidently but it definitely comes out as more of a question. Y/n’s eyes light up, she’s in the mood for bottomless salad and breadsticks. “That sounds heavenly.” And Harry is happy to hear that.

They walk into the busy restaurant, instantly getting escorted to a table. Harry is happy they didn’t have to wait- that would have just been embarrassing since he threw this together last minute. They sat in the booth, sliding in and getting comfortable. “So, how’s the bookstore?” Harry asks, pulling apart his breadstick. Y/n knocks her shoe with his under the table, she thinks it’s cute how bashfully he can get when just asking a simple question. “It’s good. How are your little art students?” Harry playfully rolls his eyes at her choice of words.

“It’s good. They are doing self portraits.” Y/n laughs, her eyes widening.

“How’s that going?” Harry laughs, shaking his head. “They look like shittier versions of Picasso’s paintings.” Y/n dramatically gasps through her laughs, “aren’t you supposed to worship the ground that man walks on? Why would you say that?” Harry rolls his eyes once again, chuckling at her. “I’m just behind honest!”

Their date goes on the same, they order their food, giggling while they eat and even getting into a little food fight with the leftover breadsticks. (They weren't being humble, they asked for another basket) They finished their food, “That was fun.” Y/n admits smiling. Harry nods, taking the check and opening his wallet. “Here,” y/n holds out her card, Harry shaking his head. “I’ll pay.” Harry shrugs her off, handing his card tucked in the black check book the waiter had brought over back to him before she can further protest.

Y/n scoffs, throwing another breadstick at him that he tried to catch but it’s too greasy. “Hey! I thought we had a truce?!” Harry questions her. She shakes her head, apparently swearing off the truce. Harry shrugs, thanking the waiter when he brings his card back along with their mints. “You better sleep with one eye open then.” Harry says, standing up and waiting for her. She laughs, standing up and pulling her bag over her shoulder. “I have a three year old, I basically sleep with them both open. You’re nothin’.” She says, Harry nodding his head in agreement. He knows just how she feels.

They drive back to her flat, Harry of course walking her to her door. “I had so much fun tonight.” Harry says, looking down before he looks up at Y/n. She smiles, blushing. She hasn’t dated since Xavier and she admired that to Harry tonight, they both admitted that they haven’t dated since their children’s parents so they felt a lot comfortable knowing they were both rusty.

“Me too, you’re a really sweet guy, Harry.” She says. She needs to remember to thank her forgetful little Milo for leaving his folder in Harry’s classroom. “Thanks for agreeing to go out with me. I was pretty nervous.” Harry admits a bit sheepishly. Harry is a bit giddy on the inside about them hitting it off so well, they were having the best conversation and at times they were getting extremely loud, probably annoying the people around them, but they didn’t care, they had fun. “Yeah, I was nervous as hell but I haven’t had this much fun in a while. Thanks for tonight.” Y/n smiles, leaning in for a kiss.

Harry’s eyes widen, but he still kisses her back. He hasn’t kissed anyone in so long he thought he had forgot how to for a second. His hands come up to cup her jaw, moving his lips with hers. “I’ll see you soon. Have a good night.” Y/n smiles, opening her door with red cheeks. Harry nods, a little flabbergasted. “Have a good night.” He says, trudging down her steps.

And now he’s hooked on her.

Tag list: @romionefp @iaalien @hopeyoustaythenight @evanjh

If you liked this please reblog and please tell me what you thought of it ☺️ thank you for reading!! I hope you all like the series so far I’m writing part three right now so it should come out soon ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[rebelwrites]

Chapter Sixteen: He’s Smitten

Summary // Chapter List / Masterlist

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Everyone was sitting around the table in the kitchen that seemed to become the hub of the home. The discussion got into the Tom situation.

“So I want to stake out the area again,” Xavier said, sipping a beer. “I don’t want to go in full guns blazing. Don’t get me wrong I want to storm his compound and tear the bastard to pieces but need to play this smart”

Lilly could sense the tension building in her son so quickly changed the subject.

“What’s this I hear about your dad walking in on you and Brooke this morning” She grinned “and then things happening in the shower this morning”

“Wait what I didn’t know about the shower” Alex gasped with a proud smirk on his face.

“Look I’m not talking about it” Xavier smirked, he really didn’t want to take his fourth cold shower of the day.

“So is that why you took so long to come back to the office this morning” Craig smirked “and don’t think we haven’t clocked you taking three showers today”

“I really don’t want to discuss this with you lot” Xav laughed, running his hands through his hair.

“Well whatever happened you left the poor girl in a daze and fretting about when she knows she will be ready” Lilly said not taking her eyes off her son.

“I told her we will take things at whatever pace she wants” Xavier nodded.

“I know I just told her to let things happen naturally” she smiled “I also told her if you did force her I’d personally cut your dick off so be warned”

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Brooke running down the stairs.

“Serious change the subject now” Xavier said not looking at them.

“Awww he’s smitten” Alex teased causing Xavier to flip him off.

“Alex leave him alone, he can’t help that he is in love” Lilly smirked making Xavier groan resting his head on the table.

“What’s happening?” Brooke asked making Xavier look up.

“Nothing these lot just being stupid” he laughed as he made his way over to her, watching as she emptied the contents of her bag into the table.

“What’s up?” Xavier asked.

“I’ve lost my smokes” Brooke laughed “could have sworn they were in here”

“Here” Xavier smiled, pulling his out of his pocket, handing them to her.

“Thanks” she grinned quickly, kissing him before running outside giggling.

Xavier rolled his eyes before following her outside.

“So looks like you had fun today” he smiled leaning against the wall.

“Yeah it was good, I’ve never really been on for shopping” Brooke laughed “always been into bikes than clothes”

“God I love when you laugh” Xavier breathed in her ear “I love it when you wear my clothes.”

He couldn’t help himself as he smirked as her cheeks reddened, as he ran his fingers against her skin.

“You are so beautiful and I ever want you to forget it” he whispered “I want to make sure you know how special and how lover you are”

“I just want to feel normal” Brooke sighed as tears pricked her eyes “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

“We are getting closer, baby I promise,” Xavier whispered, pulling her into his chest. “I will take this bastard down”

“But what if it isn’t enough?” Brooke said as tears started to fall “I don’t want to feel like this all my life”

Xavier’s heart broke as he held Brooke tight in his arms.

“Tell you what let’s go out tonight” He whispered “just you and me, let’s forget about everything for one night”

“Where would we go?” Brooke asked as Xavier wiped her tears away.

“I’ve heard the fairs in town,” he smiled.

“Sounds good to me” Brooke smiled as she sniffled looking at him.

“Come on then let’s go get changed and we can head out” he smiled kissing the top of her head.

Brooke’s jaw hurt from smiling, it was so nice just to get away from the compound and spend some quality time with Xavier. This was also the first date she had been on so she was excited.

“So my bumble bee” Xavier smirked pulling her into his chest. “What food do you want?”

“I’m feeling nachos” she grinned “but I want a kiss first”

“What right now? Around all these people” he teased.

“Just shut up and kiss me” Brooke giggled standing on her tip toes placing her hands either side of his cheeks.

The moment his lips touched hers, sparks erupted in the stomach as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She had never felt like this before, any time she was in Xavier’s arms she felt safe. Like nothing could touch her.

His kisses were the same, they left her feeling on cloud nine.

“Not that I’m complaining” Xavier smirked against her lips “but I’m liking this new Brooke”

“What can I say you just bring a different side out of me” she smiled. “You make me feel safe and that I’m not broken”

“And I will always be here to remind you just how strong you are my little bumble bee” he smiled, hugging her tight. “And I know that one day I will be leading the club with you by my side and I can’t wait. I can’t wait to build a life with you”

“Okay mr sappy” Brooke giggled “let’s go get some food before you turn to mush, who knew my big bad biker was so soft”

“Only for you” he winked, draping his arm over her shoulder as they walked to the nacho stand.

Xavier couldn’t help but smile as they walked around the fair, yes it had only been twenty four hours since they kissed but it had been the best time of his life, and the fact Brooke called him hers made his heart burst. This was the girl for him, the girl that he wanted by his side, wanted to be his old lady. The one he wanted to start a family with one day.

It was at that moment he realised his father was right. He was smitten. And he realised that he had found his soul mate.

It had been a month and a half since Brooke and Xavier got together. And no one had ever seen Brooke so smiley, even with the threat of Tom hanging over their shoulders.

Today was the day that Xavier planned on taking Brooke to the gun range, tonight was the night he was going to ask her to be his old lady. Things had been going so well between the two of them. Brooke was slowly getting over her fear of getting sexual, small steps were being taken.

Xavier loved waking up every morning with a semi-naked Brooke tangled up in the sheets with him. Skin on skin was the best feeling in the world.

“Morning” Brooke whispered, running her fingers down Xavier’s chest, running them down to the waistband of his boxers.

“Mmm morning baby” Xavier whispered, flipping Brooke over making her squeal, as he pinned her arms above her head. “So I have a few things planned today”

“Do I get to know what they are?” Brooke smiled looking up at Xavier.

“Later I promise” He smirked letting her arms free “But right now I think you and me should get a shower before we go down for breakfast”

“We better be quick then” Brooke giggled wrapping her arms around his neck pulling him closer to her. “And I’m kinda hungry for pancakes”

“Well then princess, let's get a move on” Xavier smirked pressing his lips against Brooke’s lips.

He loved how just a simple kiss could make her moan. Her legs wrapped around his waist as she deepened the kiss.

“Yeah that isn’t going to make me want to go cook pancakes” Xavier chuckled against her lips.

“How about we have a shower after breakfast and then we have all the time in the world” Brooke giggled.

“Damn my bumble bee really wants pancakes this morning aye?” Xavier smirked, raising his eyebrow at her. “Now get dressed and I shall make some pancakes”

As they walked into the kitchen every one smirked at them.

“You know sometime today would be amazing” Alex laughed “I would like breakfast before lunch time”

“It's not even eight am yet old man” Xavier rolled his eyes as he passed Brooke a coffee.

“Also nice to see you don’t get dressed anymore sis” James laughed nodding at Brooke’s outfit.

“Hey I have shorts on” Brooke huffed lifting Xavier’s hoodie that buried her up to reveal her pyjama shorts.

[horrorstoryfanfics]

Summer To Remember: Part Four

So I haven’t updated in a while because I’ve been editing this part for the last week or so. I’m really embarrassed at my inability to write smut. So I kept erasing and rewriting and just doing that cycle. I hope you guys enjoy this though. Also sorry about the fact that my mind is FILTHY. I’m also sorry for making you guys wait so long ! 

WARNING: This chapter contains filthy, ungodly smut. And a slight daddy kink.

Previous

I woke up to the feeling of Montana shaking me awake, my eyes barely opening before I shot up. "Hey, we gotta go take our showers before morning prayer," She mocked with clapped hands as she grabbed her stuff.

I stretched as I got up and grabbed all my necessities, "Thanks for waking me, I thought I set and alarm."

She winked over at me, "Ain't a thing babe."

We all finished picking out our clothes and started walking over to the shower together.

"So what's going on with you and Xavier?" Montana wiggled her eyebrows while she set everything on the bench.

I grabbed my toiletries out of my bag and looked over, "Pretty much the same thing as you  and Trevor except the sexual tension isn't cranked to a 12." I gently pushed her shoulder as I started stripping.

Brooke looked over at us anxiously, "Uhm guys...there's no privacy."

Montana smiled while rolling her eyes, "Brooke, you're acting like I haven't seen your bod before." She tossed her shirt over her head onto the ground.

I looked between them both about to say something before Brooke's beet red face said, "Yeah but that was at the gym!"

"And this is at Camp, Brooke take a chill pill. I'm not going to judge you or check you out or anything," I stated, attempting to make her feel a little bit better about the situation.

Eventually we all were showering and kept our eyes at eye length before Montana looked me up and down, "Xavier's in for a treat."

I splashed some water at her before laughing.

"And so are you," She paused, "His bod is rockin'."

I cocked an eyebrow questioningly. Wondering if they had been a thing before.

"We did it a couple of times when we first became friends," She waved her hand, "We both soon found out it was better for us to just be friends without the benefits."

I nodded, listening as she went on. "He's packed. Gives Trevor a run for his money."

Mine and Brooke's mouths dropped. Trevor was something, to say the least. So anyone coming close must be gifted as well.

"He'd kill me for telling you this but he has a major Daddy kink."

My eyes bulged, "Why are you telling me?" the heat rose to my face as my mind started to be really crafty.

Montana shrugged nonchalantly, "I see the way you've been eye-fucking," She came up beside me and rubbed her shoulders against mine, "I'm just trying to make it more fun for the both of you."

I wasn't expecting all this info but it definitely was going to be fun to use to mess with him.

After we showered, got dressed, and made ourselves look presentable we all met at the front of Camp in a giant circle.

I couldn't help but gawk at Xavier who was in some very short shorts. His toned thighs just out in the open. My mouth almost salivating at how good he looked.

"Alright, now that we're all here let's join hands." Mom said. I reached my hands out, grabbing Montana and Ray's. I bowed my head and drowned out her religious words as my mind raced to other things. I'll have to thank Montana later for the mental images.

When we were done we all dropped our hands and Trevor stepped into the middle. "Now, since I'm the activities director I've made a list of what everyone will be doing today." He clutched a clipboard tightly as he scanned over it, "Ray and Brooke you're cleaning the kids cabins, Y/n and Xavier you're helping Bertie in the kitchen, Chet you're helping Margaret, and Montana," He shot her a wink, "You're helping me check the canoes. Everyone got it?" We all nodded, "Alright good, let's go."

We all broke off into our pairs and made our way to our respected areas. Chet feeling like he got the short end of the stick again as he sulked away.

"How'd I get so lucky?" Xavier cooed beside me holding his hands behind his back as we walked.

I smirked, "I feel like you're going to be asking yourself that all summer."

He pursed his lips into an "Oh" and followed me into the kitchen. Bertie wasn't around at the moment so I sat down on a stool and waited, looking over to Xavier.

He put his hands on his hips and leaned on the counter top across from me, "Now I don't want you two fighting over me. Keep it civil." He tried to be serious but I could see the smirk creeping up in the corners of his mouth.

I rolled my eyes playfully, "No promises....daddy." I whispered the last word and Xavier jumped up quickly about to say something when Bertie came in.

"Ah," She dropped a box onto the table, "My favorite girl and my new boy toy." She sent Xavier a wicked grin.

I laughed lightly, "Hey Bertie, what do you want us to do?"

She chuckled deeply,"I know a lot of things he could do." She looked over to him, checking him out from head to toe, "But it ain't got to do with the kitchen."

Xavier's face twisted, you could see the regret of him ever making that joke. I decided to save him, knowing that she could go on all day.

"Ooohkay Bertie, let's stop before he passes out," I laughed lightly as I raised my hands, motioning for her to calm down. Even though it was funny to see him so embarrassed.

She just shrugged it off, "Well, you guys can sort through the pantry, clean the dining hall, and make sure that the appliances are clean."

"And what're you going to do?" His arms were crossed and his lip was turned into a sneer. He didn't know her like I did, she was best at giving orders. Only doing work when she was the last resort.

She threw her hands out and looked around, "I'm going to supervise." Xavier rolled his eyes. "But before I do I'm going to go smoke, you two get started." She pinched his elbow, causing him to flinch before she headed outside.

I sighed and went into the closet, pulling out all of the cleaning supplies we would need. I had a feeling Bertie's smoke break would last longer than it should. In one hand I held the broom and in the other I held up a rag, "Okay," I raised them into the air, "Pick your poison."

He huffed as he snatched the broom out of my hand, leaning down to pick up the dustpan. I started filling a bucket with soap and water as I let the rag soak in it, eventually carrying it out into the main part of the dining hall.

Plopping the bucket down on the bench as I started to ring out the cloth, bringing it over the table I looked up to see Xavier sweeping. He was sort of dancing while he moved with the broom. He looked so in his element. I couldn't stop the corners of my mouth from turning up as I let out a little giggle.

He stopped immediately and turned around, gripping the end of the broom and sticking his knee out, "I'll have you know I'm one of the best aerobics instructors in all of  L.A. You shouldn't make fun of me." He huffed as he turned his nose up.

I rinsed out the rag into the bucket, "I wasn't making fun," I looked back up and met his eyes,"I was admiring." I took the bucket and moved onto the next table, accidentally sloshing some water onto the floor.

"So that's what you do when you're not being a counselor?" I raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued.

He continued to sweep around the table I was working on, "Yeah...but what I'm really trying to do is become an actor."He turned to the side showing his crisp jawline into the air. His eyes had a light twinkle at the mention of his dream. "I trained at Stella Adler," He said boastfully.

I thought about him on the big screen. It fit. He was destined for more than just a minimum wage instructor. His face and fashion screamed star.

I pursed my lips, impressed. "You could definitely do it, make it big. Thousands of girls fawning over you." I said as I finished another table and moved onto another.

He dragged the broom as he got closer only stopping to put his knee on the other side of the bench and leaned across the table, only centimeters away from me. "Yeah, but all that matters is the one girl that I want." Even though no one else was around it was said with a hushed tone, making sure that only I could hear it.

It made my heart flutter quickly, for the first time I was at a loss for words as I just dropped the damp cloth into the bucket and moved on. He smiled to himself as he ran his tongue quickly over his lips. He continued to move with me and sweep where I was.

"What about you? What do you do?" He wanted to know more, the mysteriousness of you almost swallowing him whole. You weren't anything like your mother so he wanted to know you, all of you.

"Well," I started, dragging the cloth over yet another table, "I work at Blockbuster for the time being, our love of movies is the same," He quirked an eyebrow at my comment, "Except I don't really have any dreams or a set plan of anything." I sighed and brought my eyes to watch the cloth glide across the table, "My whole life I was told to do something, to have a set career, doctor, lawyer, housewife. But none of those are me....so I'm just testing the waters, just enjoying being free." I nervously looked back up at him I felt like I shared too much and that maybe he would be turned off to the idea of me now since I don't have a set course.

Instead his eyes were glistening. "Righteous," He whispered. Little did you know he was amazed, amazed at how cool you were. He didn't know everything that you went through but he could tell there was some unknown pain in your eyes. He wanted to accept it, accept you, all of you. He was feeling things he didn't really think he could feel anymore.

The door creaked open as Bertie finally came back, "Well it ain't looking too bad in here." She walked around admiring what little we had done. "I'm gonna start in the pantry." She walked back to the backroom as I moved to another table.

Xavier came and sat where I was working he set the broom down and just lounged casually. "Hey!" I exclaimed, "If we don't finish we'll never get out of here."

His bright blue eyes looked up at me, piercing right into my heart. "Well that's not such a bad thing, I could be stuck with you anywhere baby." Elbow rested on the table as his hand held up his chin lazily.

I stopped and looked over at him with a grin I couldn't keep at bay, "Being with you is great but wouldn't you rather be somewhere more....comfortable?" I was throwing the bait out there, hoping he would bite.

His eyes widened just enough for me to see the change in them. His momentary loss of cool was gone as he leaned over and patted my hand as he stood up. "Then I'll just get back to work." He squeezed my hand before letting go and bending down to pick up the broom.

"Fuck!" He yelled, I shot up and ran around the table.

"What happened?!" he was holding his hand as he winced in pain, I carefully pulled it into my own. There was a tiny amount of blood coming from his finger.

"Splinter," He mumbled.

I pulled him along into the kitchen and patted the counter top, "Hop up." He did so as I started looking around the cabinets for the first aid kit, before finding it under the sink. I brought it beside his thigh and opened it quickly. I grabbed a couple of bandages and thankfully there was a pair of tweezers in there.

"This is gonna sting a bit," I held the tweezers in my hand as I moved between his thighs, reaching for him. He obliged and I took his finger carefully before looking at his face. His eyes were heavy and half lidded as he looked down as me, his lips pulled into a tight line.

I ignored his lustrous stare as I pinched his finger, bringing it close to my face. I brought the tweezers down and carefully pulled at the piece of wood that pierced his skin.

"Ow!!" He exclaimed. "Stop being a baby," I said as I reached over his left leg and grabbed a band-aid. I wrapped it around the little cut before bringing it up to my lips and kissing it lightly.

"There, you're all better." Without thinking I placed my hands on his thighs for support, not realizing what I had done until I saw the greedy smile plastered across his face.

I was about to pull my hands away when he cupped my face and roughly brought it to his. His lips were moving so quickly it was almost hard to keep up. My mind was reeling, not really processing that he was kissing me.

He tasted sweet and addictive. Especially when his tongue started to lick at my bottom lip. I gasped lightly as I parted my mouth, opening it up for our tongues to glide against each other. My hands moved from his thighs, up his chest, until they found their way at the end of his hair, tugging lightly at the roots. He moaned at the feeling, leaning back slightly to tilt his head to admire my puffy lips and glazed over eyes.

He smiled before he put his hands on my waist, yanking me into him. I started to impatiently  grind into his hips as he moved once again to plant wet sloppy kisses all over my lips. Smiling into the kiss and gently biting his bottom lip. Eliciting another small moan as he opened his mouth, this time I fought for entrance as my tongue circled his.

He was squeezing my hips and rocking me into him. He leaned back and a string of saliva strung between the two of us. The silver strand only breaking when he began to talk. "Baby, you're playing a dangerous game. Once I start I won't be able to stop." His eyes were darker than before as his mouth parted again. I started kissing his jawline, then down his neck.

"Who says I want you to stop?" I whispered, tickling his skin with my breath before licking a thin stripe up to his ear, nibbling softly. His eyelids fluttered as I made my way back over to his lips.

We heard a shuffle behind us as we both pulled away and directed our eyes over to the noise.

Bertie was standing there drying off one of the plates, "Don't stop on my count." She smirked. "I'm enjoying the show." Shooting a taunting grin our way.

I laughed breathlessly as I buried my face into his neck, he gently caressed my head before pushing me back carefully and jumping down from the counter, "Come one," He intertwined my hand with his, "Let's go, I think we're done for the day." He started to lead me out of the doors, Bertie mumbling a "I don't think you guys did enough." Before we left.

Xavier was sprinting across the camp, dragging me behind him. "Come on," He laughed. I laughed with him, out of breath, as we stumbled our way up the steps to the boys cabin.

He pushed the door open while looking around making sure it was free of any of the other councilors. It was only a bit dim so he didn't even bother turning on the light. When the coast was clear he pulled me inside swiftly and closed the door, pinning me against it.

"I should've kissed you last night, I had no idea you tasted so good." He leapt back onto my lips with feverish sloppy kisses. My hands slid down his torso as I tugged at his shirt, eager to rip it off. He pulled away as I tugged the fabric over his head and threw it to the side. I took a moment to admire his chest as my hand grazed down his peck to the top of his shorts. I put my finger through the belt loop and yanked him back into me roughly.

He grunted as our lips connected, pulling me up in the air as I wrapped my legs around him. Not once breaking the heated kiss. He started to walk over to one of the beds as his grip tightened. Once we reached the bed he gently laid me on my back as he stood back.

"Are you ready?" His chest heaving from the intensity of our make out, his hands gripping the end of my shirt, waiting for my okay.  

I bit my lip and nodded quickly. His infamous smirk appeared as he quickly yanked the shirt over my head. His eyes looking over me hungrily as his hands reached around to unclasp my bra and throw it to the side. Naturally I covered myself, my heart beating quickly.

He grabbed both of my wrists softly and pulled them away, leaving me exposed. "Baby," He whispered deeply as his eyes scanned my chest before stopping on my eyes, "Don't get shy on me now." He leaned down and gave me a slow passionate kiss before he started kissing down my neck. Stopping at my collar bone and licked a circle before sucking down harshly, no doubt leaving a mark.

I gasped and threw my head back locking my fingers in his hair. After he was satisfied with the mark he traveled down to my right nipple and flicked his tongue several times before wrapping his lips around it and sucking, eventually releasing it with an obscene pop. My teeth dug into my bottom lip as I muffled the load groan erupting in my throat. His mouth was glistening with spit as he looked up at me, "Don't hold back." He kneaded my other breast, "I want to hear how loud you can get."

He reached down and tugged my pants off, whipping them away with a swift yank. All that was left was my underwear. He ripped them off, a harsh tear heard through the room. My eyes widened but I was too lost in lust to care about them now.

His middle finger felt cold against my folds, moving it up and down harshly before shoving it into my hole. I moaned out as his finger came back out. "You're soaked," He chuckled darkly. He shoved his finger in again, this time pumping ferociously. A mixture of lewd squelches and my high pitched moans filled the room as he kept going. He added another finger, deliciously stretching me out as his palm slapped against me. His other finger rubbing my nipple.

My stomach knotted quickly as I thrust my hips up to feel him deeper. He suddenly stopped and pulled out. I sat up slightly, whining at the loss of stimulation.

He chuckled deeply. "Don't worry sweetheart, you'll cum. But when you do it'll be on my tongue." He shoved his fingers into my mouth and I began sucking on them, collecting all my juices with my tongue. Groaning against his fingers as our eyes were locked. His eyes were hooded with lust and his mouth agape, a grunt making it's way to his perfect pink lips.

"You seem to like your taste," he drew his hand back slowly trailing it down my body until it landed right above where I wanted him to be. He slowly backed up and leaned down, "Now it's my turn." Eyes never leaving mine as he became level with my core. My heart accelerating at the anticipation.

A cocky smirk adorned his face before he dove forward and licked a slow agonizing stripe up my slit, a loud moan escaping me. He put his hands on my thighs to spread them further to get a better angle.He started to move his tongue quicker, working it across. He was lapping at my folds like a starved man, moving his tongue to swirl around my clit before puckering his lips and sucking hard. "Fuck!" I screamed, I felt him smile against me before he shoved his tongue into my hole.

A pornographic moan elicited from my lips as I tried to thrust into him. He began tongue fucking me heatedly, his nose brushing against my clit as he worked. "Fuck daddy.."I groaned. This made him moan into me, sending vibrations all over my core as I moaned again. Moving back up to my bud he began to suck again as he shoved two fingers inside. "X-Xavier," I groaned out choppily. I felt the twisting build up start to form in my stomach as he kept working.  

"I'm close," I reached down and intertwined my hands in his hair, tugging him closer to me as I rode his face. My core rutting into his mouth. His hands hoisted my legs over his shoulders as he dove even closer, moving quicker than before as his fingers shook against my clit. His tongue diving deeper into me.

I threw my head back and scrunched my eyes shut as I let my release wash over me. Screaming out as his tongue stilled, letting all my cum seep down onto his tongue. He lapped up all of it before pulling back up. Lips glistening with my release as he swiped his tongue across them.

"Can you go again?" He leaned over and pushed the hair out of my face, the intimate gesture making my heart swell. I tilted my head to the side as I hoisted myself up reaching over and grabbing the impressive bulge fighting against his pants. My hand rubbing back and forth, only stopping to circle my thumb around the tip.

"I need you to fuck me," I stated. His mouth was agape and his eyes were feigning to close. "Your wish is my command," His cocky smirk displayed as he leaned back on his knees and popped the button on his pants. He stood up and gripped the zipper throwing them down, underwear included. My eyes were bulging as how beautifully big his dick was. Montana wasn't lying.

I got on my hands and knees and crawled over to the edge of the bed, mouth watering at the thought of bringing him between my lips. I leaned down, about to put the tip in my mouth but before I could he gripped my hair bringing me back up to face him.

"I'd love to see you choke on my cock but I need to be inside of you. Now." He said the last word so sternly it made me shiver. He gave me a rough kiss before pushing me back down onto my back.

The bed squeaked as he sunk back onto it, crawling over top of me. He looked primal, ready to ravage me at any second. "Are you on the pill?" He asked.

"Yes," I said quickly, the thought of him fucking me raw had me clenching around nothing. "Xavier," I whined, "Please cum inside me."

He grunted lowly, grabbing the head of his cock and running it across my clit and down to the center, stopping it at my soaked entrance. My stomach tensed as he hovered there. "So worked up," He chuckled proudly, "Don't worry baby, I'm going to fuck you so good." Without warning he dove inside of me in one fluid motion, making us both cry out at the sensation of my walls clenching around him.

"S-Shit!" He yelled, "You're so fucking tight." He pulled back slowly before bottoming out entirely. Both of us moaning as he administered hard thrusts repeatedly. His hands gripping my hips so tight I expected them to snap. Mine made there way to his back as I scratched it, gripping tighter with each thrust. "Y/n..."

He lifted my hips up into the air as he roughly slammed me down onto him repeatedly, the new angle changing the feeling entirely.Our skin slapping together was echoing through the room as he dove deeper, balls deep.

He wasn't letting down as I shrieked, dropping me down roughly onto the bed and grabbing my ankles, bending my knees into my chest. This new angle was even better. He pushed my legs back as far as they could go as he spit raunchily down onto my clit, the warm liquid oozing down onto our connection sent me into a spiral. The familiar clenching in my stomach came back as I hissed, "I-I'm going to cum."

"Hold on baby, me too." His thrusts got rougher as he rammed into me, pushing my legs so far back I knew they'd be sore in the morning. "Please daddy, fill me up." I moaned again as my walls tightened against him, he hissed in pleasure as he began to get sloppy, his release finally coming. "Okay," his breathing was heavy, "cum."

I let go as I let out another lewd moan, throwing my head back into the pillows and lazily rutting into him. Nearly passing out from the intensity of my orgasm. He let out a godly grunt as he pulled me as close as possible into him. His liquid spilling inside of me.

After a couple seconds he pulled out and replaced his cock with his fingers, gathering some of the release. He smirked as he brought it up to my mouth. Without hesitation I wrapped my tongue around his digits before puckering my lips and sucking the rest off. He looked down and tsked playfully. "There's still so much." I opened my mouth to say something but was stopped by him ducking back down and slurping it up. My legs were twitching before he finally brought his head back up.

He licked his lips before leaning over my fucked out body and kissing me again. He slid his tongue across mine, the mixture of our two releases mixing to make an intoxicating formula that made me want more. Unfortunately he pulled back, dropping himself beside me on the bed.

His breath was heavy as his chest rose quickly. "Y/n...that was wicked."

We both looked over at each other just taking in the moment as we scanned over each others features. His forehead glistening with sweat and his lips parted heavenly. He scooted closer, placing his hand on my stomach as he drew light circles. "That wasn't your first time right?"

My brows furrowed, almost offended before I flipped the switch and decide to mess with him. I looked away, pretending to be nervous as I fiddled with my hands, "Actually..." I looked back over at him with big doe eyes, "It was."

His eyes popped as his head shot forward, "Oh my god really?!" He began to get nervous, "If I would've know I would've.." I brought my hand to his mouth, shutting him up as I laughed. His pretty brows scrunching together in confusion.

"No you dweeb, I've had sex before." I laughed again, moving so now we were face to face. I smiled from ear to ear, loving his expression.

"I just thought with Margaret and all.." He trailed off, looking at me with red cheeks.

I laughed, "If she had it her way then yeah, but I follow my own rules." I turned on my back and looked at the ceiling my breathing finally starting to become normal as I came down from my high.

He brought his arm to my side as he carefully brought me into him, against his chest. I could feel his heart beating. I closed my eyes and listened to the rhythm calmly. Feeling hands come up to stroke my hair gently. I felt so content and I didn't want this moment to end.

He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of loud footsteps coming closer.

We looked at each other wide eyed and afraid, quickly pulling the blanket to cover both of us as he squeezed me into him tightly.

The door opened and Trevor walked in, I gasped as I hugged Xavier tighter.

He flipped the switch on, turning around and looking directly at us. "Nicce." He hummed. "You guys better get dressed," He pointed over at me, "Your Mom's looking for you. And it's almost chow time." He smiled goofily before heading back out.

"Oh god," I mumbled, hoisting myself up. I scattered looking around the room for my clothes, grabbing my bra, shirt, pants, and picking up my torn underwear. I groaned as I crumbled them up and threw them at him. "Now I've got to go commando."

He leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. "Hey, you won't hear me complaining." I squinted at him before getting dressed. His eyes burning into my skin as he watched me the entire time.

"Hey!" I swatted his leg, "You gotta get ready too!"

He jolted up and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me so I was straddling his waist. "You're distracting." Our noses were touching lightly as we smiled sweetly at each other. He plastered a kiss across my lips, one that was different than his previous lust filled smooches. This one was full of passion and was slower, savory. We both broke out into wide grins. "We gotta go handsome."

He groaned as I got up, snatching his clothes dramatically.

"Hey," I walked behind him, placing my head on his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his waist, giving his shoulders and neck light kisses. "We've got all summer."

Taglist: @felicityofbakerstreet

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Baby Mine: Bonus “EOTL” Story (Pre-Serum Alpha!Steve and Amputee Omega!Bucky)

Five:

"Wow," Steve commented, lust and love mingling in the bond when Bucky stepped onto the main floor.

Blushing, Bucky fidgeted in his casual navy-blue outfit and playfully rolled his eyes, "It's just a suit."

"Doesn't mean you look any less stunning. And you are," Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist, under the open jacket and stroking his thumb over the blue floral shirt as his eyes roamed over Bucky's frame, "Stunning."

"I'm your mate, you have to say that," Bucky brushed off the compliment while he brushed his hands over the gray suit jacket accentuating Steve's slender shoulders, making them seem broader. Cheeks still burning as he leaned down to kiss Steve. Turning the conversation onto Steve, he ran his hand over his stubble-free cheek and commented, "You shaved."

"Wanted to look good for you tonight," Steve admitted with the most attractive blush that Bucky had ever laid his eyes on, and his most favorite blush he had ever seen, colored the alpha's cheeks.

Resting his forehead against Steve's, Bucky told him, "You always look good. Scruffy or clean-shaven. Just out of the shower or with dry spit-up on your shirt --"

"Ew," Steve interjected, his face scrunching in disgust.

"-- I still can't believe that I got so lucky as to have such a stud for a mate," Bucky finished with a smug smirk tugging at his lips while he pulled Steve closer by the notch lapels of his jacket.

Steve's blush darkened and spread up to his ears, which was definitely a trait that always made Bucky's stomach swoop in attraction. Bucky ducked his head, scenting Steve and wishing that his white button-up shirt's collar didn't cover his mating bite. Compromising with kissing the spot on Steve's neck just below his ear instead.

"I'm the lucky one," Steve argued, giving Bucky's hips a squeeze.

"Should we start the car or are you two going to get a room?" Natasha interrupted. Bucky glanced over to her and found her leaning against the doorframe to the formal living room in a plunging neckline black velvet cocktail dress.

Pulling back, Steve tucked a loose strand from Bucky's French braid behind his ear and suggested, "We should go say goodbye to the pups."

Reluctance and hesitation lit up the bond, and Bucky wasn't sure if they were his emotions or Steve's. Nevertheless, Bucky left the comfort of Steve's thin arms and led the way downstairs to the kiddie floor.

There, they found Noah cuddled up next to Gabby while he held onto Xavier's hand, in a nest that Gabby had created out of some of the fleece throw blankets. Maisie was sitting on Dre's lap content as could be while he delicately combed through her dark waves and the knots that occasionally snagged. All the while, Kiara was lounging in a bean bag chair with a juice box and a baby doll.

"Mama, you got some competition for best dressed," Dre teased once he spotted the other three adults.

Sharon left the kitchen, snacking on an ants on a log, while an asymmetrical rose gold slip dress hugged her athletic frame. Her brows were arched high on her forehead at her son's comment before she spotted the trio and playfully wiggled her brows while shimmying her shoulders.

As she took another bite of the celery, Natasha quirked a brow and joked, "Pregaming appetizers before appetizers?" Silently, Sharon fought her smirk and offered the rest of the snack to her bonded. Natasha wrapped her arms around Sharon's waist and opened her mouth to accept the treat while she fondly stated, "This is why I mated you."

"Among other things," Sharon smirked, kissing Natasha's forehead.

"Among other things," Natasha happily agreed.

"Yuck!" Kiara giggled and hid her reddening brown face behind the baby doll, but still peeking over at them with a small smile on her face.

Bucky couldn't help but grin at their interaction as he stepped over toys and leaned down to press a kiss on Noah's chubby pale cheek. Pleasantly surprised when Xavier tilted his head, so he could receive a kiss too. If that wasn't proof enough of his acceptance, Bucky didn't know what was. So, he happily obliged and pressed a kiss to the child's youthfully plump brown cheek.

"What about Gabby?" Noah asked when Bucky stood upright again.

Brows arching, he asked the teen, "Would you like a kiss, too?"

"Well, we are family," Gabby reasoned. The, duh, being implied as she held her head still, so Bucky could kiss her darker, reddish-brown forehead.

As Bucky pulled back, he locked eyes with her green ones and reminded, "Don't let them boss you around." Gesturing over to the baby swing where Hugh was sleeping, Bucky teased, "Especially not that one."

"Okay," Gabby giggled, absentmindedly scent-marking both her youngest brother and Noah.

Passing Steve while the petite alpha ran his hand over Kiara's springy honey-blonde corkscrew hair. Smiling at Bucky as they essentially swapped to give the other kids on the opposite ends of the couch kisses. Trying not to step on Natasha or Sharon's toes as the two women were saying goodbye to their children, too.

"I want you to be good," Bucky warned, tilting Maisie's head, so she was looking up at him.

"Okay," Maisie sighed while Dre defended her, "She's always good."

Bucky couldn't help but smile at that. Leaning forward, Bucky kissed Maisie's rosy cheek. Before Bucky could pull too far back, Dre was tilting his face so Bucky could press a kiss to his freckle-speckled skin. Once he stood upright again, he playfully rolled his eyes at the way Dre was theatrically wiping at his russet complexion.

Not wanting to wake the sleeping baby, and knowing that Kiara still wasn't very comfortable with physical affection from him, Bucky waited by the doorway. A fond grin stretching his lips as he watched the two moms affectionately interact with their children. Not to mention how Steve scent-marked Hugh's elephant security blanket before replacing it in the swing.

As Natasha, Sharon, and Steve crossed the family room to join Bucky, the four adults blew kisses to the kids. Reminding them all that, "The pool is off limits," and, "Call us, if you need anything."

All the while, Gabby and Dre encouraged, "Go have fun," and, very bluntly, "Leave already!"

So, that was exactly what the couples did. Leaving through the ground floor front door to the Romanoff-Carter vehicle, Bucky felt a twinge of anxiety flow through him. Not his own, but Steve's. Pausing as Steve locked the door behind them, Bucky extended his hand out for his mate.

Appreciatively, Steve accepted the offer and twined their fingers together. Bucky grinned down at him and lifted their hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of Steve's hand. Attempting to reassure his partner the best he could, "They'll be fine."

"I know," Steve assured, opening the back passenger door for Bucky, "I just miss them already."

"Sap," Natasha good-humoredly mocked as she started the van, earning an eye roll from the petite alpha as the four adults settled in their seats.

Although Bucky was nervous about being away from the pups for the first time, he was also excited to properly celebrate his birthday. And with Steve by his side, he couldn't ask for anything better.

[sareyen]

A Machine Without Feelings: A Jane Eyre AU (Part 5/11)

Read on ao3

Chapter 5

It was midday on a Tuesday when Moira interrupted Charles’s lesson with Peter, the boy being allowed an early tea time.

“What is it, Moira?”

“Someone has come to visit you, and they are currently waiting in the foyer. A Mrs Katherine Hudson, I believe,” Moira said, Charles crinkling his nose, the name unfamiliar to him. Charles did not have a wide social circle, the only people who would call on him residing in either Westchester or Graymalkin – and they would rarely have a need to call upon him in person.

“I do not know of any Hudsons, let alone a Katherine Hudson. Did she say where she has travelled from?”

“She said that she knew you when you were a boy. She introduced herself as Mrs Hudson, but she did mention that you used to call her ‘Kitty’.”

Charles’s eyes widened as his lips spread into a wide, giddy smile. Kitty had come to visit him, his favourite and most beloved nurse that used to sneak him sweet biscuits and wipe his sweaty brow when he was feverish. She had been Katherine ‘Kitty’ Pryde when Charles had been at Westchester, but that was eight years ago – Kitty must have gotten married to a Mr Hudson, and Charles knew that the man was one lucky bastard.

Charles laughed aloud, feeling lighter than he had been for the past few days, kissing Moira on both cheeks before rushing past. Charles did not spare a glance at the drawing room, where the tinkle of piano music was drifting out of the open door, accompanied by the laughter and chatter of noble gents and ladies.

Charles caught, in the corner of his eye, Erik glancing at him as he brushed past the doorway, but the tutor moved too quickly for Erik to comment on his sudden presence.

“Kitty!” Charles called as he reached the top of the steps leading into the foyer, the woman standing below turning to the sound of the voice, revealing her face. Kitty looked very much the same as the image Charles conjured up in his memories, and barely looked a day older despite eight years having passed. She was dressed in a demure light blue day dress, and her hair was done up in a slightly more fashionable style than what she wore as a maid in Westchester. She held a bonnet with a matching sky-blue ribbon in her hands.

“Master Charles, is that you?” Kitty said, rushing forward as Charles leapt down the stairs, not caring about manners as he lunged towards Kitty, wrapping her up in a tight embrace. Her billowing skirt got in the way a little, and the stiff bodice of her dress pressed uncomfortably against Charles’s chest, but he did not care. Kitty laughed with surprise, but returned Charles’s embrace wholeheartedly.

“My, how you’ve grown! You’re not the little master that I used to know,” Kitty spoke fondly as the two pulled apart, pulling at Charles’s shoulders to make him turn around in a circle so she could inspect him. “You’ve grown into a handsome young man, Charles, but those sparkling blue eyes of yours are still the same. I knew school would do you good.”

“It did. And you, Kitty. I have just heard that I can no longer address your as Miss Pryde. You are Mrs Hudson now, is that correct?” Charles asked, Kitty blushing a little, making Charles’s grin stretch wider, eyes glimmering. “Do tell me, Kitty. Who is this mysterious Mr Hudson?”

“I am indeed Mrs Jimmy Hudson now,” Kitty admitted, showing Charles the simple gold band around her ring finger. “He is a good man, and works as a coachman. He came to work at Westchester a mere few months after you left for school.”

“Congratulations, Kitty,” Charles said, hugging his old nurse – his friend – again. “Oh, I have missed you, Kitty. And all of the others at Westchester.” Kitty warmed at the young master’s words, clasping his hand with hers. Kitty’s touch was still as gentle and comforting as Charles remembered it to be.

“If you really missed us, Master Charles, you would have written to us sooner – I had sent correspondence to Graymalkin where I had heard that you were a teacher, but they said that you had moved on to find new employment! And Ironfield hall is even further away from Westchester than Graymalkin, I’ve been travelling for days to meet you,” Kitty said, touching Charles’s cheek.

“I do apologise, Kitty. Time is a luxury, these days. I’ve been so busy,” Charles apologised, Kitty shaking her head, waving away his words.

“No, no, you need not apologise, Master Charles. I am glad that you have been keeping yourself busy. You are a tutor here, if I have heard correctly. You must enjoy the work immensely.”

“Oh, I do, Kitty,” Charles gushed, thinking about Peter and his smiling face, how his nose crinkled when he struggled on an arithmetic problem or when he tried to recall all of the countries of Europe. “I have but one pupil, but teaching him is very fulfilling. He is quite energetic, and quick-witted, so he keeps me on my toes.”

“I do say that you’ve found your calling,” Kitty said, genuinely happy for her not-so-little master. “And is your employer, the master of this house, a good man?”

Charles faltered a little, but the slight hesitation went unnoticed by Kitty. Charles cleared his throat, nodding.

“Yes, he treats me… appropriately. He is a fair and just master. His other subordinates treat me well, too. You must have met Moira, Mrs MacTaggert, earlier,” Charles said, Kitty nodding.

“Yes, she was lovely. I was truly relieved to find that you are surrounded by agreeable people here, Master Charles,” Kitty said, the two of them knowing that the same could not be said about Westchester. At the reminder of Charles’s former home, Kitty’s exuberance at their reunion dimmed, her expression turning grave. Charles felt apprehension churn in his gut, his brow creasing.

“What is it, Kitty? If you’ve come to visit me, something must have happened. Is everyone at Westchester alright? I can only imagine what must have happened if you are here asking after me now. I do hope no one is dead,” Charles said, growing more nervous as Kitty seemed to try to find words.

“I wish I came under better circumstances, young master, but no. You see, Master Cain Marko has passed. It was yesterday a week, now,” Kitty said. Charles’s mouth dropped open with a shocked pop.

The name from his past sent a series of shockwaves coursing through Charles’s body, and for a moment, it was like he had a bout of severe vertigo. When everything righted itself, Charles looked at Kitty carefully.

“And how does his father, I mean, my step-father bear it?” Charles asked, knowing that Kurt considered Cain the sole heir to the Marko-Xavier fortune. Now that Cain was dead, Charles could only imagine the state Kurt must be in.

“Why you see, young master, it was not a common mishap; Master Cain’s life has been very wild, and these last three years he has given himself up to strange ways. Drinking, gambling, unsavoury acts. It was no secret. His death was shocking, but it did not come as a shock,” Kitty said, dropping her voice and whispering, as if speaking about the dead man would rouse him from the grave.

“Unsavoury acts?”

“Yes. Master Cain associated himself will all manner of ill folk, and got into debt and thrown into jail. Of course, his father helped him out on multiple occasions, but he was not strong of head or heart, and fell into his old ways soon enough. They say…” Kitty said, leaning in closer now. “They say he killed himself.”

“Killed himself?!” Charles exclaimed, his voice echoing in the foyer, Kitty wincing. Charles gathered his voice, dropping his speech to a quiet mumble. “If that is the case, I can only guess that my step father is beside himself.”

“That he is, young master. When he found out, he was in a rage for the next two days. His reaction was unlike that of a father losing a son, but not surprising for a man like Kurt Marko. In his rage, though, he seemed to burst something in his brain, and now he is bed-ridden. The doctor says that he does not have much longer to live, now. Which is why I am here. Master Marko does not speak much after being struck with illness, but he keeps saying ‘Charles, Charles’ over and over,” Kitty explained, Charles growing a little pale.

Even after all these years, even when Charles believed that he had moved on from the terror the Markos have stirred up in his life, just the mention of their names sends his gut twisting.

‘No, Charles. You are no longer the ten-year-old Charles Marko. You are not afraid of him. You are Charles Xavier, tutor to Peter Eisenhardt, employee and… equal, of Mr Erik Lehnsherr. You are Charles Xavier, and you are not afraid, and you are not alone.’

“I must go to Westchester,” Charles said, now grasping Kitty’s hand, tapping it as he thought. “We must leave quickly. Westchester is a day or two’s ride from Ironfield, and if Kurt Marko is in such a dire situation as you suggest, then he may even breathe his last breath before we mount a carriage. Kitty, I need to speak with Eri- Mr Lehnsherr about being granted leave, and need to pack a few things.”

“Of course, Master Charles. I can assist with the packing, if Mrs MacTaggert allows me,” Kitty offered, Charles kissing her cheek gratefully. Charles soon found Alex, who was more than happy to find Moira and help Charles pack while he went to speak with Erik.

While Charles had been speaking with Kitty, Erik and his party had left the drawing room and withdrawn outdoors to the gardens. The spring weather was lovely this day, contrary to the gloom surrounding the events at Westchester, and Charles had to shield his eyes from the obscenely bright sun as he made his way outside.

It was not hard to find them, Charles only needing to follow the chorus of obnoxious laughter. Charles found Erik sitting with Miss Frost beneath a vine-covered canopy, the two of them seemingly engaged in conversation. Erik had a small smile on his face, one that was vaguely amused, while Emma returned the look with an elegant curl of her lips. They stared into each other’s eyes, seeming to speak with their gazes and their minds, and Charles had to clear his throat to garner Erik’s attention when he approached.

Charles bit down on the poisonous green monster and tried to kill it. He was not victorious.

Emma smirked a little, tilting her blonde hair to the side as she watched Charles. Her gaze was a little different than usual. She did look at him like he was something she should crush underneath a bejewelled shoe, but regarded him curiously, like she was trying to figure something out.

Erik stood quickly, murmuring something to Emma, who just smiled knowingly and turned away from Charles and Erik to peruse a small novella in her hands.

Erik strode over to Charles, eyebrow raised in that way that asked ‘what is it?’.

“I need to leave Ironfield,” Charles said, Erik freezing. Erik stared at him, jaw set tightly, before roughly grabbing Charles by the elbow and hauling him out of the gardens and back into the large mansion. Erik manhandled Charles into his study, shutting the door behind him, his larger frame blocking Charles’s exit.

“Erik, that was completely unnecessary. Why did you haul me here?” Charles huffed, rubbing his elbow as Erik regarded him carefully. “You were awfully rough about it too.”

“You say that you need to leave Ironfield, and then you ask me this?” Erik retorted hotly, crossing his arms over his robust chest. “Why do you think I reacted like that?”

Charles did not want to think about the answer to that question, his heart thumping.

“Well, that is not the pertinent matter right now. As I was saying before you manhandled me from the gardens in the view of all of your guests, I require a leave of absence, for a week or two,” Charles said, flicking his blue eyes to meet Erik’s, which seemed to dawn with understanding. Charles could see the moment Erik’s tension seeped from his tight shoulders, how he relaxed a little and dropped his crossed arms to his side.

“For a week or two,” Erik mimicked, Charles rolling his eyes a little at Erik’s slowness this afternoon.

“Yes, as I said. A week or two, or longer. It is hard to say.”

“What for? Where are you going?” Erik questioned, stepping away from the door now that he knew that Charles was not running from Ironfield forever, moving past the tutor to sit on the edge of his desk. Charles drank in the image of Erik’s long legs crossing over as he rested his hands on either side of his hips on the desk, muscles flexing beneath his shirt.

“My step-father has summoned me. He is dying,” Charles said simply, shrugging. Erik noticed Charles’s shoulders sink, and he stood from his desk again, coming to stand in front of Charles.

The older man gently nudged Charles’s chin upwards to meet his eyes, which were warm in their icy hue.

“The step-father that disliked you because you are smarter and prettier than him?” Erik asked, Charles letting out a bubbly laugh, one that coaxed a shark-like smile from Erik. The sight of the smile made Charles’s insides melt.

“One and the same,” Charles said, voice gentle.

“Good riddance, then,” Erik said, and despite his rude remark about a dying man, Charles couldn’t help but laugh.

“He’s dying Erik. There is nothing good about it,” Charles chastised half-heartedly, the smile on his face showing Erik that he wasn’t truly mad.

“So you will be gone a week?” Erik asked, Charles shrugging once again. Erik’s hand moved from Charles’s chin to rest against the curve of his shoulder, thumb brushing against the fabric covering his neck.

“A week, maybe more. It is hard to say. Since he is dying, I can’t put a time on that.”

“Then I hope he dies quickly,” Erik muttered, Charles choking on his breath, Erik shooting him a cheeky grin.

“Erik! That is- You- He’s a dying man, Erik!” Charles spluttered, the older man barking out a laugh.

“He is of no importance to me, and from what you have told me about him, you even making plans to visit him is more than he deserves. For what he’s done to you, no one can be mad at me for wishing him a swift death,” Erik said, and Charles didn’t know whether to be afraid, upset or flattered. Maybe a mixture of all three.

“You are incorrigible,” Charles harrumphed, rolling his eyes. “And you owe me wages. I have yet to be paid for my many months of service.”

“How much do I owe you?” Erik asked, stroking his thumb along the slope of Charles’s chin before stepping back, opening a little box on his desk and pulling out some bills.

“Fifteen pounds.”

“Here’s fifty,” Erik said easily, holding out a large sum of cash in front of Charles, the tutor’s eyes bugging out at the sheer number.

“What? No! You only owe me fifteen,” Charles replied stubbornly, Erik grinning.

“You are the first person to not accept a raise in their wages. Come, Charles. Take the money,” Erik said, shaking the bill in front of him again, eyes alight.

“No, you only owe me fifteen, Erik. If you don’t have smaller change, I can receive my wages when I return.” Erik liked the way Charles phrased it, like it was a simple fact that he would come back.

“You need money to travel, Charles. Take it,” Erik said again, a little impatience seeping into his tone now. Charles just rolled his eyes, now crossing his own arms across his chest. Charles did not respond and just stared at Erik challengingly, his employer gritting his teeth and throwing he fifty pounds back into the box and pulling out another slip of paper. “Fine. Then I only have ten.”

“Fine. You can owe me five pounds, then,” Charles said, moving to swipe the cash from Erik’s hand, the man withdrawing it at the last second. Charles scoffed, before saying with a huff, “Really, Erik?”

“You will come back for the other five, won’t you?” Erik asked, more of a promise than a question, lowering his arm so Charles could take the money. When Charles’s fingers pinched the note, Erik’s other arm quickly came forward to latch onto it, holding Charles in place. “You will come back, won’t you, Charles?”

“Yes,” Charles breathed out, Erik squeezing his hands, before letting him go. Charles turned to leave, but before he left Erik’s study, he turned back around, a small smile playing at his face.

“Since you still owe me five, I won’t be going easy on you in our next chess game. You haven’t paid me to let you win, yet,” Charles said, grinning at the sound of Erik’s unabashed laughter than resonated after him as he walked down the hall, already counting down the days until he would return.

Back to Ironfield. And back to Erik.

***

A day’s carriage ride later, Charles pulled in through the heavy metal gates of the Westchester estate.

Westchester was almost exactly the same as how Charles remembered it, but it seemed a lot smaller now. Charles wasn’t sure if it was because he had grown in height (though not by a lot, compared to other boys), or if it was just because he was no longer filled with terror as he walked through the grand halls of his childhood.

Not to say that Charles was not afraid – he was, but it was only his intangible memories that he was scared of. It was only memories of books being slammed over his head, of the way his breaths seemed too loud when he was hiding from Cain, of the eerie creaking in the Red Room that made Charles’s breath sometimes quicken.

But in the present, Charles was not afraid. Cain was no longer stalking the halls of his former home, and Kurt Marko was bedridden and apparently paralysed on the left side of his body. A bleed in the brain, they said, caused by stress, drinking and his robust size.

Kitty touched Charles’s arm and told him she would carry his meagre belongings to his old chambers that the staff had maintained even in his absence. Kitty also informed him that at this time, late in the afternoon, Kurt was usually asleep after having an early supper of watery porridge and lukewarm tea, unable to stomach much else. Charles would have to wait until morning to speak with him, if he lasted through the night.

If anything, the fact that Kurt Marko was still breathing after his near-fatal fit only showed how relentless the man was, clinging to this last thread of life with tenacious will-power. ‘Erik,’ Charles thought, ‘would probably curse the man’s apparent inability to die swiftly.’

With nothing else to do, Charles roamed the empty halls of Westchester. He passed by the room of portraits, lingering a moment in front of the image of his mother and father, labelled ‘Mr and Mrs Brian Xavier’. Beside it was a portrait of Kurt Marko, the man’s large form covering an entire portrait, with no room for much else.

Walking through the room, Charles moved onto the library – it seemed to remain relatively untouched, no one in Westchester being much of an avid reader, not like Charles. The young man ran his fingers over the neatly stored spines of the books, before stopping at ‘Zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Pollens’. Charles pulled it out, and saw a little crust of brown at the bottom corner of the book; a little crust of blood that lingered here, even when the wound it came from had long since healed on Charles’s head.

That was much like everything else here at Westchester. Everything was a remnant of times past, stagnant and unchanging. It seemed that only Charles, who had miraculously escaped the estate’s still hourglass, had moved forwards. Charles, and Charles alone.

Charles found his favourite nook, but this time he did not feel the need to draw the curtains to obscure himself. His longer body fit the alcove more snugly than before, knees bent out of necessity rather than comfort, and he leaned against the window as he flicked through the pages of ‘Zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Pollens’.

Now that he was more educated, he no longer had to skip the long German words that he did not know, and he did not have to decipher meaning from a mish-mash of pictures and phrases. Charles read the book thoroughly, fingers running over worn pages and faded watercolours, before Kitty found him and called him for supper.

“Will mother be joining us?” Charles asked, Kitty shaking her head.

“You know the mistress,” Kitty replied, Charles nodding and not saying anything further. “But, she has been a bit more lucid as of late. It may be good for you to see her as well, young master, before you go. She is usually best after supper; having something in her stomach usually helps her, so tomorrow evening would be ideal.”

“Thank you, Kitty,” Charles said, the woman smiling as she placed a hearty stew in front of Charles. Unlike before, the stew was thick and full of ingredients, the staff no longer having to try and bypass Marko’s restrictions and able to use whatever they wanted to feed their returning young master.

Everyone was so glad to see that their young Master Charles had grown into a fine young man; short, but boyishly handsome, with rosy cheeks and a vibrant smile. They compared him to the now departed Cain, and the contrast was like night and day.

Charles invited all members of the staff to dine with him, and he regaled them stories of his time at school – only the good memories with Raven, of course – and how his life was at Ironfield. Everyone listened to Charles with rapt attention, their hearts light with the knowledge that their young master had grown to become eloquent and educated, but retaining the same youthful innocence and kindness that they remembered from all those years ago.

Charles returned to his chambers early, body and mind drained from the long journey, but found that he could not drift off to sleep easily even with a full and content belly. His bed was not as comfortable as the one he had in Ironfield, and even though Kitty had lit a substantial fire in his chambers, he felt a little cold.

It was in a moment between wake and sleep that Charles realised that Ironfield was now his home and where he belonged; alongside Moira, Alex and Peter. Beside Herr Lehnsherr. Beside his Erik.

***

While everything at Westchester remained the same, Kurt Marko did not. He looked like a mere shell of the man that he once was, shrivelled and puny and buried in layers of blankets to stave away the cold. He was a shadow of the terrifying figure Charles pictured in his head, and that alone made Charles step towards him confidently the next morning.

Kurt Marko’s eyes watched him, one drifting lazily in the opposite direction, the other one recognising him instantly. Those blue eyes, the floppy and thick brown hair, the smattering of freckles and unnaturally red lips. Kurt Marko would recognise that Xavier boy anywhere, even on his deathbed.

“Hello, step-father,” Charles said evenly, voice deeper and more measured than Kurt Marko remembered it to be. He no longer sounded like the boy who cried out to be released from the Red Room, and Kurt gurgled out a putrid laugh at that.

“You have grown,” Kurt slurred, a little drool dribbling from his lips and down his chin, but he could barely feel it.

“It has been eight years,” Charles replied, the dying man choking on a bitter laugh. “I am not the same person as the boy that was sent off to Graymalkin School.”

“Evidently. A teacher now, are you,” Kurt said, wheezing a little from where he sat semi-supine in his bed, torso propped up with numerous pillows. His hair had grown grey and it was thinning terribly, combed over only to reveal a speckled head creased with wrinkles.

“Yes, and I enjoy it very much,” Charles replied, moving to stand beside his step-father’s bed, taking a towel that Kitty had left beside it to dab at the drool on the man’s face. Kurt looked incensed at the seemingly belittling notion, spluttering something unintelligible at Charles, weakened arms feebly swatting the young man away.

“Why…” Kurt heaved, eyes alive with the flames of hatred, incongruent with the weakness of the rest of his body. Kurt’s body was weak, but his soul was still very much alive, running on the fumes of almost a decade of hatred. “Why must you still live, but Cain… my Cain, my son, be the one buried beneath the ground?!”

“Because I looked after my health, Sir,” Charles said evenly, taking care to remain calm, not wanting to fall to his step-father’s level and give in to the anger simmering beneath his freckled skin. Charles would not be the boy who retaliated against his step-brother and hit him over the head. Charles would not stoop to that level of being ever again.

“Bah! You were always an unnatural child, protected by demons. I sent you to Graymalkin School where I thought you would die. You were supposed to die, of typhus or accident. But no… No… You are still standing here, healthy and blue-eyed, looking like your father, like all the other fucking Xaviers,” Marko spat, Charles frowning. The movement in his face seemed to feed into Marko’s anger, the man grinning at the reaction he caused.

“I know that you do not want to be here. Why would you?” Marko sneered, pushing himself up a bit as his body was wracked by a fit of coughs. Charles held a glass of water to his chin to try and help wet the man’s throat, but he just growled and smacked Charles’s wrist, the glass of water tumbling onto the carpet and staining it dark.

“I heard that you were dying, step-father, and I wanted to make peace,” Charles said, the man just chuckling darkly.

“Make peace. Make peace? How could I make peace with the thing that has tormented me for so long? I know what people think of me, and I know about what they think of you. ‘The true Xavier heir’. They call me a usurper, and my son a false prince, all because you exist!” Marko coughed harshly again, and Charles was startled as a light spray of blood spurted onto the white bedding by his step-father’s head.

“Step-father, calm yourself. You are not well,” Charles said, but not making a move to wipe away the spittle or the blood.

“Don’t speak to me as if you are superior, boy! I am Kurt Marko. I own the land you stand on, the wooden boards beneath your feet, the roof over your head. Everything is in my name, and you do not own a single bit of it! It was supposed to go to my son, my real son, not the fucking Xavier offal that Sharon sired. You…” Kurt said, pointing a fat, shaking finger towards Charles. “You… You probably came here because you thought that because I am dying, everything I own will become yours, hm? Well, you are mistaken.”

Charles looked at his step-father, confused and fists clenched. Kurt mistook Charles’s confusion for anger, and cackled in spite.

“None of this belongs to you. Upon my death, you will have none of it. Your name is not mentioned in my will, and Sharon will get nothing except for that cart of whisky in the cellar and the old, decaying cottage by the stormy ocean. This… All of this may no longer be under the Marko name, but like Hell I’ll hand it all to a Xavier.”

Kurt wheezed again, now completely drained, but smirked at Charles in satisfaction. Charles just regarded him with apathy and a hint of disgust, wondering what it was about this pitiful, pitiful man that inspired so much fear in him before. Looking at him now, all Charles could see was a spiteful, depressed old man who, in the end, possessed nothing of worth. No family, no love, and certainly no happiness.

Charles didn’t want anything he had, not even one shilling.

“Thank you, step-father,” Charles said, the man in the bed stilling as he stared at the young man who rose from his chair. “For relieving me of the burdens and trappings of this house, and everything in it. I had no desire for it, and you have organised new accommodations for my mother, which I also thank you for. And now that you have so cleanly cut ties with me, once and for all, I will see myself out. I hope your last days are peaceful, and that you pass without pain. Farewell.”

Charles did not look back at his step-father when he left his grand chambers, the old man spluttering obscenities in Charles’s wake.

Kurt Marko died that night after a laborious coughing fit; his sheets were stained with blood, and the contorted look on his face showed that he had not died peacefully, nor did he die without pain.

***

Charles saw Sharon Marko the day after her husband passed. He found her in her drawing room standing by the window, a near-empty glass swirling in her hand. There was an opened bottle of half-finished wine resting within arm’s reach beside her, the cork long discarded since once a bottle was opened in the presence of Sharon Marko, it was always finished by the end of the evening.

Sharon Marko was a beautiful woman, but her beauty was diminished by the way she carried herself, already under the influence of what looked to be her second bottle. Her blonde hair that appeared golden in the Xavier portrait was now coloured like dull straw and simply tied in a knot at the base of her skull above her hunched neck. Her skin was wrinkled, splotchy and red from the drink, and her poor dietary habits meant that she was thin and frail, though naturally tall.

Now, she wore a black mourning dress, black lace veil obscuring most of her flat hair.

Her face was tired and weathered, and when she turned to look at her son, it did not even look as if she recognised him. She did, though, and momentarily put down her drink to wave the young man over.

“Charles,” she said, the name sounding foreign in her voice. “My son. I have not seen you since you were…”

“Ten. Eight years ago now, mother,” Charles supplied for her, the woman nodding slowly, before picking up her glass and taking a drink from it. She drained it in one mouthful, moving to pour herself another. She poured a glass for Charles as well, handing it to him.

“So you are eighteen. A full man, now,” Sharon spoke, contemplative. There was a little twinkle in her eye that was so rarely there. “Almost nineteen, then.”

“Yes, soon,” Charles said, Sharon smiling a little more now.

“What wonderful news. Kitty tells me that you’re a tutor, at Ironfield Hall. I am not familiar with the family there, they are a bit far from our region,” Sharon said, settling down onto a chaise lounge.

“Yes, the house’s master is a Mr Lehnsherr,” Charles said, Sharon humming.

“Only a Mr Lehnsherr? No wife, no family?”

“None that I know of,” Charles said, and Sharon cocked her head to the side, before reaching out to touch her fingers to the crest of her son’s hair. The touch was short and brief, but it had been far more affection that anything she had given Charles for most of his life, and Charles’s heart swelled and ached, almost full to bursting.

“And are you happy there, with this Mr Lehnsherr with no family?” Sharon asked, eyes appraising. Charles swallowed, nodding slowly.

“Yes. He is a good man, and his other subordinates treat me well. I consider them good friends, and maybe with a little more time, I can see them as family.”

Sharon smiled a little more at that, sobriety piercing through like a lightning bolt, before the clouds drifted in again.

“That is good, my son, and it is good for you to visit me here. I will be off to the countryside cottage immediately after the funeral, and it is a fair journey from here.”

‘I’m not sure if you will visit me again,’ was left unsaid, but the two Xaviers seemed to hear it loud and clear.

“Carriages are swift these days, mother,” Charles offered, the woman letting out a short laugh.

“Yes, they are. How times have changed.”

***

Like Sharon, Charles left the moment Kurt Marko was lowered into the ground, not wanting to linger any longer than necessary. It had been one week since he had left Ironfield to return to Westchester, and even though a week was not a long stretch of time by any means, it left Charles feeling antsy and desperate to return to Ironfield, which was now home to him.

Like eight years ago, Kitty packed Charles’s belongings, slipping a packet of sweet biscuits and an extra set of socks into his case. Like before, Charles kissed on the cheek before they parted ways.

Now that Westchester belonged to a new master that bore neither the Xavier nor Marko name, it was only natural for most of the staff to be let go and find new employment. Kitty was not too upset about that; she held no lingering ties to the estate now that both Sharon and Charles were no longer affiliated with it, and it was not difficult for her and her husband to find employment elsewhere.

The journey back to Ironfield did not feel like it took as long as the trip Charles endured to leave it. It was like there was a string tying Charles to Ironfield, pulling him closer with a warped sense of gravity. He could hear the call of the estate in his head, always urging him to come back home. Charles believed that even if he were on another continent, on the other side of the globe, he would still be able to hear that call.

It was daylight when Charles arrived back at Ironfield, and he had leapt off the carriage prematurely, wanting to walk the last stretch himself. His suitcase was light as he walked along the side of the road, fingers brushing past the soft flowers and bushes that lined it, blossoming bright in the springtime.

It was when Charles reached the outermost field surrounding Ironfield that he saw a lone figure sitting atop a stone barrier; brown hair that looked copper in the sunlight, ginger scruff and piercing pale blue-grey eyes. The man had forgone a coat, and was simply wearing a familiar checked brown waistcoat and expertly tailored trousers, feet enclosed by polished brown boots.

Charles found himself smiling giddily when the man looked up and saw him, immediately hopping down from where he was perched on the stone. The man slapped at some dust on his trousers, bounding over to Charles with a few strides on his long, lean legs.

“You’re back,” Erik said, rushing into Charles’s space, filling up Charles’s horizon and heart. “You said you’d be gone a week, or two. You kept your word.” There was a slight mischievousness to Erik’s shark-like grin now, and Charles swore that he heard the words ‘bastard of a step-father must have died quickly, good riddance’.

“Of course I came back. You still owe me wages,” Charles said, Erik’s face softening minutely, bringing his hand up to straighten Charles’s neck tie that had gone askew from when he jumped out of the carriage in a flurry. Erik’s fingers brushed his chin a little, an intimate touch that Charles pretended was accidental.

“I’ll pay your wages after a game of chess. It’s no fun when I’ve paid you to let me win,” Erik said, Charles laughing, shoving Erik’s shoulder playfully, the older man’s eyes lighting up. The two of them made their way back to the mansion together, smiling and teasing, both so obviously happy that Charles had returned.

“I am glad to be back, Erik. Thank you,” Charles said, bearing his heart a little. Erik smiled, nudging at Charles’s wrist and leading him to the drawing room, a chess set already sitting there and waiting to be used.

Charles’s heart lurched. Erik did not know when Charles would be back, so if the chess set was already set up, it meant that he was also waiting and preparing for Charles to return to his side.

Charles rubbed at his aching chest as he sat down in his usual chair, and letting himself forget, just for a brief moment, that Erik was not promised to wed Miss Emma Frost. Right now, in this room, Charles indulged his fantasies and let himself think that it was only him and Erik that existed, everything outside of this room rendered obsolete.

Next chapter (6/11) →

[thehangeddemon]

Waiting for a Tuesday || Self Para || September 14, 2021

☠ WARNING ☠

This work contains graphic descriptions of violence, gore, and torture

Reader discretion is advised

“More tea, sir?”

Xavier glanced up from his newspaper and gave the waiter a pleasant smile. He shook his head. “I’m fine, John, thank you. You can bring me the check as soon as y—”

“Actually, John. Why don’t you go ahead and bring us another pot of tea? Anything but English breakfast,” he added with a chuckle that almost sounded condescending. “I don’t share my son’s fondness for it.”

The waiter watched as a man, who had seemed to appear out of nowhere and was dressed head to toe in black, invited himself to sit opposite Mr. Rossmara. He’d said ‘son’, but he didn’t really look old enough to have a son Mr. Rossmara’s age. He didn’t really resemble him either but that seemed less strange somehow.

What was strange was the way Mr. Rossmara was looking at the man across from him. He looked…stunned, like he’d seen a ghost or something. But beneath the surprise was an indiscernible emotion on Mr. Rossmara’s face that John thought looked just a little like fear.

At the stranger’s expectant look, John collected himself and cleared his throat, addressing Mr. Rossmara. “…Sir…?”

Xavier seemed to collect himself as well, though far more subtly. He folded up his newspaper and put the pleasant smile back on his face, determined to make it seem like nothing was wrong. Only someone who looked very closely would see how forced the smile was, or how measured his movements were.

“Yes, of course. Does earl grey meet with your approval?”

The man smiled like the proverbial cat who ate the canary. “It does.”

“Very well. A pot of earl grey then, John.”

The waiter nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Xavier waited until John was well out of earshot before he spoke again. “Hello, Father. I didn’t expect you.”

Zagan let out another of those condescending laughs that set Xavier’s teeth on edge and dragged him right back to all his memories of Hell. “No, I’m quite certain you did not.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“My dear boy, it was hardly a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes. For as long as you’ve had your shipping business, you’ve come to San Francisco every Tuesday without fail to check in. And without fail, you finish your work just before teatime. By your own admission, this hotel has the best afternoon tea in the city. All I had to do was remember the name of the hotel and wait for a Tuesday.”

Zagan helped himself to one of the cucumber sandwiches that remained on the tray. “You’ve become predictable in your old age, my boy.”

Xavier had to fight to keep from shifting in his seat. Not any-bloody-more. He’d be changing that particular habit immediately. It didn’t suit him at all for someone outside his household to have such intimate knowledge of his movements, especially if that someone was his father. Such information was dangerous in the hands of a man like Zagan. It didn’t matter if it was only the day and location of a standing reservation for tea and cake, Xavier knew from experience that the less his father knew, the better.

Which was largely why he didn’t take any great pains to see him. Unless, of course, he was forced to.

“I see,” Xavier said, settling for an amused smile since a laugh was impossible. “I suppose I am becoming a bit predictable. Anyhow, it’s nice to see you, Father. Have you been well?”

“Well enough.” Zagan was watching him carefully, studying every nuance in his expression, listening to the tone and inflection of every word. Becoming familiar with anything that had changed since the last time he’d seen his demonic progeny.

Thankfully Xavier didn’t have to endure it for very long. John soon returned with their tea, giving him a reprieve from paternal scrutiny as it was poured. It was the only thing that would for the next little while.

This time it was Zagan who waited until they were alone again before he spoke. “So. Tell me. How is that shipping business of yours doing? And your myriad other ventures?”

The next hour or so was spent in what one could call easy conversation. They spoke of Xavier’s businesses, the sights he’d seen, the things he’d collected, the weather, the state of the world. Perfectly light, perfectly casual. At least from an outsider’s perspective.

From Xavier’s point of view things were far more fraught. Everything he said had to be carefully weighed, and there was a desperately thin line between revealing too much and appearing withholding, between looking at ease and projecting discomfort.

Having a conversation with his father hadn’t always been this difficult. In fact, just a few years ago Xavier would have been—and had been—completely comfortable not only talking to Zagan but spending entire days in his company. He’d even sought him out once or twice. But then, Xavier had had far less to lose a few years ago. He hadn’t had a child, a fiancé, staff that depended on him, friends he cared for.

He had all those things now. He had more than he’d allowed himself to have in fifty years, and the memory of how things had gone then still lived all too vividly in his mind.

Getting back to a point of comfort with Zagan after that hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it. There hadn’t been a choice. It was either swallow his pain, grief, and desire for vengeance and make nice, or tempt his father into carrying out his threats.

Sitting here now, Xavier felt much the same as he had then; trapped, resentful, and desperate to get away.

He had no illusions of being able to do that any time soon, however, even when his father finally asked for the check. After such a long absence, Zagan was sure to take up as much of his time as possible.

His suspicions were confirmed almost immediately.

“Come,” said Zagan, getting to his feet. “Let’s take a walk.”

Xavier remained at the table while his father stepped outside, indulging himself with a long, weary sigh the moment it felt safe to do so. It had only been an hour and he was ready for another five-year interlude in their relationship.

What had brought Zagan up from Hell anyway? Surely this visit hadn’t only been for tea and a walk with him. His father hated humans, hated looking at them and being amongst them. There had to be another reason and no doubt it was something Xavier really didn’t want the know the details of.

“Probably scouting his next project child,” Xavier muttered to himself as he pulled his card from his wallet.

Bill settled, he stepped out into the late summer evening and breathed deeply. There was a chill in the air that said autumn was well and truly on its way. Soon the days would grow shorter and the nights longer. His collection of coats would emerge from storage. Every hearth in the manor would roar to life with cheerful, welcoming fires.

He sighed again, longing for the comfort of home as he looked for Zagan among the crowd of people in front of the hotel. That expression of disdain was easy to spot.

“Where shall we go?” Xavier asked, approaching him.

“I don’t know how you can stand it.” His father’s tone all but dripped disgust. “Being here day in and day out among these…creatures and the stench of their cities. It’s revolting.”

“I’d rather smog than brimstone.”

“I think I prefer brimstone.”

Right. That nipped the notion of walking on the street squarely in the bud. If only that were enough to dissuade his father, but alas.

Fortunately, there was a park nearby.

Zagan didn’t say a single word as they made their way there, clearly preferring to stew in his distaste until they were well clear of anyone who might catch a snippet of their conversation. Of course, he hadn’t been nearly so averse to it back at the hotel.

Xavier would just chalk that up to the difference between a well-appointed dining room and a crowded street.

His father’s demeanor seemed marginally more pleasant as they entered the park. It wouldn’t be empty for a good while yet, but it was an improvement from the street. Hopefully it wouldn’t be enough of one to tempt him to stay much longer.

A few long minutes of not-quite-companionable silence passed before Zagan saw fit to fall into conversation again. The additional privacy meant they could discuss things that were far more relevant to his father’s interests than the weather or the goings on at a shipping company. Namely, any magic Xavier had learned, magical artifacts Xavier had acquired, and any kills Xavier had made.

The latter would perhaps prove to be a bit of a disappointment. Not only did Xavier kill less frequently these days, his choice of quarry had changed. The people that he’d once hunted were those he found interesting or amusing or intriguingly intelligent; only on the very rare occasion did he hunt someone who truly deserved it.

That was no longer the case. Lately when Xavier hunted it was only people who truly deserved it. He went for rapists and abusers. He went for people who hurt children, including and especially priests. There was immense satisfaction in knowing exactly where those people were going and what awaited them when they arrived, and even more in describing it in vivid, excruciating detail as they bled to death among the debris of a forest floor.

Hell was a far greater torment than anything he could visit upon them, and he was more than happy to send them on their way.

Zagan let out a loud, derisive laugh at that. “Are you indeed?” The old demon laughed again, putting Xavier’s back up and setting his teeth on edge. “My dear boy, you have been away from Hell too long. Who would’ve imagined? My son, the divine hand of justice for ne’er-do-well priests the world over. Never mind predictable; you’ve grown positively moral in your old age.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Xavier said softly, fighting to unclench his jaw.

His father gave him an amused look. “No?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve merely…unearthed an intolerance I didn’t give sufficient regard to before.”

“Have you? Well.” Zagan chuckled and adjusted his sleeve, looking positively chuffed in a way that both infuriated and unsettled. “You never did like priests. Who would, having had your childhood? I suppose that particular aspect of your personality was bound to rear its head again eventually. Perhaps…it’s entirely appropriate that it should do so now.”

Xavier didn’t register the movement until it was too late. He only had a moment to feel his father grabbing his arm before he was whisked through the familiar vacuum of demonic travel, and even less to register his new surroundings before he was thrown bodily against something cold and unyielding.

“You unearthed an intolerance, did you?” Zagan’s voice, so casual and amused just seconds ago, now quivered with rage.

Xavier went flying again, this time into something that splintered beneath the force of his weight. Wood?

“And when exactly did you do that, Xavier? Was it perhaps around the time that you became a father?”

Again, back into the unyielding cold. Stone. “Father, plea—”

“Not that I can even tell, since I’ve scarcely seen the child—my grandchild—more than twice since the day he was born!”

Xavier cried out as he was flung for a fourth time, several bones breaking upon landing forcefully on a stone floor. There was something soft beneath him, but whatever it was, it hadn’t been enough to cushion his fall.

He braced for another hit, relieved when none came. He could still hear the echo of his father’s furious footsteps, however, which meant the torment wasn’t over. Far from it. The pleasant Zagan of earlier was gone, and who had remained in his place was someone Xavier was very, very familiar with.

Familiar enough to know that he had only a few precious seconds to catch his breath and orient himself.

There wasn’t much he could see from this position apart from the ceiling of whatever edifice they were in but, not wanting to draw attention to himself too soon—or move lest he worsen his breaks—he observed what he could by turning his head.

Said ceiling, high and crisscrossed with thick wooden beams, appeared to be constructed of the same stone as the walls and floor. Dusty chandeliers covered in thick cobwebs were hung every few feet, the candles in them long unlit. The same went for the metal sconces on the walls.

He appeared to be lying in the middle of an aisle bordered on either side by what he could only assume was the wooden something he’d been thrown int—

No. Not just wood. Pews.

Xavier struggled into a sitting position, heedless of his broken bones and desire for inconspicuousness in his rush to confirm his suspicions, to confirm what he already knew.

Panic rose in his chest as he saw the cross silhouetted in stark relief against the waning sunlight streaming in through the stained-glass window.

They were in a church.

Had this been any other time on any other day Zagan wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to mock and use his son’s fear against him. Xavier’s childhood memories of being harrowed and abused by his stepmother and local priest amused him to no end but on this day, he didn’t so much as comment.

He just stalked down the aisle toward Xavier and slammed him back against the floor with a flick of his hand.

“After all,” he said, voice dangerously soft as he crouched beside his son. “I can hardly drop by for a visit now, can I? Not with all those wards you have on the estate that threaten to annihilate anyone who comes in unannounced.” He almost smiled. “You’ve amassed quite the bag of tricks over the last fifty years.”

Xavier could only shake his head. “The wards aren’t—”

“Aren’t what? Aren’t meant to keep me out?” Zagan scoffed, giving Xavier a dubious look as he grabbed a handful of his hair from the back of his head and stood. “Dear boy, do you really expect me to believe that?”

He gave Xavier’s hair a good hard yank, ignoring his son’s cries of pain as he dragged him down the aisle and deposited him on the small set of stairs leading to the altar. “You didn’t ward against me fifty years ago only because you didn’t know how to. If you had, you would’ve done it in a trice to help keep that pathetic little slave of yours out of my grasp, but I’m sure that’s already occurred to you.”

Indignation fought its way in beside pain and panic, and Zagan noticed. His son’s emotions had always been pitifully easy to read, moreso when they ran as profoundly as he knew this did. The servant was still a sore spot even after all this time.

Zagan paused.

“Had you realized?” he asked, crouching again to run a single finger down Xavier’s cheek, those ancient eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “That this year marks the fiftieth anniversary? Had you realized, my beautiful boy, that half a century had passed since you came so close to defying me?”

Fifty years of pain and rage and grief so rarely expressed churned in Xavier’s gut and pulled at his soul. That his father could speak so cavalierly of Maximus and his loss made him want to scream and be ill in equal measure.

Had he realized? How could he not, when every day for the past year and a half had been a battle against remembering? How could he not, when every day he walked halls and sat in rooms identical to those Maximus had once drawn breath in, only to remember that they had burnt to the ground?

How could he not, when dead leaves and rose petals and ash were still enough to bring him to tears?

The same tears that streamed down his face now. Xavier was powerless to stop them and even if he could have, he likely wouldn’t have. After what he’d done to Maximus, an acknowledgement of his grief was the least Xavier could give him, even if his father was the only one who witnessed it.

“Oh my, look at that.” Zagan stroked his son’s face again, collecting those tears and rubbing the moisture between his fingers. He tsked, shaking his head. “My dear, it’s been an absolute age since then. How can a measly little servant still cause all this upset, hm? There now.”

Zagan slipped one arm under Xavier’s knees and the other behind his back, lifting and carrying him the rest of the way up the steps as if he weighed absolutely nothing. He gathered Xavier close, even took care not to jostle him too much.

Such loving gestures were not uncommon for the old demon. There were times in Hell when he had been the absolute image of gentleness and paternal affection, when he had held him as he did now and given him a reprieve from the torture.

But more torture had always followed. Showing him affection was rarely meant to comfort; it was meant to torment.

“I’m sure you feel like the past few decades have been a trial, but you see, I don’t think that’s entirely accurate.” Zagan set Xavier down as carefully as he’d picked him up, petting his hair as that indignant look returned to his son’s expression. “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t doubt you’ve suffered a great deal over your servant. I don’t see why you would when they’re so readily available, but I don’t doubt it. I just think you haven’t quite…put things in perspective.”

With of wave of his father’s hand, every sconce, chandelier, and candelabra flickered to life, allowing Xavier his first real look at the derelict church. Not that there was much to see. No one had set foot in here for a very long time, let alone used it as a place of worship.

But when he turned his head, Xavier saw something that made his blood run cold.

Until now he’d felt trepidation, resentment, emotional anguish. Only when he saw the lines of a demon trap scorched into the threadbare carpet beneath him did he finally feel fear.

“Father…?”

“You see, my dear, I don’t think you realize how easy you got off all those years ago.” Zagan shed his coat and rolled up his sleeves.

“Father, please—”

Zagan knelt beside him. “My own son considers rebelling against me, disobeying me, gives a servant pride of place over his father, and what does he have to pay for it? Absolutely nothing.” He unbuttoned Xavier’s suit jacket and shirt, undid his trousers. “My son defies his father and still he gets to keep his estate, his businesses, his treasures. His life. All these things my son gets to keep, he goes virtually without punishment for fifty years, and does he realize that? Does it occur to him how generous his father has been in his infinite mercy? No. Rather than show gratitude, he has the childish audacity to believe he is the aggrieved party!”

Xavier didn’t see Zagan move. There was just an awful squelching sound, then searing pain as his father, having pierced his torso with a bare hand, sliced it upward and gutted him like a fish from groin to sternum.

“Which doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed your efforts,” Zagan said calmly above the echoing din of his son’s screams. Casually. “You’ve been such a good boy, treating your papa to afternoon tea and accompanying him for a walk. But I have been far too lax with you. You see that, don’t you?”

He gripped the jagged edges of Xavier’s wound and forced them apart to another chorus of screams. “All those wards, the prolonged absence.” Zagan shook his head. “There comes a point where it all gets to be a bit too much. What’s that expression? Getting too big for your britches? I think you’ll agree you got too big for yours a very long time ago. What’s more, I think you’ll agree that it’s high time that you paid the piper.”

Zagan got to his feet and made his way over to the wooden table beneath the stained-glass window at the head of the altar. He retrieved a hammer, a covered metal bowl, and a set of railroad spikes and brought them over to the demon trap, kneeling again.

Xavier could only watch him, borderline delirious as his chest heaved and his wounds bled. He didn’t dare lift his head to look at the damage; he’d seen enough of his own insides in Hell.

There was a vague hope that his blood would break the demon trap and allow him to get away, but he knew it was impossible even as he thought it. Zagan had prepared for this.

There was no getting away, especially once the first spike was hammered through one of his feet, piercing shoe leather, flesh, and carpet as it was driven into the stone beneath. Xavier bit back another scream, only to give in as his father pinned his arm above his head and drove the second spike into his hand.

“A necessary precaution,” Zagan explained, moving around to repeat the process on Xavier’s other side, barely reacting to the scent of demonic flesh charred by iron. “To make things easier for both of us. Remember what I always used to tell you?”

The third and fourth spikes were driven into Xavier’s free hand and foot, rendering him not quite immobile, but significantly limiting his range of motion. He was left completely vulnerable to Zagan.

“Well?”

He turned toward his father. The demon was looking at him expectantly, warmly—a complete contrast to that cold smile on his face that never quite reached his eyes.

“The more you struggle,” Xavier began, breathing raggedly, “the more it will hurt.”

“That’s exactly right. Good boy.” Zagan bent to kiss his brow and set the hammer aside. “Now be a love and stay still for your papa while he works.”

“What are you going to do?” Asked in a voice too soft and timid to belong to a demon.

“I thought you might ask. You see, I needed to come up with an appropriate punishment.” Zagan reached into his abdominal cavity and tore out a chunk of his liver, placing it on the carpet beside him while his son howled in agony. The shock and blood loss weren’t enough to kill him, of course, but there would be a great deal of both before Zagan was done.

“It had to fit the crime, else how could the lesson be truly felt?” His stomach joined his liver, spilling its bloody contents as it hit the floor with a sickening plop.

Xavier hadn’t felt pain like this since Hell. He wondered for a moment if he was in Hell. That endless red sky and the ceiling of the church blurred together in his mind while the stone under his back became the rocky banks of that boiling river of blood. He heard a scream—or perhaps a thousand—but no longer registered it as his own.

When his father spoke, he heard it as only an echo.

“I mentioned taking your estate and your belongings but upon reflection, that wouldn’t be a practical solution to the problem. You could always acquire more, and really, what do I want with a bunch of wine and trinkets and land?” The other half of his liver followed, then his spleen and pancreas, all added to the growing pile of viscera.

Zagan turned to Xavier, whose screams had quieted to pained whimpers as he began coughing up torrents of blood. “No matter how you look at it, it would only be an inconvenience to us both. An inconvenience, not a punishment. That was when I realized that there was something I could take from you that would serve as an appropriate punishment.”

The old demon reached into Xavier’s body with both hands this time, ripping through sheet after sheet of connective tissue as he worked to tear out Xavier’s intestines. Messy work but very necessary, although he did find himself wishing he’d brought a blade to speed up the process. But that’s what happened when one was forced to move with haste; things were bound to be forgotten.

To Xavier, that process seemed to take hours. Perhaps it did. He couldn’t help but think it would’ve been kinder to just kill him.

His only comfort was that the shock setting in made his body go almost numb, a small mercy for which he gave profound thanks. It was liable to be the only one he got. He only wished he could go deaf as well, or better yet, fall into blessed unconsciousness so he wouldn’t have to listen to or feel the rending of his flesh.

More hopes he knew would be dashed.

Such was Zagan’s concentration on his task that he fell silent. Humans did have such a lot of parts, but he had gotten most of it. It would do.

He gathered the slippery mass in his hands, considering adding them to the pile before deciding to simply drop them on his son’s lap. They didn’t need to be removed entirely, just moved out of the way.

“Right,” he sighed, looking around at his handiwork while he gathered his thoughts. “Where was I? Ah, yes. Your punishment.”

Zagan scooted a bit closer and tenderly took Xavier’s face in his hands, smiling beatifically as he stroked his son’s cheeks and smeared that handsome face with blood. “I believe you’ve lived in poor dead Christian for quite long enough, my precious one. Don’t you?”

For the second time since this ordeal began, panic took hold of Xavier. Not just a trickle of it, but huge, violent waves that made his adrenaline surge and had him struggling against his restraints despite the burning pain of the iron.

Please, God, let him not have heard correctly. Surely it was the delirium, the blood loss making him think his father had said what Xavier thought he’d just said. Or if had said it, perhaps Xavier just didn’t understand his meaning. It could mean anything, everything. Too much. Was it to be his life, a return to Hell? Was it—

“Settle down, Xavier,” Zagan chided, placing his hands on his son’s shoulders. “What did we say, hm? The more you struggle the more it will hurt, and this is going to hurt quite enough without you thrashing about like a landed fish. Settle.”

“Wh-what is?” Xavier’s voice was a raspy, choked sound, devoid of its usual elegance. For all that he struggled—or tried to, before pain and fatigue forced him to stillness—it was a battle to get out every single word. “Fath…father. What are y-you going…?”

“What am I going to do?”

At his son’s jerky nod, Zagan smiled and stroked his face again. “Just what I said. You’ve been living in Christian Deidrich’s body for far too long and it’s time for a change.”

“But w-what—”

“I’m going to take you out of Christian, Xavier. You will be removed from this vessel and placed into a new one.”

Xavier looked at this father in abject horror for a few silent, eternal moments before panic and adrenaline flooded back in with a vengeance.

He began to struggle to free himself in earnest as his father’s words and their full implications sank in. Whatever he’d suffered so far—gut-wrenching reminders of the past, the sear of iron, the removal of his organs—it would be nothing compared to what he knew awaited him now.

At this very moment, even the full weight of what it meant to lose Christian as his vessel couldn’t hold a candle to Xavier’s fear.

This reaction pleased Zagan immensely, and unlike before, he was perfectly happy to let Xavier wear himself out. In this weakened state it was all he’d manage to do, which would only make things easier once the real work began.

Besides, even if by some chance Xavier did tear the wounds around the spikes and freed himself, he was still inside the trap. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Zagan hummed to himself, giving his son’s cheek one last pat before getting to his feet.

One by one, he brought candelabras over to the altar. Not many remained after so many years of the church having been abandoned, but they were enough to give him the light he needed. The larger ones were placed around the perimeter of the trap and the smallest just inside. A single candlestick was placed beside Xavier.

Had he been able to, Xavier would’ve knocked that stupid candle over and set fire to the rug. Something his father probably would’ve considered if he wasn’t so obviously confident that it wouldn’t happen.

Xavier couldn’t deny that he was right to be. Already he was exhausted to the point of giving up. Physically, at least.

“Father…” he wheezed. “Plea…please…don’t—don’t do this to me…”

“Ahhh, I see we’ve moved from anger to bargaining,” Zagan chuckled, returning to his son’s side. “I understand, of course. A new face will be an adjustment after so many decades spent looking at the same reflection in the mirror, but don’t worry, my dear one. You’ll get used it.”

Xavier shook his head, swallowing back more tears. He didn’t want to get used to it. He wanted to remain in his body. No matter how mangled it was, it was his, and leaving it would mean suffering beyond measure in more ways than one.

“The spell…”

His father nodded patiently. “Yes, yes, I know. You locked yourself in. An excellent notion, truly. After all, one can never know who does and does not know an exorcism rite. No doubt it would have spoiled your fun if in the middle of a hunt, your quarry dispatched you back to Hell.”

Zagan stroked his hair again. “Pity that your good judgement should have to hurt you now.”

Tears began to flow freely again as Xavier tugged at his restraints with all the might he had left. It was precious little. “Fat-ther, please…please d-don’t…please…”

“Hush now. Begging won’t save you, Xavier.” Zagan picked up the bowl that until now had sat untouched beside the revolting mess of entrails. “As I’m sure you’ve gathered from the very fact that you’re able to be here, the church we are currently in is no longer consecrated ground. Faith left this place…” he shrugged, “a century ago, perhaps more. But despite that, there is one thing I’m so terribly curious to know.”

He removed the lid. “I wonder…despite the decades of absent devotion…if this water is still holy enough to hurt you.”

“N-nononono wait, don’t—!”

An awful steaming hiss drowned out his protests as Zagan slowly began pouring the bowl’s contents into Xavier’s abdominal cavity.

“You’re making it worse,” he said, raising his voice to make himself heard over the cacophony of tortured screams and howls of demonic pain.

His admonishment fell on deaf ears. The moment the first drop of holy water had touched his mutilated insides, Xavier had begun thrashing about in a desperate, mindless effort to escape from the torment.

Exhaustion had no hope of stilling his movements, even if those movements caused the water to splash and slosh about and cause even more pain. This was beyond the physical, beyond the human. Short of an exorcism this was the greatest suffering that could be inflicted on a demon, and Xavier had the great misfortune of knowing that was precisely what awaited him next.

He screamed, he sobbed, he begged his father to stop. At some point he even succeeded in tearing free of two of the spikes. But still the ordeal continued and would until the bowl was empty.

It would continue even when the bowl was empty, because for all that Xavier had moved about, a good deal of holy water remained on and inside of him. As long as it did, nothing would stop the screaming.

“Shhhh, darling, shhhh,” Zagan cooed at his son, pulling out the spikes that still restrained Xavier’s limbs so he could turn him on his side and empty out the water. It had completed its intended purpose and was thus no longer required.

He eased Xavier onto his back again and picked up the candlestick. “Right. I would very much like to say that’s the worst of it over, but we both know that’s not the case. Tell me, should I bother asking where you carved it?”

Although agonized groans and broken sobs had replaced blood-curdling screams, Xavier wasn’t in any condition to listen to his father, much less respond.

“I thought not. No matter. I have a fair idea which rite you used, and I believe that particular one calls for the inscription to be placed on the spine.”

At last, the true reason for the evisceration revealed.

Zagan brought the candle close to the gaping void that was Xavier’s torso, using its light to find exactly where the spell had been carved into the bone—a slightly easier task now that the holy water had rinsed out most of the blood.

“Ah, there it is.” Zagan tried to make out the symbols to confirm his suspicions. “What did I tell you?” he chuckled, setting aside the candlestick. “Predictable.”

Xavier had been left even weaker than before. His chest barely rose. His skin, already pale from loss of blood, looked gray and lifeless. There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t burning in agony. The dread and fear and grief he should have felt eighty-six years ago when the hangman’s noose had been placed around his neck fell upon him now, far more heavily than they would have then.

Still, he had to try just one more time.

With what little strength he had left, Xavier turned to his father. “Please,” he begged, the barely audible whisper ragged and frail. “Father. Please…please don-n’t. You don’t—don’t kn-now…” he gasped for breath, “…what you—you’re take…tak-king…”

There was a beat of silence during which Xavier thought, just for a second, his father looked apologetic.

“But I do,” Zagan murmured, taking Xavier’s bloody, tear-stained face in his hands. He stayed like that for several moments, studying his child’s features one last time. He loved this face. It gave him no pleasure to destroy it. “I know exactly what I’m taking. My beautiful, beautiful boy.”

He bent to place a tender kiss on Xavier’s forehead. “Don’t fret. The pain won’t last. You’ll still be beautiful, I promise. I could never take that from you. You’ll even look like your brother.” He kissed Xavier’s forehead again, his brow, his cheeks, allowing them both the indulgence of true affection for just a moment.

Perhaps it would offer some comfort in the days to come.

Sighing, Zagan took the candlestick again and made another examination of the spell his son had used to lock himself in. It was simple, but perfectly effective against exorcisms and other such attempts to dislodge a demon from their vessel.

The symbols themselves were spread across four vertebrae and, upon closer inspection, appeared to be burned into the bone rather than inscribed. He had no doubt the process had been rather painful; things like this always were.

He reached in and carefully tore the first vertebra from Xavier’s spine, ensuring he removed only bone and nothing else.

Painful, yes, but not as painful as its reversal. Not in his hands.

Zagan recited a small incantation under his breath, brushing his thumb back and forth over the symbols as if merely rubbing away a bit of dust. With every swipe the symbols grew fainter and fainter until they disappeared altogether, leaving behind nothing but clean, unmarred bone.

He held it up to the candlelight and examined it again. Pleased, he tossed it away and pulled out the next one.

Xavier, no longer strong enough to scream, could only groan and sob as his father ripped yet more parts out of his body, overwhelmed by fear and pain.

But there was another sensation as well; an odd, supernatural pull somewhere deep inside his being. It seemed to exist independently of the pain, and had nothing to do with what was happening to him physically.

It did, however, have everything to do with what was happening to him magically. This body, having been technically dead for so many decades, was dying again. In all reality it had already died again, and as his father methodically did away with his lock, Xavier’s hold inside his vessel began to loosen.

By the time the last vertebra was torn from his spine and the symbols on it erased, that hold was all but nonexistent.

“There we are,” said Zagan, sighing again as he smiled to himself. “Now the real work begins.”

Even if he’d been inclined to bother with an exorcism, it was no longer necessary. Given enough time Xavier would be forced to leave Christian’s body on his own, but Zagan wasn’t inclined to wait.

Instead, he reached into his son’s abdominal cavity one last time, thrusting through dead flesh and fractured bone and into the very core of him, physical and metaphysical, feeling around until his hand closed around what he sought.

Making sure to maintain an iron grip on his prize, Zagan ripped Xavier free from what remained of his moorings. When Zagan’s hand emerged, bloody and singed, it held a cloud of oily black smoke that crackled with electricity.

There were no anguished screams to mark this final parting, no sobs or desperate pleas to echo off the stone.

There was only the burnt out, mutilated husk of a body, the scent of sulfur, and a cloud of oily black smoke.

Zagan smiled at the smoke and released it, leaving it free but still stuck inside the demon trap, before pushing the husk out of the way to give himself more room to work.

What came next would require every last ounce of his will and concentration. This was magic he did not inherently possess, and if he could not see his vision clearly, if he could not believe in it wholly, it would not bear fruit.

He closed his eyes, steeling his will as he began to draw every bit of energy in the room outside his own toward him, no matter how small. The remnants of Xavier’s emotion, the electricity of a demon in true form, the lifeforce of the plants surrounding the church—all were taken and absorbed.

Even the candles were drawn in, extinguishing themselves one by one as Zagan pulled their heat and energy close, inserting his will and chanting ancient magic to manipulate the mass of energy to his whim.

And there, in the middle of the demon trap, it slowly began to take form. A single point of light that pulsed and grew as yet more light surrounded and encased it, becoming a womb for an old demon’s creation.

With every pulse, the air shimmered as it regained its charge, making Zagan’s skin prickle and burn to the point of pain. But still he did not buckle, digging even deeper and giving even more of himself as he watched the light become something at once both liquid and solid, something that elongated and molded itself until it resembled a human body.

Almost done.

He looked up at where the cloud of smoke hovered above his head. It would be cleaner to do it in one fell swoop. Faster. Even for a being as old as he was, keeping this level of concentration took its toll. Mere seconds could be the difference between success and miserable failure.

The new vessel was almost complete; the moment it was, he would draw Xavier into it and seal him inside. He had to move quickly, but gingerly, with the precision of a surgeon.

Zagan took a deep breath. Clenching one hand as tightly as he could to hold his creation in place, he used the other to draw his child down and guide him into his new vessel.

A different kind of light began emanating from the body as it was slowly given life. Zagan grit his teeth against the strain as it grew in strength, as he was pushed to the very edge of his limits by the effort of controlling so much raw energy.

No sooner had the last wisp of black smoke disappeared from view than the light burned out with enough force to shatter every window in the crumbling church.

Zagan fell back, utterly exhausted but brimming with triumphant hubris as he gazed upon his creation. His vision, made flesh.

It was perfect.

Zagan spent a few moments catching his breath and recuperating some of his strength, after which he got to his feet to gather himself. He adjusted his sleeves and went to retrieve his coat, brushing off bits of colored glass before slipping it back on. He placed the bowl and the candlestick back on their table, took a piece of glass and sliced through the carpet, breaking the demon trap.

And when he finally approached the unconscious, supine body that now belonged to Xavier, and watched as he drew his first breath, Zagan bent to place a kiss on his forehead.

“Perhaps now you’ll learn,” he whispered. “My beautiful boy.”

A rustle of wings, and Xavier was left alone in the darkness.

[eerythingisshaka]

Play Though? Pt. 3

[Dad!M’Baku x Black!OC]

Word Count: 4.3K

Remi stands there with her mouth gaped wide open, praying that what she was seeing before her is an illusion, a mirage.

“Daddy!”  Xavier calls out happily running to hug his legs.  

Ron bends down with a fist out.  “Yeah, gimme some bud.”  

Xavier hauls a punch on Ron’s knuckles who feigns injury, shaking his hand.  He adjusts his durag, looking Remi up and down.  “I can’t get no love.”

Remi stutters trying to collect her thoughts.  “I’m wondering why you’re coming over here unannounced, Ron.  You’re supposed to call, what if I wasn’t home?”

He waved her off, walking inside, rubbing his stomach.  “You always home.  You don’t be doing nothin.  That’s why I always liked you, you a Queen.  No wayward ways with you.”

Remi closes her front door rolling her eyes as she heads to the kitchen.  “Well, I ain’t got all night to entertain you, what do you want?”

Ron sits on the couch with a plop as Xavier climbs up beside him, rolling his toy car along his dad’s arms and legs since he has plenty to work with.  Ron wasn’t a small guy, former college athlete but not good enough to go pro.  His caramel skin, unblemished tone is his pride and joy, and Xavier shares that trait.  

“Come on son, gimme some space to talk to your mama.  Remi, look, I didn’t think I needed a invite to see my kid.”

“Are you really here for him?  Cuz my plans involve him as well, which is another reason why you CALL before you come by!”

“I just wanted to check in with you...the shop is just about done with renovations so you oughta be able to get things going again finally.”

Remi nods.  “Ok sure.  Thanks for the update.  You know X has been acting out at his daycare.  They said he’s being aggressive.”

Ron sits up fake boxing at the back of Xaviers’ head.  “That ain’t no problem, he get that from his papa.  Mean he a fighter one day.  There’s money in that.”

Remi screws her face up.  “You don’t think it’s a problem?  Or that he should be told to chill out or ask what the fits are about?  Just let him fight huh?”

“He’s a boy Remi, damn!  I’m glad he got a little tough side in him since he live with you all the time.”

“That’s not my problem either.  My door is wide open for you to see him, take him somewhere or have him around for a few days.  That never changed.”

Ron gives a coy laugh looking at her everywhere but her face.  “You gettin dressed up for somebody?”

Remi looks down at her skin tight jean capris with a peach low cut blouse and wedge shoes, toes freshly done with a candy paint red.  “That’s none of your business either.  But you ought to leave so that I can have my evening I planned with my child.”

Ron rolls his head back letting out a groan.  “You weren’t the only one there to make him Remi, remember that?”  Ron gets up, giving Xavier’s braids a jostle.  

“Don’t be gross.”  Remi scowls, placing her hand on the doorknob.  

Ron walks up to her until he’s just a fleas distance from her body.  “I don’t remember you thinking it was.”

Remi opens the door to let him out.  “Call next time, we’re done here.  Xavier say bye to daddy.”

“Hi Sunny!”  Xavier exclaims heading towards the door as a little girl darts past her.

“Xavi!  I’m back!”  They hug each other’s little self so tightly, she almost warns them not to hurt each other.  

“Who’s this big nigga?”  Ron says squaring his shoulders to make himself appear more threatening.  It was like time stopped when she looked back at the door she still held open to look up and see M’Baku, still holding his hand up mid knock.

“Uh...hello Remi.  I brought the food…”  M’Baku holds up a bag of produce and items for the meal he was ready to prepare for them.  Remi’s heart melts at the sight.

“Ah, that’s real nice of you, I’ll take that fam.”  Ron grabs the bag and hauls it toward the kitchen.

“Ron!  Remi hissed at him.  “M’Baku I’m sorry, he was JUST LEAVING!”  She waves M’Baku inside.

“I didn’t come early did I?”  M’Baku asks softly.  

“No!  Not at all, you’re right on time.  Xavier’s dad just decided to crash unexpectedly but for real, he is gone.”

Ron comes back rubbing his hands together.  “So you got a name blood?”

M’Baku’s eyebrows fly up but he keeps his cool.  “M’Baku.”

Ron look him up and down.  “The hell you call me?  What African voodoo shit he talkin Remi, you got him round my son??”

“We just met Ron!  And that ain’t no concern of yours, I told you to go!”

Ron scoffs ignoring her.  “Look, Imma back back, let y’all have a little dinner or whatever.  But she has a father for her kid, that’s me.  She good, ya heard?”

Remi takes Ron by the arm and leads him outside past M’Baku who waits patiently watching from a distance.  

“Ron, you don’t get to come around here making demands, you left them privileges when you caught feelings for that white girl secretary at your dentist office!”

“It didn’t mean nothing!  What do you expect me to do when you freeze me out like that?”

“Try remembering your son’s birthday and showing up with a gift next time.  But trust you won’t expect nothing from me no damn more.”

“You got the government dipping in my pockets quicker than I can find something to so with it anyway.”

“That’s insurance to make sure you don’t gamble it all away.”

“You just keep that King Kong Bundy ass nigga from my son until I get approval.”

“Suck my ass, Ron!”  Remi exclaims before returning inside to lock the door and take a deep breath of relief.  When she centers her thoughts she sees M’Baku laid on the floor, directing a scene between Xavier’s Venom and Spiderman doll that he and Jolasun are hopping around the floor with a few other toys askew.  

“And Venom says…”

“Will you buy these wonderful roses?  Two blooms for a penny?”  Jolasun says in a sing song tone.

“What about some milk for my goat?”  Xavier asks.

M’Baku whispers.  “The goat makes milk, it does not drink it as an adult.  Try again.”

“Oh uh, what about milk FROM your goat?”  

M’Baku pats him on his back encouragingly.

“I’ll sell you the whole animal for your wagon sir.” Jolasun reaches over for his replica sports car.

“Hmm, that’s a hard deal…”  Xavier thinks carefully.

“You’re teaching economics to my child?”  Remi asks, parking herself behind M’Baku’s back to peer at the scene over his shoulder.  

“We are playing Market.  Mr. Venom and Mr. Spiderman-”

“Mrs., Baba!  Mrs. Spiderman!”

“Of course, love.  Mrs. Spiderman, are trying to work out deals among each other until presumably they have bartered all of their belongings completely.”

“Mama, I can get you a-a-a horse if you want.  You want a horse mama?”  Xavier asks her.

“I think she would look good with one.  What do you think?”  M’Baku looks back at Remi behind him and she feels herself going giddy.

“Why I would love a horse.  Thank you son!”

“Hang on!  I haven’t sold it yet!”  Jolasun exclaims.  “If I can have your rocketship, you can have my horse.”

“Nuh-uh!  You can have my, uh, whistle?”  He picks up an orange whistle he got from one of the dine and play places, blowing it loudly.

Remi covers her ears.  “X  I told you not to blow that in the house!  You guys keep trying to trade that horse, we have some cooking to do.”  Remi pats M’Baku’s arm and instantly regrets it.  The strength underneath tshirt sleeve taunted her, tempted her.  She got up as quickly as she could to make her way to the bag of food M’Baku brought and begins to unpack.

“Uh uh, that is what I am supposed to do.”  M’Baku insists, unacking kale and beets and beans.

Remi looks at him unbelievably.  “But you’re a guest in my house, I should help you with something.”

M’Baku stops, tapping his head with a yam in thought.  “You could actually help with something.  Do you have a bottle of wine, eh?  I forgot mine.”

Remi hops to the fridge excitedly.  “I sure do!  I don’t have any cooking wine though…”

M’Baku grunts.  “First lesson in cooking: don’t use cooking wine to cook with!  The intent is there, but the flavor isn’t,”

Remi nows, peeling the foil wrapper off of the lip.  “I see, noted.”  

M’Baku begins to chop up the kale as you screw the bottle opener into the cork.

“So, did you have a good day today?”  Remi asks nervously.

M’Baku shrugs as he oils a pan on the stove.  “Same old, same old as you say.  Jolasun had a recital at her little school before coming here.  She did a good job.”

Remi’s face lights up in the midst of her struggling to open the bottle.   “Oh that’s great!  Is it like ballet or something?”

“Contemporary.  She loves to dance, and she is very confident about it.  Almost to a fault, but she gets it from her father.”  M’Baku looks back at her smiling.  “Do you need help with that?”

Remi’s veins are damn near popping out of her neck as gives it one more pull before taking a break.  “Dammit, I thought I got a twist top in the first place.”  

Remi sets the bottle down with a plop on the counter as M’Baku meanders around the island to her side, picking up the bottle with the opener still stabbed in the top.  He grips the neck tightly, knuckles show signs of wear but they look beautiful along his skin.  Remi watches carefully as his takes his other hand firmly over the opener itself.  

“I think I got it in too deep.”  Remi says softly before flinching at the pop of air being released from the bottle finally being given the chance to breathe thanks to M’Baku.  Remi clutches at her neck feeling herself breathe as well.

M’Baku sets the bottle back down in front of her.  “It’s never too deep.  You have to be mindful of the technique when pulling out.  Don’t force it, just ease.”

“Mhm!”  Is all Remi could muster as she rests her head on her hand, fighting the open innuendo.   He walked back over to the stove to finish stirring, adding broth.  “A wise man is a rich man, I say.”

M’Baku chuckles, wiping his hands on a towel.  “Then I pray to be a trillionaire with knowledge.”  

Remi gets up with her bottle of wine checking out the cooking situation.  “Ok, tell me when to pour.”

M’Baku wags a finger.  “Not so fast.  I have to know how good your wine is, if it works with the flavors I am trying to execute here.”  

Remi huffs.  “Gosh, so nitpicky.  Aight, let me pour a couple glasses.”  Remi gets one glass poured when Xavier runs into her legs.  

“Mama, mama!  I didn’t get you a horse, cuz Sunny says she needs it to go to the store.”

Remi nods looking over at a proud and chubby faced smiling Jolasun, flying a toy pony in the air.  

“But-but-but she let me have some magic beans and a duck with give money eggs.  That’s cool, huh mama?!”  Xavier holds up the ‘duck’, which is really a Toucan Sam from the cereal box, and ‘beans’ AKA legos.  

“Oh wow!  She did a Jack and the Beanstalk on you!  Have you heard that story yet?”  M’Baku asks jovially as he cuts up some bread.

Xavier shakes his head, braids flying wild against his face.  

M’Baku makes a shocked face before looking at Remi with a sort of playful scowl.  Remi just swirls her wine in her glass, looking around like he was checking for someone else grown and in the house.

Remi shrugs.  “Don’t look at me!  He is into reading chapter books, and if I tried to pull him away from the library he  wouldn’t speak to me for a week.  He’s past Dr. Suess and fairytales by now!”

M’Baku chuckles heartily as he kneels in front of Xavier.  “It’s a story about how some ordinary things can be quite extraordinary.  A poor boy from the country trades his last good livestock for a duck and beans instead of money or food.  Everyone called him a fool but before he knew it, the items he got turned out to be the very things the trader said they were, and he was a rich man for the rest of his life.  You have a good heart Xavier, and if you continue to see the good and potential in others, you could create some awesome magic yourself.”

Remi wasn’t sure if the wine was beginning to hit but her heart felt like it was ready to jump out her chest and slide down the waterfall cascading from between her.  She shouldn’t be this easy but a man tending to a child is her kryptonite and frankly she hasn’t seen it enough to be numb to it.  The last hour he’s been there, he has shown more affection than his own father showed.  

“Mr…..uh…”

“Just call me Baku.”  He says.

“Backoo, are you married?”  

Remi chokes on her sip of wine, threatening her light carpet with dribble.

M’Baku’s eyes widen.  “Why do you ask, Xavier?”

“You can call me X.  Mama does, she’s not married though.”  Xavier says unwarranted.

Remi joins in to keep things from growing more awkward.  “Hey, X!  You should show Jolasun that new toy Grandma got you for your certificate at daycare?  The light up one?”

Xavier’s face lights up as he runs back to Jolasun, demonstratively leading her to his room to retrieve the toy.

Remi leans on the counter watching them run by.  “Oh, to be that young and innocent again.  They are so cute, I could never make friends like X does though.”

M’Baku starts sizzling some asparagus.  “No?”

Remi takes her glass up with longing.  “I was too awkward.  Like X, I hit the books hard and I never wanted to leave the world of fantasy to face a real one.  My mom thought it led me to be more immature and a crybaby.”

M’Baku looks over to Remi.  “Or...it made you more emotionally developed and full of heart.  Too many people think that their worth is in the friends that they have but you can make one or two great connections instead of a hundred shallow ones, you’re really doing something great.”

Remi couldn’t help but smile sadly at that.  Wine made her emotions elevated and what he said hit a strong nerve.  “That’s really profound, Baku.  I appreciate that.  Sometimes I worry my time has been wasted on things because of pressure and just shit that comes up that you least expect and I kick myself about it but...I do have those handful of folks that keep me here for a reason, most recently my son and I wouldn’t trade my journey for him any day.”

M’Baku puts a pan of toasted bread off to one side, holding the countertop with a wide grip and he leans his weight into his sinewy forearms.  “Couldn’t have said it better myself.  I don’t take lightly you having Jolasun and myself over for dinner.  I just hope it isn’t the last.”

Remi thinks to how the evening began with herself anticipating this moment to Ron coming by and completely taking the fun out of the air before it began.  If M’Baku hadn’t been on the other side of that door, she surely would’ve texted to cancel but fate should have it that this strapping, big hearted man in front of her would woo her into a lovely evening of basically babysitting and gossiping in the kitchen.

Remi steps around to  the same side M’Baku is standing at, tracing the hardened caulk between the countertiles.  “I wanted to ask just so it’s clear to me, uh...Are you over here...as a friend?  Because, you know, that’s great, cuz the kids love hanging out and I am cool to play date and yada yada and like I said it’s not like I get out that often anyway: it’s usually work then daycare then home and-”

M’Baku looks on at her in ae as Remi continues to run on sentence speak for an extended period of time, giving no room for him to answer the proposed question.  Then before he could say anything, something pops out of the corner of his eyes.

“Pew! Pew! Pew!  ALIENS ATTACK!”

M’Baku and Remi look over to see their children holding two stuffed animals a piece as weapons.

Remi puts a hand up in protest.  “Wait, we aren’t aliens, I am our mother!”

“And I am your father!”  M’Baku say with an authoritarian tone, before whispering to Remi.  “...this has turned into a Star Wars style thing though, yeah?”

Remi chuckles as Jolasun makes the announcement.  “No, WE are the aliens!”

“Take cover, aliens!”  Xavier shrieks as he and Jolasun barrel roll in front of the couch for shelter.

“When we pop up, have your weapons ready!”  Jolasun instructs.

“What?  What do we do?”  Remi asks, surprising herself that she actually feels somewhat nervous.

M’Baku reaches into one of his grocery sacks and picks up a squash.  “Take this!”  Remi clutches the vegetable to her chest and M’Baku finds a potato.

“That’s all you have left?”  She whispers.

M’Baku looks at her incredulously.  “You’re critiquing my firepower lady?”

“3! 2! 1!”  The children count before popping up and jutting their plushies forward with every imaginary blast.  

POW! BANG!  KAZOWY!  It was a complete a total wreckage of imaginary limbs flying, air support dropping ammunition overhead and reinforcements circling in.

Remi dives behind the counter.  “We are outgunned and outnumbered.  They’ll get us for sure.”

M’Baku taps his forehead with the potato before lighting up with an idea.  “Jola!”

“Yes, Baba?”  Jolasun says casually like they aren’t even at war.

“You know if I am a human and you are an alien, because I am your father, you too are half human?”

A small gasp comes from the other side of the room.

“That means me too?”  Xavier whispers.  

Remi smiles a M’Baku thankfully.  “That’s right, you are fighting your own kind!”

“No!”  Xavier screams.

“You never told me you were half human!”  Jolasun says with venom in her lungs.  What a turn of events.

“I-I….YOU never told ME!”  Xavier rebuts, turning his plushies on Jolasun.

“FIRE!”  They shout, as pew pews hurl at one another.

M’Baku breaths a sigh of relief.  “Thank Hanuman, that was-”  Looking over at Remi all he sees are her shoulder shaking as her hands cover her face.  “Remi, what is wrong?  I didn’t think you would be this into it.”

He takes her hands away and see her face screwed up into an ugly, debilitating laugh.  “I’m sorry, haha!  This was just, WOW!  I haven’t heard this good of a plot to anything in a while.  They turned on each other!”  She guffaws as she clutches her stomach, out of control of her laughter.  M’Baku can’t help but to join in, looking at her as her laughter became contagious.  Snorts and woots are shared between them as their children’s imaginations murder each other.  Before they knew it, the laughter ceased and settle into one another as they realize their hands are still gripping one another’s.  Couple that with some knee to knee touching as they remain sitting on the floor behind the counter, and Remi begins to wonder if the stove is still on.

M’Baku looks at Remi directly, with little space between them, she couldn’t help but feel like she is under a microscope.  

“You have a gorgeous smile...and your laugh…”

Remi snorts again involuntarily.  “I know, it’s a lot.”

“...a joy.  To hear it?  Makes me feel like I did something many wish they could do but never stood a chance.”  His grip becomes more assured.  “And I want to do that again.”

Remi won’t lt her mind stray from the feelings developing between them, though she couldn’t stand them.  Her heart was about to burst out of her throat from all the anticipation!  And luckily she had on granny panties, or her cute ones woulda been soaked through, she was not ready for this.

No way is a friend speaking to her this way, he actually does want her!  But is it too soon?  She did say this wasn’t supposed to be a date, but is a kiss before a date no making this one?  And what about-

M’Baku made her mind hush as needed, soon as his lips touched hers.  It wasn’t rushed, there was no crash, which means they had been inching toward one another without her even realizing.  Damn these pheromones!   Their lips rested into one another, like a long distance love affair finally being consummated at first glance in person.  Her stresses melted away like the butter he cooked with as she parted her mouth slow to allow his tongue to come in…

“Mama?  Where did you go?”  Xavier

“You took her out, remember?  But Baba is so strong I can never get him.  One day…”

The parental ear is still keen even in a primal moment as they part from one another to heed the call.  Popping up from behind the counter, Remi announces,  “Who’s ready to eat?”

“Meee!”  The children sing as they come to sit down at the table.

“Meee too…”  M’Baku says with a frog in his throat, coughing a little.  Remi tries to catch his eye as the gather the assortment of food, but he uses his height to just overlook her, slight sheen to his brow as they set out to have dinner.

---

“Thank you for cooking!”  Xavier says, holding his mother’s hand while twisting his little body around.

“No problem!  I’ll have to make you something more, you cleaned your plate well!”  M’Baku says giving him a high five.  Xavier nods proudly.  

Remi smiles, giving her son a squeeze.  “I haven’t seen him eat that many fresh vegetables since they were mashed and in a jar.  Hey X, go ahead and clean up your toys so we can get ready for bed.”  Xavier flies over to complete the task

“Jola, go ahead and help.”  M’Baku instructs his daughter.

As the kids clean, M’Baku and Remi look at one another, and then away nervously.  

“Well, thank you for dinner.”  Remi says to the floor.

M’Baku puts his hands in his pockets, bending down a little to get in her line of vision.  “No, it was teamwork.”

“Please all I did was provide the kitchen.”  

“...which is all I needed.  You ever tried to cook without a kitchen?  It’s not very easy today.”  M’Baku shakes his head like a curmudgeonly old man.

Remi smiles.  “Kids don’t know how good they have it!”  

M’Baku smiles.  “There it is.”

“What?”  Remi says with confusion.

M’Baku steps toward her, making his posture smaller even though it was impossible.  “Your smile.”

“Oh…”Remi moans with embarrassment.

“It’s good, I can understand if you don’t show it more.  Someone might steal it.”  M’Baku says in a low tone, looking at her again like he did behind the counter.

Remi’s breathing deepened again as that feeling came over her.  If she didn’t know any better, some might believe it to be signs of a heart attack, but no.  Lust just hit her that hard.

“Thanks for the warning.  Maybe-”

“Baba!  I’m done!”  Jolasun says, running up to his side as he picks her up.

“Ok!  Let’s go!  Say bye to X!”

They all say goodbye as they walk out the door, Remi closes it with a forlorn sigh.  Remi puts a chatty Xavier to bed as he recounts the fun times him and Sunny had together.  When he finally drifts off, Remi admires her boy, playing his he braids gently as he snores.  Her mind goes in so many directions as her baby sleeps peacefully:  Ron and their relationship, her job at the shop and eventually opening her own.  Remi rubs her temples at the thought of all she has to consider and what she wishes she could just give up on.  But life doesn’t work that way,  As she went to her room, she thought of M’Baku and how he spoke with her, making her feel like a damn queen when she felt like anything but.  His strong hands and the way they worked around the kitchen, around her hands, and the potential of them working in tandem with the kiss from before.  

Remi lays back in bed alone and wondering if she could rekindle that feeling again.  M’Baku told her that her smile was all he wanted, but she never said what feeling he gave her that she couldn’t get rid of if she tried.  It’s so silly these crushes people get when they aren’t based on anything but hormones and luck.  And Remi has a streak of not being that lucky.  

She reaches for her phone off the charger and opens it to a notification message.  The name she saved it under made her think she was getting hacked but she forgot Babe the Blue Ox was the moniker she bestowed upon him.

She reads the message once, twice, thrice, and couple more times for good measure before she lies back, stretching her limbs with satisfaction and a smile.  It was happening.

Thinking of that smile of yours and hope it’s what you have on before you go to bed.  Let’s plan to see it again soon.  Adults only?

Masterlist

Ragtag

@yaachtynoboat711 @chaneajoyyy @bidibidibombaclaat@sarcastic-sunshines @great-neckpectations @wakanda-inspired @klaine15689  @foulmouthedandfanfic @nickidub718 @supersizemeplz @yofavcocoa @ashanti-notthesinger

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 16*

A/N - This part has smut!! Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvel-forever-17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

-------------------------------------

Piotr hadn’t seen his wife since the early morning and was starting to get worried. When he asked Ororo, she said with a meaningful smile that the morning’s practice had gone well, but she wouldn’t divulge more. Eager to know what that was about, Piotr checked Rhonda’s usual hiding places. Dr. McCoy hadn’t seen her, the casserole dishes in the fridge hadn’t been moved, and she wasn’t in the gardens. He went to check their bedroom, and was surprised to find her things from the hallway memorial spread out on their bed. He touched the dance shoes and hoodie, caressed the edges of some of the old pictures, traced the lines in the sketches he’d drawn years ago. He couldn’t hold back his smile at the sweet memories. Caught up in the emotions of reuniting with his wife, he’d forgotten he should probably clean out the memorial, but it looked like Rhonda had taken care of it herself.

This wasn’t everything, though. Where were the plaques and the big framed photo? Where was her uniform? “Sladkaya?” he called, in case she was in the bathroom. When there was no answer, he noticed a square of paper on his nightstand. In Rhonda’s handwriting, it read, Making another correction at the cemetery. Back soon. He turned it over and saw it was the picture from Halloween when they’d gone as Paris Hilton and her chihuahua in a purse. Piotr had been smitten with his longtime friend, the girl who had helped him feel welcome when he first moved into the Xavier mansion. She was always quick to laugh, quick to get into trouble, and always tried to rope Piotr into it. He usually couldn’t bring himself to tell her no, which meant she asked him to do increasingly silly things. It had physically pained him to agree to dress up like Paris Hilton, but as soon as he’d said yes, Rhonda had kissed him on the cheek and said she was excited for their first date. Before that, he’d never even guessed that she might share his feelings.

Piotr shook his head at the picture, snickering, and turned it over to read the message on the back again. The cemetery. He moved her items from the bed to the table by the window, and hustled over there to see what she could possibly be up to.

What he saw about stopped his heart.

Rhonda’s cardigan lay on the grass a few feet from her grave, next to a shovel. An enormous pile of soil stood next to her open grave. One hand, then another, shot up and fingers anchored into the earth like claws, before Rhonda’s head popped up to pull herself over. She clutched the handles of a trash bag in her teeth, grunting as she threw one leg up to make it easier to haul herself out of the hole.

“Rhonda!” Piotr called out in shock and rushed to close the distance between them. The surprise made her falter and almost slide back into her grave, but Piotr grabbed her around her waist before she slipped. “What are you doing?”

Rhonda plopped the trash bag on the ground next to her, one foot still dangling over the edge into the hole. Sweat plastered her hair to her face, and wiping her wrist over her forehead only served to further smear dirt on her face. She was gasping for breath, winded from exertion. “I’m putting my wedding dress back where it goes,” she finally grunted in a dry, scratchy voice. 

Piotr hesitated, “Come--come away from there. I don’t like it.” He helped her to her feet and she staggered a few steps away from her grave. 

She braced her hands on her thighs, still breathing heavily. 

He opened the trash bag, asking, “Your dress? Is that what’s in here?” A sweetly familiar mass of silver colored satin and tulle was answer enough. “How long have you been out here?” His concern grew. Digging up a grave isn’t a short or easy task.

“Uh,” Rhonda plopped on the grass, “since right after I saw Ororo.”

Lifting his gaze to the sky, Piotr took in the beautiful orange and pink sunset. He looked back at his wife and realized that under the dirt and sweat, she was also sunburnt. “That was nine hours ago!” 

“Oh.” She laid out on the grass, closing her eyes.

He found a water bottle near her cardigan, but it was empty and dry. Whatever she had brought to drink, she had emptied it ages ago. He knelt down close to her. “Why didn’t you ask me to help? I would have taken care of this for you.”

She shook her head. “I had to do it myself.”

Piotr noticed dried blood on her face too. “And what happened here?” he touched her cheek.

She cracked one eye open with an exhausted grin, “A breakthrough.” Rhonda held up one hand with trembling fingers and Piotr pulled her to sit up. “I lit that lightbulb--and broke it.”

His gleeful smile lifted his brows and showed his teeth. “That is wonderful!” He turned her hand over and saw her palms were blistered. He sighed and shook his head, “You didn’t bring gloves?”

Rhonda chuckled, “I was...excited.”

“Hm-mm,” Piotr shook his head and made quick work of shoving the pile of dirt back into the hole so some passersby wouldn’t fall in, lightly scolding his wife as he did so. “Well now you are dehydrated, hungry, and probably a few minutes away from heatstroke.”

Rhonda rolled her eyes as she watched her husband fill in a matter of minutes what apparently had taken her about nine hours to do. She slightly regretted not asking for his help, but she was too tired to care much. “The inside of that casket’s nice,” she teased, “I thought about taking a nap in it.”

Piotr shot her an exasperated glare. “You did not.” He found some relief that at least Rhonda hadn’t destroyed the grass that covered the grave. The sod was rolled up by the headstone and it was easy enough to roll it back out. Piotr grumbled in Russian about having married such an impossible, ridiculous woman.

“[And you love me,]” she taunted.

Pretending to be more upset than he really was, he dusted off his hands and picked up the trash bag, shovel, and her cardigan in one hand. With his free hand, he helped her onto her feet by grabbing her wrist to spare her blistered palm. “Can you walk, impossible woman?”

She grunted an affirmative and took a few staggering steps before Piotr decided he couldn’t watch her walk all the way back to the house like that. He slipped an arm around her hips and easily hefted her to his side. He sniffed and made an exaggerated sound of disgust, “You smell like you’ve been sweating in the dirt all day.”

Rhonda groaned and rested her head against her husband’s, “If only we knew where there’s a good shower.”

“Water and food first,” he was adamant. “And I want to look at those cuts on your face.”

--

As they ate dinner in the kitchen, Rhonda sucked down a few glasses of water, and she couldn’t stop smiling. The spots where her hands had blistered were raw, her bare arms sunburned, and her face was sore, but she couldn’t be happier. 

She dragged her feet to the shower, and once she was clean, sat on the bed wrapped in her towel while Piotr dabbed some alcohol swabs to clean the nicks from the broken lightbulb. Rhonda winced a little under the sting, but didn’t squirm. “Pretty sure they’re clean now,” she grumbled after his fourth pass. He hummed and started putting tiny strips of tape to hold the cuts closed. She rolled her eyes, “There’s no way the glass went deep enough to require Steri-Strips, babe. This is overkill.”

He hummed again and shook his head, “I’ve seen you picking at scabs, and you will let these heal. If I have to put a cone of shame on you, I will. I still have one from one of the times I helped Wade.”

Rhonda chuckled, “Do I wanna know?”

Piotr rolled his eyes, “If I never talk about that one again, it will be too soon.”

She reclined across the bed, stretching her hands over her head and pointing her toes. The towel loosened, not quite falling away, but she made no effort to fix it when she turned onto her side toward her husband.

Piotr sank to one elbow, stretching out on the dark green bedspread beside her. As she took his hand and brought it to her lips to kiss his knuckles, he took in the firm lines of her arm. She was always thicker and more sturdily built than a typical ballet dancer, more in line with gymnasts or hip-hop dancers. Her time in the Icebox had hardened most of her soft curves, but in quiet moments like this, she still had all the fluid grace of a Bolshoi prima.

"We will have to do something about this," he tapped her ring finger with his thumb. 

“Oh," Rhonda said sadly, “Yeah. One of those guards probably sold my ring. Assholes.” When she regained consciousness in the Icebox, it was gone and no one would answer her questions about it, just laugh in her face. She adjusted her position to cuddle Piotr’s hand like a stuffed animal. “Where’s yours?”

“I still wore it until, ah,” he shrugged, “this injury. Then it wouldn’t fit anymore. Ellie asked if she could hold onto it, so I let her have it.” He pulled his hand away from her so he could pull her closer. The towel was barely staying in place anymore.

Her wet hair spread behind her on the covers. She was close enough that they could rub their noses together if she stretched her neck just a bit. “So what I’m hearing is we both need new rings?” 

He gave a shy smile and glanced away, “Our anniversary is coming up. I think we should do something special.”

Rhonda hummed, “Yeah?” Her dark brown eyes looked black in the soft light of their bedroom lamp. She reached and gave him soft kisses against his steel lips that made his heart melt. Slowly, she slid her leg over his pants until she could hook around his hip. Her arms wound around his neck like she couldn’t get close enough to him. Piotr involuntarily pressed his hips against hers, but didn’t move yet. 

He stopped himself before going any further. He gently pulled back from their kiss to caress her face, unable to find words for what he wanted or how good this moment felt.

Rhonda, however, was ready to go, and gave a disappointed moan when he broke the kiss, “Babe, I need you.”

Piotr lifted his brows and smiled, “You’ve had a long day. Are you sure?”

She started pulling the zipper of his work vest. “We've waited long enough, and I won’t go another minute without fucking my husband.”

He groaned in relief, “[Oh, thank god,]” and he finally granted her some friction by grinding his hardening cock against her. In a hot second, he whipped her towel off her and tossed it somewhere on the bedroom floor. “I’ve been dying for this, but I didn’t want to rush you if you needed time.” He rolled to his back and pulled her on top of him. His fingertips ghosted over her cheek and jaw, his expression soft. “I know it’s been hard.”

Rhonda looked over his face, hesitating before answering. He was right. Adjusting to being home again was ongoing and still hard, but she didn’t want to admit it to his face like this. 

Determined to keep the good mood going, her lips quirked. “Not as hard as your cock.” She finished unzipping his vest and laid it open, spreading her hands over the slab of his bare chest.

Piotr was careful and slow as ever. His hands traveled up her naked thighs, hips, and sides in a slow sweep. When his fingers rubbed over a particularly knotted scar, Rhonda stiffened and he pulled his hands away, "Should we--?"

"There's no scars, no ink," Rhonda shook her head. "Just you and me, like we've always been." She didn’t want to think about her skin or look at it. All she wanted was to take in the sensations. Piotr nodded. All the same, she hopped off him and turned off their lamp so the only light was the moonlight from the window. They were silhouetted in silver lines as Rhonda started undoing Piotr's belt buckle.

He sat up and covered her hands with his to pause her. "[You're sure, my love?]"

"[I got something back today,]" she said softly, with fierce determination. "[I need more of that.]"

Piotr slipped one hand around the back of her head and kissed her, before getting to his feet. He threw back the covers so they could lay on the sheets, and shed his boots and clothes quicker than anything. Rhonda laid back on the sheets and in another second Piotr was there. His love and passion for her surged through his veins, molten and heavy. He found her right hand and pressed hot kisses to her palm, trailing up her forearm to her shoulder, careful not to irritate her sunburn. Part of him worried it might still be too soon for sex, but he was damned if he wouldn't do his best to pour six years' worth of tenderness on her. When his lips caught her nipple, she moaned under her breath, and his heart swelled at the sound.

He moved his hands and mouth slowly. He laid a winding path down her side until he was on his knees beside the bed. 

Without the lamp, it was darker than Piotr really preferred for sex. He loved to watch his wife's face, watch her as she writhed under him, but he could work with this. At his slight touch on her thighs, she spread them wide enough to make room for his shoulders. With the pad of his thumb he made a light swipe up her slit, and at her hiss he gave a sultry groan low in his throat, "Already so wet, krasivaya? I have barely touched you." 

She had missed his hands, but not nearly as much as she had missed his mouth. When she felt his tongue against her clit, she made a sound like she died a little. Piotr was notoriously a slow tease, but this was beyond anything Rhonda remembered. He alternated slow, heavy swipes and light flicks with his tongue and every nerve ending between her scalp and that sensitive bud lit up like Las Vegas on New Years. Yet, she still ached for more. “Piotr,” she gasped softly, “pozhaluysta...” His low chuckle against her folds made her involuntarily buck her hips.

The way she could beg him in Russian during sex drove him wild. He pulled away just enough to kiss her thigh and make sure she could feel his cheek as he smirked against her. “If you can still speak, I’m not doing enough.”

He hooked one of her legs on his shoulder, and slid one hand up her stomach with agonizing slowness. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt her whole body move against him when his fingers found her tightened nipple and gently rolled it. With his free hand, he stroked her slick folds. His cock was heavy between his thighs, so happy to please his wife. He slid one finger into her entrance, until he was knuckle deep. She made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a laugh. The smile pulled wide on his face as he pumped and twisted his finger. “You are so wet, I could swear it’s your secondary mutation.” His voice was so deep, his mouth so close to her, that even when he wasn’t working his tongue over her, she could feel his voice resonate through her whole body.

“Can you still speak, krasivaya?”

Beautiful. Despite what felt like so much evidence to the contrary, he still called her beautiful--and while his face was buried between her thighs, no less. Her voice came out in a smoky drawl, “You feel so good, baby.”

“Mmm,” he resumed eating her out and added a second finger to pump into her. 

The sensory overload had her seeing spots on the edge of her vision--his hands, his mouth, her clit, her nipple, her whole body at his mercy. She beyond words and only made rasping moans as she undulated against him. Piotr could tell when she was close from the way she was clenching around his fingers. He left her nipple to lay his arm across her hips and keep her from moving too much, and started sucking her clit. In a matter of seconds, she came and it was like lava coursing through her system. Rhonda was reduced to a whimpering mess on the sheets and Piotr couldn’t be happier. 

He hardly gave her a minute to breathe before he stretched out on the bed beside her and pulled her on top of him. Piotr held her tight against his chest and peppered her face and neck with feverish kisses. Her hands found his face and couldn’t stop pawing at the lines of his jaw and cheekbones. 

Rhonda patted his chest, their old signal for him to loosen his arms and let her move. She sat up and scooted until his enormous cock was in her hands. She gave him a few pumps before easing herself onto him--which was a little more difficult than she remembered. 

When he heard a soft grunt, Piotr asked with concern, “Is everything all right?”

She sassed with mild impatience, “Yeah, it’s just been a while, babe, give me a minute.”

Piotr smiled. She sounded like every time they had been apart on missions for more than two weeks or had other schedule conflicts. She’d always act like she had to readjust from square one.

She wound and wiggled her hips in an easy rhythm, and when she finally sank onto him, they both released lusty groans. Having her husband inside her again felt so good and so right, that she just had to take a second to lay on his chest, feeling every inch of him that she could. Rhonda started moving her hips and had Piotr panting almost instantly.

“Hey,” her tone betrayed her mischievous intent. Piotr might not be able to see her, but he could hear that particular smile and heavy-eyed gaze. Rhonda asked, “Wanna see if I can still do that thing?”

Piotr’s eyebrows shot up when he realized what she was referring to. He nodded fervently, “Da--yes, please...yes.”

They had found out by accident, early in their relationship, that Rhonda could hit him with a mild (very, very mild) electrical charge straight from her pussy to his cock. The surprise was how much Piotr loved it. He rarely asked for it, but whenever Rhonda offered, he lit up with lustful anticipation like nothing else. She spread her hands flat on his chest and sat up so she could rock her hips a little more. She concentrated on the shape of his cock and how it filled her and used just the barest whisper of her ability. When he shuddered under her, it was all she could do not to murmur aloud, “Still got it.” She gave him another charge and he let out a stuttering moan under her.

“Krasivaya, if you keep that up, I won’t last long,” his breathing was already so ragged. 

Rhonda purred, “Ohhh, but we’ve barely started on you.”

“Bozhe moi,” his hands found her hips and he started thrusting up into her. 

She gave him one more charge and relished how his head tilted back with the sound he made.

He was so heated he had a hard time keeping his rhythm as he sped up.

Rhonda listened to his every sound and her own moans added to the mix, “Yeah, come for me, sweetheart.”

In another few big thrusts, he was coming hard inside her. His fingers pressed into her hips, pulling her down on him. When she lowered her chest against his again, he wrapped his arms around her, sighing into her hair and neck even as he kept rocking his hips into her.

“That sounded like it was good,” she said softly when his hips finally stilled.

“The best.” Piotr felt like he was close to tears.

--

They settled into bed, dressed in the closest things they could grab that could pass for pajamas. Piotr was able to armor down for a few minutes while they snuggled under the covers and Rhonda rested her head on his chest. 

“Was it good for you?” he asked with a grin, rubbing his thumb on her arm. 

She sleepily replied, “Better than I ever dreamed.”

Piotr glanced at the open closet, where her silver wedding dress hung, glinting in the light. He was glad her eyes were already closed, so she couldn’t see that he was misty-eyed. “It felt like you were never gone.”

[randomwordprompts]

If It’s Magic Chapter 8

Daaaaaam, this took forever! Does anyone still care about this story? If so here’s 3k words of plot development(?) Anyways if you wanna be added to my taglist just let me know!

Warnings: Eh, people get punched and they curse. We grown outchea.

Taglist: @storibambino @soufcakmistress @bakarilennox @babygirlofwakanda @wakandas-vibranium @wakandan-flowerz @great-neckpectations @yaachtynoboat711 @oceanscorazon @reaperdeldrunk 

“Daniel, either let me pass or get your ass beat like that big nigga about to get.”

Amira brought her gaze from Daniel to the towering male some feet behind him, keeping a safe distance. Xavier’s eyes widened before he spoke back to her.

“Beat my ass?! Didn’t you do that enough the other day when you busted my lip?” 

She growled at Xavier and went to push past Daniel only to have him hold her back, though with no small amount of difficulty.

“What did you do to me, you piece of shit?!”

“I didn’t DO anything! I’ve been here or in class and actively avoiding your crazy ass for the past two days!!”

Amira stilled in Daniel’s grip and stared at Xavier for a moment before she replied, “Then why the fuck did I hear you calling out for me not 2 hours ago?”

Xavier’s face paled for a moment as he realized something but didn’t say what it was. Amira immediately noticed the change and ducked out of Daniel’s arms to walk towards him, craning her neck to meet his gaze before speaking again.

“What. Did. You. Do.”

“Well, um...I might’ve tried to manifest your aura while I was masturbating,” Xavier rushed out his explanation in one breath but that didn’t stop Amira from hearing exactly what he said.

“PORQUE?!”

Just when Xavier opened his mouth in an attempt to explain further, Daniel burst into laughter from the door that he’d closed during this time.

“Nigga, you did what now? How the hell did that even happen?”

Xavier sighed and tried to be as brief as possible about what was now an embarrassing topic.

Xavier paced his room stressed and hungry, though not for food. Truth be told, he missed Amira. He’d been missing her since she’d first broke things off and after what he’d said to her a few days ago he knew she’d probably never speak to him again. He thought about her lips and how she loved to kiss him, the plushness of her body and she felt like a living marshmallow every time he held her in his arms. How her smile was like the sunshine that chased away the darkness of his thoughts. Before long he began thinking of all the things that drove him crazy about the petite succubus when he remembered something her mother had told them about their bond.

“If one of you reaches out for the other hard enough, you can pull on or manifest the energy of your mate.”

Of course she was referring to if one couldn’t find the other or was missing them, but at this point Xavier was hungry and knew that her aura would be more than enough to satisfy his urges until he found a human to feed from that wasn’t clingy, crazy, or in search of commitment. So he decided to apply that same technique while pleasuring himself and found himself quite surprised with the results. It was like he could hear her in the throes of pleasure, feel her on top of him, and feel himself inside of her. Before he knew it he was moaning her name, urging her to say his. Just when he was about to reach his peak he heard her voice call back to him, his eyes rolling back as he spilled his release into his hand.

“Let me get this straight,” Daniel started. “Y’all can think of each other hard enough to feel and hear the other when you’re not nearby?! I’d like to sign up to be a sex demon today, please.”

Xavier snorted a bit and Amira shot them both a glare before turning to leave, tired of them both.

“Well that was riveting but don’t do again or so help me I will come back here and kill you both.”

“ Both?!” Daniel’s eyes grew wide.

“No witnesses. Nothing personal,” Amira said with a devilish smile.

…

Jason called Amira for the 4th time that night, sighing when he was sent to voicemail yet again. He kept replaying what he said to her in his head and the more he did, the worse he felt. It also took him back to when they first talked about the very thing he threw back in her face.

“So tell me, does being a succubus really mean you’re incapable of monogamy?”

Amira paused her writing and met Jason’s gaze with a raised brow, searching his face for the intention behind the question. Once she realized he was genuinely curious she sighed and pushed her laptop to the side.

“Succubi are just as capable of having monogamous relationships as anyone else. The thing is, our biology causes us to also need to feed off the sexual energy of others. It’s rare, but a succubus sometimes picks a partner that she feeds from exclusively for life. They normally marry but even if they don’t, they still stay together. What you just mentioned is a stereotype made by some white man hundreds of years ago in an attempt to paint us as nothing but sex crazed demons, unworthy of love. Is that how you see me?”

“No, of course not. I think you deserve all the love you can handle..”

They exchanged smiles before Amira leaned over and kissed him sweetly, each time feeling better than the first for him.

…

One Month Later, Halloween

“So is Jason coming tonight?” Lucy asked Amira as they got dressed in their dorm.

Amira smirked as she put on her suit jacket, adjusting her bra so that she didn’t have too much cleavage out or end up with a wardrobe malfunction. Buttoning her jacket she walked over to her dresser and grabbed her blood-red lipstick before she answered.

“Yes, and I have a bad feeling about it. You know Xavier’s going to be there and I don’t need a dick measuring contest at the fundraiser.”

The fundraiser in question was a haunted house and escape room hosted by the BSU to raise money and increase campus involvement. Mostly everyone was involved in some way, with Amira deciding to take on an administrative role and make sure they stayed within their budget while giving a fun night. So far they’d raised almost two-thousand dollars in advance tickets, expecting at least another 500 at the door.

As Amira got ready to tell her roommate what could go wrong her phone rang, signaling a video call from her siblings. After applying a quick coat of her lipstick she answered, grinning when she was met with the faces of her older siblings.

“Well hello, titties!” Francois said with a snicker.

Amira snorted a laugh before shooting back, “You mad you ain’t got these titties, I understand.”

Lucy cackled in the background before leaving the room to get her shoes, leaving the three to talk. Jonathan spoke next.

“You both look like religious spoopy thots, there’s no competition.”

Both Amira and Francois smiled at that before they were interrupted by the familiar stern voice of their father.

“If you three are done, tell your sister that we’re outside.”

Amira chuckled before propping her phone up and checking her hair, curly tresses currently under a straight jet black wig that stopped in the middle of her back. She grabbed her white choker and secured it to her throat, silver cross laying beautifully in the center of her clavicle as she yelled to let Lucy know her family was downstairs waiting. Grabbing her black open-toe stilettos and putting them on, Amira disconnected the call and grabbed her clutch before stepping out of her room.

The rest of the Lectors waited downstairs in the lobby, ready to see their youngest in person. Francois was clad in a slutty nun costume, which was comprised of a black latex bodysuit with a white cross on the chest and matching fake habit adorning their head along with white thigh-high boots while Jonathan was dressed as a possessed catholic bishop. He sported an all-black suit with a black shirt that was open at the top three buttons, revealing more of his pale skin while his hair was dyed black at the roots and red throughout. His belt was cinched around his jacket just enough to reveal his tapered waist, topping the costume off with a red patch on the cuff of his sleeve and a silver cross pendant that stopped just past the fourth button of his shirt. Their parents opted for a classic Dracula and his wives costume, looking as if they stepped out of Bram Stoker’s movie or even the modern version of Van Helsing. When the elevator opened Amira and Lucy stepped out, the former dressed as a priest and the latter as an undead maid since she was going to be in the haunted house. 

Before she could sneak up on them Diana ran over and hugged her daughter with a happy squeal. What followed was more hugs from the rest of her family, a reintroduction to Lucy, and a quick catch-up before they left for the festivities.

…

Once they were at the fundraiser Lucy went into the house with the others so they could get into their designated places before everything opened. Amira was talking with her family when Xavier walked by, offering an awkward wave that was met with an eye roll and Francois flipping him off. He sighed as he made his way into the house, making a mental note to try and talk to Amira soon.

After their parents went to see what else was going on for the night, Amira turned to Francois to say something only to be met with a sight of a man approaching them followed by a loud string of Quebecois curses leaving her oldest brother’s mouth plus a push past her and Jonathan to meet him halfway. She looked at her other brother for a moment before realization dawned on her.

“That’s Felix, isn’t it…”

“Yup.”

“We should probably go over there before Fran strangles him.”

“Probably.”

With that, they followed Francois who was just about to scream at the towering male only stopped by Amira jumping in front of them.

“Oi, you stalking my brother?”

Felix looked down at her, blue eyes meeting brown ones as Francois was behind her stewing.

“Actually, I was invited. Imagine my surprise when a lovely woman told me you all would be here!”

“A woman?! Who-...did she have a Jamaican accent?”

Felix nodded and Amira burst into a fit of laughter as Francois now turned away to find their parents, specifically their mother given how they shrieked for her loud enough to be heard 2 blocks away. Jonathan was laughing with Amira, the two of them wheezing and coughing at this point at the realization that Pauline had tipped Felix off so he’d come. Once they caught their breath Amira took the 6’6 man by the arm and steered him in the direction of where Francois had stormed off to.

“Let’s go big man, I don’t wanna miss this,” she said as the sounds of Francois and Pauline’s voices grew louder, now arguing in full-blown Patois.

...

After finally calming things down between Francois and Pauline, Amira went back to help some of her fellow BSU members do last-minute touches to the vending stands. While she was talking to one of the workers at the popcorn stand she heard another one gasp before pointing towards a figure behind her with a look of pure shock.

“Is that Jason Momoa?!”

Amira chuckled and said goodbye to them before turning to walk towards the man in question with a smile, his werewolf costume obviously not taking much effort.

"How very original, Wolfman. You look good."

"I do, but not nearly as good as you. Are you supposed to be catholic?"

"I'm a priest! Just call me Padre," Amira remarked with a wiggle of her brows.

"Alright you two, keep your hormones in check, there are old people present," Jonathan said just as they were about to kiss, Jason giving a puzzled look to the young male that was flanked by the rest of the family.

At the sight of the six individuals plus Felix he was slightly confused for a moment until his eyes fell to Diana, immediately spotting the resemblance to Amira. Looking back to her he let out "This is your family?" with no small amount of shock.

“Yeah, everyone here is my family except for the tall Black dude. That’s Frankie’s future husband.” Amira remarked with a grin, prompting Felix’s brows to shoot up before he gave a rather sheepish smile. Francois, however, didn’t find the statement amusing.

Jason looked at Amira then her family and back to her, multiple questions swirling in his expression. Amira frowned a bit, sensing his energy shift though he quickly covered it with a nervous smile and a pleasant “nice to meet you all” towards the Lectors.

…

After some light conversation while they waited in line for the haunted house the group of nine were finally at the front getting ready to go in. The person at the door warned them of jumpscares and flashing lights, making sure to emphasize that all the participant’s costumes were well done and that if they can’t handle people jumping out and grabbing them they shouldn’t go in. Everyone agreed that they were fine and began the trek through the darkened hallways, faint screams being heard almost immediately.

While everyone went a bit ahead Jason gently pulled Amira’s arm to keep her behind with him, leaning down to quietly speak to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a blended family?”

“Because my family isn’t blended? And is this really the time to be asking me about this? I think it can wait till after we get out of here,” she replied as they slowly walked through, Amira not being phased when someone dressed as a zombie jumped out and reached for her with a snarl.

Jason looked at her with another question that she quickly answered before it left his lips.

“My father is married to all three of them currently, and each one gave birth to myself and my brothers. Unlike in America, that’s legal up north despite being frowned upon socially.”

“Wait, so...all three of those women agreed to marry your father and live together? You don’t find that a little odd at all?”

Amira stopped in her tracks and turned to face Jason completely, her eyes turned to slits as she squinted up at him.

“What are you getting at, Jason? Just say it.”

“Well, ya know...I’ve seen stories about this kind of stuff. Men that trick women into marrying them and make them dependent on him so that they don’t leave.”

She looked at him as if she wanted to grab him and rip his tongue out of his mouth for even insinuating that her father was holding his wives hostage, but for the sake of not making a scene, she simply turned around and began to walk away.

Jason internally kicked himself and sighed as he watched her walk ahead of him, deciding to give her some space as they continued to go through the house and try not to jump at the people that came out of corners and crevices of the place. As they walked on, he got a little closer to Amira and tried to apologize for what he’d said earlier only to have someone dressed as a zombie pop out and grab at them. Before he could stop himself he punched the person on reflex, making both Amira and her family stop in their tracks as they heard a familiar voice yell out in pain before the person lifted his face and Amira felt her heart sink to her stomach.

“Xavier?!”

“Mira what the hell?! I know I fucked up but could you keep your damn bodyguard away from me??”

Jason stepped in front of her with his chest poked out in a traditional display of male ego, ready to give a rebuttal immediately.

“As her boyfriend, I suggest you back up, kid!”

Xavier looked at him for a moment, a small stream of blood trickling from his nose. He regarded Jason for a moment before pulling his fist back and catching Jason in the jaw, the crack audible enough to elicit a quick “oh shit” from Amira’s siblings in the back. Before she could stop them, they started to swing at each other and fight until they were on the floor nearly wrestling. It wasn’t until Amira yelled loud enough to wake up the dead that they stopped in their tracks.

“Alright, that’s enough! You two are grown-ass men rolling around on the floor in a fucking HAUNTED HOUSE for what?! Me? My honor?? I didn’t ask either one of you to fight for me because I don’t need either one of you dumbasses to do it!!”

They both opened their mouths to speak but were cut off by a small hand held up between them.

“I’m not finished. Now Xavier, you wanna sit here and whine and moan like because you apologized that’s supposed to just get me back or change what the fuck you did. I love you but I don’t just forgive anyone at the drop of a hat and the fact that you thought that would happen is stupid as all hell!”

Jason snorted a bit until she turned to him fully to give her a piece of her mind.

“And as for you bigfoot, you think you’re off the hook?! First, you accuse me of fucking Xavier while we’ve been together when the thought never even crossed my mind. Then, you suggest that because I’m a fucking demon I have no got damn self-control. And after all of that, you suggest to me that my father is some kind of horrible man that has to hold his wives hostage in order to keep them around!”

“Excuse me?!” was the sound that followed Amira’s statement and she looked to her family to find all three of the women in question looking at Jason with no small amount of incredulity. Without another word she shook her head and stepped over the two, moving her family towards the exit, Felix holding Francois back as they yelled and went to lunge at Jason rather violently.

Xavier shook his head and stood up before reaching down and giving Jason a hand up, noting the look of surprise on his face. He wiped the blood from his nose on his sleeve and eyed Jason warily before finally speaking, the pain in his voice clear.

“Listen, Amira is a great person and an amazing partner. I can only hope that one day I’ll earn her trust back but until then make sure she’s happy, yeah?”

“I hear you, bro. Also, I’m sorry about your nose...I swear I was just reacting.”

“Honestly I had it coming so don’t even worry about it. Plus it’s already healed with me not being human and all,” Xavier said with a dry chuckle.

Jason extended his hand for a shake and Xavier accepted, the two coming to a bit of an understanding before Jason would leave to try and catch up to Amira and properly apologize to both her and her family.

[thatfairyfangirl]

Heaven and Hell Chapter 5

Warnings: NSFW! Lack of Condom - remember to wrap it before you tap it!

Training of your powers really gave Xavier and Hank a challenge, it didn't work on the robots they had, but eventually Hank came up with a set of androids that he could program with fears. Warren watched your eyes blackened, the demonic smoke billowing from them and the subtle movement of your hand directing its path. He smacked your side, reminding you to run the obstacle course laid before you while you did your thing, having your back the whole way. He felt strangely proud of the progress you made in the last few months as you flipped and jumped through threat after threat, catching his feather daggers and using them to slice through drones and nets. You two really made the perfect team...Angel and Demon. But deep down he knew what a day of training meant...he knew eventually you would wake up screaming and come find him for comfort. It seemed the more you used your power the worse your dreams would become.

You hated power training days. Nights after you used your powers were always filled with the worst nightmares, all the horrific visions of fear resurfacing in your mind. You awoke with a start in the middle of the night. The school around you was silently sleeping as you sat up in your bed panting. You attempted to remind yourself the dreams aren't real...just your powers. Sometimes it felt like these dreams were your punishment, your personal hell for the demon inside. For a moment you sat with your head in your hands before looking up to your door. You knew Warren suffered from his own hell at night, terrible visions of the life he left behind that you never asked him about but deep down you knew them. You knew he feared the way Apocalypse changed him...or worse...what if it didn’t? Wondering if your best friend was awake you moved to the door, swiftly yet silently moving through the hall to Warren's door. So many times before you just let yourself in, why should tonight be any different? “Hey War, you asl-” your words stuck in your throat as you looked up to him, frozen with his long thick cock in his hand as he sat facing the strip of pictures from the carnival photo booth. You must have really pushed yourself today...You were earlier than normal. You watched his eyes travel up you looking so innocent in your pastel pink pajamas. He couldn't count the amount of times he dreamed of tearing them off of you, tasting the mounds of flesh that hid underneath. He gulped hard as he sat there, knowing he was caught as your lower lip tucked itself under your front teeth. You couldn't count the amount of times you wondered how big it was...and now it was staring at you.

“So are you going to help or…” he joked attempting to alleviate the situation.

But you couldn't think of a better distraction from your nightmares than doing just that. Your look of shock and awe melted into a devilish smirk and hungry eyes as you peeled the t-shirt over your head. “If you insist.” You answered as his jaw fell slack watching you move closer before kneeling before him, looking up as if you were ready to worship. Oh God you looked so perfect to him in that moment.

His mind raced with all the things he wished he could do. Even with you like this, knowing you wanted him as badly as he wanted you there was more...things he was sure you’d never let him. If only he could tie you down...blindfold you...gag you...make your flesh red with handprints. The fantasy made him twitch before he drew in a sharp breath, the feel of your soft lips caressing his tip snapping him out of his day dreams and into the moment to enjoy. He purred as his hand slipped from his flesh into your hair, gripping it lightly as you sucked him. “Oh God.” He moaned as he felt you moving down his shaft and up again painfully slow. He knew he shouldn’t dive right in, make you gag on him...but oh god he wanted to. Despite himself he pushed against the back of your head, showing restraint as he lightly guided your pace faster, your face a little deeper on him until you found the perfect pace to make him stretch out his wings and let out a primal moan. He could feel you smile around him as your eyes looked up, drinking in the pleasure in his eyes as you teased the sensitive member with your tongue. “Come here.” He finally whispered huskily as he took your hand, pulling you up to him.

You rushed up to his level as your lips collided, tongues dancing as his arms wrapped tightly around your torso. Kisses trailed down your neck and chest before his tongue swirled over one nipple, pulling a sigh of pleasure from you. His hand cupped the other breast, massaging it somewhere between rough and gentle before he lifted you to flip you on his bed. He let out a guttural grumble of pleasure as he tore your pajama bottoms and panties off. You let out a gasp of pleasure as he hooked his arms under your legs, gripping at your hips from behind You felt soft kisses up the inside of your thigh as you watched his razor sharp wings curl above you both. A soft blissful “ahh” escaped you as his tongue found its way to your clit, gentle yet rough as he devoured your sex. Your legs wrapped around his head encouraging his passion. You felt a hand travel up gripping a breast roughly, making a wave of pleasure rush over you, leaking out for him to lick up.

He moved over you, his tip hovering over your glistening wet hole as he looked down into your eyes. “You sure babydoll?” He asked, wanting to make sure this was what you really wanted. You nodded as your leg hooked over his hip, guiding him into you. He moved slow inside, taking his time to let you stretch around him, let out a primal sound, savoring the feel of you he only until now dared to dream of. You arched your back sighing passionately as he began to rock in and out of you, supporting himself on one hand as the other played with your breasts. Your sighs grew louder as he got faster, tougher until he was pounding in and out of you strongly making your breasts jiggle from the force of him. Your grunts and sighs mingled with the slapping of hips meeting as the eyes that looked down to you grew darker, imagining the things he was sure you would never let him do to you until his mind was lost in his desire. His hand smoothed up your chest, feeling your heart race before fingers wrapped around your neck. You tightened with excitement around him, releasing another orgasam over him inside you as one hand gripped his sheets. You looked up to him with wanting eyes, your hips began to rock up to meet his with more force as one hand moved to his fingers around your neck, confirming for yourself this was real. Feeling your fingers he pushed harder before hooking his arm under your back and the fingers around your neck traveled into your hair to pull you up into his arms, lips meeting for a raw passionate kiss. Your arms wrapped around him, nails digging into the small patch of flesh between his wings leaving scratch marks between the metal. He dug deep rough kissed against your neck and shoulders as he lifted to a kneel, lifting and dropping you his hips bucking wildly bringing you both grunting and groaning sweaty to heaven. You tightened like a vice around his thickness before your juices flowed once more before he pulled out of you, only leaving you empty just in time to squirt his release between the two of you.

You both flopped down panting and sweating as you wrapped your heads around what happened. “Did we just…” Warren's words trailed off into a grin as he looked over your bare body.

“Yup.” You chuckled letting him wrap himself around you. You both simply laid there enjoying the moment looking up into each other's eyes, caressing each other lightly before you both reached to each other, pulling the other into another heavenly kiss. “So are we…”

“I don't know babydoll...I'm not exactly what one would call good boyfriend material.” He answered truthfully. You laid there a moment thinking on what has just transpired, happy with the answer as he slipped from you to get dressed. He watched you lay there letting the answer sit on you, feeling very sure it wasn't the answer you were looking for but he didn't want to lie to you...and he sure didn't want you knowing the depraved things he really wanted to do to you.

“Ok...just sex.” You replied with a smirk as you hopped up to find where he flung your underwear to. He turned to you with surprise as you found the panties, slipping them on. “I am so ok with that.” You added, shattering his idea of you being so pure and chaste he ever had.

“You are?” He asked stepping closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You nodded letting your fingers explore the curve of his muscles. As fun as that was you wished he would have gone further, wished that hand was on your neck to choke, not to kiss...vanilla was alright but you wanted so much more than that. And you didn't want to be tied down to someone who wouldn't tie you down.

~ ~ ~ ~

Warren strode into the kitchen grinning down to you, his hand caressing your back as he passed. Peter rose a brow watching the two of you, reaching an arm out to tap Jubilee on the shoulder, drawing her attention to the scene about to unfold. “Morning beautiful.” He murred as he scratched behind your ears.

“Hey there bird boy.” You answered with a grin purring with delight as you leaned into the affection.  “Last night’s flight was fun...can we do it again tonight?”

“Flight?” He asked with a confused brow as he leaned over you to grab a piece of the tost you were eating. He groggily searched his mind for a late night flight but all he could remember was the heavenly pleasure you shared last night...at least he thought you did...was it just a dream?

“Yeah.” You chuckled as you rose, your fingertips tracing up the muscles of his arm. “It was like you took me straight to heaven.” You winked before rising on to your toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Especially when you did that thing with your tongue.” You whispered softly in his ear. Warren’s eyes widened as he looked down into yours, his mind racing with all the suggestive things you have said to him over the last few months...every tease you dealt to him...realizing they were fully intentional, that you knew what you were doing. He grinned as his hand snaked around your back, your audience at the edge of their seats as you looked into each other. He gripped the back of your shirt letting a pleased low grumble escape his lips as they lowered toward yours. You let out a soft sigh of pleasure as you felt his breath against your lips as his hand cupped your cheek and pulled you into a deep passionate kiss.

“Oh my god finally!” Jubilee shouted over her bowl of cereal. You both laughed your foreheads resting against each other...if only they knew what had happened last night.

He released you from his grip letting you sit back down to your breakfast before he went to go get some of his own.

~ ~ ~ ~

“So...my room or yours Babydoll?” He asked in a low gruff whisper as he leaned over you to help you line up your shot.

You grinned with a sideways glance over to him bending a little farther into the shot, your backside rubbing against his jeans to drive him wild. “Yours.” You answered as you took your shot, standing as the balls clacked against each other.

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