#aches and THIRSTY and need the bathroom IMMEDIATELY and am I really hungry or is my body just upset with all the corn dogs I’ve had lately

[toomuchdickfort]

‘Bedtime’ I said

[sinfulwonders]

👀

Have a different despair disease Kokichi WIP. This one is near completion, but I just felt like something was off about it and never could figure it out to post it! So now it gets to see the light of day because of this WIP challenge :P

Nothing but the Truth

When Kokichi awoke in his dorm room to the sound of the morning announcement, something felt off. The room felt colder than usual and his head was pounding. He wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead and stumbled out of bed.

Am I getting sick?

Kokichi made his way to his bathroom and was taken aback by how pale his already snow white skin looked. His eyes looked sunken in, as if he hadn’t slept in days, while his purple locks clung to his sweaty forehead.

“I look like shit…” Kokichi mumbled aloud, frowning.

He staggered back towards his warm bed, but before he made it there he heard an all too familiar sound:

DING DONG BING BONG

“All students report to the gym for an announcement! And that means ALL students!” Monokuma’s voice rung out loudly through the speakers, causing Kokichi’s aching head to throb even more.

On an average day Kokichi spent more time on his appearance than he would care to admit, but today he barely got his shirt on correctly. He cursed the clasps as he struggled. But eventually, the sickly boy made his way to the gym.

At the entrance, Kokichi was greeted by a smiling Maki.

“Good morning Kokichi!!!” She beamed, sweat forming under her bangs.

“Umm…” Kokichi had no idea how to respond to this.

Maki’s eyes got wide with concern, “What’s the matter Kokichi?”

What the hell is this? Maki has never said a nice thing to me; is she stealing my shtick and trying to be sarcastic? Is she trying to tease me? Well I guess I need to teach her who’s she’s messing with.

Kokichi rounded up as much of what little strength he had in his current state and gave her one of his best smirks. He answered with as much enthusiasm as he could-

“I feel horrible, Maki. I think I may be sick.”

What the hell was that? I went in to mock her, tell her I feel *absolutely wonderful*, but that’s not what happened…What the hell is going on?

As the rest of the class wandered in, they suddenly heard a laugh at the front of the gym.

“Puhuhuhuhu!”

Monokuma landed on the podium, and lifted his arms in the air, like a gymnast does after a landing, “Listen up, Kiddos! Back by popular demand: The Despair Disease!”

Popular demand? Well that supports my theory that this dumb game is being shown to…someone... But what the hell is the despair disease?

“Now some of you may have noticed that a few of your friends are acting strange. And some of you may be feeling pretty under the weather by now. Well welcome to your Killing Game Motive! Since none of you have had the balls to kill anyone, we’re gonna switch up some of those pesky personalities of yours!”

“Switch up our personalities?” Spoke up the timid detective, hiding under his hat.

“Yep! Cool innit? The despair disease has a pesky side effect! Besides making you feel like shit and nearly killing you, it also effects your personality! Each effect on a person is different, but as the saying goes: opposites attract! Look at Maki for example! Usually so stoic and calm! But today she’s as friendly as ever! That’s why she has the Bubbly disease! Now I gave you that one for free, but you’ll have to figure out the other students that have it yourself! But watch out, Kiddos. It’s contagious!”

As Monokuma said those last words and disappeared from the podium, everyone took a step back from one another. Only Monokuma’s wretched laugh echoed through the silent room. It was a while before anyone spoke.

Finally Maki smiled and said, “That’s weird what Monokuma said, cuz I feel great! I don’t feel diseased or despaired at all! Guess he was wrong!” She gave a peppy shrug and began to skip away.

“Wait Maki! We need to stick together!” yelled Kaito, the spiky haired boy beginning to follow her.

Kokichi rolled my eyes.

Why couldn’t that big oaf get the disease? His personality is infuriating.

“Kaito is right, Maki. We need to figure out who exactly has this supposed disease…” Shuichi started strong, and then trailed off as the group looked at him. He pushed his hat down a bit to hide a slight blush.

Kokichi caught it and sighed, “What a cutie…” He instantly clamped his hand over his mouth. Luckily, no one heard him.

What the hell was that? Why did I say that out loud? Could this be the despair disease?

Kokichi slunk in the background so as not to draw attention to himself, as the group discussed options and eventually opted to have the infected people be confined to their rooms. Kokichi rolled his eyes.

I really need to keep investigating this stupid place. I can’t afford these idiots locking me up for who knows how long.

Kokichi stifled a cough as they asked everyone who was feeling ill, disoriented, or just different to raise their hands. The boy averted his gaze from the others and did not raise his hand.

“Kokichi said he was sick!” Maki sang, her hands behind her back as she swayed back and forth like an excited child. Her pigtails completed the look.

Oh my fucking God Maki. The one time I want you to keep your damn mouth shut you’re feeling extra ready to share. Just my luck.

Kokichi glared and then quickly plastered his signature devious smirk on his face.

“Kokichi- you don’t look so good…” Shuichi took a step towards him.

“You’re right, I feel terrible!” Kokichi blurted and then threw his hand over his mouth. He had tried to reply with an insult and a vague non answer to the question, but had said what he was actually thinking.

Miu burst out laughing, “Oh man! Monokuma did say it made people the opposite! It looks like Cock-ichi can’t lie!”

Kokichi glared and started to retort back. But he choked his words back and just looked at the ground.

I wouldn’t be able to say anything that I wanted to anyway. This is so boring.

Kokichi looked back up at the group, “I’m going to my room. I’m bored.”

Good, I was able to say that at least. But without my lies…I guess I need to wait for this crap to wear off.

Kokichi took a few steps, glaring daggers at a still snickering Miu, but as he passed her he faltered. He started coughing and he almost fell over. While Miu stopped smiling, Shuichi ran up to the boy.

“Kokichi!” he cried as he helped him up, “Do you need help back to your room?”

Ugh I hate this. I’m so freaking helpless. And of course, Shuichi is the first to come to my aid. He’s always so freaking considerate. Bleh. Boring. I just need to tell him that he can go to Hell.

Kokichi rolled his eyes and spit out the word, “Yes.” He instantly frowned and his eyes shot to the floor.

Shuichi smiled and turned back to the others, “Will you make sure that Maki gets back to her room, Kaito?” Kaito nodded and Shuichi glanced at Maki who pouted, “And actually stays there?” Kaito gave him a wide grin and a thumbs up.

Bleh, I wish I could say anything to wipe that stupid “heroic” grin off of Kaito’s face. Actually, I just wish I could say anything. This is the worssssst.

Shuichi and Kokichi made their way back to the dorms in silence. Partway through Kokichi began to lose balance again, so Shuichi insisted that Kokichi lean on him for support. Kokichi replied with an exhausted nod. Kokichi, being the smaller of the two males, forced Shuichi to lean over so that he could drape his arm around his shoulder. He leaned his body into the taller boy, and they began their journey once again.

He smells nice…

“Umm, thanks Kokichi…” Shuichi stammered.

“Oh god, did I say that out loud?” Kokichi’s face turned bright red.

Shuichi gave the boy a kind smile, “Yeah, you kind of did…”

Kokichi eyes immediately shot to the ground.

Jesus. I must be getting delirious. This is the most embarrassing day of my life.

The two continued, making the journey in a now awkward silence. As they got to the Kokichi’s room, Kokichi wrestled with the key until finally opening the door to his messy room. Shuichi helped the boy to his bed and sat him down.

“Do you…need anything else?” Shuichi looked down at his feet as he said it.

For you to leave!

“I’m hungry…and thirsty,” Kokichi whispered.

Ugh God dammit!

“I can go get Kirumi to make you something! What would you like?” Shuichi exclaimed, excited that he could be useful in some way.

Kokichi blushed at the enthusiastic boy, trying to ignore how cute he looked when he was excited, “I guess…soup.”

“Of course! I’ll be right back!”

The detective ran off, on a mission. When the door shut, Kokichi used the opportunity to let out a loud, dramatic sigh. He fell back and hit the pillow.

Shuichi is the worst person for me to be around right now. He’s a detective. He knows how to get information out of people, and now I can’t even lie to him. Also…it sucks that he’s so damn hot.

Kokichi had been attracted to Shuichi since the first time he had met him. He was a quiet, socially awkward boy, but the aura of mystery that he had around him was intoxicating. He seemed like he was always thinking, that his wheels were always spinning, coming up with new theories about everything.

Has he ever spent any of long periods of time thinking about me? Trying to figure me out?

Not only was Shuichi obviously incredibly intelligent with an eye for detail that no one could match, but the detective was incredibly caring and genuine about his feelings.

He knows the intricacies of the world, and how corrupt most people’s intentions are, and still chooses to wear his heart on his sleeve. It’s…I can’t do that…

As Kokichi was absorbed in his thoughts of Shuichi, the boy in question knocked.

“I have soup!”

“Come in…” Kokichi coughed.

Shuichi entered, carrying a very well presented tray, obviously set by Kirumi. The soup smelled amazing, and when the detective handed it over, Kokichi couldn’t help but take a big gulp.

“Ahh!”

“Oh! It’s still hot!” Shuichi exclaimed, quickly handing Kokichi the glass of water on the tray. Shuichi tried not to smile at Kokichi fanning his tongue with surprise. The Ultimate Supreme Leader looked so childlike and innocent.

As Kokichi gulped down the water, his eyes made contact with the concerned detective’s. He gave him a sheepish grin and reddened, “I should have known…”

Shuichi couldn’t help but let out a laugh, surprised at how strangely adorable Kokichi was acting.

“You have such a cute laugh, Shuichi!” Kokichi exclaimed, and then slapped a hand over his mouth, his face now entirely crimson.

“Th-thanks, Kokichi,” Shuichi decided to take the compliment in stride. After all, Kokichi couldn’t help it, and it was a rare instance where he knew Kokichi wasn’t secretly insulting him.

Kokichi placed the tray next to his bed and buried his face in his pillow.

I wasn’t even trying to say anything and that slipped out! The truth is getting harder and harder to contain! Why is this happening to me??

Kokichi felt his bed sink with pressure. He looked up to see that Shuichi had sat next to the sprawled boy. He placed a comforting hand on the boy’s upper back.

“I’m so sorry you’re going through this, Kokichi,” Shuichi said with a compassionate smile, “But can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…”

Kokichi thought about it for a moment. Then slowly nodded.

“Well this disease is obviously very difficult for you. And I’m sure most people would hate it…I mean… not getting a say on whether you give a truthful, untruthful, or even partially true answer…would suck. But you’re really struggling, Kokichi. Why is it that you lie constantly? Do you hate the truth?”

Kokichi pondered, then slowly, logically, stated, “That’s more than one question.” He smirked at his ability to still give at least a partially sarcastic response.

Shuichi chuckled, “Then the first one then. Why is it that you lie constantly?”

Do I even know the answer to that question? I’m sure I did initially, but I’ve been lying to myself for so long that I don’t know if any answer I give would be a truly honest answer.

“To protect myself. Fear, insecurities, feelings… they all can be detrimental. But lies protect you. From enemies, friends… even yourself. Lying is my armor.” Kokichi left his mouth agape as the answer escaped his lips. He knew it was true even though he hadn’t been able to come up with it on his own.

Shuichi nodded in understanding, “Thank you for your honesty, Kokichi.”

Kokichi smiled. He tried to say no problem, but instead said, “I hadn’t even admitted that to myself before.”

I hate this stupid, goddamn disease!

The boy punched the pillow in frustration. Shuichi reached out instinctually and touched Kokichi’s forearm. The boy jerked away from the detective and glared.

“Oh I’m sorry!” Apologized the embarrassed detective, “I’ll l-let you get some rest…”

The boy quickly exited the room, assuming that the other was angry with him. As Shuichi closed the door, Kokichi’s face softened into a regretful frown, and he let a quiet word escape his lips.

“Stay…”

 ----------------

Kokichi awoke with a start. He tried to jump up, but then the previous day’s events hit him like a truck. Or that was possibly the feeling of his head pounding. The sick boy recalled the illness that had befallen the group of students, effecting him and Maki, at the very least. He also recalled the unusual interaction with Shuichi and his face flushed.

He probably thinks I hate him. Well… that’s actually a good thing for both of us. But still, it bothers me if I made him sad for no reason. And it pisses me off that it bothers me!

Thinking about that made Kokichi’s face turn an even darker shade of red. It was in that moment that he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Kokichi silently groaned at how friendly his voice sounded.

Shuichi opened the door slowly, “You s-sound like you feel better.”

As he entered he saw Kokichi’s extremely red face and his eyes widened.

“Did your fever get worse?” He ran over and placed his hand on Kokichi’s forehead, “You feel really warm!”

He suddenly backed up several steps, “I’m sorry! I didn’t m-mean to invade your personal space. I was just w-worried.”

“I don’t mind it when it’s you, Shuichi.”

Great. Thanks despair disease. Wording my answer like some stupid school girl with a crush. Appreciate that.

Luckily for Kokichi, Shuichi didn’t read too much into it and just sighed in relief, “That’s good to hear,” he paused and presented an embarrassed smile, “I felt bad about yesterday, and came to apologize.”

“I wasn’t mad at you, I was irritated with the disease,” Kokichi sighed.

That wasn’t too bad. That was along the lines of what I actually wanted to say.

Shuichi smiled wider, “Oh good!” he then backtracked, “Oh not good that you were irritated! It sucks that you are dealing with the despair disease! But good that we’re… good!”

Kokichi smiled weakly as he listened to the nervous boy’s ramblings. His head pounded more intensely as ever, and before he knew it, he fell back into his pillow and fainted.

As he drifted into blackness, he heard the boy exclaim in nervous confusion. He replied to quell his fear, or at least he tried.

“You’re so cute…when you’re worried about…me.”

 ------------

Kokichi was pulled back to the land of the living when he felt a sudden cold sensation on his head.

“Ah!”

“Oh he’s awake. Splendid.”

Kokichi opened his eyes to Kirumi’s face in front of his own.

“Aww. You’re not Shuichi.” Kokichi face flared red as the words escaped his lips.

“Oh, I’m r-right here... Kokichi,” the detective pulled his hat in front of his face to hide his blush as he answered.

Kirumi seemed unfazed by the interaction, “Keep the cold washcloth on his forehead and change it every few hours. His fever has gone down a bit. Now I must go help tend to Angie. Himiko and Tenko are having a difficult time.”

Shuichi thanked her as she left.

“So it is spreading after all?” Kokichi asked, with genuine curiosity.

“Y-yeah.”

“Well you should go so that you don’t catch it,” Kokichi said matter-of-factly.

And so I don’t say anything embarrassing. Stupid, cute Shuichi. This is all his fault.

“Do you really want me to go?”

Kokichi shook his head yes while his mouth said, “No…I’d like you to stay- UGH!”

Kokichi covered his eyes with his forearm and with an exasperated sigh said, “I hate this place. You know that? I hate it so much. I just want to go home.”

Shuichi gave the small boy a caring look, “You always act like you’re enjoying the killing game. Being here. I guess it makes sense that that would be a lie.”

“Yeah. Who would ever want to play a game that you’re forced to play?” He sat up and pouted at Shuichi.

The sight made the detective grin, “Well, the good thing is that you look like you feel better than yesterday!”

Kokichi placed his hands behind his head and leaned against his headboard, “I do feel better. Still can’t lie though! Neeheehee”

It’s not as clever or eloquent as what I was going to say, but I’ll take it! As long as I don’t say anything else embarrassing about Shuichi, I should be good!

“It’s good to hear your laugh again, Kokichi,” Shuichi grinned, “Now can I do anything for you?”

Ugh his smile is so sexy. Ignore it. You’re hungry right? Ask for some soup, Kokichi.

“You can kiss me!” Kokichi exclaimed.

That is not soup! Oh my fucking God, that’s not soup at all. Fuck fuck fucking shit fuck-

Shuichi leaned over and placed his lips on the supreme leader’s own, blushing all the while. It was just a second long peck, and then the detective pulled away and quickly pulled down his hat lower than either one of them thought it could possibly go.

“W-why did you do that, Shuichi?” A bewildered Kokichi stuttered.

“…Well you did t-tell me to…” Shuichi replied.

Kokichi frowned, “That’s so not a good answer.”

“It just made m-me so happy.”

“What?” Kokichi looked up in surprise. He saw that Shuichi eyes were wide and honest.

“The d-disease. I was so thrilled that you would have to tell the truth, because I could finally figure out what you really thought of me. I like you, Kokichi. You’re…fascinating. And then when you told me to kiss you…but you probably didn’t even mean to. I’m such a selfish person. You’ve been suffering and I’ve been taking advantage of that. I just w-wanted to be around you.”

A single tear rolled down the boy’s face. Kokichi reached out and slowly removed the detective’s hat to discover a messy mop of navy hair underneath. He also finally got a full view of Shuichi’s eyes.

They’re beautiful. From under the hat they looked grey, but as the florescent light hit, they shone a strange mix of silver and gold.

Kokichi reached out and wiped away the tears flowing from those eyes. He then leaned over and kissed the shaking boy’s lips. It was gentle and warm, very unlike Kokichi’s regular demeanor.

Shuichi’s eyes widened and he kissed back. He broke it again and stammered, “B-but…”

“Shuichi. I am so happy you’re here. And I’m actually happy that I had to tell you the truth. But I’m happiest of all that you kissed me.”

I had no intention of being this honest with him. I had no intention of being honest with him in the slightest. But in this case, the truth…it wasn’t so bad.

Shuichi grinned and tackled the smaller boy.

“Ugh, I am still sick, ya know!”

The two giggled and Shuichi planted a kiss on the ultimate supreme leader.

[sidpah]

Mirage Part 2

Tumult seemingly over, voice gone from the air along with the tingle of rampant electrons looking to escape their bounds, I rise, cradling my back with its heavy pack and a stomach that’s aching something fierce.

I walk a few steps but the sharp stabbing pain grows worse with each concrete tile that passes beneath my feet.

To my right is an upscale eatery of fine repute. Their bathroom would do nicely should that be the impending crisis. Likewise, I’m sure someone will call an ambulance if it turns out that I’m currently closer to death than even I often fear.

So in I go, feeling altogether filthy and disheveled and unwelcome, though no one seems to impose that opinion on me so much as I see myself as if I were one of them on soft velour benches in their freshly dry-cleaned and ironed blouses, shimmery, and business casual polos and blazers, tastefully drab.

How unkempt I must look and smell through all the showerless days in sickrooms and bamboo cages...

In the vestibule of this expensive restaurant adults clinging to their gentile children and chatting to business acquaintances are separated into two opposing lines, both patiently waiting to be seated. I check in, whereupon I’m told by an unattractive madam-type in deep crimson smoking jacket in the most conciliatory tones she can muster that there’ll be a significant wait, her hand, gripping a monogrammed ballpoint sweeps the masses as proof. I say “That’s okay, I’ll wait,” to which she suggests I try to make myself comfortable.

Inspired by my indulgent predecessors, I slip a hand into my front pocket and extract a lone bill, crumpled, stained, but watermarked, and apparently legal tender though the color and art seem wholly foreign to me. I have no idea of its value, but if it gets me seated immediately then my stomach values it at a small fortune. Hoping it’s sufficiently greasy for her proverbial palms, I make a great show of folding the bill into quarters, balancing it like a French cigarette between index and middle fingers, and then pushing the bill deep into her warm damp cleavage.

Her eyes narrow as she tightens the grip on her pen, but the left corner of her mouth turns into a tiny, narrow smile.

“Stay close by; I think I found an opening,” she tells me with a tight jaw…

I step away from the podium, realizing I need to pee; the feeling is starting to clarify itself beyond doubt, but I don’t want to leave my post and possibly miss them calling my name now that I paid for a table, and I am so damnably hungry; this realization comes in quick succession, and I must eat soon, lest I faint away once more... But the backpack is pressing on kidneys, and my belt is squishing bladder, and I am going to let it out either way.

So with no suitable alternative, I turn to the palm tree against the wall behind me, casually unzip, and look around as if admiring the framed art whose artists I don’t recognize; the actual paintings seem to change every time my eyes are diverted and return. And after a moment of tense negotiations with the musculature of penis and related waterworks, I begin urinating into the palm’s red pot.

A sharp finger taps me on the shoulder to suggest rather rudely that what I am doing may be considered improper. I mean to turn to suggest to him that I am merely admiring the decor and have no idea of what he might be insinuating, but I turn too fast, proceeding to not only douse his legs, but send a long yellow stream across matching crimson Persian rug, striking the other line of starving patrons.

A Japanese mother holding her tiny baby against her shoulder crosses through the stream and I feel horrible as I pee on her bare porcelain ankle and black scruffled-down sock.

A brief moment of disorientation follows when I discover that I’m not actually the only one to blame… Everyone is now either pissing or being pissed on.

There are parties of three or four otherwise stodgy-looking spouses with their maws wide, filling up like yellow birdbaths. Women too join in the fun with hiked skirts and thrust hips, peeling folds of skin away to direct their own fan-blade streams. I'm holding an erect hose one or two feet from two small open mouths, barrages of piss droplets ricocheting off dull white teeth.

A weird rush of exhibitionist freedom passes through me like a chill. Shamelessly displaying to all these strangers things usually kept so carefully hidden behind locked doors... Where is all this piss coming from? Am I draining the blood from my veins?

Everyone is completely drenched, but there is no sign of their stores nearing exhaustion either...

By the time the last squirt has dribbled on steaming carpet, I am head to toe, saturated in the urine of two-dozen strangers; my white shirt sepia and clinging to hot body... But now I wonder: who would eat like this? First I need to wash my hands.

The maître de calls my name, asking me to follow him. Torn, directionally, I choose the dining room, weaving through rows of wealthy mastication, forks held inches from gaping lips, their eyes least censored in revealing their unabashed shock at the sight and stench of my appearance.

So now they come to judge!

At what is to be my table, a circular one with four place settings, the maître de pulls out a chair, apparently choosing to ignore my current odiferous condition.

I don’t want to sit down like this. I look at the chair and thank him and nod my head, indicating that I am okay, that he’s free to help someone else. But he stands there absently, waiting for me to sit so he can grunt and whoof and push me in.

Finally I apologize and say that I really must excuse myself and run to the restroom before I can sit down or order. He nods a rather affected certainly, and waves a long arm out to point the way to the men’s pissoir. I rush in the direction he points, a long line of drizzling urine streaming from my clothes…

In the men’s room, I saw the rippling reflections of caustics on the mirror before I realized how deeply submerged I was… The prisms of sunlight just barely made it across the glass as I was made to drag around the giant conch shell fastened permanently to my scabbed and blistered back all along the bottom of this lifeless ocean.

Just because I’m a nomad doesn’t mean I should be subjected to the torture of a hermit crab... I didn’t sign on for this.

And where are all the fish? Is this all just a strange bird of paradise ballet to help keep the species alive? Why else would I be scooping up shimmering trout eggs floating around like tiny clear bubbles, or sunspots in the crystalline water? Humanitarianism gets you only so far before it sucks the breath from your lungs. It’s a vampiric organism. You breathe the first humble wisp of life into its fragile little body, and before you know it, it’s twice your size, drinking your last ounce of blood before discarding you for bigger and juicier donors…

“Fuck it. I give up!” I yelled, tossing the small butterfly net aside.

Bladder empty, I became thirsty beneath the waves. So thirsty the urge to drink rivaled the urge to breathe… I opened my mouth, swallowing a gorge-full of the salty water, immediately regretting my stupidity. The surface of my tongue cracked, releasing a cloud of pink dust across tonsils. I was a hundred times thirstier than before... I thought I’d known what thirst was, but I had absolutely no idea...

[lightshadowverisimilitude]

A New Beginning 3/?

Here’s part three - and also my ‘rising to a challenge’ line

about 3k words, so watch for the cut. :) 

Part one Part two

The rush of cool air against his back woke him. Steve drew in a breath and let it out, but kept his eyes closed. The bed was warm, and smelled like Tony, and Steve was comfortable. It had been so long since he’d last woke up comfortable that he couldn’t make himself move. The sheets settled back around him as soon as Tony swung his legs over the side. Steve reluctantly dropped onto his back and peered at Tony through slitted eyes.

In the pale morning light, Tony looked again different. He wasn’t the larger-than-life cocky devil he’d been in the club, and he wasn’t the vulnerable, sweetly shy man of the night before. He was a cat in the sunshine, stretching out his arms, his spine moving like it was made of liquid. Steve ached for a paintbrush as he watched Tony’s shoulders shifting through the sunlight, followed the curve of his spine down to his hips. They were slender, about the right size for Steve to fold his hands around and rest his thumbs in the depressions on either side of his spine.

Steve stretched an arm over his head to curl around the top of a pillow and rubbed his feet over the sheets. He’d never slept on silk sheets before, but he was going to have to buy a set. It had been a long time since he’d slept so well, though that probably had a lot more to do with Tony sleeping next to him than the sheets. He was thirsty and his head hurt, but the full body ache that he’d been dealing with for months was all but gone.

Tony sat on the edge of the bed, stretching his arms out to either side and yawning. He twisted around to give Steve a sleepy smile. “Morning, hot stuff.”

A faint blush spread over his cheeks, but Steve smiled back. “Good morning.”

Tony flopped over and then flipped around to face Steve. He propped his head up on his fist and examined Steve with an unnervingly focused gaze. “This is a new experience for me,” he said finally.

“Sleeping with a stranger without sleeping with said stranger?” Steve asked. He rolled onto his side and mirrored Tony’s posture.

“That too,” Tony agreed, lips twitching up in a smile. “Waking up next the stranger I slept with? Also new.”

Steve hiked an eyebrow at him. “You usually kick them out before they can fall asleep?” he surmised. He had no right to feel disappointed in Tony or how he conducted his one night stands, but it did make something squirm in his gut. Tony had been nicer to him than just about anyone since he’d manifested, and he’d ended up falling asleep in the man’s bed. He shifted to sit upright, suddenly very aware of how naked he was in between Tony’s silk sheets. “I’ll go.”

“Don’t do that,” Tony said, looking a little startled. “I usually just wake up first and they’re usually gone when I get back,” he clarified, and then winced and added, “Frequently escorted by my PA.”

“You make your PA kick your one night stands out of the bed?”

Sitting up, Tony scratched a hand through his goatee. “Dick move,” he admitted. “But it’s not like they actually want to see me in the morning. They get what they want, my PA makes sure they get breakfast and get home, no awkward morning after. No expectations, no disappointment.”

“You take a lot of people home who don’t like you?”

“I take a lot of people home who don’t know me. They want a night with a celebrity, something to brag about to their friends, they don’t want to know who the celebrity actually is. Breaks the illusion to wake up next to someone with morning breath, you know?” He shrugged, but he was smiling. “Speaking of which.”

He hopped out of the bed before Steve could say a word, walking gloriously naked across the room, his bare feet slapping on the tile when he stepped off the plush carpet. “You want a toothbrush?” he called back over his shoulder.

Steve held a hand up to his face and breathed against his palm. His nose wrinkled, making him aware of the stickiness at the back of his throat and the fuzzy texture of his teeth. Steve slid out from under the sheet and searched the floor for his clothing. He found a pair of underwear on the floor, but they were bright red and satiny like the sheets. Without really meaning to, he rubbed the cloth between his fingers and thought about getting some of his own – if sleeping in silk sheets had been heaven, what would it feel like to walk around them all day? He imagined himself going about his day at the bookstore, bending over to re-shelve books, helping customers at the register, and no one any the wiser that he was wearing something so decadent under his jeans. His face heated up, but it didn’t make him drop the underwear.

“You can wear them if you like.”

Steve jumped and fumbled the handful of silky cloth before finally throwing them back to the floor. He whirled around, but Tony was leaning on the door jamb, still naked, still smiling, a foam-covered toothbrush held in one hand, and goatee damp. His eyes took in Steve’s naked form in a slow slide that just made the warmth on Steve’s cheeks pulse hotter, even as his throat tightened. A tingle spread over his skin, skipping down his shoulders, making his thighs burn, and then curling under his feet. Tony’s smile grew wider and he gestured to the little puddle of red satin at Steve’s feet.

“Seriously, seeing you walk around in my underwear would probably make my entire decade.”

Throat too tight to respond, Steve just snagged his own white cotton boxers off the floor and hurried into them. “You said something about a toothbrush?” he asked, ignoring Tony’s disappointed frown.

Tony made a gesture with his head and turned back into the bathroom. Steve followed, and found a packaged toothbrush and half-used tube of toothpaste on the counter between two beaten copper sinks. Tony stood in front of the sink against the wall, giving Steve the one closest to the door. He wasn’t sure if it was an intentional bid to make him feel more comfortable, but it did make him feel more comfortable. Considering that he was in nothing but his boxers in a stranger’s bathroom, feeling comfortable was probably the strangest thing about the past 24 hours.

Tony rinsed out his toothbrush, tapped it on the side of the sink, and dropped it into a brushed copper cup. He ran a towel across his mouth and then gave Steve’s reflection a wink. He walked his fingers across Steve’s shoulders on the way out of the bathroom, his smirk blossoming into a smile when Steve shivered from the contact.

“I’ll get breakfast,” he said.

~*~

Breakfast turned out to be a feast of every breakfast food Steve could readily name. He blinked as Tony unloaded another plate of warm pancakes to add to the three-tiered dish of pastries, waffles, glass jars of yogurt topped in fruit and granola, a basket of fresh fruit, a covered metal dish of eggs cooked every way, plates of bacon, sausage, and ham, coffee, three kinds of fruit juice, and a few things Steve couldn’t immediately identity.

“Didn’t know what you liked,” Tony explained, and though his voice was teasing, his expression was almost sheepish as he pulled a glass dish of syrup out of the last bag. He folded the bag up and added it to the pile on the counter.

He’d put on a pair of slinky black pants that practically advertised the fact that his underwear were still on the floor, and a ratty blue hoodie over his bare chest to answer the door. Steve had gotten back into his clothes, but was barefoot on the couch with their breakfast spread over the coffee table. Tony knelt opposite him, and he made a very attractive picture on his knees.

“Even with my metabolism, we’re not going to be able to eat all of this,” Steve said. He cleared his throat and looked away as Tony shifted around to get himself comfortable on the carpet.

Tony shrugged, snagged a piece of bacon, and said, “It won’t go to waste.” He gestured to the table with his half-eaten piece of bacon and suggested, “As long as you help at least a little.”

Steve obligingly took a plate and started picking through the offerings. Eating continued to be a challenge for him – he constantly felt hungry, and went through as many calories as an entire football team most days, but it never satisfied the ache in his throat. Some days he got hungry enough that he ate until it felt like he was going to throw up, but it just left him more miserable than before. He was very conscious of Tony watching him while he peeled an orange, but kept his eyes firmly on his plate.

“So,” Tony started after Steve had made it through most of the plate and an ice cold bottle of water. “How likely would you be to kill me if I called a friend of mine who also happens to be an incubus?”

“I don’t know how comfortable I am with that,” Steve said, setting the plate down. His fingers drifted up to his throat and he forced his hand back to his lap. He made himself look up in the general direction of Tony’s face and gave him a smile. “I appreciate the thought.”

“Sure,” Tony said with a nod, “I guess starving to death on someone’s couch is better than asking for help.”

Steve flinched back and then glared across the table at Tony, briefly meeting his eyes before jerking his gaze away. “That is not what I’m doing. I go to the damn clinic three times a week, where a succubus ‘mentor’ spends an hour telling me about all the things I’m doing wrong. I don’t need another one.”

Tony held a hand up in mute apology. “I know you don’t know anything about me, but I guarantee that my friend is better than the state-funded counselor at a clinic.”

“I don’t like to be poked and prodded at, Tony, and other Seducers make me nervous. Why do you care? You just met me.”

Taking a big bite of toast and talking with his mouth full, Tony said, “Maybe I’m a humanitarian.”

“I’m not human,” Steve reminded him pointedly. He fished another bottle of water out of the center of the table and unscrewed the cap. He was too full, but his throat was only getting tighter the longer he sat across the table from his very attractive, very human breakfast partner. The conversation was just making him hungrier. He should have left before Tony had started calling around for food.

“Well… maybe I’m a Faeitarian. Or,” he said, straightening up and making a big production of looking like he’d just had an epiphany. “Or maybe I would just like you to not die.”

“I’m not going to die,” Steve said, “Just being around people is enough to subsist on.”

“Because subsistence definitely sounds like living. Humor me – just a phone call, no other Seducers invading your personal space. Promise. And maybe,” he added, “We can do some of that practicing I offered.”

Steve scratched at the back of his neck, both uncomfortable and intrigued. He tried to come up with another refusal, but Tony appeared to realize that he’d won and just snagged an apple out of the basket. He took a loud bite, and turned licking the spatters of juice off his lips into an art form. Steve sighed and crushed the empty bottle between his hands. Tony just grinned at him.

~*~

Tony’s workshop was pristine, every surface perfectly clean and organized, the floor polished to a museum shine. Despite that, it didn’t feel sterile. If anything, it was the warmest, most lived-in room that Steve had found so far in Tony’s space. He followed the man around the tables, glancing down at the projects spread out around the workshop. There was enough work out for ten people to stay occupied, but Steve didn’t think many other people were allowed in the space.

Flopping into a swiveling chair at a tall workstation, Tony called out to the air, “Call Bruce.”

Steve looked around, but they were alone. The screen above the workstation lit up a soft blue and started to beep. Steve hesitated before picking another chair and pushing it closer to Tony. He kept a hand on the back and turned it idly, watching Tony spin in the chair.

“I’m not sure if I should be impressed or worried that you’ve called me at a reasonable hour,” Bruce said as soon as the line picked up. He had to shout over a loud commotion of people and cars and general closeness that made even Steve – a life-long New Yorker – a little nervous. “Is this an emergency?”

“Sort of,” Tony hedged, glancing up at Steve.

Steve tried to correct him that it wasn’t an emergency, but he couldn’t unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. He glanced up at the screen, but it was still glowing the same pale blue.

“Is this the ‘I can’t remember where I hid the dried blueberries’ type of sort of emergency, or the ‘I’ve been framed for treason and am about to be arrested’ type of sort of emergency?” Bruce asked over a rustle of cloth and the hollow clang of a shoddy wooden door.

“Not really either of those things,” Tony said. He twirled in his chair to face to Steve. “You’re on speaker, Brucie. Say hello to my friend Steve.”

The other end of the line was quiet but for the clatter of Bruce trudging up a flight of stairs. “Hello, Steve.”

Tony waved encouragingly between Steve and the screen. Steve’s lips pressed together and he looked down at his hands where he was clutching the back of the chair. He let out a slow breath and said, “Hello, Bruce.”

Through the phone, another door screeched open and then closed. There was a rustle of bags dropping to the floor and then the whoosh of a body dropping into an upholstered chair. “Alright,” Bruce said after a moment. “What can I do for you, Steve?”

Steve said nothing. He looked away, fixing his eyes to the table on his right. A shallow box was on the top with a rectangular device that he couldn’t identify in the middle and various tools and wires arranged neatly around it.

“My friend is an incubus, Bruce,” Tony said.

“I can hear that,” Bruce answered neutrally.

“He’s newly manifested and doesn’t know how to feed.”

The chair under Steve’s hands creaked and he looked down sharply to see that his knuckles had turned white. Something about the sound of Bruce’s voice, the sound of his breathing was making Steve’s shoulders tense up and his mouth flood with saliva.

Bruce made a vaguely uncomfortable noise. “Tony, how old is your friend?”

“Twenty-two,” Steve answered for himself, his sharp and annoyed. He was tired of being asked his age and being looked at sideways when he said anything other than ‘fifteen.’

“Okay,” Bruce said with no particular inflection. “When did you manifest?”

Steve made an uncomfortable noise of his own and stepped away from the screen. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging restlessly. It felt like his meetings with the succubus counselor at the clinic. She usually had to move behind a glass wall within a few minutes of starting their session. Bruce wasn’t even on the same continent and it was making him just as nervous. He paced back to the chair while Tony watched him with measured curiosity. He shouldn’t be curious, he should be frightened. Steve tried to figure out how to tell him that he needed to be worried without scaring him. He didn’t want to frighten him, but a growing part of him wanted to take Tony away from the screen – he was too close to it, and the voice on the other side of the line was too strong. Steve didn’t like the way Tony was looking at it, and it wasn’t even a person – the person was on the other side of the damn planet and Steve still felt threatened.

“Steve?” Bruce prompted.

“Few months,” Steve gritted out, glaring up at the placid blue screen.

“And there’s no one there to guide you?”

“Clinic counselor.”

Bruce made a sympathetic noise. “Ouch.”

“I know, right?” Tony put in. He made a zipping motion across his lips when Steve shot him a sharp look and Bruce made a similarly sharp noise over the line. “You take this chair,” he decided despite his mouth-zipping gesture, “And I will get some work down. Feel free to put the display on, Bruce. He’s worth looking at.”

Tony gave him a saucy wink and Steve smiled despite himself. A moment later, the screen flickered briefly black and then came back on an image of a small room decorated in rich textures and colors. Bruce sat in a chair with a small kitchen visible behind him. Based on the strength of his voice and the feeling Steve had gotten just listening to him, Bruce’s appearance was not what he was expecting. He looked harmless and kind, though that was maybe even more dangerous than the typical incubus who looked like – or so Bucky said – a Roman statue come to life.

“You two kids have fun,” Tony said, patting Steve’s shoulders. He turned away, but then paused and leaned around Steve to look up at the screen. “But not too much fun.”

Part Four