#and never EVER addresses his decision to very pointedly not call her that for half the expansion. AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[tritoch]

going about my daily business just living my life and then remembering erenville and cahciua's dynamic and breaking into a cold sweat.

he never even tells her he goes by erenville he never even tells her he goes by erenville ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[pyroclaststan]

The Reveal

CW: cursing—younger Kingsley used to curse up a storm outside the stutter, soft shit

Your left hand busies itself with your coffee, an almost-burn from the heat seeping through the cardboard holder, scalding in a way you can handle and appreciate.

Your free hand clenches. Unclenches. Clenches. An old song and dance that will never leave you; a reflex you can’t shake. You would start another internal diatribe about how that’s going to get you killed or found out one day, but your mind is too busy to start a fight: even with you.

Your shields are up, held close and tight to keep out the majority of the hive that moves through the city. Small stretches of the mind now and then assure you that you’re not being watched, but you always retreat quickly before you accidentally latch onto some feeling or thought that might drain you before your day has even begun. So far the coast has been clear, but that means nothing when it comes to the kind of people you’re hiding from.

The woman on the opposite end of the patio having coffee with her friends is glancing at you again over the lip of her mug. You sense no deception, no recognition… why does she keep looking at you? Small smiles your way you’re not used to receiving. Hunching down a little, you politely push her focus back to her friends, leaving behind the feeling that she’d mistaken you for someone else: you’re simply a kind old lady enjoying some tea. Keeping a mental watch on her, she is quietly fed small bits of supporting emotions until her group leaves.

An unbidden shudder climbs up your spine, so you tighten your grip into a tight fist as if you could physically wring it out if not mentally. Again and again, as always: the stress, anxiety, every bit of nerves—all compiling and in overdrive. Today is the day. The light pain of nails into palm takes the edge off before you sink into a spiral of thoughts about this decision. You take a drink to ease your mood.

“You’re late, Chrysantamum!” a voice calls out from behind you, startling you mid-sip of said scalding hot coffee.

“Fucking fuck!” you spew, your customary curse half garbled by liquid.

Luckily, your hands are fast enough to pull the cup away and mitigate most of the damage: just a burnt tongue and throat for you. Some light coffee spots for your clothes. A bundle of napkins takes care of those and the spill on the table.

That ridiculous name alone tells you who got the jump on you, let alone the fact that someone got the jump on you at all with your vigilance.

Ricardo Ortega.

At least you can say he learned not to jump out and surprise you from the front—you can proudly say he knows better after that kick he took to the chest… and the various incidents after. And he’s been apparently been experimenting with your name now that he’s learned that, too.

Delightful.

You suppress the collection of biting words and spicy curses you come up with in response to him, once again quietly regretting you ever gave him a name at all. More so, regretting that once you turn around, he will finally see your face.

Why, for the love of any and every deity you could pull from your repertoire, did you agree to this? Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile—you know this, but here you are: ever forward ever deathward towards his orbit. Your sigh comes from a depth you didn’t realise you had in you. There might have been a little Steel channeled into it, if you’re honest.

You can’t say you’re surprised Ricardo knew it was you. This is specifically the address you were supposed to meet at, he’s noticed a few curls poke out from under your mask when your hair wasn’t braided, and even with you sitting he’s learned your signature slouch by now. ‘Fucking fuck’ probably isn’t an everyday curse either, but who’s to say?

Looking down, the clothes on your back are also a dead giveaway. A decently okay grey button down that was liberated from Ortega’s locker at Ranger’s HQ, the skinsuit that anyone else would mistake for a turtleneck peeking out from the sleeves and collar, an ages old hoodie hole-filled and sun bleached on the back of your chair, your secondhand high-water dress pants not quite long enough for your lanky legs, and your ratty old stompers bear laces in a telltale Ranger blue—courtesy of Anathema.

Of the few things you paid attention to today you made sure you didn’t give Ortega the ego boost of wearing the Charge laces they’d also gotten you, though you hope he doesn’t notice the earring out of the many lining your ears. They’re stacked with studs instead of rings today, in case you need to slip your mask on and make an escape. You should’ve have by now.

You are a particular brand of patchworked charity both subtle and recognisable to the favoured few who get to know you. Today is the day they’ll get to know you. Again, you remind yourself how much you already regret it. You hope you’re a decent enough ‘you’ for them to get to know.

Right hand into your thick curls you pull silently at a coil, reminding yourself that this is you here, and eventually that’s got to be enough for someone. Even if it’s never going to be for enough you. You idly ponder what colour your new braids should be as a self-distraction tactic before slipping your hand out and deciding to crumple up a napkin instead, fiddling with the texture of it. One stim for another as you wait out your impending doom.

Ortega’s steps grow louder as he gets closer, telltale modded weight in each step, and your cheeks begin to heat up at the approach, the buzz of his mind coming into staticky focus. Ha! There’s a new nervousness building now, and a little panic? Or rather, a touch of anxiety over your looks—he’s rubbing off on you in the worst ways. But you can’t hide the thought: if he doesn’t like what he sees? He’s only ever known you—and kissed you—with your mask on. You never care to care how you look; you’ve never tried to dress in any way that wasn’t covert and unassuming.

Damn it. You remember you forgot your cap.

Yours, not the Rangers one Anathema also got you (always buying you merch in a heavy-handed gesture) that you pointedly only wear when Chen is around, always over your mask.

He hates it, you love that he hates it. You wish he’d like—

The Steel-related thoughts you have on that note are mashed down before they can even bubble up. No time for that molotov cocktail of clusterfuck.

This meet-up has been planned for nearly a month, allowing you time to stake out a place, begin preparations, and come up with ample excuses to back out. You didn’t.

Idiot.

You made Ortega swear on his life that he would keep your face out of the papers, off the net, and completely unaffiliated with anything having to do with him. The front of his shirt was in dire need of dry cleaning by the time you finally let go of it, losing your nervous edge once the deal had been done. This is a risk beyond any you’ve ever taken and you’re doing it because you like him enough to try and make your fake life a little more real. Because you like having friends. Fucking fuck.

You make a mental note to have ‘World’s Greatest Idiot’ put into any possible epitaph you may get after this.

A weighted pause. You just realised what he said. How are you late? He’s here an hour after the agreed upon time in classic Ortega fashion. He’d almost be exasperating if he wasn’t so calming at the same time. Stupid static mind, resisting your every touch but giving out just enough feedback to settle you.

Wrapping your annoyance, frustration, and nerves around you like a brittle shield, you gather any venom you have left as a defence mechanism. A hard look very softened by the blush on your freckled bronze cheeks as you hear his steps stop just on the other side of the cafe railing to your left. The white noise of his mind quiets so many of your errant thoughts, and while the impenetrability would usually annoy you, right now it is a soothing reminder than this is, in fact, your best friend beside you.

You pointedly ignore the growing heat in your ears. And cheeks. And throat. And stomach.

“I’m uh, not an expert on interpersonal bullshit, but aren’t nicknames supposed to be sh-shorter than your actual name?” you huff, trying to put as much edge into your voice as you can in your current state.

Finally you turn your head, an annoyed glare in Ricardo’s direction before he can get out his smart ass response. Refusing to be soft, refusing to make this an easy reveal and hopefully showing how completely uncomfortable with all of this you are. How far out on a limb you’re going.

He won’t get it anyway.

And if you did show it, he sure doesn’t respond to it: instead, his face is lit up like a Christmas tree. His eyes dart around so fast, taking in every inch of yours so quick that you fear they may come loose and fly right out of his head. His grin is blinding—amazed and beautiful—and it takes every ounce of self-control for you not to turn away from him or vault the fence and make a run for it. You avoid the temptation to look closer at what you briefly noticed was a very nice, very new suit… as a preventative measure, of course. Can’t let him see you sweat, or, y’know.

The two of you finally make real eye contact but after even a few beats it’s too much for you, so you pointedly look away from his gaze, sipping your coffee and allowing him the privacy to study you while he can. As if being looked at wasn’t already distasteful enough for you, having your features memorised and scrutinised gives you even less pleasure, but at least now he’ll stop pestering you about it. Not at all happy that you wish you could read his mind to find out what he thinks.

No sooner than you have that thought does the soft little ‘mierda’ come from under his breath, making you want to die on the spot—you sincerely hope you’re not becoming a tomato.

“Kingsley Chrysanta,” he half announces, half inquires. Testing the reigns of his newfound knowledge most likely. Placing the name alongside the face in his head, and connecting a string between them like the many on his whiteboard. At his blooming smile your heart speeds up and your stomach does a flip. Id-i-ot!

“Yeah yeah,” you mutter against the rim of your now empty coffee cup, “we get it: you know my whole name now.” You look back at him, holding his line of sight with a half-hearted sneer. “I can do it too, Ricardo Felipe José García Sparkles Ortega. See? We b-both know words.”

He’s got a look of triumph and an even brighter grin on that note, your teasing bouncing right off of his impenetrable shield of sunshine, like he’s happy you memorised his name. Ricardo’s airy laugh is almost mystified, and the exhalation that he lets out is suspiciously soft before he confirms, “It really is you.”

“Got it in one,” you can’t stop your answering smile, suddenly aware of how crooked yours is compared to his. And that halts you. How disheveled and awkward and unreal you are compared to him.

Don’t go there. Not now.

“Your speech is getting better,” he comments softly, carefully. “Looks like me annoying you into talking really is good for you.” His sly smile aimed down at his shoes.

Your speech has been getting better, though that is also a product of your own efforts, not just his: he always thought you said so little for no reason. Taking it slow, smaller sentences, and keeping calm have helped you manage your impediment—you get less frustrated trying to speak. You think less about the fists that gave you the problem in the first place. You ultimately refuse to acknowledge his statement, correct as it may be.

“My point still stands: that’s long for a nickname,” your deflection hopefully going unnoticed. “Don’t you, uh, usually just call me King? What happened to that one?”

He’s much closer now, leaning forward over the barrier in that way that puts him right inside everyone’s bubble: personal, personable. In his defence, however, he’s keeping his hands firmly on the railing, as if to stop the rest of himself from going right over. The twitch on his lips and the white-knuckled grip of his hands are the only clues to how much he’s feigning composure right now—well, that and the static to his mods. But still being patient, still keeping your direct space open, and keeping quiet about whatever is on his mind. Always so kind to you when you need it, and even when you don’t.

“Anyone can call you King: mine’s more personal,” he smiles even wider, nodding like his words are sagely.

“And long,” you frown, complaining just to complain. Being contrarian has been a trusted weapon in the face of Ricardo’s… everything.

“I think it works,” he answers your complaint with a smug look back at you. “Chrysanta, Chrysantamum. Get it?” A bright laugh. “It’s a good pun, with how your hair kind of reminds me of the flower in a way. ‘Cause of all the layers and petals, but instead they’re curls—plus we met in November! That’s that month’s flower, or the flower of that month, and…”

You’re stunned by the rationale he’s giving as he continues to list things off: insight and perception you’ve often accused him of not having. His hands are moving about, his head tilting to and fro, his expressions and gestures and movements all clockwork to you by now. But more importantly: he’s rambling, downright nervous, more focused on counting off on his fingers than looking at you. Suspicious. New. Cute. You focus back onto his words.

“…and it’s when I’ve decided your birthday will be, since you refuse to give me a date,” he finishes while you’re mulling over thoughts, a look in your direction for a reaction.

“Are you calling me a flower?” A frown, not taking any birthday bait.

The faces he makes go on a journey for a few moments before he collects himself with a small exhalation, rubbing at his forehead before dropping his hands into his pockets. He seems a little flushed. Probably not best to stand around in the Los Diablos heat.

A small smile perks up inevitably. “Would it be better if I answer that with the idea that I’m calling you my flower?”

You can’t even hide your groan on that one, responding to his repeatedly lifting brows with a furrow of your own. Half disgust, half embarrassment, all stomach flip.

“Stop! I’ll vomit. Or worse, get a migraine.” You make a face at him and rub your temple, but it only seems to delight him further. Shades of you he’s never seen before being revealed now.

“Right right, not in public.” He gives a conspiratorial wink, rotating left and right on his heels, as bad at staying still as you are—your leg’s been bouncing up a storm and your napkin can’t get much more crumpled. “Anathema should be showing up soon, anyway. We can save our personal stuff for later.”

You absolutely do not colour slightly at the innuendo in that statement, and you assuredly do not glance down at his lips. At this point your skin colour may as well be burgundy.

“Oh, so you gave them the wrong time so you wouldn’t be the last to arrive, huh? Should’ve known something was off when I got to actually enjoy a moment of quiet in this city.”

Aiming quickly, you bullseye him in the forehead with the balled-up napkin.

“Oooh, sassy when your shell’s off: now I get why ‘Thema voted for King Crab instead of the flowers.”

You make a very sour face. He cackles, his whole upper body bending back almost losing balance as he holds his stomach. You immediately reach out and force away the attention of everyone who’s looking to see what’s going on, making them all register the sound further away and from the opposite end of the street.

“Fucking fuck—f-for a nickname? That’s it. I’m moving to San Francisco and getting better friends.”

“That implies anyone else in the world would want to befriend you.” He states gleefully as he jumps out of your reach, dodging your swipe at him as you lunge from your chair.

“I’m sure some single, lonely Ranger up there might also have a th-thing for tall, angry vigilantes.” Your turn for a sly look. “Maybe there’ll be an uh, autumnal wedding—I’d still let you be my best man.”

“Just don’t get mad at me if I object: someone has to act in the groom’s best interest.” He shrugs exaggeratedly, matching your smile and banter.

Reflexive, telepathic pushes make the others on the patio and in the cafe ignore the two of you and your shenanigans. It’s draining, but you can pick up on how quickly your distractions melt away and Ricardo gets recognised again in his public face. You’d almost forgotten about that with the warm buzz of Ortega on your shields and occupying your mind. Dangerous to be so inside your own head that you forget about the ones around you.

Time to get moving then. A quick glance about as you step aside to throw away your empty cup—training telling you to check for exits, hats, and thoughts pointed at you.

“I suppose it would also be too cruel of me to subject, uh, anyone else to your friendship.” You straighten your shirt and pick up your mottled jacket and small bag, adding drama to your sigh as you slip them on to head out.

“Perish the thought: who’d last a day by my side with the trouble we get into?”

“Being your friend will be the death of me, I’m sure.” Funny in a dark way, considering how close you two have come to death together, so many times.

“And yet…” he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and looks at you thoughtfully, walking down the street with a light pace, “…you still choose to do all this. With me.”

Falling into step, your tongue stills in your mouth. You question yourself and your intentions but ultimately: you decide to slip him a piece of truth. Walking the dangerous lines like he does but in quieter ways.

“I’ve uh, never really known wh-what to do with choice: I’ve always just done what I’m supposed to do. Everything that’s happened since I came here… it’s liberating and it’s terrifying, but it’s mine, right?”

You want to kick yourself for the little lilt to your voice at the end, but your eyes are too busy silently pleading for some kind of understanding and validation.

These little choices, these silent confessions, these quiet surrenders… these are everything you have to give to a man with the whole world before him. You have nothing else, and no one will never understand how much weight and truth is behind that. You’ve wanted nothing but to help people since the day you were decanted: you have always felt so deeply, all too easily touched by other minds, and once you picked from enough thoughts to develop the words and concepts for it, you knew you wanted to be a hero. A not-so-gentle reminder that it was them who taught you to fight the bad and save the good, but pleasing in that you know they’d disapprove of how you do that now.

From one government operation to the next, you stupid, silly fool.

In that, Ricardo has always been symbolic to you: heroics and freedom made flesh. You’ve known since the day he saved your life—in your early days, homeless and squatting with your first ‘friends’—that you would follow this man into hell. But now, you know him. You know you would do whatever it takes to protect him, because he’s not a symbol, he’s all too real, too human—and that has made him even greater to you. No longer content with being a shadow, but wanting to be a shield. He is an inspiration, yes, but he is foremost your friend and partner. Maybe something more.

He responds to your question with a fond, sincere smile and a nod, and you start to think maybe it might be the same for him.

“It always will be,” he says quietly, pausing mid-step to look at you like he’s really seeing you. Not like earlier, but like he does when you’re in your suit: searching, trying to reach out, but only as far as you’ll let him.

It’s a deep look between the two of you, holding too much meaning but from sides of understanding the other will never get. The white noise of his mind hinders any opportunity to glimpse what he’s thinking or feeling, leaving your telepathic fingers missing any chance to understand what that look of his means. The soft moment is interrupted by a cheerful, “Hey!” sung out in the distance.

A familiar mind practically screaming in elation and pointedly directed at you, impossible to ignore and so easy to pinpoint.

Anathema is in the middle of the street, wildly waving and doing a little jump as if there were any way that you could miss those red curls and freckled arms out there in the open, even if there was a crowd. With a laugh, they come running over to you and Ortega once you two wave back, enthusiasm filling the air with an almost heady energy.

Someone is happy to see you… you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to that outside of a fight.

“Look at you! It’s YOU!” Anathema declares with a flailing of arms pointed at you, looking between you, who looks rather uncomfortable with the attention, and Ortega, who is beaming and loving this.

He immediately hops to their side, arm around their bare shoulders pulling at their cut-off tank top’s strap to pull them in, the other also flailing in your direction.

“It’s them! They’re real!” he exclaims in response, partially mocking but another part still hyped up from the revelation. “Sidestep, in the flesh!”

The two of them are jumping up and down, holding onto each other and chanting your name repeatedly, either in an attempt to welcome you excitedly or to embarrass you completely. While their intent may be the former, you are feeling entirely the latter. More minds you focus on pushing away light up: these two draw so much attention.

“Please, stop,” you mumble looking around at all the owners to the minds you feel trained on you. “You’re making a scene… and my s-secret identity is supposed to be, y’know, a secret.”

They both stop their hopping, attempting to look sorry but their grins are just the opposite. Their frozen pose looks like circus act waiting to begin.

“You can’t blame us for getting excited—the big secret has been revealed! I mean, look at you!” Another manic gesture from Anathema. “You’re so! Wow! Real!”

“Thank you for your o-observation: scientists may now rest knowing the universe’s grandest mystery has been laid to rest,” you snark.

“Wow,” they sigh almost dreamily, “it really is you, dude.”

“I feel like we’ve established that ten, maybe, maybe fifteen times now,” you sigh exasperatedly. You’re absolutely not embarrassed or flattered, you’re just scratching your ear because you’re checking for all your piercings, not because of any heat.

“Well, you gotta forgive me, y’know? Like, you haven’t been exactly the most accessible person in our day-to-day lives given the ratio to how often you’re around and in the shit with us. And then here you are: unmasked, named, walking down the street with ‘Tega like you live here or something.” It’s a grand smile they aim at you, one that you can’t resist answering.

“Yeah, I’ve been known to wander to and fro in the city now and then. Usually uh, when a group of blue unitard wearing assholes get into trouble they can’t get out of themselves. Heroes, y’know? Can’t even match the same shade m-much less clean up their own mess.”

After about a full minute of laughter at that joke you fear Anathema might keel over right in front of you: they’ve got a death grip on their ribs and their face is as red as a tomato.

Ortega claps you on your shoulder causing you to flinch: you didn’t pick up his intentions to do that of course, or even notice him slipping in by your side, so you shoot him a dirty look that he doesn’t notice while he looks at Anathema.

“Vigilantes and their egos over here… can’t live with ‘em—“ he trails off.

“—Can’t live without ‘em,” they finish.

You suddenly understand Steel’s complete and absolute refusal to ever hang out with the three of you. In fact, you let out another one of his customary groans in respect for his sacrifice: having the three of you as allies.

“Did you chucklefucks rehearse this skit or have you been i-improv comedians the whole time? At least I know that if you’re hero careers fall through you’ll uh, have a back-up option.”

You’re getting nervous out here unmasked and in the open with two of the Los Diablos Rangers, and the effort to actively track and distract any minds coming your way is burning you out fast. It shows in the harsh tone you’re starting to adopt and the jokes you use to deflect: always the type to swing instead of run.

“I forget you have such a filthy tongue sometimes,” Anathema pouts, only partially serious. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No, and I got it from my babysitter, thank you very much.”

Your flinch goes unnoticed but it’s still time to stop talking and get moving. Your smile is caustic, easily mistaken for an annoyed look with your joke, but you too easily told the truth.

You technically had a sitter, and you did pick up her incessant cursing as a defence mechanism: it makes for a good character trait and convinces people to leave you the hell alone when you don’t use your telepathy to do the trick. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a bit good, too.

Ortega is frowning at you, but as you turn to look at him it disappears before you even see it. Instead, you get a grin.

“Truly, this asshole is where I hath lain my affections,” he bemoans, genuflecting along with his performance before carrying on to walk ahead.

“We never said you had taste.” Anathema’s elbow catches his ribs as he passes them, falling into step after you.

You roll your eyes. “Clowns.”

“Welcome to the circus, Saltstep,” they shoot back.

“Alright, I’ll concede to that one,” you rub your neck and cast a guilty look towards your friends.

Sometimes you find the heat all too easily and throw back harder than you mean to, never quite sure of how hard you hit. She taught you more severity than restraint, but the point of being under your own control is to be better than that. “I can show that I am capable of, uh, not being a dick head for at least an evening.”

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?!” Ortega yells, throwing his hands into the air dramatically, getting a good laugh from Anathema behind you.

“Please, don’t hurt yourself on our behalf, ‘Step,” they follow up, still laughing.

“Kingsley,” you supply, casting a look back and down at them over your shoulder. “You can call me Kingsley… that’s kind of the point today, right?”

A soft smile in your direction, followed by a hushed tone, “I hope you didn’t mind the song and dance back there, I just know that if we didn’t show you how happy we are to see you, you wouldn’t believe it.”

As good at reading you as you are them.

You rub your neck and flex your hand. Reality catching up to reassert it’s weight on your shoulders. You suddenly feel watched—seen. Anyone anywhere could be looking at you and you haven’t even been paying attention. You scan yours surroundings, peeking into minds and shuffling through emotions, guiding any and everyone to forget any glimpse of you. Your ‘don’t look’ aura is as hard as the expression on your face.

“…I believe it.” A truth that won’t kill you.

“So soft, Chrysantamum,” Ortega says sweetly from up ahead, making sure not to look at you or make a big deal of it. He knows you’ll run if put under any more pressure. Especially with where he’s leading you.

“Cállate, Rico,” a playful smack to the back of his head like you’ve seen his mother pantomime doing.

Oh no. She’s going see your face one day, too. Your regrets are playing Tetris at this point.

“Aww! I want a personalised nickname for ‘em too! Hmm…” they fall into silence for a while, making plenty of exaggerated sounds. “Yeah, I’m stuck on King Crab.”

“What?! Why?” you whine.

“‘Cause you’re so tough and snappy but you’re so soft underneath the shell,” they supply, far too pleased with themself.

“I like it,” Ortega laughs.

“You’re killing me today guys.”

You all stop walking. Or rather Ortega stops, and you crash into him—that damned blank spot of a man—and Anathema crashes into you, always speed walking trying to keep up with your legs.

Three Stooges, just like Owl said. You bristle at the thought of her and wrinkle your nose.

“You’re not dead just yet. One more stop to go,” Ortega says, rubbing his neck as he turns and looks at you sheepishly.

“Huh?”

You turn your head and see exactly what he means: Rangers HQ.

“…No. Absolutely not.”

Before you can even side step either of them, they’ve both got you by an arm, planting themselves.

“King! It’s just the rest of the team: you know them.” Anathema’s looking up at you, trying to give you a half-assed puppy dog face you blatantly ignore by looking over their short head.

“Oh, yeah. It’s only Sentinel and Sunstream and the entire staff and whoever w-watches your security and visitors and Steel! Nothing big.” You stress the last name heavily, as if that should say all it needs to.

“It’s just Steel, Chrysantamum. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You can’t resist the modded strength pulling you towards the building, and stepping back onto Anathema’s toes will do nothing: even if they weren’t wearing boots. Their cut off shorts stop right above the knee, but a kick like that won’t work either. Damned invulnerability.

“Let’s see: he could say he hates m-me to my actual face, he could see my actual face, he could exist within the same r-room with me outside of my suit, I could exist in the same room with him—also outside of my suit…”

The moment they let go to throw their hands up in defeat you reach up, grabbing your hood and tearing it down over your face harshly, just as you all get into the lobby. You turn on the spot and step into Ortega’s space aggressively, fists balled.

“No one gets my name who’s not core team. No one gets my f-face who’s not core team. You erase, or let me erase, all traces of me from the, from the cameras and security checks, and any room we end up in I get to disable any electronics. I’m not taking another step until you agree.”

At this close a proximity, Ricardo has to look up at you. His face is soft and understanding, as Anathema walks away to handle the front desk clerk. “Hey,” his voice equally soft but serious, “I promised. No cameras, no press, no net. Nothing you don’t feel comfortable doing.”

“I don’t feel comfortable w-with any of this, but I can’t exactly wipe your minds and go about my merry way, now can I? You know that’s a lot of work, even for me.”

You both wince at that low blow, instantly regretting it slipping past but refusing to back down. Neither of you need to mention the name Riley to know the implications of your comment.

“Got it, you feel cornered,” he sighs. “At any point: any time—doesn’t matter when—you decide you wanna leave? Just tell me, and I’ll walk you out; we’ll take the back way out, the works.” His face softens a bit to an apologetic smile. “Buuut I definitely can’t let you into our security system without clearance: you’ll have to settle for tearing apart accessible wires. We’ll call it a security test.”

“Deal.” You stomp away, headed over to the elevator where Anathema is waiting, trying to gather your nerves into adrenaline.

Just think of this like a fight.

The doors chime and open and your stomach pools to the floor as those two step right past you and go in, one leaning on the left, one leaning on the right. Both smug.

Bastards. Trapping you in a small space, easily pacified, easily taken out. Right in the belly of the beast itself. Not like before: a new threat.

You step in and turn around, looking out the doors like they’re your last chance at salvation. Your hands clench and unclench, your breathing is getting a little rough, you start to sweat and thoughts—too many to sift through—start to bubble.

Please no, not a panic attack in an elevator with two people you see regularly.

A hand quietly slips into yours and gives it a squeeze. The doors are closing but you look to your left, at Ortega who is looking up at the floor display, not at all paying close attention to you. You get another squeeze and catch a small lift in the corner of his lips. A squeeze back and they lift a little higher.

You turn back to the closed doors, swallowing hard as the movement kicks in, and take in a deep breath to kick out the images of an older, crueler place.

You’re only about to expose yourself to the entirety of a government-owned and monitored team of superheroes. You’ve done worse. Like escape another government-owned and independently ran black site. This is a piece of cake by comparison—it only completely puts your life in danger. Your teeth grind as the beep of arrival sounds.

Chen is at the doors, just as they open, looking up from the papers in hand. He looks wide-eyed at you, trying to figure out who you are before his eyes go down to your hand in Ortega’s. He frowns and narrows his eyes at you.

Idiot, idiot, idiot!

[riotwritesthings]

The Curious Witch and the Cursed Wolf

Chapter 4: A Choice and A Chance | AO3

And this is the end! Art as always by the fantabulous @gayspacesprinkles​. ILYBRO.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Next week, my other specialty. Filth.

Title: The Curious Witch and the Cursed Wolf (Chapter 4) Collaborator(s): Riot @buckybarnesbingo​ Square Filled: C1, “kiss me” @starkbucksbingo​ Square Filled: B2, Chosen family Ship/Main Pairing: WinterIron Rating: T Major Tags/Warnings: fantasy AU, witch!Tony, wolf!Bucky, fairytale vibes, Non-graphic injury Summary: Once upon a time there was a man, and a wolf. They both went into the forest looking for different things, and instead they found each other. Word Count: 2,181

~~~

Once upon a time there was a wolf.

He never would have thought he’d find himself traveling with a witch, but it was the happiest he could ever remember being.

He still didn’t know who he used to be, where he came from, but with every day he cared less.

The wolf no longer longed for a home he couldn’t remember, content to follow the witch through the forest, wherever he led.

He watched the witch study plants and strange stones, watched him interact with the people and other strange things they met among the trees.

Always so eager to learn, to help.

The wolf had never met anyone like him.

~~~

“Have we passed that tree before?” Tony asks, adorable wrinkle between his eyebrows. “I thought you said you have a good sense of direction.”

I do, Bucky thinks and huffs as he nudges Tony in the thigh with his shoulder, grinning when Tony squawks and pretends to trip over him. The forest is circular.

“That’s awful,” Tony says gleefully. “I love it. How does that even work?”

He spends the next half a day trying to guess and Bucky doesn’t even understand half the words he uses. He could happily listen to Tony talk all day, could listen to it forever.

“What do you think, magic vortex or temporal wormhole?” Tony asks eventually, grinning at him, wide and bright.

Changed my mind, I think you jus’ got us lost, Bucky thinks and then barks out a laugh when Tony tries to shove at him, dodging easily out the way.

“I’m going to turn you into a rug,” Tony grumbles.

Bucky snaps his teeth and Tony just laughs, and Bucky can’t stop his tail from wagging even as he growls louder.

“You haven’t died yet?” Comes a voice from up above them, hidden among the thick leaves, and Bucky rolls his eyes as Tony’s face lights up.

“It’s you again!” Tony says happily, head craned way back to stare up into the trees. “Why don’t you come down here?”

“Not until he stops making that sound,” the voice says, and Bucky catches a glimpse of soft blue light between the shifting branches.

He growls louder.

“That’s his happy noise!” Tony calls helpfully and Bucky loses his growl in another huff of laughter.

Pepper is grumbling to herself as she slowly floats down towards them, pointedly much closer to Tony. Bucky gives her a toothy grin.

“So, what, he just likes being cursed?” Pepper as she bobs around Tony’s head, making a thoughtful sound when Tony swats at her. “I can actually see that, probably useful to be a wolf in a forest.”

Pretty useful, Bucky admits, because it is, more than once he’s had to get between Tony and the things they meet. Things with fangs and claws.

Tony is too curious for his own good, but Bucky has sharper claws, bigger fangs. He will do anything for Tony, and by now everything in the forest should know it.

"Wait, is it— do you know how to break the curse?" Tony asks, face lighting up the way it always does at the prospect of learning something new

"I'm not the one who's a witch," Pepper, as if the answer should be obvious.

“Can I break it?” Tony asks, and Bucky’s heart jumps in his chest.

He hadn’t even thought—

Pepper sighs, impressively loud for such a tiny thing.

“Probably,” she says and her wings flutter, as if shrugging. “You won’t know unless you try, that’s been your method so far, right?”

“Aw, you’ve been watching,” Tony says, fluttering his long eyelashes, and Bucky laughs again.

“Maybe,” Pepepr says with another tiny shrug but floats a little closer, glows a little brighter. “You’re more interesting can carrying gossip for lazy old witches.”

“A ringing endorsement,” Tony says, nodding, then grins when the glowing light lets out a delicate laugh and swoops down to bounce off the top of his head.

“So you’ve almost made it out of the forest now,” Pepper says and she’s addressing them both now. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No,” Tony says, but he’s smiling widely and Bucky can hear the warm, happy thump of his heart. “And also very much yes.”

Better, Bucky thinks smugly.

He hadn’t come into the forest looking for anything except to survive, never could have expected Tony.

“I’m glad,” Pepper says, like she really means it. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“You should take a vacation sometime,” Tony says with a teasing grin. “I really do have a million more questions.”

An’ I could use a good snack, Bucky adds, flashing his teeth.

Pepper huffs again, bounces off Bucky’s head too before disappearing into the thick trees.

“I like her,” Tony says decisively.

You like anyone who gives you shit, Bucky thinks fondly.

Tony gasps, clutches his hands over the glow in his chest, and Bucky barks out another laugh.

“I’ll show you,” Tony grumbles, chases him through the trees when Bucky turns and bounds away, breathless and laughing.

They stop for the night when the trees start to thin, starlight peaking between the shifting leaves.

Bucky has barely stretched himself out and lain down before Tony is curling in against his side, so small when Bucky is at his largest and still so unafraid.

He flicks his tail up over Tony’s lap and chest even though the nights are warmer now. It’s habit, and he likes to feel the steady rise and fall of Tony’s chest.

Tony runs his fingers through Bucky’s fur, smoothing tangles and pulling loose twigs and leaves.

“Would you want to be human, if- if I even can break the curse?” Tony asks, his voice so soft and his eyes fixed on his hands. “You could... find a new home. Make a new life. If you want.”

Bucky whines, presses his nose to the curve of Tony’s neck. He can hear the rapid thump of Tony’s heart, the catch of his breathing.

Want to stay with you, Bucky thinks, with all the feeling he can possibly put into it. Any size, any shape.

Tony’s heartbeat jumps and his chest glows warm and bright.

“Okay, okay that’s- good,” Tony says and Bucky can hear his smile.

He falls asleep quickly, head tipped back against Bucky’s ribs and snoring softly. Bucky curls around him a little tighter, thinks about being human.

Bucky falls asleep more slowly, dreams of being able to hold Tony’s hands in his own.

~~~

Once upon a time there was a man.

He left home looking for somewhere to belong. Instead, he found someone to belong with.

It was so much better than he could have imagined.

He went looking for a way to help, a way to make life better, and he found magic.

The people of his village had told him he wouldn’t find anything, insisted it as he’d packed up to leave, and he proved them wrong.

He couldn’t wait to show them what he could do, how much he could help. So many of his wonderful ideas he could finally bring to life without worrying about materials.

So many more places he could see.

And someone to see them with.

~~~

Where will you go, after the forest? Bucky asks as morning sunlight pours through the leaves, emerald bright. Back to your village?

Tony continues scratching behind Bucky’s ears as he thinks about the question, still sprawled across Bucky’s back, warm and half asleep.

“To start,” he says. “Are you- you’re coming with me, right?”

Bucky hesitates, and Tony’s heart sinks a little in his chest.

The hunters, the other witches, they’ll still be lookin’ for me, Bucky says slowly, ears drooping. They won’t follow me into th’ forest, but if I leave...

Tony wiggles his way down off Bucky’s back, slides around to sit in front of him. Takes Bucky’s giant head between his palms.

“I won’t let them get to you,” Tony says and he’s never meant anything more, looks Bucky right in his sad, stormy eyes so he’ll know it. “You protected me in the forest, and I’ll protect you out of the forest.”

Still gonna protect you, Bucky says with a huff but his eyes are lighter, like sunlight beginning to break through storm clouds.

“Yeah yeah,” Tony says with a wide smile and leans in to press his forehead to Bucky’s. “So we’ll just have to protect each other, how does that sound?”

He can feel it when Bucky drags in a deep breath, lets it out slowly. The forest is alive around them, loud with the rustle of wind and creatures through the trees and bushes.

Tony’s world stands still.

I want to break the curse, Bucky finally says, low and sure. An’ I want to stay with you.

Tony sits upright again, chewing on his lip.

“I, I can try, I just...“ Tony trails off for a moment, ducking his chin. “I don’t want to mess it up, if I hurt you—“

You won’t, Bucky says, like he knows it, like he doesn’t have a doubt. I trust you.

Tony can’t breathe for a second, can only nod. No one has ever said that to him before, no one else has ever wanted his help.

Just try, Bucky says, bumping his head against Tony’s chest and giving him a toothy smile.

“Okay,” Tony says, smiling back helplessly. “Okay.”

So he scoots back in the dirt, closes his eyes and holds up his hands, and tries.

The forest falls still and silent, even the wind dying away.

Bright light fills the small clearing, bright enough that Tony can see it through his eyelids, and then vanishes. Tony opens his eyes to a giant puff of smoke where Bucky should be, and his heart is in his throat.

The wind picks up again, motion returning to the trees, and the cloud of smoke slowly clears away.

“You did it!” Bucky cries, then smirks with lots of teeth. “Was kinda hopin’ you’d have to kiss me, though.”

His voice is still low and warm and now real, eyes still stormy blue and so familiar.

He’s also very naked, all pale skin and thick muscle, not a hint of shame.

“Clothes!!” Tony squeaks, slapping his hands over his face. Even if he can’t help peeking between his fingers, just a little. “I didn’t know I needed to include clothes!”

“Clothes,” Bucky repeats with a scoff and he doesn’t seem concerned, too busy dropping to his knees and laughing, tugging gently at Tony’s elbow.

“Humans wear clothes, that’s the deal,” Tony says and keeps his hands planted firmly over his eyes, face burning with the force of his blush.

“‘M gonna kiss you now,” Bucky says, very politely. “Please move your hands.”

“You need pants!!” Tony insists as he peeks between his fingers again.

“Can’t believe you think that’s more important right now,” Bucky says with a pout, crossing his arm over his chest. The fluffy ears still on top of his head droop a little.

Tony isn’t sure if he’s just bad at breaking curses, or if Bucky had been under the curse too long. He supposes it doesn’t matter, Bucky certainly doesn’t seem bothered.

“I’m putting pants on you!” Tony declares, because that is what’s important right now. He’s a little lightheaded with all the heat gathering in his cheeks.

Bucky yelps a little in surprise when the pants appear on him, then quickly returns to tugging Tony’s hands away from his face.

Tony lets his arms fall but Bucky catches one of them by the wrist, gently and carefully winds their fingers together, clutches him tightly.

When he looks up Bucky’s eyes are lighter than Tony has ever seen them, practically glowing. His smile is wide, a little awed, and full of sharp teeth.

Tony smiles back, gives his hand a little tug.

“Now kiss me, what are you waiting for?” Tony demands petulantly.

Bucky laughs, and then he does.

~~~

They walk out of the forest, hand in hand, and the world opens up huge around them.

Tony barely recognizes the inn, with its fresh coat of paint and flowering shrubs. The windows stream light and music onto the grass, a dozen raucous voices floating in the dusk.

It feels like forever since Tony was last here, since he walked into the trees alone.

The old man waves from the back door, doesn’t look surprised to see him at all.

Tony waves back with a wide grin, and the old man laughs loud and booming, turns to return to the kitchen.

“So, back to my village?” Tony asks as he turns to Bucky, that tiny pit of fear still in his stomach. Still a tiny bit unsure.

“Wherever you want,” Bucky says, like a promise, giving Tony’s hand a squeeze.

“And then wherever you want,” Tony insists. “Anywhere you want, that’s only fair.”

Bucky blinks at him, and then smiles.

“That’s fair,” Bucky repeats and pulls him in.

Once upon a time there was a wolf, and a man.

And they lived happily ever after.

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 11

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 11 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 10 / Part 12

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: swearing

Historical Inaccuracies:

Not sure that Veronica went with Queen to Ridge Farm at all, but hey— creative licence!

Word Count: 6.9k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You woke up late, and this you knew because from downstairs you could distinctly hear arguing, and it was rare that any of the others deigned to get up before eight in the morning, which was when you normally awoke.

You wandered into the kitchen with your hair still quite mussed by sleep, but in the very least you were dressed. Unlike Queen, who were waltzing about in pyjamas and dressing gowns.

“It’s just a bit weird, Roger,” Deacy was saying.

“Weird? It’s just a song, John!”

“Just a song?” said Freddie. “Then tell me, darling, why it is you’re pushing so hard for it to be on the album, hm?”

“With my hand on your grease gun?” Brian recited from a piece of paper, glasses on his nose. “Really, Rog?”

“It’s a metaphor, Brian!”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, good morning, Y/N,” Freddie addressed you.

“Hello everyone,” you said, amusement still on your lips.

“Morning,” Deacy responded, while Roger grumbled something.

Brian smilingly handed you a cup of coffee. “Back me up on this, would you?”

You leaned against the countertop, next to Brian, whose posture was so positively awful that you could almost look directly into his eyes. But you avoided that carefully; his pyjama top was only half-buttoned, and the pale skin of his chest was visible beneath the open collar. It reminded you of how he had looked on the album cover of Sheer Heart Attack, how your eyes had fallen to where he lay with wide eyes, parted lips, his shirt unbuttoned. Borderline indecent. And outrageously attractive. As he was now.

You cleared your throat. “I don’t know, what’re we talking about, exactly?”

John rolled his eyes. “Roger’s car song.”

“Car song?”

“Mm,” Brian sipped his coffee.

“You’re just jealous that I’ve written something on guitar that’s better than anything you’ve written,” Roger sniffed.

Brian looked affronted. “I’m the guitarist, I have a right to be offended, and no, it’s not better than mine.”

Roger scoffed. “You’ve written exactly two songs—”

“Two and a half,” said Brian pointedly.

“Oh, sorry, two and a half. And exactly one of them is written with an electric guitar piece, and the other one is on... what?” Roger searched for the word. “A ukulele?! This is rock ‘n’ roll, Brian, not bloody folk music!”

“Folk music?!”

“You play the ukulele?” you interjected.

Brian glanced at you. “Not very well, but—”

“He’s going to learn to play the harp too,” Freddie added. “For my new song.”

With a smile in your direction, Deacy said, “You know he plays the piano as well, Y/N?”

You blinked at Brian. Talk about multi-talented.

“Concentrate for a fucking second!” Roger exclaimed, and everyone jumped. “No, don’t concentrate on Y/N, Brian.”

Brian sputtered, throwing up his arms, “I wasn’t—”

“It’s not going on the album, Roger,” Deacy shrugged. He seemed not to dislike the concept of the song, so much as to be getting back at Roger for discrediting his own song writing abilities.  

Roger turned to Freddie, pleadingly.

Freddie sighed.

Roger’s face was at this point red with frustration, and he marched from the room.

“Roggie, we can discuss this,” Freddie appealed.

“Can’t,” Roger called back.

Freddie took one look at you all, and you followed him as he hurried after Roger.

You heard a slam! and then a clicking noise, and you frowned, puzzled. Roger had disappeared.

“Roger?”

“Roger, stop this. Where are you?”

“Rog?”

“Go away,” came Roger’s muffled voice.

Deacy raised his eyebrows, catching on before the rest of you. “This trick is getting old, Roger.”

“What the hell—” Brian yanked the handle of a cupboard door. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

Roger had locked himself inside the cupboard. Just like he’d locked you and Brian in the kitchen.

“Oh, I’m serious,” said Roger. “Put the bloody song on the album, or you’ve lost your drummer.”

“To a cupboard?” inquired John politely.

“...Yes.”

Freddie barked a laugh. “You’ll starve, Roger.”

“Uh,” you began, “sorry to be a downer, but uh, he won’t starve.”

“What?”

“That’s the pantry,” you muttered.

“Why the hell does it have a lock?!” cried Freddie.

“I don’t know! I didn’t design this place!”

Brian placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, and you looked up at him in surprise. “Don’t you have a key?” he said.

Your mouth fell open. “God, I’m actually stupid.”

“No, you’re noooot,” sang Roger from inside the cupboard. “I’ve got it.”

Freddie mumbled something along the lines of, “Well. Fuck.”

“Anyone feel like picking a lock?” Deacy ran a hand through his hair, rested his hands on his hips.

“Or you could just put the fucking song on the fucking album,” said Roger.

“Are we sure you’re the one with the temper, Bri?” you asked.

There was silence. Freddie nodded at you solemnly, eyes wide.

Brian sighed, his hand slipping from your shoulder. Instinctively, you reached up to touch the spot where his fingers had previously curled, soft and warm.

“No one’s winning any points here, Freddie,” Deacy said diplomatically, after at least a full minute of silence. “Let’s just put the song on the album. I’m sure it’ll be fine. It is just a song, after all, you know.”

“Listen to the wise man,” Roger intoned.

“That’s a good line…” Brian mused. Then he sighed again. “You’re so full of yourself, Roger.”

“So that's a yes, then?”

“Fine. But you owe me a siding.”

“A siding?” you asked.

“Next time there’s an argument,” John explained, “which will quite frankly be very soon, Roger has to take Brian’s side.”

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding.

“Freddie?” Roger piped. “I’m not coming out of here until you say yes too.”

Freddie tapped his foot against the floorboards. “Fine, but only because I’m nice, you bastard.”

“That’s actually rather contradictory, Freddie,” said Deacy.

“No, it’s not. I’m the nice one, he’s the bastard.”

“Okay Fred,” Brian replied, unconvinced.

Just then, Heather entered the hall, dressed in a kimono-esque garment you were sure was Roger’s. “Morning, all. Has anyone seen Roger?”

“Ha!” said Freddie. “No, darling. Not for the past few minutes. But god, we’ve heard him. Makes a frightful racket when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

Heather smirked. “Oh I know.”

Deacy laughed.

Freddie shook the cupboard handle, “Roger, are you coming out of the closet or what?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” There was a rattling, and then the cupboard door swung open. Roger stood there, eating a strawberry licorice rod.

You crossed your arms. “You can’t possibly have got hungry in so little time.”

“Peckish,” Roger shrugged. “Good morning, beautiful,” he swept over to Heather and they embraced.

“Ick,” Freddie waved a hand. “Get a room.

“They have a room,” Deacy pointed out.

Brian muttered, “Well, get back to it.”

You laughed.

“Mm, well, anyway, I came to ask why the hell you left our room in such a mess,” Heather jabbed Roger’s chest with a finger.

“You sure that’s not your mess, sweetheart?”

You looked at Heather. “You just came here to kiss your boyfriend, didn’t you?”

“Maybe… Yeah. Sorry Rog. But I also came to ask Y/N if she’s coming with us..?”

“Where’s who going?”

“To town. Veronica and Mary and I, I mean. When we get back, we’re going down the hill to play tennis. We saw your dad earlier, and he showed us where to find the rackets and everything.”

You paused, considering.

“Decisions, decisions,” said Brian.

“Shush, I’m thinking,” you poked his side, and he yelped, leaping away. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Oh, he’s ticklish,” said Freddie helpfully.

A devilish smile formed on your lips, to which Brian shook his head slowly.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He flushed in response.

“Y/N? Coming or not?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, about that...”

“Or you can come with us to the studio,” suggested Brian.

You didn’t really want to go into town, and Brian had just given you the perfect excuse not to.

Freddie seemed to register your disinclination as well because he said, “Never mind, Y/N. You took too long to decide, so now you don’t get a choice. I need you in the studio with us.”

Heather seemed to accept this explanation, though really, as your closest friend, she should have known you wouldn’t have wanted to go into town. Her lack of friend-intuition likely stemmed from the fact that the two of you had been spending less and less time together as of late. You were hanging out more with Queen, and you supposed, though Heather and Roger were often together, that you were beginning to be closer with the members of Queen than you had ever been with Heather. The thought struck in you a great feeling of melancholy, and for a moment you thought of changing your mind about going with her and Ronnie and Mary, so as to spend more time with her, your best friend.

But Heather wasn’t struck by any such notions of pensive sadness. “Oh well, it appears you’re needed here,” she said. “Want anything from the shops?”

“Wouldn’t mind a chocolate bar,” you smiled.

“Done,” Heather winked at you. “Bye, Rog,” she kissed his cheek and departed.

“Now,” Freddie clasped his hands, “let’s get to the studio.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Right,” you said decisively. “Try ‘People of the Earth’ again.”

It was four weeks since Roger had locked himself in a cupboard to make the others accept his car song onto the new album, and every day since that had been spent hard at work, with only the evenings devoted to relaxing.

Every morning, you would rise at seven and be in the studio half an hour later, where Roadie-John and Crystal would help you to set up, in time for the others to come and tune instruments and arrange various things at about eight o’clock. The days were then spent writing and recording demos, though mostly writing, as tapes had to be done on handheld recorders, since the studio was not yet fully furnished— your dad still had to install a soundbooth and proper recording equipment.  

In the late afternoons and evenings, there were fiercely competitive tennis matches, particularly between your dad and Deacy, who got along as well as ever. There were trips to the pub where your mum greeted you all with discounted pints, there were games of croquet and pool, and everywhere you looked, there was Brian, with some camera or another, from Polaroid to Pentax to an Iloca Rapid stereo camera.

From candids to posed shots, he took pictures of you all, all the time, at every spare moment, though Brian himself always avoided being in front of the camera. You got the feeling that he was, strangely, camera shy. You found it very sweet, though, and so it became a challenge for you to try to take pictures of Brian. He countered this with a challenge of his own, and soon the two of you were fighting a photography war. The result was far too many rolls of film peppered with blurry and out-of-focus images, but Brian didn’t seem to mind that his film was being used on this. He was always smiling when he was taking pictures.

It had yet to be warm enough for you all to take advantage of the swimming pool, but as the days got longer and the sun rose higher in the sky, the indoors would grow stuffy, and the sparkling blue-green water would become a sight for sore eyes.

Freddie now had three songs completely finished, with at least another two in the works. One in particular was quite dear to him, and enthralled you all; it was segments of several different songs woven together in an incredibly artistic manner, and for every day that passed, Freddie added even more segments. He went to such lengths to ensure the song’s perfection that one day, he even declared your dad’s piano unsuitable, instead having a piano of his own, a white grand piano, moved in. It had been an absolute ordeal to get that piano into Ridge Farm’s little studio, and you were sure you that even if you lived to be a hundred and four, you would never forget the shouting and the swearing and the sweating and the laughing and plotting entailed by the piano-shifting day.

Brian, on the other hand, still had only managed to write two songs, and bits and pieces of a third; you teased him that he was becoming more the band’s photographer than their guitarist. Roger continued to work on his car song, but poor Deacy had yet to write anything at all.

Today was Friday, and the five of you had been at work for hours, stopping briefly for a lunch of sandwiches in the garden. You were acting both manager and producer for Queen, and currently, the four of you were trying to help Brian to develop his half-song. It wasn’t going particularly well.

The midafternoon was warm, and the touch of sunlight upon your skin was making you drowsy, and making the others overly finicky and short-tempered. Especially Brian, to whom the pressure was presently applied.

He was running his fingers through his curls every few minutes, and his posture seemed worse than usual when he paced the room, unable to stand still for the frustration of not being able to bring into existence the whisper of a song that danced around his head.

“Vocals, I assume?” said Freddie.

“Yep. Let’s do that.” Your eyes were on Brian, who had kicked off his shoes and was chewing his bottom lip. He didn’t really look up to yet another failed attempt at harmonies and melodies, in fact, he didn’t look up to anything. But you were on a schedule and had to power on, at least for a little while longer.

“Count us in, Y/N?” Roger asked, and you nodded.

“One, two, three, four…”

Oh, oh, people of the earth!

"Listen to the warning," the prophet he said

For soon the cold of night will fall

Summoned by your own hand

The harmonies rose and the four of them made it successfully through a verse, sung as it would have been live, meaning that John was contributing too, though he declined to do so for any of the actual recordings that would happen in the future. A whole verse was quite a feat, one that hadn’t been achieved for the past hour, and you motioned for them to continue through the next verse.

Ah, ah, children of the land

Quicken to the new life, take my hand—

On this line, Brian’s eyes flicked to yours, and in them you saw desperation. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his mouth twisted in a grimace. Take my hand seemed a cry for help.

“You know what,” you interrupted quickly, “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Thank goodness,” said Deacy at once, stepping away from the practice microphone he had been sharing with the others. “I’ll go out on a limb here and say a swim is a good idea..?” He looked around, and the others nodded with defeated temperaments.

Brian in particular concerned you; he was basically swaying at this point. Roger seemed to notice this too.

“Brian, mate, have you had enough water to drink today?”

Brian shook his head, dazedly.

Freddie frowned.“No, I think not.”

“Here, have mine.” You retrieved your water bottle and brought it to Brian. He clutched it but said nothing, and worry roiled in your stomach. Deacy took his arm and guided him over to sit down on the piano bench.

You gathered around Brian, and Roger nudged his hand. “Go on then, have some water.”

Bri unscrewed the cap of your water bottle in a mechanical manner, raising the bottle to his lips and drinking slowly.

“Far too hot in here,” you muttered. “Really must get dad to fix the blinds and the fans.”

“‘S alright,” Brian managed, but he still seemed rather faint, his skin pale and clammy in appearance. The others looked worried, and you wondered if they’d been faced with a similar situation before.

“Come on, darling,” said Freddie. “Let’s get you outside, some fresh air, yes?”

Brian nodded, and together, you and Freddie helped him up.

Outside, you locked the door to the studio while the others deposited Brian on a conveniently-placed bench.

For a few minutes, you and Deacy sat with Brian in silence while he sipped his water and kept out of the sun, and Freddie and Roger had a smoke.

Then Brian finally spoke.

“Thank you,” he said, handing back your empty water bottle. “Sorry I drank all of it.” He winced, and you hoped that it wasn’t because he still wasn’t feeling well.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. Plenty more water where it came from. And I’m sure you’ll need more. Don’t want a second incident of overheating.”

He chuckled softly, and you knew then that he was on the mend.

“Shall we join the others and go for a swim?” John suggested again as the five of you walked back toward the main house. Amongst you, it was quickly agreed to meet by the pool in ten minutes, and so all went their separate ways to get changed.

Eight minutes later, you had swapped cotton for nylon, coated your skin in sunscreen, and slung a towel over one arm. The pool was down the hill, by the tennis courts, and as you followed the path, the others came into view.

Mary and Heather were lying in a pair of yellowed sun chairs, chatting, while Ronnie and Deacy appeared to be having a water fight in the pool, teamed up against Roadie-John and Crystal. The Tetzlaff-Deacon forces were winning, pushing Crystal and Roadie-John farther and farther to their side of the pool, but then again, the roadies seemed to be going easy on their enemies, seeing as Ronnie was nearly nine months pregnant. Roger was sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs in the water, his face turned to the sun and his sunglasses ever-present on his face.

Freddie came down the path behind you, and when he made it to the pool, he threw down his towel and dove straight in.

When Freddie bobbed back up to the surface, Roger splashed him, as payback for having been splashed. Freddie retaliated by pulling Roger into the water by his legs, to which the latter yelped.

“It’s COLD!” he shrieked, and Freddie laughed.

Spotting you, Freddie motioned toward the water. “Come in, darling, it’s lovely.”

“I think I believe Roger more than you, Freddie,” you narrowed your eyes.

“Oh,” said Heather, “don’t. He’s a bit of a wimp, you know.”

“Hey!” cried Roger indignantly. “Then why haven’t you got in, Heather?”

Heather glanced over at Mary, who shrugged. “Your funeral,” she said.

Heather tugged off her coverup, and before Mary could object, grabbed her arm and leapt into the pool, Mary screaming before the two of them plunged under.

“Oi!” said Deacy as they splashed himself and Ronnie, and Heather giggled while Mary shook her drenched head of hair.

“Oh come on, Mary,” Crystal splashed her. She glared, then splashed him back, laughing.

“Y/N, get in!” Ronnie called to you.

You’d put down your towel on a sunchair, and now stood eyeing the pool warily.

It was a large pool, both long and wide, which meant there was more than enough room for all the people already in it. But it wasn’t the pool’s occupancy that deterred you, so much as its temperature. And the fact that Brian was nowhere to be seen.

“I don’t know, Ronnie…”

“The more the merrier!” said Roadie-John.

Roger shoved him. “Don’t say that. It sounds creepy when you say it like that.”

Roadie-John looked at Crystal, who nodded. “Yeah, mate…”

“Sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine, it’s not that, it’s just…”

“Spit it out, lovey,” Freddie said, and now everyone was looking up at you.

Add self-consciousness to the list, check. You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Has anyone seen Brian? He did almost faint, you know.”

“Oh, she’s worried about him, poor love,” cooed Mary. The others made similar noises, Roger contributing kissy faces.

You gave them a murderous look. “Seriously! Are we sure he didn’t just go inside and pass out somewhere?”

“No… We can’t be sure, if we haven’t seen him…” Freddie pursed his lips.

“So you haven’t seen him?” Your hands were growing sweaty, and you wrung them.

“No,” said Deacy, “not until now.” A sly smile spread across his face.

You frowned. “What—”

“Hello, love.”

Arms wrapped around your waist and soft breath tickled your skin, but you had no time to register any of this, because suddenly, you were flying through the air toward the swimming pool, and the water was rushing up to meet you, and you were squealing.

You went under, and the water really was cold, but not like ice, just enough to shock the last of the drowsiness from your being. It was quite nice, actually, to feel awake for once.

In a rush of bubbles, you returned to the surface and whipped your head about wildly, searching for Brian as the others laughed. It turned out that he was right behind you, again, smiling brilliantly and smoothing down his curls.

“Oh, you bastard!” you cried, giving him a hefty shove, and he laughed, splashing you. You shook your head, spraying him with water. “And to think I was worried about you, Bri.”

“Awh, worried about me? What’d I do this time?” He tilted his head to one side, gazing at you expectantly, all doe-eyes and soft lips. With a jolt, you realised that you wanted to pull him to you and kiss the gentle curve of his mouth till he melted against you.

You blushed.

Freddie gasped delightedly. “Oh look, she’s blushing!”

“Awww,” Roger chimed, and you considered drowning them both.

You rolled your eyes in their direction, regaining your composure before looking at Brian again.

Oh, how hard it would be to look at Brian now, when such thoughts had stumbled through your head. But you forced yourself to do it, because you had a façade to uphold.

“You were feeling a bit faint, earlier?” you said casually. “I know your type. Slightly weak constitutions, I’m afraid.” You paused to examine your nails, frowning at invisible specks of dirt.

“You know my type?” Brian crossed his arms over his slim frame, narrowing his eyes. But a smile played on his lips. “And is it yours?”

Your eyes widened, you dropped your hand.

Roger spoke your thoughts, “Bit forward, Brian?”

Brian shrugged his angular shoulders, nonchalant. “Only a question. She must have experience, if she’s asserting she knows my type.”

You crossed your arms too. “Oh yeah I have,” you drawled. “I’ve got loads of experience.”

Deacy practically snorted with laughter. Brian raised his eyebrows at you.

You stepped toward him, squaring your shoulders and raising your chin. “Does that bother you, Brian?”

The sun cast shadows across his face, and his hair fluttered in the breeze. The cool air whispered across your skin, but you didn’t shiver, you weren’t cold. You felt hot all over, even as you stood motionless beneath his hazel eyes.

His lips parted, and when he leaned down, his voice was low, a hum.

“Should it?”

A piece of your precious façade crumbled.

The others couldn’t possibly have heard what he’d said, and he’d clearly meant for it to be this way. But it had brought you back to reality. The reality which was that had you pulled him down to kiss you, he would have pushed you away.

Oh, how wrong can you be. Desire had very briefly blinded you to his lack of the same for you. You wouldn’t let it happen again.

“No,” you said, “but this should!” You splashed him and he gave a cry, and a small water fight ensued.

This then led to Roger’s organisation of a water war, where he insisted upon teams of girls vs. boys, until Freddie pointed out that the uneven numbers would place Roger on the girls team, “Seeing as you look the part, Rog”. Roger quickly changed his mind, though not before whacking Freddie. The teams ended up with you, Roadie-John, Freddie, and Mary pitted against Brian, Roger, Crystal, and Heather, while Deacy settled Veronica against the cushions of a sunchair.

There was no way to count points, so the war, which was really more of a battle, finished after about half an hour, when more than one person had complained of tired arms, and the rest of you had realised that it was impossible for either side to win.

Half of the party stayed swimming, but you, Mary, Freddie, and Brian were cold, and elected to join Ronnie and Deacy on the deck.

Unfortunately, the sun was more harsh than some people— i.e. Brian— had anticipated, and so, after a good long drowse on the deck, some people were starting to look a bit pink. Actually, a bit pink was putting it nicely.

He was lying on his stomach with his face turned away from the light, curls falling partially over his eyes. His skin did not have a tendency to freckle, but his cheeks were rosy and the little lines at the corners of his eyes were deepened by the sun, giving him the glow of someone who smiled often, even when his lips were slack and soft and the expression could not have been farther from his serene features.

Having laid your towel down beside Brian’s, you now reached over to tap his hand.

“Bri?”

“Mmm?” He barely stirred, but he had not been asleep, only dozing, his exhale gentle and his shoulders relaxed.

“Did you put sunscreen on?”

His eyes fluttered open. “Oh shit,” he murmured, and he couldn’t have said anything more prettily. “Am I burnt to a crisp?” he asked languidly, the corner of his mouth turning up.

In a breath, your eyes skimmed over his bare waist, back, shoulders, returned to his face and his half-smile.

“Very nearly,” you said. He shifted an arm experimentally, then winced. Pressing his face into his towel, he let out a groan.

“Whatever is the matter, Brian?” Freddie said over a cup of tea, tipping his sunglasses down his nose.

“Burmpt,” he mumbled into the towel.

“He’s got a sunburn,” you translated for Freddie.

“Ah.”

Deacy, hearing your conversation, leaned over to his wife. “My dear, didn’t you say you brought aloe vera, just in case?”

Veronica blinked sleepily before registering what John had said. “Oh, yes, I did. It’s in the downstairs bathroom, in my toiletries bag. You’re welcome to it, Brian.”

Brian raised his head again, squinting at Ronnie.

“Darling,” Freddie interjected, “he doesn’t know what your bag looks like.”

Veronica gestured to you, “Y/N, you know the one, the cream-tone bag with the silver edging.” You nodded, and she turned back to Brian. “Just take Y/N with you, she’ll show you.”

Brian sighed, then rolled onto his side and sat up gingerly.

He held a hand up over his eyes. “Feel like a stroll, Y/N?”

You stood, stretching your legs. “I would be a terrible friend if I said no.”

“And you’re not, you’re a wonderful friend, so you’re coming with me..?”

“You don’t have to ask. Come on.”

You picked up your towel and slung it over your shoulders, starting back up the path.

Brian was right behind you, taking careful steps to avoid particularly sharp pieces of gravel because he had once again neglected to wear shoes. It was never proper shoes with Brian; he alternated between clogs and socks and being barefoot entirely. With this, and his delicate countenance and curling hair and faraway thoughts, he was afforded the air of some woodland nymph or fairy.

He was beautiful.

You were very well aware.

Inside the house, you quickly found Veronica’s bag and the aloe vera.

Entering the living room where Brian was waiting, you triumphantly tossed the bottle into the air and caught it again. “Ta-daa,” you presented your find to Bri.

“Oh, brilliant!” he said as you passed him the bottle. “It is actually beginning to hurt quite a bit.” He touched his shoulder absently, then grimaced.

“Now that,” you said, “does not look like fun.” You made a face, then went into the adjoining kitchen to get a glass of water.

“How come I’m the only one who got burnt?” you heard him ask petulantly.

“Because, Brian dear, the rest of us put on sunscreen. And you are on the pale side of things.”

“Oh hush,” he said with exasperation, “you’re starting to sound like Freddie.”

You laughed, but you had also been in the process of drinking your water, so it came out like more of a cough.

“You alright in there?” Brian called.

“Yeah, fine,” you said, wiping the water from your chin. “I just can’t drink water like a normal person.”

“At least you don’t forget to, then nearly faint into your bandmates’ arms.”

“True,” you conceded, and he scoffed.

“Make me feel better, why don’t you?”

“What about you? You okay in there with that aloe vera?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t taste very nice.”

You rushed into the living room, “Brian! You’re not supposed to drink it!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he said, laughter in his eyes at the look on your face. “Christ, love, you’re like a deer in headlights.”

Your stomach tumbled— there it was again, the endearment.

Never darling or dearie, like Freddie; never sweetheart like Rog; never dear, as Deacy occasionally dubbed you. Always lovely, or love, as though he had such to give to you. And when Brian loved, it was fierce. You could see that from how the passing or his aunt haunted him, and how he still missed the cat he’d had in his childhood. His love for those around him was wholly consuming. The disapproval of his father picked him apart from the inside, he defended his friends with valour and gall when not physically pulling them from a fight, and it was plain that he would continue to do so for as long as he lived. But whomever he loved and however it was he loved, he did not love you.

And would never, for as long as he lived.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry, lost my train of thought,” you shook your head.

His brow furrowed. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Doin’ alriiiiight,” you sang.

Brian gave a laborious sigh, rubbing aloe vera over his shoulders. “You really need to spend less time with Freddie,” he said.

“What?” you leaned against the doorframe. “And spend more time with you instead?” You couldn’t help yourself, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. But Brian took it in stride.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he said with a smile, and you were glad you were leaning against something; your legs couldn’t have carried you at that moment, had your life depended on it.

“Y/N,” Brain began hesitantly, “there’s something I have to tell you—”

“Knock knock!” came a shout from the front door, and you and Bri turned toward the sound. Veronica waddled into sight a few seconds later, and you went into the kitchen to greet her. “Found the aloe vera?” she asked.

“Yes,” Brian nodded. “Thank you.”

“No trouble,” Ronnie eased herself into a chair by the dining table. “And I’m sure Y/N could—” She gasped.

“Ronnie?” you asked, as Brian said, “Are you okay?”

Veronica raised her eyes slowly. “I think my water just broke.”

“Uh,” you began. “And what day is it..?”

“It’s the eighteenth of July,” said Brian.

“That’s… early,” you frowned, rooted to the spot because you were quite clueless as to what to do.

Then you looked at Veronica. Her eyes were wide and her hands were shaking, and she’d gone quite pale. “That’s why I’m panicking!” she cried.

“Right,” Brian sprang into action, sweeping over to Ronnie and helping her up. “Let’s get you cleaned up and ready to go, Veronica. The contractions won’t be long now. Y/N, would you run down and fetch John— and Roger, since he’s the only one with a car— please?”

He looked at you almost pleadingly, as though you would ever have said no.

“Yes, of course,” you breathed, and hurtled out the door.

You rounded the corner to the swimming pool and tennis courts almost before you could notice how far you’d run. You’d never run this fast in your life, and after today, you did not intend to do it ever again.

“DEACY!” you shouted, and he got up from his sunchair immediately. Everyone else looked equally alarmed, no doubt with the same questions in mind that John voiced.

“What is it? What’s happened? Are you alright—”

“Yes, yes, god, I’m fine. But Veronica’s water just broke.”

“Oh fuck,” Deacy swore, throwing on a t-shirt and losing his sunglasses in the process. Freddie picked them up swiftly, put them back on John’s head.

“Roger,” you called, “we’re gonna need you to drive.”

“I’m coming,” he said, pulling on his shoes whilst hopping from foot to foot. “Deacs,” he clapped his friend on the back because Deacy had gone completely still. “Let’s go.”

Deacy nodded, swallowed. “I’m going to be a father,” he croaked.

“Yes yes,” said Freddie, “and a wonderful one at that. Now, away with you, darlings.” Freddie gave them both a push toward the path. “And what do you need from us, Y/N?”

“Stay here and make sure you’re by a telephone,” you said. “I’ve got to go with them— to give directions. And please tell my parents where we’ve gone, if you see them!”

“Will do,” Freddie was all business. He called to Deacy, “Good luck, dearie!” and the others echoed similar sentiments from about the pool.

You resolved that one more run wouldn’t hurt too much, and followed Deacy and Roger’s jog toward the main house.

Inside, Brian was waiting with Veronica, a glass of water and a packed bag of her things sitting beside her as he rubbed her shoulders. Brian himself had put on a button-up shirt, but had once more left his top two buttons undone. The sight of him undid you a little bit.

“See, John’s here now,” he said soothingly, and Ronnie gave a little cry, arms outstretched for her husband. “Her contractions have started,” Brian explained.

Deacy ran to his wife and hugged her gently. “Shhh, my dear, I’m here now. And Roger’s got the car keys, so we can go.”

Roger held up his keys triumphantly, then rushed back outside to start the Alfa Romeo. In response, Veronica only nodded mutely, burying her face in Deacy’s shoulder and clinging tightly to fistfuls of his t-shirt.

“Come on, let’s get you up,” Brian murmured, and he and Deacy helped Ronnie to walk toward the door. “Y/N, would you take that bag, please?”

“Yep,” you grabbed the bag and followed the others outside, shutting the door behind you.

Deacy and Brian aided Veronica into the backseat of Roger’s car, and you hopped into the passenger’s seat as Roger shifted gears and pulled out of the driveway.

Roger drove toward town, and made it successfully through in less than thirty minutes, by the combined efforts of speeding and ignoring traffic laws entirely.

“Now, help me out, Y/N,” he said, as a crossroads was reached, and you began to give directions.

In total, the drive took about forty minutes, and with Veronica’s contractions getting closer together, it was a relief to everyone involved when you told Roger to pull into the car park of the Royal Surrey County Hospital.

Out of the car went Ronnie, and you all hurried into the hospital building.

Deacy was swept away with his wife, leaving you and Roger and Brian to stand around aimlessly in the lobby.

The rush of urgency that had pounded through you in getting to the hospital had diminished and slowed now that you knew that your friend and her future child were in good hands, accompanied by the loving husband and father to-be. Deacy may have gone stock still when you’d first arrived by the poolside with the news of Veronica’s condition, but like Brian, when faced with the situation itself, he was a natural, and it was easy to see that he was going to be a wonderful father.

“Well, thank god that’s over,” Roger said, falling back into a chair.

Brian scoffed, taking the seat adjacent. “For you, maybe. The poor woman’s still got to go through labour for christ knows how many hours.”

“And once again,” Roger sighed, pushing his hair from his face and adjusting his sunglasses, “I am glad that I am not a woman. I was stressed enough driving up here, as it was.”

“Were you really,” said Brian dryly. “I had no idea.”

“Well then you’re a bit daft, aren’t you?”

“Sarcasm, Rog. That was sarcasm.”

Roger only rolled his eyes in response. “Come sit down, Y/N. We probably won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

You sat down in the chair next to Brian, though not intentionally; it was the last chair in the row.

“Blimey, these chairs are uncomfortable,” you remarked, having tried to straighten your posture and only succeeded in ailing your back more.

“I’ll second that,” said Roger, shifting in his seat. “And we’ve only been here for two minutes.”

But Brian looked at you more closely. “Back giving you trouble?” he asked.

Your back was giving you trouble, because since coming home to Ridge Farm, you’d been playing guitar every day for two hours at a time, outside of the hours Brian still taught you on Thursday nights, and your posture was getting worse and worse for every session you practiced.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “I have terrible posture, and given that I’m teaching you, you’ve probably learned from the worst.”

“You two are getting old,” said Roger.

“With every revolution of the Earth we are aging, yes,” Brian replied. “But as are you, Roger, so don’t get too cocky. The universe might just throw an asteroid in your direction, out of spite.”

“No science talk, please,” Roger flapped a hand. “I’m on holiday.”

“I thought Ridge Farm was for working on the album,” you said.

“Work, play, it all sort of blurs together,” Roger sighed. “And anyway, I’m not the one turning twenty-bloody-seven tomorrow, Brian.”

Brian winced.

But this was news to you. “Your birthday is tomorrow?”

“Mmm…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Why,” Brian smiled, “were you planning on getting me something?”

You folded your arms. “Well, I would have, only there’s no time now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Y/N,” Roger said, “he doesn’t like a fuss. Silly ol’ Bri always spends so much time fussing over everyone else that it gets to be too much when people fuss over him.”

Brian sank farther into his chair, his cheeks flushing. “If I didn’t tell you to do your washing, Roger, you never would.”

“Yes, mum,” Roger made a face, then picked up a magazine from the side table, obviously not interested in discussing his lack of homelife skills.

Brian blushed again, and smoothed a hand across his cheek.

Why he was embarrassed for being a genuinely caring and thoughtful person, you did not understand. Brian was the one whom everybody turned to for help, no matter the situation, and even when they did not ask for help, he knew instinctively when he was needed, waiting by their side to take them by the hand and make everything all right again.

At least, that was how you saw it.

“That’s not silly, though,” you murmured. “If everyone acted like that, the world would be a far better place.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Brian, “but thank you, Y/N.”

But you weren’t finished. “Back there with Veronica, I had no idea what to do. I just stood there.”

He touched the side of his nose, looking down at his feet. “Nothing special. Just instinct. I could have done more, really.”

You shook your head. “But it is something special, Brian. People don’t think like that.”

Brian looked up. “You do,” he said, unwaveringly.

“Not enough to act on it.”

“I—”

“Just shut up and accept the compliment. You’re a star, Bri.”

Faint amusement flitted across his face, as though he didn’t quite believe you, the corners of his eyes softening. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, glancing down with that adorable half-smile still on his lips.

Then he reached over and took your hand from where it lay on the armrest of the chair.

He dipped his head as you looked up at him, his curls falling over his face and shrouding you both in shadow, creating a little world that existed only for the two of you beneath the fluorescent lights of the hospital lobby.

His slender fingers tightened around yours, and his gaze warmed you, like basking in sunshine by the seaside.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and your heart followed.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: i slipped into a bit of borhap dialogue there, oops... also, ‘the prophet’s song’ was originally named ‘people of the world’, so that’s why that’s like that :)

taglist: @melting-obelisks​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @hgmercury39​ @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz​ @perriwiinkle​ @brianmays-hair​ @iamsuperconfusedallthetime-dead @im-an-adult-ish​ @ilikebigstucks​​ @doing-albri​ @killer-queen-87​ @n0-self-c0ntro1​ @archaicmusings​

Masterpost / Part 10 / Part 12

[luninosity]

Working on the last (?) Character Bleed bonus story, today...

#

James Parr, clutching six bottles of wine, stared at the door. He hadn’t knocked or rung the bell yet, partly because of the armful of wine and partly because he was busy telling himself to remember to breathe.

 The door gazed back, pale blue and noncommittal. Maybe it didn’t approve of his choice of shirt, or his hair, or his sudden complete panic. What if Colby Kent’s door didn’t approve of him?

 He shifted weight, did not turn and flee, and murmured, “Knew I should’ve worn the blue shirt…”

 He didn’t know why he was here. More accurately, he knew why he’d come: Colby and Jason Mirelli had extended an invitation for dinner. And no one in any sort of right mind would turn down that invitation. Between Colby’s sweetness and Hollywood power, as movie star and writer and producer, and Jason’s muscles and family legacy, interwoven with the whole history of the industry, anyone would say yes; they might also say yes out of sheer curiosity, as Colby tended to be adorable and precious but private, and any glimpse inside was an honor.

 Also, industry legend said that Colby was a genius cook, and Jason wasn’t half bad either. James’s stomach suggested pointedly that he go ahead and knock.

 He couldn’t. He just…couldn’t. Could he?

 He knew they’d asked him. He didn’t know why him, why they’d taken an interest, what’d prompted the invitation. He’d never even met Jason, though they’d been at the same events on occasion; he had met Colby, briefly, during the auditions for Steadfast. James winced, remembering.

 He’d wanted the role of Stephen, as quite a few people had, and he’d been lucky enough to get a call to come in. Colby Kent was non-negotiable as Will, obviously, as producer and—though the world hadn’t known it yet—scriptwriter. James had done the scene with Colby, and it’d been a gorgeous scene, lush and clever and full of first meeting anticipation on a balcony. He thought he’d done all right, but he also knew he hadn’t been quite right; he’d wondered even then. Colby was so very good—the awards attested to that—and had balanced Will’s privilege and sarcasm with delicate unexpected vulnerability, and James had possibly been just a little too flirtatious, treating Stephen’s lines about choices with not quite enough weight. He’d hoped he’d get a chance to do it again for real; he could take director’s notes readily, with humor and without argument.

 He hadn’t had the chance, of course, because Jason Mirelli had walked out of formulaic action-hero thrillers and right into Stephen’s Royal Navy boots and also into Colby’s heart. Jason had shown the world that he was brilliant, and James knew he’d been the right choice; everyone knew. No resentment possible, not with that performance. Only admiration.

 He’d be seeing Colby again tonight. If he managed to knock on the door. He did some more silent communing with it. That wasn’t the only reason for his nerves.

 Jason, on the phone, had said casually, “Oh, there might be four of us, you know my friend Evan, he’s been the stunt choreographer on all your superhero movies, yeah? He’s in town too, so he might drop by, if that’s cool with you.” And James had squeaked out some sort of embarrassing high-pitched affirmative, and collapsed back against his front door, because he’d just walked in from the gym when Jason had called.

 Evan. Evan Richards. Who had, yes, been orchestrating and choreographing and training everyone for all those stunts, for all four films so far. Who was devastatingly competent and patient and gorgeous in every conceivable way, as far as James could tell. Who was, in fact, the man James’s pathetic heart had fallen head over heels for, literally, because he’d walked in to meet their choreographer and learn the first-ever set of moves for his super-soldier character, and then he’d tripped right over a mat, because holy shit the muscles and the motion, fluid and flexible and fast and smooth as silk, on display and glorious…

 Evan, who’d been practicing some more complicated moves that he himself would be doing as James’s double, had spun around and run over and been at his side in a flash. Had held out a hand, while James sat on the floor and stared up at strength and power and big brown eyes and, oh god, dimples.

 Evan Richards was kind to everyone, even actors who forgot their own names while ogling him. Evan when not working on a film taught Krav Maga and self-defense classes at a local LA place, and offered classes for all levels and ages. Evan never seemed to be upset about anything, not even when someone hadn’t practiced enough or wasn’t getting a move; he’d just calmly explain it all again, with demonstrations, without making anyone feel guilty or inadequate. Evan tended to look at life that way, with calm good humor and excitement about challenges; he possessed a level of self-discipline that James’s impulses could only dream about, from morning workouts to the literal three alcoholic drinks James had seen him consume in nearly six years to consummate professionalism on set, but he managed all that in a laid-back sort of way, never judging anyone else for different decisions, which was good, because James himself had very definitely made some terrible ones regarding vodka and fluffy pink feather dusters, on occasion.

 Evan made all their movies better; he made James’s life better, and James’s heart had never recovered from that first tumble into pink billowing clouds. He’d thought it might; he’d thought it would get better, with time and Evan’s apparent lack of need to stare at him in turn.

 Nearly six years in, it hadn’t.

 He’d tried flirting with Evan. James knew he personally wasn’t some sort of heaven-sent sculpture of male athleticism, definitely not compared to Evan in a clinging super-suit. But he thought he was reasonably attractive—thick dark hair, blue eyes, good chin, what an ex had called “that wholesome young Superman look”—and he was pretty good at sex, and he was—he hoped—a decent guy to have around. That might be something Evan liked, right?

 He’d always loved falling into bed with friends, making people happy, any and all genders welcome, sometimes all at once. He could be, and had been, up for just about anything, and he liked people who were enthusiastic and kind and confident about what they wanted and liked. He’d thought, well, if he’s interested—I’m interested, and maybe—

 He really had tried. Complimenting Evan’s skill. Complimenting Evan. Asking Evan out for dinner—not drinks; James had noticed that—which had gotten a yes, but a complete and baffling immunity to flirtation over excellent sushi, as if Evan thought he really just wanted to be friends. Learning some good massage techniques and offering to give Evan a backrub had led to, well, him giving Evan a backrub, on set, both of them fully clothed, and Evan had thanked him after. Pretending to not understand a tricky bit of choreography had worked to the extent of getting Evan’s hands on him, but they’d been profoundly professional hands, and James had finally given up and pretended to get it at last.

 After that one he’d gone back to his co-star’s trailer, flung himself dramatically across her couch, and despaired, “What am I doing wrong? Is it me? Am I unlovable? Elizabeth, help me.”

 Elizabeth, who’d known him for years, had moved his legs, sat down, and patted his hip. “To be fair, darling, you’re kind of a slut. Perhaps he’s not into that.” In that amused years-faded English accent, the affection shone.

 “I am,” James had said, “but I just like making people happy. I want to make him happy. How do I make him happy?”

 She’d patted him some more. “Perhaps don’t throw yourself at him quite so hard? He might be shy.”

 James, who’d seen Evan welcome a new pair of stunt guys to set by running over and immediately diving into a recreation of the famous fight scene from the third John Kill movie, which both guys had jumped right into while grinning, had said doubtfully, “I don’t think so…”

 “Perhaps he’s not in fact into men?”

 James had sighed. And had drunk far too much of his hotel’s mini-bar, later that night; had winced at sunlight, on set, and had opened eyes to discover Evan holding out Gatorade and painkillers and a protein bar.

 He really had given up, or mostly. Stopped trying to flirt. Dated a couple other people, not seriously. Started trying to get used to being a friend, resigning himself to making Evan happy that way.

 He’d noticed that Evan liked travel and exploring new locations; James had made sure to do some research and to mention historic sites or local marketplaces or neat old castle walls they were allowed to ride bikes on. Evan had an astonishing sweet tooth for someone with those abs, and James found a tiny ice cream shop in Prague that deserved every bit of its reputation and brought him there, and loved the way Evan’s eyes lit up and the way Evan wanted to try every flavor and the way Evan licked a sample spoon.

 He’d wanted to hold Evan’s hand, walking back to their hotel along medieval cobbled streets under a low-hanging moon. He’d wanted, and he knew he was still and maybe always would be in love; he knew that like a stab to the heart. It felt like the moonlight and tasted like cookies-and-cream, sharp and sweet.

 He’d called Evan after they’d wrapped, after they’d all come back home to LA. He’d tried not to. Not being pushy or needy. He’d made it three days. He’d just wanted to hear that voice, calm and happy, talking about an upcoming martial arts class or ideas for changing up some heroic choreography. Evan had answered promptly, and they’d talked for two hours before Evan had headed to bed, having an early morning. After, James had started looking up the address of a secret jazz-themed speakeasy he remembered—they had a good non-alcoholic cocktail menu, too, and to-die-for chocolate cake, and spot-on historic recreation—because he thought Evan might like it, and then he remembered that they weren’t actually dating and they weren’t on location and Evan had no reason to put up with his company day after day.

 He sighed again, in the present. Clung to wine. Tried not to drop any. Evan might be here and see it.

 He hadn’t managed to knock, but the door opened anyway. James almost took an inadvertent step back, because muscles, but caught the reaction in time.

 “Oh, good,” Jason Mirelli said, grinning at him, “you’re right on time. And you brought, like, all the wine. Here, I can take those.” Boulders shifted and mountains bulged; the sleeves of Jason’s shirt stretched outward in forest-green despair as big arms collected all of James’s offerings. “Come on in.”

 James shook himself out of fascinated speculation about how Jason ever hugged Colby without crushing adorable blue-eyed slender height. “Um. I didn’t know what you, um, liked? So I just…brought a lot of things?” Good god. He was an actor, a successful veteran of press and publicity tours, and a grown man of thirty-two years. Surely he could talk. “Thanks for, um, inviting me? I mean…yeah. Thanks.”

  “Hey, we’re fans. We’ve loved all the Star Captain movies.” Jason sounded sincere, too. Honesty in craggy features, deep velvet-brown eyes. Casually upending the world: in what universe were Colby Kent and Jason Mirelli fans of James Parr? “By the way, Evan’s already here.”

[otterknowbynow]

Altean Home Economics (3/?)

Goo is great, but Hunk sure would feel better if they had kitchen access. all chapters in this tag | ao3 link in reblogs

Hunk makes his announcement that evening in the lounge, standing in the doorway to address the rest of the team. 

“Didn’t you find a kitchen before?” Keith is curled up on the couch, his chin resting on the back.  

“Ah, you mean the cookies.”

“Right,” Keith says, raising his eyebrows almost imperceptibly. “Cookies.” 

“Turns out what we found was a kiln and a bunch of ground minerals,” says Pidge, adjusting her glasses. “He basically made Altean hobbyist ceramics.”  

“The important thing is that what we’ll be making now will be food.” Hunk punches one fist into his other palm decisively, and takes a step toward the rest of them arrayed around the room. “Who’s with me?” 

“I mean I’m very much with the idea of you making food, don’t get me wrong,” Lance says, not bothering to raise his head from the cushion it’s resting on. “But I don’t think I have to be directly involved. I’m more of an eater than a maker.” 

“I’m a disaster in a kitchen,” Shiro laughs. “Ask anyone --” he cuts off and frowns for a second. “Anyway, it wouldn’t go well.” 

“Pidge? Keith?” Hunk holds a hand out in each of their directions, palm up. Keith shrugs and sits up. 

“I’m good at chopping.” 

“And I’m guessing all the ingredients will be labeled in Altean, so I’d better come with you,” says Pidge, pushing herself up off the table she’s been perched on. “Let’s go.” 

“Oh, this is happening now?” Lance swings himself up to sit against the back of the couch instead of draping himself across four cushions. Hunk cocks his head at him. “What? I said I wouldn’t cook, not that I wouldn’t come.”

***

“...so Coran just gave you the keys?” Keith sounds skeptical, but that’s not out of the ordinary. 

“Well, to be clear, he gave me the keys and went --” Hunk stops walking and draws himself up to his full height, eyebrows knit dramatically, and does his best imitation of the Altean advisor’s voice “-- ‘I expect great things to come out of that kitchen, boy, or you aren’t half the paladin I thought you were.’”

“He did not call you ‘boy,’” Lance says, laughing. 

“Oh, he absolutely did.” Hunk shudders and gets moving again. “And I have no intention to repeat the experience, so if you all will practice good skills in taking direction today, I’d appreciate it.” 

“No problem here,” says Keith, shrugging and glancing at Lance sidelong. “Not sure about all of us, of course.” Hunk isn’t sure if Lance misses the dig or decides to ignore it, but he continues as if he hasn’t noticed. 

“D’you think Allura ever makes pancakes? She seems like she’d like pancakes. I mean, honestly, who doesn’t? They’re the perfect food -- no tough techniques, no special equipment --” he’s ticking off criteria on his fingers, and despite his long legs seems to have invested himself enough in his argument that he’s no longer keeping up with the rest of them. “Hearty, yet sweet, kosher, versatile, no rare ingredients--” 

“--we don’t know what ingredients are rare for Alteans, Lance.” Pidge’s interruption seems to snap him out of it, and Lance performs a half-skipping gallop to catch up with the group. 

“And we’re here,” Hunk says, sliding the translucent rectangular chip Coran gave him this morning into a panel by the door they’ve just reached. It looks no different from the doors to their chambers, but opens into a vast room full of shining metal appliances of so many different sizes and shapes that no one is quite sure where to start looking, except for Hunk, who stares straight ahead, tearing up a bit, and then races across the room to the far side. 

“Look at all! This! Counter space!” He spreads his arms out as far as they will go and leans down onto the bright white stone, still barely covering a fifth of the length of the surface, which spans the entire far wall. Pidge clears her throat.

“I guess we’d better start exploring,” she says pointedly.  

“Alright!” Hunk whips around to face the rest of them still framed in the doorway. “Pidge, Lance, go figure out what over there is a heat source--” he gestures broadly toward the bay of gleaming machinery and appliances that fills the left side of the room “-- Keith, you’re with me. That --” Hunk indicates a large doorway in the opposite wall, leading into an area filled with what looks like an entire bank of giant middle school lockers more than anything else “-- has got to be food storage. Let’s see what we’re working with, ingredient-wise, and get you showing off some knife skills, since we already know that’s where your strengths lie.” 

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to make anything with...Altean ingredients?” Keith asks, as he moves to join Hunk and the others make their way over to confront the dizzying array of alien technology. 

“If I know one thing, and one thing only, it is this,” says Hunk seriously. “Given any set of potential ingredients, some time, and -- ideally -- some way to apply heat, I can make not only something, but a meal. Or else my name isn’t Hunk Garrett.” Keith is looking at him, but not with the awed respect he was hoping for. 

“Well, is it?” 

“What do you mean, ‘is it’?” 

“Is your name Hunk Garrett? I’ve never known your last name.” Hunk looks utterly betrayed, and Keith spreads his hands wide. “Do you know mine?” 

“Of course, it’s --” he pauses, frowns, shakes his head “-- no, no I don’t.” 

“Kogane. See? Now you know. And now I know. So we can move on.” And with this final conclusion, he pulls open the door to the first locker. 

[rwbyremnants]

WARNINGS: Awkward dinner, kink club, violet wand, hard domming, voyeurism, whipping with a riding crop, trampling, bondage, hogtying, toe-biting, fingering, strapon sex.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! We hope you enjoy, and you can also spot the Always Open reference~

=Chapter 5

Three weeks later, and that arrangement was still going strong. There was still bowling each week, but in addition, there were the odd nights where Winter would call and pick Qrow up, particularly after a stressful or boring day. Of course, it was never something Qrow minded.

However, today was a slightly different meeting. Dinner, and general chatting, so Winter said. It was an offer that surprised Qrow, and yet he didn't question it. He was happy that someone else could tolerate his company without eventually fobbing him off or trying to convince him to stop his drinking in some way. Alas, for tonight he was on his best behaviour, and waited outside the restaurant as Winter asked.

When she arrived, the elder of the Schnee sisters was dressed rather modestly, even for Winter. A long, black dress with a high neckline that revealed almost nothing, and a warm cardigan of navy blue that complemented her low heels and handbag. A very sensible but elegant outfit, completed by diamond earrings and a matching teardrop pendant.

"Early, I see," she said with a pleasant smile. "How unlike you. Welcome, but unlike you."

Turning toward her, he found Winter Schnee was a sight to take his breath away. He couldn't help but gaze up and down that elegant figure of hers, taking it all in. But realising he was still leaving her hanging for an answer, he cleared his throat. "Well, I gotta impress someone, I guess. Might as well be you."

Chuckling, she gestured toward the entrance to the moderately fancy place she had chosen. It wasn't terribly high-end, which had been a deliberate decision; if he decided to do the "gentlemanly" thing and insisted on picking up the check, it wouldn't cost him half of his rent payment.

"Shall we?"

He nodded, holding out his arm for her as they paced inside. Even if they weren't together, it seemed like the correct gesture to make. Something as formal as her attire. Which made him realise something about his simple jacket and slacks. "I feel a little underdressed."

"Compared to me? Yes. In general, not at all; you look lovely." She leaned over, so she wouldn't be overheard by the others waiting around in the lobby of the restaurant for a table. "Haven't I told you how much I like you in that black necktie? Really suits you."

Raising an eyebrow, he smiled right back at her, leaning in toward her again just before the waiter came over to seat them, giving a quick wink. "I'll remember that and wear it more often, then."

"Table for two?" their formally dressed waiter asked, one who really did put Qrow to shame for his choice in attire. Not that he appeared too concerned of that.

Nor did Winter, as she replied, "We have a reservation, under Schnee?" The waiter nodded his understanding, and turned toward the maître d'.

"Ah, here you are," the middle-aged woman said with a smile, barely glancing at the book in front of her. "We aren't terribly busy tonight; if you'd like, we can get you our best seat, or the one you already reserved."

"The best," Winter said without missing a beat.

"Oh, you really are pulling out all the stops tonight," he couldn't help but comment as they followed their waiter toward the table. So she'd reserved in advance, had she? One would assume they really were a couple from the setting of the restaurant. Fancy, but nothing over the top; certainly romantic, however. The few people that were already inside were all couples, happily talking to one another and even exchanging the few loving gazes and words.

Once seated, the waiter gave them both menus and asked after drinks. Winter didn’t hesitate. "Let's have… a bottle of a merlot. Something simple for a simple evening. Unless you have another preference?" she said to Qrow.

This was the challenge. Usually it would have been beer, or else something stronger. Or he'd have had at least one by now on his own means, even before getting to the dinner location. But while the temptation was there to have a drink, he instead put his hand up and shook his head. For once, he wanted to be on top form.

"Just water for me, thanks."

"Hold on," she whispered - but she wasn't going to do what he had feared and insist on the wine. "We'll both have a juice cocktail. Are you ready?" The waiter held his hand poised over his order pad, already writing. "Half orange, a quarter pineapple, a quarter cranberry. No ice. Oh, and one of those little umbrellas - for mine." Her eyes were full of mirth when they turned back to Qrow for his approval.

Having to take that in for a moment, he blinked before nodding his head and agreeing, "U-uh, yeah. What she said, for me, as well."

"If you insist." The waiter jotted down the order just as Winter described, giving a nod before they headed back over to the bar area to prepare it.

Once they were alone again, Qrow leant forward against the table. "You didn't have to do that for me, you coulda had wine."

"Well…" Sighing, she glanced over at the bar. "I've never known you to turn down liquor, and wondered… well, if you were starting AA or something. Not that you have to be to have a dry night! But, if you were, it would be rude of me to drink right in front of you."

Rolling his eyes, he leant straight back in his chair again, sighing outwardly as he grabbed the menu. "You wish. I just figured this is a fancy-schmancy dinner and I oughtta be sober for it, so I'd try to be."

"Then I appreciate your consideration. Even if you're rolling your eyes at mine," she added pointedly before hoisting the menu up to hide her expression. Holding up his own to look at the options, Qrow browsed at his leisure. First he looked toward the starters, debating if to indulge in those or not; and then toward the main entrees.

But as he was browsing, he remembered the events Winter had attended earlier today; lunch with Weiss to discuss baby names now that she was back in the state. Eager to know, he asked, "So, does Weiss know what they’re calling the baby yet?"

"Not even a clue," she said. And left it at that, continuing to glance through the various food items. At length, she decided she had a good order picked out and laid hers aside, drumming her fingertips against the tabletop.

He laughed to himself while continuing to browse. "Really? You spent all day with her and not even a nickname or something?"

To borrow his phrase, she told him shortly, "Nope." Then she picked up her water glass and sipped at it very slowly, gazing out across the crowd. Truth be told, it was partly that everyone else there was a couple that bothered her. She hadn't thought this through, it seemed.

Shrugging his shoulders, he finally put his menu down, folding his arms and resting them on the table. "Fair enough. I suppose you'll all be thinking about that when she's bigger… God, that'll be a sight."

Brought out of her reverie, she asked, "What will?"

Unable to wipe the smirk off his face, he laughed again. "Weiss, when she really starts showing. It's just… she's such a half-pint."

In spite of her now-deflated mood, she did chuckle. "You know, I hadn't thought of that yet. She is on the petite side, isn't she?"

"Is that what the kids call it these days?" Qrow asked playfully, taking a quick sip from his own water as he looked toward her again. As he sighed when finishing it, he laughed. "God, imagine if she's one of those that'll be huge? Poor Yang's the kinda girl who'd wanna carry her everywhere."

"You know, I could see that. She's very supportive. In the literal sense, if that's how things go for her."

Then their juices arrived, and the waiter was ready to take their order. "What will we be having?" she asked Qrow.

"Hmm." He nodded back to her and to Winter, before he lifted the menu one more time. "Gimme the roast with new potatoes. And how about you, my dear?"

Smirking at the form of address, she turned and said, "I'll have the veal scallopini and braised asparagus, with your side Caesar. And please make sure the veal is medium-well done, if you please." Then she folded up the menu and handed it to the waiter, and off she went.

When she had walked enough out of earshot again, Qrow bent forward. "That’s the most uppity sounding order I ever heard."

"Really?" she shot back at him coldly. "I'm sure it's no can of Spam with a spoon like you must be used to, but I enjoy it."

"Wow. Did the temperature just drop, or is it me?" Leaning back in his chair again, he stared off around the restaurant. He wasn't about to dignify that comment with any other answer.

But it was only then that he was noticing the other people present. And all of them were couples. No doubt people would assume the same of them, or at least that it would be a date going rather wrong for Winter. Now he really was beginning to feel conscious in his choice of common clothes.

And Winter wasn't likely to enliven the conversation any further. Qrow had made two mistakes that had nothing to do with his choice of attire, though he would probably be thinking that was all he'd done wrong. She tried to tell herself that she shouldn't expect any more from him, being that he was a man and rather rough around the edges, but she couldn't help it. Her ire was up.

"…So…" Trying to change the subject, at at least get them both talking again, he looked back around. "Do you take many of your doms here?"

"No." She sipped her juice, waiting. Trying to work past her irritation, since he clearly didn't realize he was being irritating in the first place.

"…Right." Clearly she wasn't going to talk to him properly. And so he went to look back around the restaurant, completely oblivious to the fact she was annoyed by something so simple as a comment on her food choice. Scratching his head out of slight nerves, he tried another question. "Is this a place you go to often?"

Glancing over, Winter couldn't help but notice how hard he was trying. Bless his soul, he just had no idea when he was being insensitive or boorish. Sighing through her nose, she finally set her juice down.

"I do tend to take clients here from time to time. But no, I don't normally take… those kinds of clients out to dinner."

Silently mouthing "oh," he nodded his head, taking his juice at last and giving it a try for himself. He didn't exactly know what to expect, but anything that was slightly better than the green that was at Winter's was welcome. The hum that followed once he'd tried it said enough, but he still said, "Hey, that's real nice."

At long last, her smile returned, if small and rather taut. "Well, if you're determined to stay away from the hard stuff tonight, I thought you might like to try something new. Still has a bit of a bite to it from the cranberry, so… so it's something." She realized she was sounding a bit silly, so she stopped.

But it didn't bother Qrow at all. Instead, he smirked back toward her, taking the glass and drinking another sip of it, sighing contentedly afterward. "Well, glad you're thinking of me by ordering something with a kick."

"If it's a kick you want… my offer stands to walk on you." She hid a dark little grin behind her glass now.

"Don't push your luck." But he knew her words were just teasing. It seemed their conversation was back to play again. Although that came with a benefit to Qrow, it was a subject he could at least have some confidence in. "Though I have to admit, I'm curious which clients like being stepped on."

"Oh, you'd never know to look at them. Some of them are the small, waifish men you'd expect, but some are… large, and powerful." Her eyes were pointing dead at Qrow now, sweeping down to the table and back up to his eyes in a slow, methodical movement. "Well-muscled and confident. Yet they get into a play-space, and they want me to fuck them in the ass while wearing fishnet stockings and calling them 'Stacy'. Then, afterward… back to their lives as attorneys, doctors, used car salesmen."

That had Qrow turning completely silent. The image of Winter in those stockings was one he enjoyed in his mind; and even images of her dominating men were rather satisfying. But they were just images, he could never imagine the action itself. Perhaps that was for another reason.

"I just don't picture you as a Dom." He smirked. "Not after the play we've had, anyway."

Shrugging, she looked out over the other patrons. Happily chattering away, posing for selfies together. Leaning in romantically. They all looked quite ridiculous to her, but she knew they must get something out of it. She just couldn't imagine why.

"I'm an excellent Dom, Qrow. I could make you bawl like a baby." Then she turned back, smile completely mild. "But I rarely do that anymore, it's… I always found being on the bottom more satisfying for some reason. Doesn't mean I don't like to switch things up now and then."

"I'm not saying you couldn't Dom," he reassured, folding his arms again and leaning on the table once more. He quickly browsed around to make sure no one was listening, then said quietly, "Just a little difficult to imagine when last time you had a plug in, calling out for mercy while I was paddling you."

"Hmm…" Her eyes rolled upward toward the ceiling as she remembered that scene. "Fair is fair; I did request the paddling. And I couldn't sit the next day, I'll have you know! You have more oomph than I expected!"

Chuckling to himself again, he couldn't wipe the smug grin off his face at all. "You were the one that kept telling me to do it harder! Even if I did have to be gentle when I took you from behind after."

Even though she was obviously enjoying their conversation, she still wasn't blushing; this was not her first time bandying about the subject of BDSM in a public setting. "Your abdomen slamming up into that plug over and over is on my list of very… clear memories now. You were an animal…"

Qrow tilted his head in agreement. He didn't seem to mind either about the conversation topic. That, or he didn't care for the other people around. Instead, he only smirked more. "Well like I said, I'll be taking you in your ass one day. I guess that's preparation."

"That's a privilege you have yet to earn. But… you are on your way, I think."

Just then her salad arrived. The waiter also gave them a basket of breadsticks, so luckily Qrow wasn't forced to watch her eat alone. Giving a quiet nod to the waiter as they paced off again, he looked back toward the meal on Winter's plate. Not as uppity as he first thought. Still, he grabbed one of the breadsticks in the middle of the table to keep his hands busy and to nibble on.

"Looks good."

"Have you had a Caesar salad? You can try a bite if you like." Spearing a bite with her fork, she drew it to her mouth as she pushed her bowl out to one side, so he could better reach if he so chose.

"Might as well give it a try, while I'm waiting for my old fashioned roast beef." Taking his fork, he helped himself to a forkful of leafy greens from her plate, taking them straight into his mouth. For a moment, he chewed slowly to try and savour the flavours within, looking up in thought.

Just around that time, Winter swallowed her own mouthful and was able to ask, "Well?"

"Not bad," he covered enough to say, swallowing the last of it once finished. "It's not meat, but it's alright."

"Oh, is that the rule of measurement? How does it stack up against meat?" Rolling her own eyes this time, she drew the salad back toward herself. "Hopefully you're enjoying your breadsticks more."

"Well, I can think of something that tastes nicer than salads and meat…" Looking back toward her with a sly smirk, he finally took this moment to take a few bites of his breadstick. Just leaving enough time for her to realise what that comment suggested.

At first, her eyebrows went up. Then she had to hide a giggle behind her hand. "Okay… I appreciate the innuendo, but the shape of the breadstick… makes it sound like you're talking about something else." Then she shrugged as she went back to her salad. "Unless you do, in fact, enjoy giving blowjobs."

Eyes snapping open, he found himself suddenly coughing, beating his chest to try and force the remnants of food he had eaten down his throat the rest of the way. Once he could finally breathe again, he shook his head. "Whoa, whoa, The hell kinda guy you think I am?"

"A switch." But she decided to let him off easy. "Don't worry, I'm only teasing. I'll do the fellating around here, I suppose."

Having to take a quick gulp of his drink to settle his throat, he looked back again. "Look, I said I'm up for trying anything, but I'm as straight as they come, sweetheart. I ain't ‘fellating’ any dudes."

"I said a blowjob," she corrected slightly. "I didn't say 'dudes'. You of all people should know those don't necessarily go hand in hand." But she didn't press the point further. Of course, the reason he should know was because of a family member, and the last thing she wanted was to force that image into his brain. Still, it bore mentioning.

"What do you mean they don't go hand in ha- …ohhh, right." That comment certainly made him feel very small, especially when he of all people should have clicked on straight away. He was still a work in progress, after all.

But thankfully, a distraction arrived, in the form of his meal which was slid in front of him by the waiter. "Ah! Right on time. Real beef."

Smiling at the waiter, Winter waited for their two plates to be placed, issued a quiet, "Thank you," then waited for her to depart. When they were alone again, she leaned in and said, "Sorry if it seemed like I was slapping you on the wrist. Just a reminder."

Having already began to distract himself by cutting up the meat on his plate, he gave a small nod. "No, you're right. It's something I have to keep reminding myself. Sometimes I just forget, which is pretty bad considering the niece has been out for… years."

Cutting up her potatoes, Winter thought about that for a moment. Then she paused in her movements. "It's strange, isn't it? Thinking about how long it's been… even just me knowing Yang, it's been years now. Stranger for you."

Swallowing a bite of his meal, he looked back over, shrugging his shoulders. This subject seemed to come up a lot between them. It was funny how in a way, it was because of Yang their arrangement existed. In multiple ways.

"Like I said, I kinda just pretended it wasn't happening. But when she actually started transitioning… it felt weird." However, he then shrugged his shoulders. "Tai and I had a talk about it, and he said it felt weird for him too. But then he reminded me one thing I never forgot; if it feels weird for us, how weird has it felt for her all these years she wasn’t herself?"

"Very true. That's… what I've had to learn the most, what I almost learned too late." Clearing her throat, almost more to head off her own dark thoughts rather than because she needed to, she continued, "Which is why I did a lot of research after that. First online, and then I asked Yang a few questions. I was really thinking so backward about it, that it was a 'lifestyle choice' and so on. Instead of who they are."

"I remember watching a thing about it, some kind of documentary. When they said how common it is, I was kinda shocked." Just as he was about to take another bite of his meal, he stopped himself to laugh a little more. "Heck, I've probably met some trans folk without even realising! Crazy world."

Nodding, she raised a bite of her veal and chewed thoughtfully. Waiting until she stopped, she told him, "I've met one or two others I've known about, but yes, probably more I did not. I mean, if there's anything Yang proves, it's that anything is possible."

"Damn right. If I didn't know her as Ying for as long as I did, I'da thought she was born a girl. It's crazy."

"A very beautiful one at that." Then she thought she might try something. They hadn't done a lot of this back and forth, other than Qrow reassuring her that she was attractive, but perhaps they could change that. "She certainly inherited her looks from your side of the family, I think."

Having just finished more of his beef, he smirked back to her. Yet it was a smirk that didn't particularly seem all too attractive, considering his cheeks were full of food. Although once he swallowed, he nodded. "Yeah, guess us Branwens have always been lookers."

Snorting, she gestured to her own cheek. "You have a little… there."

Tilting his head a moment, he eventually realised what she meant. And immediately grabbed the napkin to dab away at the offending area. That might have been the first time Winter Schnee actually saw her Dom truly blush from embarrassment.

----------------------------------------------------------

Following their food, both of them waived dessert. When Qrow attempted to pick up the check, Winter firmly told the waiter they were going Dutch, and therefore to split the bill. Having paid and finished their second helpings of juice, they walked out into the crisp early evening air.

And kept walking. Instead of going across the street to the parking garage they had used, they were heading along the sidewalk. When they passed through a crosswalk to the next block, it became definite that they were headed somewhere else next.

"So are you gonna give me a hint to what we're getting for dessert?" Qrow hadn't a clue where they were headed. He wasn't particularly a city man, and wasn't even sure if he'd ever been to this area at all. They had already passed a pancake house, so that seemed off the cards. "Is it ice cream or something?"

Still acting as coy as ever, she merely said, "Would you like ice cream?" Meanwhile, she was taking out her phone to send a quick text. She wasn't being particularly shy about what she was typing.

'OMW. Do you have everything?'

'All good on this end. TTYS'

Then she tucked the phone away again as if nothing had ever happened.

"I'm good with whatever; you said it's something special for dessert, so I thought I'd leave you in charge." He had noticed the single text from Winter, the one that said "on my way," but never caught who said contact was. Where was she taking him?

But as they turned down one of the alley ways, that answer was gradually becoming clear. There were one or two doors that lead to the rear entrances of bars and restaurants, but one door had a sign handing above it. One that simply said the words:

"’The Clamp’? What kind of a name is that?"

"What kind of a name is 'Qrow'?" But to show she wasn't truly chiding him, she turned to him and faced him squarely. She had been building up to this moment without truly letting him know what was going on, and now was the time to at least partly reveal her plans for their evening.

"So… you've been wondering where we're going. This is it. There are a few things I want to tell you, and should, but… I'm still not going to tell you everything. Only that you don't have to do a single thing you don't want to do." Her expression was very carefully neutral. "For now, you ought to let me know if you're feeling adventurous tonight. If not, we can go around the corner to a little gelato shop I know. No harm, no foul."

Raising one eyebrow questioningly, Qrow looked again between the neon sign and Winter. He had no idea what to expect from this establishment, but it seemed there was far more than met the eye. Scratching the top of his head, he asked, "Wasn't one of your rules 'no public play' though? Like, if you wanna sit in a back booth and get each other off, sure, but-"

"Not exactly," she headed him off. "I just need to know if you're at least curious. And it sounds like you are, but I can't take it for granted. If you are… there might be a treat waiting for you inside this bar. If not, we'll go do something else." One hand falling to her hip, she quirked an eyebrow and asked, "What do you say?"

That had made things very interesting. She hadn't flat out said it wasn't getting one another going in public, but hadn't confirmed it, either. He was left in a small limbo that had him curious to find out just exactly what was going to happen behind those doors.

With that in mind, he finally asked, "What kind of treat?"

Her lips pursed so she could blow upward to sweep her bangs from her eyes. "You don't do well with birthday surprises, either, do you?" Then she leaned in and grasped his ever-present black tie, tugging him in a little closer. "I said, it's a treat. If I tell you what's going to happen, it won't be. And you won't be required to do anything that's outside your comfort zone; I have a way of making sure you won't. So, are you in, or are you out, Branwen?"

For a moment longer, he looked toward the door once more. What a Pandora’s Box. From what he assumed, it was a club. That meant they'd probably be drinking again. Worst case scenario, he'd be too drunk to do anything; which wasn't exactly a new experience. The way he saw it, there was nothing to lose.

"I'm in."

"Good. Then follow me." She had only taken one step when she turned to look over at him. "Oh, and anytime you want - or need - to leave, just 'remind' me that you have work in the morning. I'll know what you mean." Then she led him in the front door.

When they got inside, everything was a little different than he had been expecting. For one thing, the bartender was wearing a mesh shirt. And it only got stranger. People everywhere were wearing leather. Some of them were somewhat scantily clad, but everyone was more or less covered when it came down to it. Even the furniture tended to be black leather with studs. A few of the patrons were dressed in somewhat casual clothing, though no one was slovenly; even those absent of leather were at least semi-smart. The lighting was rather low, and the music was a pulsing bass beat that was loud enough to make conversations private without making ears bleed.

At first, it seemed like he hadn't noticed. He simply followed behind her and looked around at how the UV lighting made some particular colours bright. Gradually he began to notice people's particular choices in attire. And he had to double take.

Nearly everyone was wearing fetish gear. All in one place. Yet they were all drinking, laughing, talking together as if it was a perfectly regular club. Men and women of all ages and backgrounds, all the same.

"What is this place?!"

"The Clamp," she informed him as if the name had been what he meant. "Come on, order something. If you still don't want a drink, they make fantastic Italian sodas. In fact…"

Walking up to the bar, she didn't even have to open her mouth before the big bear of a man in mesh smiled at her and leaned in. "Princess! What's your pleasure, Majesty?"

"We'll have two Toasted Marshmallows, Texas. Add a shot of gin to mine."

Still in shock, Qrow had to look back and forth between her and the bartender now busy fixing their drinks. He didn't just know her, he knew her pet name; the name she used for their arrangement. Was this a previous Dom? But then again, Winter just pointed out; she knew this place. She knew the drinks it offered, and what was good. That meant one thing:

"You, uh… come here often?"

Looking over her shoulder at him, she raised an eyebrow. "What was your first clue? My knowing it existed, bringing you here…?"

Feeling silly yet again, there was a somewhat obvious redness in his cheeks. Even with the dim lighting of the room!

"I-I uh… I figured, maybe you found it online, or something. Dunno."

She was still smiling bemusedly at him when the two drinks appeared. He didn't even bother to ask for money or whether or not she wanted to start a tab. Apparently, that wasn't necessary where "Princess" was in involved.

"Here," she said, handing him the one without the straw. "No alcohol, but I think you'll like it."

"I think I could use the kick now…" But he took the drink regardless, still attempting to take everything in as he gazed around.

But while he was still getting a grasp on things, the man known as Texas looked back to Winter again, leaning against the bar. "Your friend arrived half an hour or so ago, she's up in room six. I think she shut the visor but she said to just knock and she'll let your pretty little ass in."

"Thank you," she muttered back. Then she turned and sat down, leaning her back against the bar as she sipped at her own. "Didn't expect her to go straight up… but that's alright. I know she's a bit more shy about these things."

"I think she wanted to get changed and ready for you both. She wasn't wearing anything risque when she got here. Though she did take a drink up, so when you get there she should be less shy, if you know what I'm saying."

This conversation was being half-listened to by Qrow, who only just managed to catch the last part. Patting her shoulder to get her attention, he asked, "Wait, wait… we're meeting someone here, too?"

Winter took a long drink, closing her eyes at the sharp-yet-sweet flavour. Any more gin than she had requested would have ruined it; already, it was on the brink of such. But it was still good. Then she turned to him.

"I have arranged… a demonstration. If you're not interested, we can leave now. I understand. But if you are, I do have to remind you of something." Her face grew more serious. "Nothing that happens here leaves here. This isn't just me asking; it's house rules. If you can't abide by that, this entire arrangement is off, and we default to gelato."

"I'd think about your answer, pal,” Texas put in with a semi-sympathetic nod and tone of voice. “Princess here's had this arranged for a couple of weeks. Would be a shame to waste it."

The bartender's words had Qrow thinking more and more. A demonstration; that could mean a lot of things. They could be here to see some kind of fetish show, which although he wasn't opposed to, was something completely new. There were porn videos, sure; but this wouldn't even compare. Something was telling him it would involve Winter in some way, which was another exciting factor.

Finding his heat down in his trousers was answering for him, he eventually turned to the bartender, nodding. "Pour me a double shot of whiskey and it's a deal."

"Oh?" Winter asked with a slight chuckle. "What happened to your night of abstinence?"

"That was before you dragged me to a fetish club, Princess. Got a feeling I’m gonna need it." He made sure to exaggerate her nickname as he looked back to her. But the instant he was handed the small glass with the whiskey, he downed it in one, immediately returning the glass to the bar as he wiped his mouth clean. It didn't even make him shudder like a normal person would.

"Hey, are you too nervous for this?" she asked, out of genuine concern. "I told you that you don't have to-"

"Less talkin, more showin'." He reclaimed the non-alcoholic drink and stepped away from the bar, ready to follow whenever she intended to lead him.

Nodding her understanding, Winter paced away, taking a long drink of her own beverage before she turned towards the back. Dodging around a few tables and couches, she came to the doorway with a curtain that said "restrooms" overhead. Nipping the curtain aside, she immediately turned left and came to a stop before a small desk where a dark-skinned girl was reading a magazine, and the velvet rope - a literal velvet rope - stretched from next to her across the bottom of a staircase.

"Yes?" she asked, looking up - and her expression brightened. "Hey, Princess! Been a minute."

"It has. Would it be alright if I had a guest lanyard for my associate?"

Looking him up and down appraisingly, she reached under the desk and produced a lanyard, the fabric patterned to look like yellow "caution" tape. Hanging from it was a badge that mimicked a STOP sign, except the white letters in the middle said "VISITOR."

It was yet another thing to take in. Never in his life did Qrow think places like this existed, and better yet, never did he think they existed this well-organised. Guidelines, lanyards, penned off areas; everything seemed to have a code. He usually detested any form of rules, but in this case, he was more than happy they existed. For a relatively new Dom, and being new to the community in general, it was reassuring to know there were things in place to protect him. Even if they made the somewhat humiliating lanyard necessary.

But the door-checker was already standing up to let them through. Her violet outfit was fairly modest, but still trimmed with studded black leather; suited to the setting without being completely given over to it.

"Right this way," she bade them with a mild smile, eyes raking up and down Qrow. Apparently, she was as interested in him as in their intentions once they moved along.

Even though he was simply following Winter, he could practically feel the woman's gaze. And he couldn't help but smirk, even sparing a quick wink back toward her before they disappeared up the staircase.

"I think I pulled there," he said smugly once they were out of view and earshot, even slightly nudging Winter to make sure she was listening.

"Oh, do you? Might want to be careful with Cheshire; she's extremely selective, and very high maintenance. A great friend, but a minefield to date, or even to plan a scene with because she doesn't typically do that in the club. Likes to separate work from pleasure."

"Cheshire, huh? Pretty name. I'll have to remember that." Yet again, he tried to look back down the stairs; even if it was impossible to see her anymore, the intention was there. But as they continued to pace up the stairs, the music growing slightly louder, there were even bigger sights than the attire of the bartenders and door-checkers to come.

What was on the ground floor was tame compared to the scene on the upper floor. Or more appropriately put, scenes. Most people were wearing even more revealing gear than on the ground floor, and there were multiple activities going on in different areas of the room. One corner, there was a hot tub, with two women side by side, one wearing a leather uniform while the other was completely naked, only wearing a collar and a leash. Then there was another bar set up like Winter's bedroom, with a man restrained wearing very little, being tickled by multiple people, both men and women. There were plenty more scenes going on in the dim light.

Gazing across the room, Qrow could swear his jaw would have dropped to the ground if it wasn't secure. Suddenly the things he was doing with Winter didn't seem so extreme after all.

"We could do something here in the future," Winter told him offhand, shrugging off her cardigan; the room was a bit warmer than the downstairs, probably because of the hot tub. "Or, we could stop to watch if you're curious. Our appointment upstairs already knows that we're going to take our time getting up there."

"I… uh… is that chick getting fucked in the hot tub?" There was so many different things going on, Qrow had no idea where to focus. People were actually doing their own scenes here, in full view of anyone else in the room. It was a surreal experience, and that was without taking into account the various intriguing sounds that could be heard.

Presently, Winter was approaching a box that was suspended from the ceiling, with a mesh sack draped over the head sticking through one end. Hanging from said box was a sign that said, "Help yourself." Picking up a long, thin wand pulsing with violet light from a nearby stool where it had been placed, she raised it up and grazed it lightly over the backside poking out the other end. The toes of the feet folded underneath it curled from the sparks that shot between said wand and the exposed flesh.

"Thank you," commented the somewhat feminine voice.

"Are you allowed to converse in-scene today?" Winter asked. There was a nod, so she smiled. "How've you been, Candy?"

"Good," Candy sighed. "They busted me down from full-time to part-time, but at least I didn't get laid off. Plus, my benefits package is kicking in despite the pay cut - with my savings, I can look into getting bottom surgery."

Grinning darkly, Winter raised the glass tip of the electrode and touched it against the soft sack hanging down from the sub's ass. The gasp was pronounced and full of pleasure. "Why would you ever want to get rid of these beauties?"

"Just living my truth. And… I'm not in a good space for gender-teasing today."

"It's alright," Winter soothed her, putting down the wand to pet over her bottom gently. "All I meant is you're beautiful the way you are. Your body, your right to change it."

Even through the mesh, there seemed to be a visible smile. "Thanks, Princess. Seriously. Are you here on your own today?"

"Not quite." Her eyes flicked over to Qrow, but she didn't call to him, didn't prompt him to join her. His comfort level was still a top priority.

But it seemed it wasn't a problem. Startled though he was, he didn't seem at all uncomfortable. In fact, he had already been called over by one of the other club members. A much more dominant woman, one with long black hair, and bangs that covered one of her eyes. She had a sub of her own, one who was gagged and had her arms tied behind her back, forced to lay on the ground until anything further happened. Seemed the sudden distraction of “showing the new guy around” played into her favour.

Having listened to the small chat with Candy and noticed which man Winter was looking to, one of the other bartenders, whose only business on these floors was to clear glasses back downstairs, approached Winter, speaking up slightly. "Better get him to watch himself, looks like Cinderella's got her eye on him. I still say she's bad news."

"Oh…" Her eyes darkened when she saw the little brunette. "Well… he can handle himself, but it can't hurt to keep an eye out. Thanks, Junior." Giving Candy a brief slap on the ass by way of a farewell, she began to approach her neophyte Dom.

"The trick is pushing the boundaries. All the time. The closer you get to someone's limit you get, the further you'll push it next time you play." But Cinderella’s lesson to Qrow was interrupted as Winter was pacing toward them. Giving a slight nod as she returned to her subdued sub on the ground, she smirked toward her. "Is he with you, Princess?"

"He is," she told her shortly. "And how about we let him find his own way to his Domming style without your input, shall we? Thank you for offering, though." Her smile was positively poisonous. Not even Qrow, when they had first started talking and she acted as if he were the scum of the earth, had ever been the recipient of a scathing look like that.

"Well, if either of you need any advice from a real Dom, I'll be here. Ta ta." Cinderella was just as practiced at poisonous looks, and even more so with words. The advantage, and disadvantage to a place like this, was that people knew how each other played. And it was common knowledge that 'Princess' was mainly a sub, who Dommed on the odd occasion when she needed it. To anyone else, it would be fine. To Cinderella, it seemed a sign of weakness. That she wasn't a “real” Dom at all.

Qrow however, simply followed. He didn't know what to think, other than assuming he was just talking to another person and getting advice. But it was clear Winter didn't like her as a person. "Okay, so… what's your beef?"

Winter's response was curt as her eyes followed Cindrella. "That little bitch might have actually learned her craft from the Marquis de Sade himself. Don't trust her any further than you can throw her." Then she turned back and sighed, trying to dispel her bad mood. "Shall we move along, or did you want to give Candy a zap or two? Feel free."

"Give Candy a… who is Cand- oh." He spotted the suspended box, and the rather pleasantly exposed rump below. He didn't seem to notice the other small detail that was also exposed, and simply gave a little nervous laugh toward Winter again. "L-Let's move on, shall we? Electro stuff isn't my thing."

"Nor mine, though I'm not strongly opposed to it… should you get curious later," she added with a slight smile, finally relaxing back into her old self. She did however bring them past Candy's head to whisper, "I'll say 'hello' again if you're still here when we're through upstairs."

"Oooh, breaking in the new blood?" Candy's voice was positively purring. "Let me know if he's availab- ahhh, he’s new-new. Sorry, didn't see the sign."

Nodding approvingly, she patted the mesh-covered head. "Quite alright." Then she moved along toward the next set of stairs, which were at the other corner from the one they had ascended. Once out of earshot, she addressed him again.

"That lanyard means more than just you're new; it's a 'hands off'. Generally speaking, Cinderella shouldn't have approached you at all, but… of course, she didn't try to initiate play or drag you into anything. So technically, she did nothing wrong." Her lip curled. "That's how Cind works. Technically, she rarely does anything that can be outright damned, but skirts so close to it that you want to slap her anyway."

Slowly ascending behind her on the stairs, he nodded. Gradually he was beginning to understand the guidelines; no “scenes” downstairs, be respectful to anyone with the lanyards, stick to rules set in play. Even if some scenes were complex, the system wasn't.

Shrugging his shoulders, he admitted, "The pushing limits thing seemed a little… a little too edgy for my liking. She was saying how rare it is that she has a session that doesn't end in a safety word. That seems kinda reckless."

"And she said it as if it were something to be proud of, right? Typical."

By this point, they were in another corridor. It led toward another set of stairs to ascend yet further upward, but there were two other hallways branching off to one side. Winter turned down the first, and glanced along the tops of the doors. A few along, there was one that had a pearl necklace hanging from the handle. Smirking, Winter approached it.

"Alright, Rooster… we're here. Now, you remember what I said about never repeating what goes on here, right?"

"You said it so much it's drilled into my head. Seriously, you act like you're gonna open that door and I'm gonna find someone like Tai or something." But finally he was by her side, and watched eagerly as she opened the door to his surprise.

The first thing that was noticeable about the room was that there was a bench across the far wall, and otherwise it was devoid of furniture. Entirely white. A leather bag dyed violet was on it, half-open and innocent looking enough on its own. And seated by the bag was…

"Ah," Glynda Goodwitch said as her eyes raised from the smartphone she had been scrolling. A fluffy robe that matched her bag shrouded her body in warmth; below its hem she was only wearing two ankle cuffs much like those Winter had worn before. "Excellent, I was hoping it wouldn't be too much lo-"

And she paled when she saw who was standing there. Not only paled, but froze completely. Looking back at her was Winter, and to Glynda's shock, Qrow. The same Qrow who'd been attempting to flirt with her at their bowling games, winding her up more and more. And now he was seeing her in next to nothing, in the middle of a fetish club. Needless to say, his eyes were just as wide as hers.

"God, Winter," she breathed sharply, clutching at the neckline of her robe even though it wasn't open in the slightest. "The nerve of- I can't believe you would-"

"I didn't tell him who he'd be meeting, either," she reassured Glynda as she took the pearls off the doorknob and slipped inside, pulling the door shut. Reaching over to the panel beside the door, she flipped a switch down toward the word "OCCUPIED", and a dim red light began to glow through the door's window. Her next step was to pull a shade down that blocked out said light completely.

Having to blink over and over to try and understand what he was seeing, Qrow eventually looked toward Winter again with the still shocked expression, finally swallowing enough to talk again. "I-uh… Would never have guessed we shared a hobby, Goodwitch."

"Don't!" the woman snapped, standing up and digging in her bag for her shoes. "Oh, I can't believe I came down here for this, that I didn't- YOU, of all the people on the planet! I'd rather have seen Taiyang walk through that door, or my old boss who kept calling me 'thunder thighs'! What am I even doing here?!"

"Hey wait wait wait, hold up…" Holding his hands up in surrender, he tried his best to get Glynda's attention. Lord only knew what this surprise was planned with her, but it seemed like Winter and her had but a lot of planning into it. Even if it wasn't told who would be the other person. Still, once she glared back at him, he shrugged his shoulders. "Winter's been introducing me to the scene and told me the rules here; nothing leaves the building. I had no idea what I was walkin’ into here."

"He didn't," Winter shored him up. "I didn't want to tell him who you were outside of the Clamp, just in case he reacted badly… even though I seriously doubted it would happen."

"But he's QROW!" she burst out, gesturing harshly at the man with her high heel. "He is… a complete Neanderthal, and I thought you and I were on the same page! Besides the fact that I don't like men in the first place!"

That explained a lot. No wonder his attempts at flirting failed so spectacularly; Glynda was a lesbian. If the hint was any bigger, it would slap some reality into them. But as it stood, Qrow remembered the key word.

"Demonstration," he repeated, wandering further into the room for the seat. "That's what you said. I don't gotta get involved, I'll just hang back and watch, of course.”

But Glynda was already shuddering and shaking her head, trying to pull her heels on while standing up so she didn't have to sit next to him. "You know… I was willing to do that, for Wi- for Princess. Because she's the best Dom I know; not the most skilled or the roughest, but the most respectful of boundaries. A truly caring Dom. Probably because she's a sub most of the time, and she understands both sides. But I don’t think I can do this in front of… of you."

Winter walked closer, and Glynda stood her ground, mouth set stubbornly. "Listen, Snowmane. You're going to put on a show for my master, and for me. And you're really, really going to like it. But I understand finding out who my new master is makes you a little nervous. To sweeten the pot…"

Without finishing her sentence, she set her drink and the cardigan she'd been carrying onto the bench, beside Qrow and Glynda's bag. Then she reached up behind her shoulderblades and easily unzipped her modest dress. As it began to slide down her body…

A most unusual outfit was revealed, one that had remained entirely hidden all throughout dinner and their walk there, during their move up two flights of stairs. One that shut Glynda up immediately. Black leather, strips of which encircled her waist and down to her groin, up over her shoulders and criss-crossing her stomach and back, though it left generous gaps of flesh visible. Her legs were bare from hips all the way down to her black high heels. Over her chest she had been wearing a tan padded bra, but when she took that off, gleaming metal spikes belted each breast, looking provocative and dangerous.

In addition to shutting Glynda up, it also shut her master up completely. He was in rather the same boat as her, staring toward “Princess” wide eyed and shocked. She'd been wearing that all this time while they were in a fancy restaurant, and he had no idea?! It was maddening! The whole situation was. But he had a feeling it was going to get even more maddening if Glynda agreed to stay.

"Well?" Winter demanded, kicking the dress over to fall neatly atop the cardigan. It didn't even brush her glass. "If you can't hack this, I'm going to play with the Rooster by myself."

Now Glynda was unsure. Glancing between his casual, scruffy appearance, and the outfit displaying quite a bit of the Dom she had been waiting to sample, she leaned a bit closer to Winter, closer to that exquisite skin she coveted.

"I… are you sure he won't try to interact with me?" she whispered anxiously, positively trembling. "You know I like to be watched, and you used that - I'll let that slide since you're in charge of the scene. But you also know I'm less comfortable when those eyes are attached to a male!"

"This is the scene. You either get on your knees or you get the hell out of this room." When Glynda flushed, she rolled her eyes, and broke the character she had barely started to build. "He's not going to lay a finger on you, or I will make him regret it. You know I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you. I'm not Cinderella."

"If I'm allowed to say something?"

When the two girls were looking toward him, Glynda with a more of a glare than anything else, he continued to sit still, leaning back against the wall instead. He could still sense how uncomfortable she was, even with Winter's reassurance. And it was all his fault from how he treated her while bowling, even if he had toned it down since they first started. Maybe now she needed to see a different side of him.

"Look, I'm new to this stuff, and I'm a jerk on top of that; but I'm not completely controlled by my dick, alright? Winter said ‘demonstration’, so I'm not getting involved at all. But on top of that, if you need me to leave any time, just say the word and I'll go, no questions asked. Ruby put one of those Tetris-type games on my phone; I can start figuring that out while you finish up in here."

Glynda still looked skeptical. Winter turned her face back toward herself by force, thumb and fingers pressing into either cheek.

"You are mine tonight. Not his. And as he said, if you really can't handle him being here, he knows the way back down to the bar. Or to go play with Candy; she's in the box tonight."

"Exactly, I know my boundaries," he assured, sitting back against the wall again and brushing his hair back. He was more than eager for the display before him to begin, but prepared to leave if she wasn't ready. He might even pay Cheshire a visit, despite the warnings; he wasn’t scared of a little maintenance.

Of course, Glynda could only hear his words, not see him. Winter had her pinned. And very slowly, she whispered, "Ready when you are, Your Highness."

"Good. Now… last question. You remember our rules?" A nod. "You remember the agreed upon scene?" A nod. "Any last-minute changes, any at all? Now is the time."

"Um…" Her face flushed with complete embarrassment. "I… if I tell you, can you not ask why?" Winter nodded, so she leaned very close to her and whispered as quietly as was possible, "If y-you could… p-please leave my ass alone tonight? I'm sorry, I know what we said before, b-but it w-"

"Shhh," Winter whispered softly, touching their foreheads together. Her hand was still grasping Glynda's face, but the gesture was entirely gentle. "It's fine. I can adjust to that."

Even now, he was beginning to see a different side to Winter. Although the attire, and her words, had confirmed that she was going to be the dominant party in this room, he was yet to believe it for himself. He simply couldn't imagine the woman who he'd been chaining up, taken roughly in various different ways with various different tools and items, doing all that to someone else. And that was leaving out the fact that he'd more or less found she was vaguely interested in women, too, to be willing to do this with them.

But he kept to his word, sitting back, saying nothing. Not a single word about it, no matter how much he wanted to tease Winter.

Finally, having reassured her sub as to that one final detail, which Qrow did not hear, Winter whispered, "I've heard what you need before you start play." So she brought her face forward and kissed her softly upon her lips, then drew back and told her evenly, "We're only playing. When playing is over, it is over."

"Only playing," Glynda echoed, as if they were performing some sort of bizarre, unholy catechism. "When playing is over, it is over. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Begin play."

There was no moment or breath separating the last words with the next action. Winter literally shoved her down by the face so hard that Glynda fell to one side, her arm and thigh making a dull THUD! against the padded floor.

It was so sudden that it made Qrow jump slightly in his seat, eyes snapping wide open. He never dreamt of being so harsh to a sub, even if he got reassurance, yet Winter didn't even hesitate!

And Glynda didn't complain either. There was barely even a grunt when she hit the ground, only a subtle smile to herself. Already she could feel her heart pounding. It was the best aspect of being handled so roughly, the excitement of it. The adrenaline rush made for the best pleasure. Slipping her gown off her shoulders, she tossed it aside, before getting back to her knees.

"Did I say I wanted you naked yet?!" Winter snapped immediately - though the sight before them was quite delicious. A tight leather corset that did nothing to cover her breasts was all that she was wearing, besides the ankle cuffs and matching ones at her wrists. A collar also dangled around her neck, one that had a healthy metal loop with which to attach a lead.

"O-oh… sorry, Princess." She could only apologise, still sitting on her knees upright as she awaited her punishment. That was the secret intention all along, to be punished for those actions. Holding out her hands, she offered up the wrist cuffs to her. "Please, punish me how you see fit, Your Majesty."

"Alright. Bring me something to punish you with." When Glynda didn't react fast enough, she snapped, "Today! Don't make me do everything for you, spineless cur!"

Flinching at the sudden shouting, she nodded quickly, getting back to her hands and knees rather than standing again. "Y-yes, Highness. Right away, Your Highness."

And then she crawled. Crawled toward the supply of toys in her bag, a few inches from where Qrow was sitting. At first she hesitated, but when he moved away from the bag slightly, she let a faint smile show, and finally rummaged through it. There were a few items she removed; two clamps, a few of the buckles for securing her in place, and a X-shaped leather piece, with metal rings on each of the ends. Just like the one Qrow spotted at Winter's, but had no idea of the purpose for.

"Bring them here, Snowmane. Now." Winter had paced backward a few steps, so that when Glynda did approach, they would be perfectly positioned in front of their audience.

"Yes, Your Highness." She bowed her head, trying her best to keep the items together as she held them close to her chest with one hand, and used the other to just barely crawl. Once she was close enough, she placed them before her Dom for the evening, before settling back onto her knees again, waiting patiently.

Winter inspected these items for a long, tense moment, pacing back and forth. Her eyebrows were knitted even before she came to a stop in front of her current pet.

"Where… is the riding crop?"

Oh, that was a mistake. She'd forgotten a toy Winter specifically wanted. Even if she didn't say it aloud, that meant for further punishment as soon as she got it. Hunching her shoulders and appearing as small as she could, she didn't collect it just yet, merely answered, "I thought this would be satisfactory, Ma'am."

"Did you call me 'Ma'am'?" Raising one leg, she rested her high heel against Glynda's face. "I am to be called 'Princess' or 'Your Highness', you worthless fool!" Then she pushed Glynda backward with a quick spasm of muscle, withdrawing her leg afterward. "And you thought wrong!"

Flung back once more, her arm and side impacted the ground with a quieter slap! But before more abuse could come, she did as commanded, scrambling back to the bag again to retrieve the crop for her Dom.

And all the while, Qrow found himself staring between them both. Winter certainly was able to dominate. She had the attitude to do it perfectly, without question. The sight before him was enough to already pitch a tent in his trousers. Probably a good thing he had the drink, after all.

As she reached down for the crop and took it, Winter used it to point directly at her face and said very coldly, "Head down, ass up. It's time for your punishment."

Without question, Glynda turned around, bowing her head right to the ground while keeping her backside high in the air. Instinctively she had braced, knowing what was coming. But God was she looking forward to that.

Just as Qrow was. While in the midst of play, he either used different terms or gestured the action, Winter just flat out said it. Without fear of any rejection, or disobeying. She was a dictator above questioning by her subjects.

The tip of the crop trailed over her soft hemispheres of flesh, teasing and taunting. There was no sense in jumping straight to the end, but she also didn't want to dawdle. Therefore, a second later, she swished it downward and brought the tip up against one of her cheeks with a THWAP!

"NNNUUUGH!" she found herself growling out, hands curling into fists as she attempted to bear the pain. This was a light tap, she knew it would get far worse. But even so, it made her heart race faster, just as she desired. The mere knowledge that more was to come was making her grow wet down below.

Kneeling down, Winter used her other hand to rest upon the somewhat-covered back, holding her in place as she reared back and brought the crop down again, this time flat across both cheeks. More evenly distributing the pain. Another groan burst forth, one that made the sub press her face up against the floor even more firmly. It hurt, but hurt good. She was adoring every moment of abuse. Even the knowledge that someone was watching was making it even more exquisite, despite her initial reluctance.

Another blow, and another. She made sure to adjust her trajectory with every landing of the crop, to ensure she was leaving multiple stripes that Glynda could wear proudly for a few hours, rather than a single one that might not fade for too long. The abuse continued for a while, making more and more marks upon Glynda's rear. Several visible marks for her to wear under her gown for when she eventually headed home.

No doubt it would make sitting difficult for a while. But Glynda trusted Winter to know her limit, and eventually when the spankings stopped she took her moment to catch her breath again, closing her eyes and panting heavily to slow her speeding heart. It was a full minute later when she eventually spoke again.

"Th-Thank you, Your Highness."

The riding crop rose again, but this time only traced small circles, then dipped down toward her glistening sex. "Ahh, I see now why you thanked me for your punishment. You enjoyed it. Sick, and pathetic. But that's alright; there's more to come. I'll break you yet."

Standing, she cast a glance over at Qrow, to gauge how the guest was handling the show they were putting on. She couldn't openly acknowledge him or ask him questions during the scene… or could she? No, she would refrain for now, more for Glynda's comfort than anything.

Her guest was still staring wide eyed – and quite obviously holding his legs together, trying to refrain from making his enjoyment all too obvious for them both. Again, mainly for Glynda's benefit should she look over.

Thankfully, she didn't. She tried to stare elsewhere to distract herself, sighing happily when she was finally touched in the wet warmth. Oh how she adored it… she even found herself backing up against it, whispering, "Yes, Highness… I-I want you to break me."

"Good," Winter replied with a small smile. She glanced overhead, to make sure the bar was where it should be, before her heel raised up and began to press down against Glynda's backside with a goodly amount of force.

And it worked. Forced to fall forward, in the most undignified manner, she was pressed flat against the ground, finding herself whimpering slightly at the embarrassment she felt from it all. Winter might as well be stepping all over her back, grind her into the dirt in addition.

Which was exactly what Winter meant to do. Reaching up even as she moved, she hopped lightly onto Glynda's back. Began to tread on her, leaning more of her weight forward on her feet so that her pointed heels didn't dig into the woman too badly - in addition to holding the overhead bar so she didn't quite allow her full weight to push down into her sub.

"Ohh, this is nice," she cooed downward. "I've been wanting a good, soft doormat."

All the while, Glynda was lowly growling, biting her lip to try and hold in from being too loud. In regular scenes with Winter, she would allow herself to become unhinged. But now she could feel the eyes of Qrow upon them, she refrained. But at least Winter was adapting willingly, respecting their new alteration rather than pushing things too far.

"Hmm," Winter mused as she slowly walked up her back to stand between her shoulders. "What can I do to this average white woman approaching middle age who has found herself beneath me? Literally, and figuratively."

Still biting her lip, she shuffled herself very slightly however she could, attempting to make herself comfortable, even if it was a fruitless task. Was she genuinely asking? That wasn't how exactly they'd planned the scene, but it came with a little relief that Winter gave her the option to change things because of the eyes in the rooms.

"R-Restrain me, Highness," she begged. "S-So I can't move."

"That was rhetorical!" Winter turned and stomped down on her spine very slightly harder to punctuate her words, though still holding her weight upward partially. "Although, I suppose it was a question. You are excused, Snowmane."

After yelling from the stomp, she attempted as best she could to look back around as best she could, offering a small smile. "T-Thank you. You're too kind, Your Majesty."

Again, she began to walk downward, standing briefly on her rump before continuing along her thighs. She didn't dare walk further down, as the bulk of calves and ankles wasn't substantial enough; she might truly hurt her down there.

"You want to be restrained, do you? Well… I think we can manage that." Stepping lightly off, she snapped, "Hands behind your back, knees bent. Let me see how well you can help Princess get you ready."

Giving a light nod, she did just as she was asked. Even at her age, she was flexible enough to do both quite easily, and hold the position long enough for Winter to prepare her. And only now was Qrow starting to figure out what the cross section of leather was for, from how it aligned with the rings on Glynda's anklets and wrist cuffs. It was meant to hold her in that position. Some kind of hogtying device.

"Don't need these," Winter said dully, using the riding crop to flick off the heels Glynda had pulled on when still flustered over Qrow's arrival. Then she smirked and said, "Hold this for me," as she tucked the riding crop between Glynda's big toes and the rest of them, so that it was held horizontally above her own hindquarters. "Drop it, and you'll suffer."

"Y-Yes, Your Highness." An additional challenge had been set. Holding onto it as best she could with her toes, she continued to maintain the undignified position for longer while Winter prepared everything.

Nodding her silent approval, she reached over to the items Glynda had placed there, waiting. Picking up the "X" and the carabiners, she first attached them to each leather cuff, turning them in the proper directions so that they would be accessible. Then she began attaching them to the X one at a time, until…

Glynda was trussed. Arms up and above her slightly, knees bent as tightly as they could be, she was now in no way able to move or do anything other than roll from side to side somewhat - and even that would have been a task. Completely hogtied, and without a single stitch of rope.

“Well damn,” Qrow managed to whisper just out of the sub's range of hearing, still now trying to keep his legs firmly together to stop his growing bulge from becoming too obvious. The display had completely changed him, turned him from the smug Dom to a silent child, forced to watch and not touch.

All her sub could do was flex her hands lightly, still having to hold the crop in place with her toes. There was nothing left she could physically do.

"Next stop… oh, I don't know," Winter mused as she stood, walking in a lazy circle around the woman. Looking over her nearly nude form, trapped as it was. "There are so many things… where to start? I know; I'll check the bag."

So she did; she paced over to the bench and began to paw through the contents, carelessly adding blouse and a pencil skirt to the stack of her own discarded clothing. So much better to look through the toys. Looking over her shoulder, she smirked - first at Qrow, then at her sub.

"What's this for? A reward, or an implement with which I should punish you?"

And what she held up was… a carrot.

Glynda didn't want to look around, well aware that she was going to have to see Qrow if she did; but she had no choice. She had to look over to see what her mistress was holding. Yet again, her cheeks flushed red, and she looked away in shame. "I-I suppose… it can be both, Highness."

Catching the look, Winter also glanced at Qrow. To Glynda's horror, she seemed to be looking over to him for input. She could feel it in her gut what the answer would be already, that Winter would humiliate her by using a carrot as a way of bringing her end rather than the gentle fingers she loved, or even one of the other toys in the bag.

But when Qrow realised that she wanted an answer from him instead, he looked back and forth between them. Able to understand the reference of her name, and the significance of a carrot in the situation; he knew the answer he wanted to see, but he also felt a little guilty for inserting himself into a scene for which Goodwitch clearly wasn’t prepared. So, luckily for her…

"A reward, I think."

Smiling first at him, then over at Glynda herself, Winter said, "You heard your master's master. No making 'carrot cake' out of your sugary sweetness."

Then she reached into the bag and pulled out something else. A large harness with a moderately-sized dildo dangling from inside of it. So the rumours were true that, despite her age and experience, Glynda was an exceptionally tight fit; otherwise, the implement would have been larger.

"And here I was thinking you were straight," he managed to whisper, keeping a volume so low that Glynda only looked on in confusion toward him. But then she spotted the item which she knew she desired. And already, had began to nod.

"Yes, that one, Your Highness."

Smirking to herself as she stepped through the loops, Winter whispered, "Such an eager little slut. You'd think you haven't been fucked in weeks. And maybe you haven't, hmm?" As she paced over to stand in front of Glynda, she continued, "Have you been starving yourself of satisfaction just for li'l ol' me?"

As best she could in her awkward position, she looked up toward her, licking her lips when she saw the long length present on her body. It was true; as per their arrangement, Glynda had stopped herself doing anything since they first discussed it. All to make her more eager for tonight, more sensitive to her touch. Even with Qrow's eyes watching her, she needed to be sated. Badly.

"I have, Highness," she informed her, trying to wriggle her hips however she could. "I-I beg of you."

"Then show me how much you want it - with actions, not words." As she knelt in front of her forcibly prostrated sub, she held an index finger up within her field of vision. "But remember… don't drop the crop."

Biting her lip, she nodded against the ground, closing her eyes as she attempted to sway her hips back and forth to try and entice her in. Already there was a satisfying amount of moisture building there, from being teased and toyed with. It was a rather oddly satisfying display, but one that expressed her need. And all the while, she kept hold of the crop in her toes, trying not to budge it at all.

Suddenly, there was a length of smooth plastic pressing up against her cheek. Then the voice of her Dom saying in a quiet, even tone, "That wasn't what I meant."

"O-oh…" She looked down toward the ground again. "F-forgive me, Your Highness; what do you mean?"

"You know…" Reaching down, the fingers she so desired grasped at her hair and yanked her head up forcibly. "I'm beginning to suspect you're being obstinate on purpose. Hoping for me to teach you more lessons. Let me spell this one out for you."

The head of the strap-on was now literally pressing up against Glynda's lips, and Winter moved her hips from side to side for good measure. All she declined to do was reach down and force her jaw open herself.

Finally, she understood. Nodding against the length right upon her lips, she opened wide, trying as best she could to take it into her mouth as Winter pushed back and forward. For their audience today, Winter had began to fuck her face. Her sub held on as best she could, suppressing the urge to yell or even gag. She had to do this right.

"Good girl," Winter sighed, sounding as if she could actually feel the sensations. "Ooh, you're pretty good at this. For a lesbian." There was a slight gagging sound, but Winter didn't relent. "Oh, relax the back of your throat more. Focus on breathing through your nose… that's it."

She didn't dare nod, only continued to let her throat be abused as Winter asked. More went in, more was being accepted. It wasn't something she did often, but she was practised enough to put on a good show. Her cheeks glowed brighter when she suddenly realised where the saliva that was now covering the member would be going.

After about a minute, Winter drew back and pet her face, soothing her with, "Nice and wet. You're going to get a treat for that." And, of course, she pressed the carrot up against her lips - sideways, so she could hold it. "There. Now, don't lose your special treat!"

It was another challenge, like the riding crop. So many things to carry! Well, at least here she had the benefit of gripping with her teeth, holding the carrot still in her mouth for when Winter moved behind her. Gradually, she tried to watch where she was going, until she couldn't any longer, and resigned herself to laying her head on the ground.

Standing purely so she could walk around Glynda with her heels clacking loudly, Winter began to position herself behind the sub. But she decided to tease her a bit first; not in the cruel ways she had so far, but teasing nonetheless.

"You're so ready," she purred as the toe of her heel pressed gently up against her sex.

"Hmm…" she moaned against the carrot in her mouth. Even just that was enough to send tingles down her spine. It couldn't be helped, she had enough teasing. She needed someone to end that torment and finally give her what she craved.

Even as Qrow watched more intently. No longer was he concerned about the fact the bulge was obvious in his trousers, he simply leant forward to watch the moment of truth.

"Really ready. I can't believe how wet you are. But then again, you've been a good girl, doing as Princess asked and not doing anything to yourself until today. And that means you get another reward." Kneeling down between the bent knees of her charge, she began to glide her fingers over her sodden folds, just enough to continue the teasing in a more satisfactory manner. Then she leaned forward and grasped the riding crop with her teeth, drawing it up and away from Glynda's dubious grip. Only after that did she take it in her free hand. "Especially for holding onto this for me."

"Hnnn…" There was a dull shiver that rose up through her body now that she was finally touched, hands beginning to curl into fists once more while she tried to hold on. Now that her toes were free, she curled them just as tight, anything she could to keep herself going.

Which enticed Winter to chuckle and lean in to sink her teeth into those now. Glynda squirmed quite a lot at the little bite, and something like a giggle sounded from behind the carrot. "Hmm… you know, it's been awhile since I've done this." The fingers began to work faster, teasing more and more of her flesh. "Am I performing to your satisfaction, Snowmane?"

"Nnnnn!" Nodding against the ground again, she found herself biting into the carrot into her mouth slightly, assuring her grip even more. Those fingers could work miracles, perform magic. Out of all the Doms she could have, Winter was probably her favourite. And she was experienced with plenty.

At long last, one of the fingers dipped inside, still sliding up and down but edging inward a bit at a time with every pass along the wetness. "Yes, that's right… moan for me. Let me know how much you needed this. How only I can give you what you need. You are completely dependent on me for pleasure now, aren't you?"

"Yhhh… Nnnn…" she attempted to moan against the carrot, desperately trying to push herself back against the fingers that were taunting her, trying to get more. If that didn't prove how desperate she was, nothing would.

It occurred to Winter that she was being too kind to the supple woman beneath her. Older than her or Qrow by a few years, but still young and firm, in reasonably good shape. Though she did not scene with many women, Glynda was on her list of the ones she would repeat such activities with. But she was her sub; an obedient one, and one she didn't want to treat unkindly, but that was the whole purpose of their activity, wasn't it?

Time to tease her further. "Would you believe how wet she is?" she cast over in Qrow's direction. "She must really like you watching her. Or me touching her. Or both."

"Hmm?!" Managing to look around toward them both, she spared a moment to glare in her direction, then toward Qrow. There was still shame she felt in the fact it was him of all people watching her. But in fairness, he'd kept his promise. He didn't make a single sound, other than when Winter asked for his input. So he simply smirked back toward her and shrugged, like it was some kind of game.

"Yeah, you like putting on a show," Winter continued as she began to thrust the finger in and out of her, to speed up her movements and the roughness of her handling overall. "For women… men… anyone. You can't help yourself."

The glare was dissolving slowly into a pleasured daze, one that was making her moan louder and louder against the carrot in her mouth, biting further down. She was so close already, from just one finger! And Winter wasn't letting up. Her finger withdrew and a second was added, which slowly worked inside to widen her. Then she began to pound in and out of her at a reduced speed, feeling the inner walls adjust to the larger presence.

That had an unfortunate side effect. When she moaned even louder due to that second finger, gritting her teeth still to stop herself from finishing too soon… she bit through the carrot. Its remains dropped to the ground with a large bite mark in it.

Once realising her mistake, her eyes snapped open wide again, and she clenched her fists and toes to brace for what was to come. But all Winter said to her with a dark little grin was, "Well, what are you looking at me for? Pick it back up. Unless you want me to stop…"

Having to finish the bite she accidentally took first, she attempted to shuffle herself forward toward it. But those attempts looked ridiculous as she wriggled her body back and forth, still clenching her toes and fists in some ridiculous hope it would help. But she barely moved an inch. Closing her eyes tightly, she growled outwardly, knowing she couldn't achieve such a feat. Why did she have to bite that hard?!

But Winter said nothing about it. Even though she had insinuated that she would stop, her fingers only slid in and out of her sub's tight, slick entrance at breakneck speed as she leaned forward, using the position to gain better leverage.

Trying her best to maintain some form of dignity as the abuse continued again, Glynda bit her lip, moaning louder and louder against it. She could feel her arms and legs quivering, knowing deep down she wasn't going to last until the strap on would be used. In any other scene, multiple orgasms were a blessing; but while Qrow was watching, it was too much humiliation for her to bear.

"Now you're resisting," Winter observed accurately, pressing the tip of the riding crop right up against Glynda's aching clit as she continued to glide in and out of her. "Trying not to come for me. But that's what I want: you to come. So why are you fighting back, Snowmare? Did you want even more punishment than you deserve for the carrot?"

Finally, she gave in. Closing her eyes tightly, she began to quiver all over, unable to hold back the moans anymore as she yelled out loudly. The muscles around her fingers clamped down, trying to extend her pleasure as much as possible while her legs shuddered violently against their restraints. The first orgasm of the evening, done.

Gradually, the fingers came to a stop, then rested inside of her for a few seconds. The crop came up and traced circles around on her hindcheeks.

"Very good, Snowmane. You came for Princess beautifully." Then the tip rose, trailed down the sole of one foot. "However…"

"H-Huh?" she was barely able to ask between her panting, only just attempting to look over and check what she was doing.

But Qrow was seeing perfectly, watching as she was getting her length ready to do more and more to her. He was hard enough already, how much worse would this performance make him?

"You're going to have to receive punishment for dropping the carrot and failing to pick it back up." Then the crop went underneath her chin, turning it slightly to look at her more directly. Her voice dropped to a stage whisper, effectively suspending her Dom persona. "Now, listen. Our original agreement stands, but… unless you call a halt to play, Qrow is going to help me - very briefly - get you into position. If you can handle him doing that and only that, blink three times."

There were two emotions Glynda was feeling. One, she didn't want Qrow anywhere near her. Even if he had kept to the promise, Qrow was still Qrow. The perverted old lush whom she tolerated being on their bowling team, whom she turned her nose up at every flirt. But he hadn't made a single pass at her tonight, or a single comment. He'd been a much better man in one sitting than he had for weeks, but could she trust it – trust him?

However, the second emotion burned brighter. Curiosity. She had no idea what Winter was planning, and trusted her with everything. Qrow must be trustworthy if Winter was allowing him to do this.

Finally, she blinked three times.

"Good girl," she purred in her Dom voice again. Then she glanced up at Qrow. "Do you mind? I just need you to lift her up for a moment, and then you can sit back and watch the grand finale."

Then Winter sat down on the bench, moving enough things aside to give herself plenty of room to move, should she need to do so. Leaning forward, she stretched her hands out in Glynda's direction. Ready to assist when Qrow answered, if he was amenable.

"She's okay with that?" Winter nodded in response, and Qrow got up and set to work. Pacing over to the hogtied sub, he stood behind her, waiting for orders.

"Get her up here," Winter said matter-of-factly, reaching back to slap her thigh before her hand came back forward, ready to help haul her up once Qrow had eased her off the floor. "She's in for the ride of a lifetime."

"Alright." As best he could, he supported her legs, bringing her up off the floor as Winter commanded, whilst she did the same with her arms. Both of them lifted her upward toward the bench, settling her down onto Winter with her legs facing outward. It provided more than enough room for Winter to do as she pleased, while keeping her at a reasonable height to do just that.

Not intending to cause any more discomfort than necessary, Qrow sat himself down again on the bench, moving a couple of feet away just to keep a comfortable distance. He made a note of the softer, more thankful look on Glynda's face because of it.

Settling the elder blonde up against her front, reaching up to cup her neck gently, Winter leaned up to her ear to whisper in a sensual voice. Just another moment of broken character… somewhat.

"I'm so wet from all this play. And so are you. But I want to make sure you're okay keeping going after Qrow touched you. I mean… are you still comfortable enough?"

She was more than comfortable. Especially now that Qrow had moved a small distance away in respect of their wishes. Flexing her fingers idly for a moment, she whispered back to Winter, out of character, "He's actually doing very well… I'm still a little annoyed, but it’s alright. Maybe I'll have to buy him a drink after this."

"Glad to hear that," she uttered back softly. "And I'll buy you one; I really appreciate this, and you've done great." Then she leaned back and said in a normal tone, "Now… what do you say I punish your slobbering little cunt as hard as I can?"

Smiling again now that the scene was back on, Glynda nodded. The neediness of her voice returned, and she tried to wriggle her hips side to side to entice her. "I hope I am to your liking, your majesty."

Nodding her agreement rather than speaking it aloud, Winter reached back and gripped her hindcheek tightly for a moment. "You certainly are."

While Glynda remained silent as she braced herself for entry, Qrow was preparing himself for that moment of truth. His nerve endings were on fire, he could feel the fabric of his underwear restraining him, gliding across his so, so ready member as he shuffled in his seat. This private display was one of the most erotic things that had ever graced his eyes.

Knowing her sub was completely helpless put a lot of the burden onto Winter. So she shouldered it by lifting her hips up by the backs of her thighs, hauling her up a few inches at a time until she was positioned above her temporary cock. It was a precarious position, but the elder Schnee daughter worked out often enough that she could manage it with minimal effort.

Then she began to lower her down, feeling the resistance. Her aim had been more or less true, and she felt it slip to one side as it went up and into Glynda.

"Oooohhhh!"

That sound was completely unhinged. A request she needed sated more than anything, it was finally being fulfilled. And quite literally, filled. The older woman enjoyed every moment, feeling the member slip into her body with very little resistance – thanks to how dripping wet she had been. The dazed expression on her face fell to a grin, and she quivered with excitement again.

"T-Thank you… Your Highness! NGH!"

The sheer gratitude broke through Winter's façade. Maybe they had enough roughness for the day; of course, they both enjoyed the game, but now was time for Glynda to just have a good, solid orgasm. To that end…

"Does Snowmane want to finish like this? Or should I release her hands?"

It was an honest question; sultry, not at all cruel or taunting. Panting loudly still, she attempted to get her head together to give an answer. Being tussled in such a way was thrilling, but having a second orgasm while in that position was awkward. For the sake of her own aching joints, she breathed, "R-Release… If you'd be so kind, my Princess."

"Alright… one moment, then."

Regrettably, Winter had to leave her to sit still as she reached behind her back and traced her fingers up to the carabiners that held her wrists clipped to the hogtie restraint in the middle. Working for a few seconds on each one, she was able to unclip them and toss the clips aside. Her feet were still bound to the restraint, but that was inconsequential.

Now that her hands were free, she placed them into Winter's shoulders instead. Using them as her support, she looked Winter in the eye, continuing her dazed, yet delighted expression. Ready for whatever Winter was about to subject her to.

Feeling that Glynda was prepared and in position, the Princess began to ram up into her relentlessly, listening to their thighs slap against each other with every apex. Soft mounds were rubbing and sliding over the spikes of her own outfit, and though they weren't all that sharp, she did have to wonder what that sensation was like while being penetrated.

To Glynda, it was a harsh roughness. One that, if she had to put her finger on it, made the whole affair last longer. While she was sure that the fast and rough pumping of the fake member into her body would bring her to a finish far faster than before, the numb pain combined with the fact that this was her second orgasm slowed its progress, made her hold on longer.

Each moan and pant of Glynda's was making Qrow twitch all the more with need. To the point when he wasn't sure if he'd have to excuse himself after all.

"Do you hear that sound?" Winter panted from the exertion. "That slick, squelching noise? That's you, Glynda. You're so wet… you let this little Princess get a woman like you soaking, and now… you need me to drill you until you scream, don't you?"

Barely able to string a sentence together, “Snowmane” nodded quickly, closing her eyes as she allowed her head to fall back. She continued to try and push herself back against those thrusts, to get herself off faster to equal out the pain. It wasn't long now.

"Yes!" she yelled out. "That's all I want, Majesty! I want to… scream again, so badly!"

Licking her dry lips, Winter began to pump into her as hard as her body could possibly manage, arching her back and trying not to focus on how much her body ached to switch places, to be the one riding the cock as hard as Glynda was at that moment. But she had a task to complete; she could worry about herself later.

Thankfully, for everyone in the room, her orgasm came swift and hard. After a few more thrusts she bellowed out again, holding her hips down around that glorious shaft as tightly as she could manage. For the second time that evening, her inner muscles were clamping down onto it, trying to milk it for all it was worth. Her legs shuddered, and white hot pleasure flowed through her veins. It was much harder than her first. Far more satisfying.

And Winter's look was transfixed as the woman spasmed and moaned above her, eyes drinking in the sight. The detached pleasure she felt from bringing it about with her own efforts… it was unspeakably delicious. She really did feel like a princess.

[intheshadowofsignificance]

can i request some seto/isis/pegasus? : )

He hated the way she stole Seto’s soul with hereyes. He watched her through the windows as he entered; taking in the way thefading sunlight accented her complexion.

The doorman stammered and bowed, “Would you like atable by the window?” He managed without sounding too nervous.

“I’ve a table reserved, actually.” Pegasus repliedwith practiced grace. Confusion lined the younger’s face for a moment beforethe CEO excused his own boldness and crossed the lavish dining room. It wasold-fashioned, something he liked, and Kaiba, who sat across from the currentEgyptian ambassador unsuspectingly, despised. He could see the distaste lininghis tightly set lips.

Kaiba-boy,hechided, scanning the maroon carpeting and floral wallpaper, how simple can you be?

“Imagine seeingyou here!” He gushed to the focused brunet, who tensed immediately upon hearinghis voice.

The mysterious, theistic woman from Egypt turned hereyes to him, trying to hide the faint flicker of outrage at his intrusion.Outrage that did not match her intentions.

“Oh, what am I thinking, excuse me.” He pulled achair back to dismiss the words, sliding casually, effortless, into it. A fewstares from other patrons passed between their now three faces, some relaxingas they realized it was Seto Kaiba’s long-term business partner, not a pushymember of the press, that joined his outing, “I haven’t interrupted anythingtoo important, have I?” He lowered his pitch to an uncomfortable,almost-whisper that was directed to the young woman.

“Nothing at all.” She replied quickly. Seto’s handbarely brushed his salad fork, too quickly.

“Pegasus.” He said only loudly enough to be heardover the murmur of outside conversation, “Get out.” There was a warning in hisvoice.

“Now, now Kaiba, is that any way to treat a guest?And after I came all this way to see you.”

“That was your first mistake.”

The red-clad man laughed gently as he placed a handon the table, dangerously close to the one Kaiba had just caressed his silverwarewith, “Evidently, it was a shared mistake.” His eyes found the young woman’sagain, who refused to antagonize him even knowing she had lost the battle.

“Perhaps we should discuss this at a more convenienttime.” She forced herself to sound patient, but Pegasus didn’t need strain inher voice to call her bluff. She cast her eyes down to their empty plates,unstained, untouched by the hors d'oeuvres that sat between them.

“No.” Kaiba snapped, irritation rising in hisfeatures. He always blushed at the neck first, a beautiful, ascending flushthat rose into his jaw and along his cheeks, “Whatever you’ve come to say, sayit.”

It took even Pegasus a moment to realize that theyoung man was addressing Isis. She blinked, folding her hands, “Will you attendthe opening of the museum we discussed, when the time comes?”

Seto leveled eyes with her, the reluctance behindhis gaze a sharp blow to the woman across from him, “I’ll consider it.” Saidhis lips, but everything else was already running, far and fast.

She tried not to sound disgusted, “Very well.” Shepaired the curt reply with a small smile, softening, deflecting. “I’m happy tohear it.” She stared awkwardly down at the empty plates again, the small childin her ashamed to be seen with a man like this, so blatantly, ruthlesslyexposed in her façade to the other who had come to join them.

“I believe.” Pegasus spoke up, moving the hand thatrested near Seto’s to the wine glass the waiter offered him, “You’ve asked thewrong person permission to open a duel monsters museum.” He sipped pointedly.

“Pegasus.” Seto spat again, “This doesn’t concernyou.” Leave left a sour taste in hismouth, because no matter how many times he said it, Pegasus would not oblige.

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Kaiba-boy. DuelMonsters is my game, your branch of copyright is a formality and a courtesy.Surely you’re not making decisions on behalf of someone else’s company?”

The CEO forced himself to relax, anger ebbing outthrough his painfully straightened shoulders, “Listen you mindless,inconsiderate – “

“He is correct.” Isis cut in, ignoring the glancesfrom neighboring tables at Kaiba’s raised voice, “I overstepped my boundary.”She met his eyes, a mutual thought passing between them that both could seedespite their lack of millennium items.

Inmore ways than one.

She rose, embarrassed but undeterred, “Please acceptmy sincerest apologies.” She respected Pegasus too much to make any furthermove here, but at another time, in another place, it might have been different.She smiled to herself at the thought. Whatmight have been is not meant to be.

“He’s not calling the shots here.” Kaiba’s hand jerkedforward for her wrist, taking it roughly.

“Neither are you.” She met his eyes fiercely,pulling herself away, “We will be in touch.” She offered, ‘thank you’ passingmutely between them as her voice hid behind the last traces of her comfort. Shetook off toward the exit, and despite the growing number of whispers evolvingaround them, Seto flew into Pegasus unabashedly.

“Who the hell do you think you are coming in hereunannounced? I have things to accomplish that do not, will not ever revolvearound you or your company, and you damn well better believe –“

“Settle down Kaiba, there’s no need to shout.”

“You’re such a raging narcissist you can’t letanyone else conduct proper business with my company – unless I personally tellyou otherwise, you are to have no further contact with Kaiba Corporation!”

“You have the nerve to suggest consent to opening aduel monsters museum on my behalf and accuse me of wrong-doing? Kaiba-boy howmuch chardonnay have you been drinking.”

“I’m not doing this.” The younger tossed the napkinfrom his lap and sprung from the table, ignoring the spectacle in his wake. HowPegasus knew what they were discussing without being present was a mystery hehad no desire to unravel, “Pegasus, so help me!”

The elder was following hot on his heels, generouslyleaving enough money behind to cover the three tabs with a tip, “Gripe all youwant, it’s a free enough country.” He hummed as he said it, watching Kaiba’sstrides grown longer in anger and desperation. He liked watching him strut.He’d like it even more if not for that damned trench coat he insisted onwearing.

“You think this is a joke?” He could feel the coldspit lining the hostess’s arm as she held the door for them, gaping,asphyxiated.

“Have a wonderful evening.” She muttered.

“On the contrary Kaiba, I came on very seriousbusiness.” The younger couldn’t even scoff, disgust was so prevalentin his features that anything aside from a deep rooted scowl was unnatural.

“We’re done here.” He said, throwing open the doorof his limo and sliding, less than gracefully, into the back. He undershot theheight of the vehicle and hit his head in his haste to get away from the otherman. As clutched it, swearing loudly in protest, Pegasus shimmied into theother side.

Through the pain Seto managed to berate his driverand head of security, “What the fuck are you doing – get him out of here.”

“Again, Seto Kaiba, it’s a free enough country.” Pegasusfound the aching forehead and pressed gently against Kaiba’s clutching hands,“Stop that.” He ordered, jerking them away to examine the damage, “You’ll makeit worse.” The gap between their two forms had been bridged so suddenly thatSeto didn’t have time to register it until their warm breath mingled.

“Get away from me.” The limo began to move and hefelt the bit of chardonnay he had managed to choke down lurch into his throat.

“Shh.”

The elder coaxed pain out in long, invisibletendrils, stroking the bump as it formed.

“I’m not a child.” Seto shoved roughly against theother man’s chest, tossing him almost off the backseat and wedging his longlegs at an awkward angle, “or your escort.”

Pegasus smirked behind a curtain of silver hair, afaint glimpse of what would have been his other eye visible as he shifted backinto position, unpinning his legs from the narrowing space between him and hisprotégé. “Of course not Kaiba-boy,” he whispered huskily.

“I’m warning you.” He gripped both of Pegasus’sshoulders as they leaned closer, hands shaking with a rush of something likeadrenaline, “I’m not here to play games.” Fingers tightened into fists,practiced, ready for a fight.

Pegasus’s laughter invaded his memories of defendingMokuba in childhood, “That’s just it Seto, it’s never been a game.” He capturedthe younger man’s mouth, hands snaking between every finger, rendering themuseless.

Seto braced his hands against Pegasus’s, bending asif to snap the intrusive extremities in half, his mind had formed about halfthe thought of ‘the bigger they are, the harder they fall’ before cologneensnared his senses. Pegasus kissed him playfully at first, taking Seto’sbottom lip in both of his own until the younger’s entire being was consumed bysoft tingling.

“You’re being obscene.” He hissed, at the lastmoment his breath caught in his throat and Pegasus kissed the edge of his jaw,against his neck. There was only half a second to notice the motion of the carhad stopped, he called for his driver with no answer. Pegasus moved his handsfrom Seto’s and pushed the car door open.

Seto opened his mouth on impulse, “Wait…” he tried tosay, but before he could the elder placed a handkerchief with the goldemblem of I2 in his mouth.

“Let that be a lesson, Seto Kaiba. I don’t like to be ignored.”

[bcimbatmandude]

More Human Than Meets the Eye-The Blind Banker, Part Two

A/N: here’s the next chapter! Part three will be out tomorrow. Thanks for reading guys!

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Previously- The army doctor looked cross to his flat mate and tutted pointedly. Sherlock shook his head innocently. John turned and left the room, shouting a goodbye to Adaline before trotting down the stairs. Sherlock looked over and smiled proudly at his daughter who grinned back widely. "Sooo, can I touch it?"

"No."

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

"Sherlock, my laptop is password protected! How in the world did you.." "Oh please, John," Sherlock interrupted, scoffing. "It was elementary. Dare I say, second grade level work." (A/N: I have NO idea how the schools in the UK operate; not going to pretend that I do.) He then turned to his daughter who was sitting in her father's chair, making a point to look away from John. She began "whistling" but failed terribly. John continued looking at her with one raised eyebrow, and finally, she couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry, Mr. John!" she cried. "I didn't want to do it! He bribed me!" Adaline pointed to her father, giving the man a fierce glare. "Traitor," he muttered, and she shrugged. Sherlock sighed. "Oh well, can't be helped. It wasn't exactly Fort Knox level of protection was it?"

John looked back and forth from father to daughter, utterly lost for words. "Right. Thank you both."

He walked over and slammed the computer's lid down. Sherlock managed to pull his fingers out of the way just in time. John took the laptop across the room and put it down on the floor beside his armchair as he sat down. Sherlock clasped his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth as he propped his elbows on the table, looking thoughtful. John picked up a small pile of letters from the table beside his chair and frowned.

"What's wrong, Mr. John?" Adaline questioned, noticing his change in expression. John glanced up towards the girl. "Hm? Oh nothing." He paused and Adaline continued looking at him, waiting patiently. "Just..need to get a job," he finished.

"That sounds horrible," Adaline commented. At the same time as his daughter, Sherlock stated, "Oh dull." John glanced at the two, looking back at his letters for a moment. He looked back up then, and Adaline noted that he almost seemed..uncomfortable when he spoke his next sentence. "Listen, um…if you'd be able to lend me some…"

As he spoke, he realized that Sherlock was in no way paying attention to his roommate's voice. "Sherlock? Are you even listening?"

"I need to go to the bank," the curly haired man stated suddenly, and Adaline watched as her father got up from his seat at the table and headed over to the door. He grabbed his coat from the hook behind the door, quickly shrugging it on. "Adaline," he beckoned, grabbing his daughter's coat, and the girl mindfully rose from her father's chair, sliding her arms into the coat when Sherlock held it open for her.

Sherlock opened the door and the two made a move to walk down the stairs, but not before Adaline turned around to look back at John. "Mr. John?" she questioned. "Aren't you coming?" Not needing any more encouragement, John got up from his spot in the armchair, grabbed his own coat, and accompanied his new flat mates to the bank.

The trio arrived at the bank; John couldn't help but gaze around at the impressive bank foyer. Adaline gasped excitedly when she saw the escalator; she ran ahead of John and her father, jumping on to the "ride." Meanwhile, Sherlock and John calmly approached the electronic stairs, Sherlock making a point to observe as many details he could about his surrounding environment.

Sherlock walked over to the front desk, stating his name to the receptionist who nodded and began to show them to a room. She stopped though when she spotted the adorable blonde, curly haired child standing close to her father's leg. "Oh my goodness!" she gasped, and John watched, amused, as the young woman walked up to the child and kneeled down to her level. Adaline smiled politely but was obviously uncomfortable with the attention being shown to her. John couldn't really blame her for feeling that way, especially when the woman began petting the small girl's head, running her fingers throughout her curls.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. This happened almost every time they went out in public…

"Your hair is just precious! You are just the cutest little thing I've ever seen! Like a doll," the woman cooed. Suddenly, the receptionist's hand was coming towards her face and Adaline gasped, making a move to step away from the silly woman. She hated getting her cheeks pinched!

Before she could move though, Sherlock stepped in, finally deciding to take pity on his daughter. He hurriedly reached out and caught the woman's wrist in a gentle but firm grasp. "I'm sorry, we're kind of in a hurry," he told her, and the receptionist look at him with an affronted look. "Could you stop fawning over my daughter long enough to show us to a room?"

The woman, feeling her cheeks heat up with embarrassment, quickly snatched her hand away from the daunting man in front of her. She stood up from her position and readjusted her outfit before clearing her throat and gesturing the three of them forwards. "It's that way." "Thank you," Sherlock nodded politely and made his way towards the room, Adaline trailing behind him.

John looked at the obviously very flustered woman, feeling a bit sorry for her now. He threw her a kind smile which she half-heartedly returned, and then proceeded to walk towards the meeting room. When he walked in he saw a man in a business suit shaking hands with Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes," the man greeted, Sherlock's hand clasped in between both of his own.

"Sebastian," Sherlock returned shortly.

"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" Sherlock looked at Sebastian with marginally disguised dislike. Sebastian glanced down for a second, and then did a double take, as though he had just noticed the tiny human standing next to Sherlock.

"Who's this then?" he said loudly, and for the second time that day, Adaline forced a very fake, polite smile onto her face. "This is my…" Sherlock started, but before he could finish Sebastian interrupted. "Don't tell me. She's your niece."

"…daughter." the detective concluded. Sebastian threw a surprised look at Sherlock. "Daughter?" he repeated, clear disbelief in his voice. "Who would've thought that Sherlock Holmes was capable of being a father?" Adaline looked up towards the men, and for a split second, she saw something flash over her father's face at Sebastian's words.

Concern filled her and she opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly, the man's face was in front of her own. "What's your name love?" Her dislike for the business man only grew when she recognized the tone his voice had adapted upon addressing her. Adaline liked to refer to this voice as the "dummy voice." Well, she'd solve this problem right away.

"Is that a new watch?" she asked simply. "What?" he countered, looking taken aback. His breath blew into her face and she grimaced. "Your breath stinks," she said bluntly, and the man's eyes widened in surprise now. He quickly stood back up, taking a step away from the girl. Sherlock didn't even bother holding in his snort of amusement. John however, looked down at the girl disapprovingly, even though he too wanted to laugh. Adaline had never sounded more like her father than she did in that moment.

Sebastian turned to John, but not before sending a glare down at the small human who was now smiling at him innocently. "John Watson," John offered, take a step forward to shake the man's hand. "He's a friend," Sherlock provided. "Friend?" Sebastian repeated, one eyebrow rising up.

"Collea…" John started, and then made the mistake of glancing down at Adaline, who was peering up at him trustingly with her wide, green eyes. John made a split decision then. "Friend," John said firmly, looking back at Sebastian. "I'm a friend."

Both of Sebastian's eyebrows rose then, and he looked to Sherlock as if to say, Is this a joke? John knew at that moment that he had made the right move switching his answers, for he very much disliked this man. Sherlock threw him a grateful look and Adaline beamed up at him, and he felt warmth build up in his chest.

"Well," Sebastian said, clearing his throat. "D'ya need anything? Coffee, water? Juice for the tiny tot?" "We're fine," Sherlock said, putting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. He knew that the man was trying to rile her up, and as funny as it would be for a child to put such a pompous idiot in his place, it would also be rude, and as a father he shouldn't encourage rudeness. Sebastian nodded, throwing himself into his chair and gestured that they all sit down as well. As there were only two seats, Adaline sat in her father's lap, playing with hand when he wrapped it around her stomach.

"So, you're doing well," Sherlock started casually. "You've been abroad a lot." "Well, some," Sebastian admitted. "Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?" John frowned in confusion at Sherlock's words, and Sebastian laughed loudly and pointed at Sherlock.

"Right. You're doing that thing." He looked at John. "This guy here had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick," Sherlock said quietly, and Adaline glared fiercely at Sebastian. "We were at uni together. He could look at you and tell you your whole life story."

"Yes, I've seen him do it," John said, face blank.

"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him." Sherlock turned his head away then and looked down. Adaline looked at her father worriedly. The ignorant man continued, "You'd come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night."

That was it. Adaline couldn't take it anymore. "Don't call my dad a freak!" she shouted, and Sebastian whipped his head towards her. "He's not a freak and it's not a trick! It's called a deduction you idi-" At that moment, Sherlock's hand closed around her mouth, ending her rant towards the now speechless man. "Calm down," Sherlock whispered to his daughter, tightening his arm around her waist. She looked up at him angrily but nodded, and Sherlock released her, adjusting her in his lap once more.

"I simply observed," Sherlock now addressed Sebastian. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm sure you called me here for more than just a chat." Sebastian looked at Adaline for a bit longer and then met eyes with the detective. "Like father like daughter…" he mumbled, and John fidgeted a bit, trying to fight off the urge to follow Adaline's lead and shut the man down.

"Yes," Sebastian confirmed. "I do have something interesting for you. We've had a break-in." He got up then and walked across the trading floor towards another door, the trio following. "Sir William's office-the bank's former chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."

"What did they steal?" John questioned. "Nothing," the man said. "Just left a little message." He held his security card against the reader by the door in order to unlock it, and walked inside. Hanging on the plain white wall behind a large desk was a framed painted portrait of a man in a suit. Adaline presumed this was the late Sir William that Sebastian spoke of. On the wall to the left of the portrait someone had sprayed what looked like a graffiti 'tag' in yellow paint. The tag looked vaguely like a number 8 but with the top of the number left open, and above it was an almost horizontal straight line. Across the eyes of the portrait itself was another almost horizontal straight line that had been sprayed.

Sebastian led the way towards the desk and stepped aside to allow Sherlock a clear view of the wall. John moved to stand on the other side of Sebastian, and Adaline took her spot beside John. The business man looked at Sherlock expectantly while the detective starred at the graffiti in fixed concentration.

"Sixty seconds apart," Sebastian told them after they were back in his office looking at the security footage of the office from the previous night. The man flicked back and forth between the still photograph which was taken at 23:34:01. The photograph showed the paint on the wall and on the portrait, and then showed where a minute earlier -23:33:01 – the wall and portrait were still clean.

"So someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute."

"How many ways into the office?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting."

The trio walked with Sebastian back to the reception area and were now studying a computer screen which showed the layout of the trading floor and its surrounding offices. Each indicated door had a light against it showing its security status.

"Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet." "That door didn't open last night," Sherlock stated.

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you-five figures. The business man reached into his inside breast pocket then, pulling out a cheque. "This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way."

"I don't need an incentive, Sebastian," Sherlock scoffed, walking away. Adaline, on the other hand, snatched the money away from the business man, who looked at her with surprise but then rolled his eyes and followed Sherlock.

Adaline then turned to John. "Here ya go, Mr. John." She placed the cheque in his hand and smiled at John, who looked down at the child with wide eyes. "Ada, what.." "You said you needed a job," she answered simply, shrugging. "Your card didn't take at the store so you probably don't have a lot of money right now. This might help."

"Ada, I…" John started. "Thank you," he ended, and smiled at the sweet little girl. "You're welcome!" she chirped, and grabbed his hand, leading the two of them towards Sherlock and Sebastian.

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A/N: Ahhhhhhh! Adaline and John's relationship is just so adorable. Sorry if I'm doting on it too much, but I just can't get enough of it. Anyways, thank you again so much for reading!

[xehanortsreport]

since idk if im gonna get back to this fic like Ever (it’s been like...a year and some change since i last worked on it), i’ll just post what little of the last chapter of the fic i had written before i stopped (it’s about caesar’s childhood. his siblings are involved n shit.)

The events of what Caesar had witnessed with his father and that mysterious woman floated in and out of his mind for the next several weeks until, eventually, he had forgotten about it. Seasons had changed, and so, too, had Caesar’s responsibilities. He was only half listening to his father as the elder spoke about...something, instead his attention distracted by one of his young toddler brothers, Paolo, chasing about and pulling at the skirt of his sister, Gianna, who was closest to Caesar in age...and temperament.

“Caesar, did you hear me?”

He did not, especially as Paolo’s enormous screeching filled the room as Gianna smacked him across the head.

“Gia!” Mario barked at the girl, causing her to exasperatedly whip her head in his direction with pleading eyes.

“But Papa, he won’t stop pulling at my dress! Caesar just helped me fix this one! Isn’t that right, Caesar?”

The elder child scrunched his nose, vividly remembering the two of them pricking their fingers multiple times trying to figure out how needles and thread worked. Wagging his finger at the younger child, Caesar quickly decided to back Gianna up.

“Yeah, that’s right. Paolo, you want me to make you sew it next time? I don’t care if the needle goes straight through your fingers!”

The littlest child gasped in fright, immediately letting go of his sister’s dressed as Gianna snickered in delight. She crossed her arms severely, adding on to Caesar’s statement.

“Last time Caesar and I were sewing stuff, our fingers were covered with blood. Covered.” She added pointedly--then, seeing Paolo’s wide eyes begin to fill with tears, her tone softened. “Just don’t pull at my dress, ok? Then you won’t even have to worry about it.”

“Y...yeah, ok…” Paolo sniffled before waddling forward and hugging both Caesar and Gianna’s legs, getting his tears and snot all over them. Gianna sighed as Caesar locked up awkwardly, trading glances with his father. “I’m sorry…don’t cut my fingers off with the needles…”

Mario, who had been watching the entire scene with muffled amusement, cleared his throat, immediately drawing the attention of all three gathered in front of him.

“Paolo,” he said gently as the youngest child looked up, tears still flooding from his eyes. “Why don’t you go play with Teodoro or Maria?” The two middle children, who were currently outside, would’ve probably objected.

Paolo, rubbing his face so intensely that it was starting to turn a shade of red that resembled a tomato more than a human being, nodded furiously before dashing off to find his other siblings, leaving Gianna and Caesar to exchange relieved looks.

That look of relief would not last. Mario now turned to address the two children left, looking them each firmly in the eyes.

“Now, you two. I’m going to task you both with something very important. I think you’re both old enough by now, especially if you tag along together.”

The two children waited, breath caught in their throats. Caesar, especially, found himself eager for whatever task he was given--he was the other man of the house, after all, and though his pride was slightly wounded at having to share the responsibility with someone younger than him, he still wanted to prove that he was up to the challenge. Jabbing his thumb in his sister’s direction, he tilted his head cockily.

“With Gia? Am I not old enough to do it on my own?”

“No, you aren’t,” said Mario, firmly, and Gianna chuckled as Caesar’s ego rapidly deflated. “I need you BOTH to go with each other to the market and gather some food for tonight’s dinner. Can you do that?”

Gianna piped up with a happy gasp as Caesar found a delighted grin making its way onto his face. Going to the market was an almost sacred thing for all the kids in the family--a rare occurrence, seeing as how Mario usually went on his own, but the busy, vibrant atmosphere always made the kids teem with joy and excitement. For Caesar and Gianna to go on their own, to be entrusted with money, that was nigh unthinkable.

“Of course we can!” Caesar said, trying to deepen his voice to seem even more mature. “You can trust us, Papa. If anything happens, I’ll take care of it!”

“WE’LL take care of it,” Gianna chipped in while elbowing Caesar in the ribs. Caesar shrugged passively in response.

“And you both will take care of each other. Understand?” Mario asked, and the two children nodded reluctantly. “Good. Gianna, you will hold the money. And Caesar...I’m going to entrust you with this wrench.”

As Mario finished speaking, he pulled a heavy iron wrench from the table beside him, weighing it carefully in his hands as Caesar looked upon it with a look of mild consternation.

“A...wrench?” The boy asked plainly, not impressed with what he was given in comparison to Gianna. Mario was quick to take note of his skepticalness.

“This will be your weapon. In case anything happens, you two will need a way to defend yourselves. Caesar, use this wisely, and use it to protect you and your sister. It’s just an ordinary tool, so it won’t be calling trouble to yourselves. Hopefully you won’t have to use it, but just in case.” He placed the tool in Caesar’s hands. “Use it decisively.”

Small, calloused fingers curled around the tool curiously. It was cold. Heavy. Caesar had felt it many times while tightening bolts, one of the few things he was allowed to do on his own. Before now, he had never really considered using it as a weapon; that was what his fists were for, after all. But now, as he gripped it, he felt a peculiar sort of power wash over him. This was protection now, handed from father to son.

He was roused from his quiet introspection by a rough, yet gently placed hand on his shoulder.

“You understand, don’t you?”

Caesar simply nodded.

“Now go, you two. And be back as quickly as possible!”

Before Mario could even shout his last few words, Gianna and Caesar were already pushing each other out of the way to see who could scramble out the door first.  Mario sighed, resigning to the thought that maybe, just maybe, his children were simply beyond parenting.

*****

The marketplace was set up by the docks, as close to the water as the makeshift stalls would allow. The hot noontime sun glistened off the water, sending shimmering reflections bouncing off of the scales of freshly caught fish and the plump skin of beautifully ripe produce. Everywhere, there was shouting--happy, short bursts of laughter between friends who gathered daily in front of their wares, the incensed haggling of pennypinchers, impromptu humming and singing, coughing and sneezing.

It was mesmerizing--so much so that a distracted Caesar walked right into a woman’s back without noticing. The look she threw back at the boy was so bitter and so distasteful that Gianna, who had been lingering only a few steps behind Caesar, immediately burst into peals of laughter. The older boy turned a bright red, apologized, and started to sputter horribly.

“G--Gia! Don’t just laugh!”

“Well what do you want me to do? Apologize FOR you? Stop acting like a baby and let’s get the food.”

Caesar had to struggle to bite his tongue--which he immediately failed at, instead whispering obscenities his father would surely knock his teeth out for saying. Still, the embarrassment rapidly died down as they continued about their task, shoving their gains into the sack Mario had provided them with, giggling mischievously as Caesar swiped a roll from a baker as their back was turned, munching on their loot and dashing away before hearing the frustrated screams not too long afterward.

The sun started to shine a little less brightly in the sky as it lowered, cueing Caesar to start heading back.

“Gia, how much money do we have left?”

[anavoliselenu]

Heart of stone chapter 20

It had been a stimulating morning, making the let down for the next two days that much worse. Before dawn, I awoke to the feel of Selena’s warm body spooned tightly against mine. Never one to miss an opportunity, I seized the moment and made sure to leave her with a farewell that neither of us would forget about during my absence. Unfortunately, there was no sex, for obvious reasons. Instead, we kissed and caressed in ways that were surprisingly fulfilling. It was another first for me, and a completely unique experience in itself.

 The early morning hours that I had spent with her almost seemed surreal as I climbed aboard the Airbus ACJ318. Hale was already on the private jet when I arrived, neatly stowing our travel bags into an overhead compartment.

 “Morning, Hale.”

 “Good morning, sir.”

 “If my speech is in with those bags, take it out for me. I want to review it one more time before we get to Boston.”

 “Already done. It’s in a folder right over there,” he said, pointing to a corner end table in the spacious lounge area of the plane. “I think Laura made a few adjustments to it.”

 I went over to the table to review the contents. Laura had actually made quite a few changes, and I was thankful for her sharp eye. The speech was a couple of years old, and needed updating. If I had more notice, I would have written a new one.

 Satisfied that Laura had done it justice, I tucked it back inside the folder and turned back to Hale.

 “I assume the flight will be leaving on time?”

 “Yes, sir. I just confirmed it with the pilot. The trip to Boston should be a smooth one. However, we may encounter an issue on the return flight. There’s a bad storm moving in on the overnight, the remnants of a hurricane that’s traveling up the coast.”

 “Monitor the situation and make other travel arrangements for the return trip home if needed. I want to be back no later than eight o’clock Friday evening.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Did you have time to arrange the delivery that I emailed you about this morning?”

 “Vivian will be setting it up this afternoon,” Hale informed me. “You should get an email confirmation as soon as it’s received.”

 “Excellent. Oh, and I meant to ask you. How is your mother settling in?”

 “Very well. I appreciate your help to secure her placement. After the fall she took, I can rest easier knowing that she’s getting the proper care. Thank you again.”

 I acknowledged his gratitude with a nod, glad that things had worked out. Before reaching the age of sixty, Hale’s mother was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. It had come as quite the blow to my security detail, and when I heard that he was unable to afford the cost of a reputable nursing facility, I immediately made calls to get her the best care in New York and covered the expenses. Hale protested of course, but I would hear none of it.

 The pilot came over the intercom system, interrupting our conversation to let us know that it was almost time for take off. I settled into my seat and looked out the window. Cumulus clouds dotted the bright blue sky, making it hard to imagine that we were under a severe storm alert.

 I heard the soothing hum of the plane engine as it came to life and I rested my head back with the hopes of catching a quick snooze on the flight. My mind quickly filled with images of Selena.

 I wish she had agreed to come with me.

 I opened one eye to look at Hale. He sat across from me, already engrossed in the New York Times.

 Hale accompanied me on nearly all of my business trips. He was a good traveling companion, and always willing to discuss whatever I had a mind for. Usually the topic was business.

 That’s me. Always business.

 “Hale, let me ask you something,” I said on a whim. He looked up from the newspaper, his expression attentive. “Do you ever regret not settling down?”

 “Sir?”

 Yeah, I know. The question sounds crazy to me too.

 “I mean, with a woman,” I clarified. “Do you have any regrets?”

 If he was surprised by my inquiry, he didn’t show it. Instead, he looked thoughtful.

 “My mother always wanted grandchildren. When I think of how happy that would have made her, I do have regrets. However, now that she’s sick, it doesn’t really matter. Either way, I’ve never met a woman that I wanted to spend the rest of my days with.”

 “Or maybe it’s because I keep you too damned busy to meet anyone,” I joked.

 The corners of his mouth turned up in a rare smile.

 “I believe that we all have our own calling. So far, mine has been the service of your employment and it has suited me well. If I were meant to settle down before now, I would have done so.”

 “Hmm, perhaps,” I mused.

 “Sir, permission to be frank?”

 I laughed at his seriousness.

 “You’re not in the military anymore. Speak what’s on your mind, Hale.”

 His lips tightened into a thin line, as if he were concentrating on selecting the right words. He looked pointedly at me.

 “Miss Cole is a lovely young woman. Don’t let her be your regret.”

     ****

     I had deliberately packed my schedule, so that I had more than enough reasons to deny Justin’s multiple requests for me to accompany him to Boston. Because of that, the next couple of days went by quick. I worked out my remaining shifts at Wally’s, went to my gynecologist appointment, and caught up on lost gym time. Keeping busy allowed me not to dwell on the fact that I felt unexpectedly lost without Justin.

 I didn’t like that I missed him and the time apart made be realize that we needed separation more often. I had become entirely too familiar with his presence. With that it mind, I didn’t answer his calls, and kept all communication to strictly texting. I knew that just the sound of his voice would cause me to fold.

 By the time I arrived home Thursday evening, I realized that Justin and I would have to negotiate some sort of compromise. If we continued the way we were going, I would end up with very little time alone, especially come Monday when I started the job at Turning Stone. I had never agreed to give up every night and weekend for him, despite his original wishes. Yet somehow, I ended up doing exactly that.

 I went to the fridge to see what I could use to throw together a quick dinner for myself. Settling on a green salad with various fixings, I pulled out the ingredients that I would need. I went to work on slicing up chicken into thin strips and contemplated how I should approach the subject of maintaining my personal space with Justin.

 Boundaries. We need to establish some boundaries.

 The sound of my phone vibrating on the counter tore me away from my thoughts. Setting the knife down, I picked up the phone to see that there was an incoming text from Allyson.

   Today

 6:34 PM, Allyson: My flight is delayed. What’s up with the weather in NY?

   I looked out the window at the storm that was getting worse by the minute. Wind slashed at the windows and the rain appeared to be going sideways.

   6:36 PM, Me: Tail end of a hurricane that moved north.

 6:40 PM, Allyson: I’ll be lucky to get in by late Friday at this point.

 6:41 PM, Me: Stuck in Paris. Gee, I feel so bad for you…

 6:43 PM, Allyson: Ha-ha. Not funny. I’m miserable. It’s nearly 2AM and I’m holed up in an airport indefinitely.

   I paused in my texting to glance at the clock. I had forgotten about the time difference.

   6:45 PM, Me: Sorry, that sucks.

 6:50 PM, Allyson: Can you reschedule our spa day? Maybe for Saturday if you’re free?

   Justin planned on taking his boat out on Saturday, but by the looks of the weather forecast, that wasn’t going to happen.

 This is my chance at creating a little space.

 It took me about a half of a second to make the decision.

   6:53 PM, Me: Saturday it is. I’ll change the reservation.

 6:55 PM, Allyson: Great! Hopefully I’ll be home by then. I’ll text if there’s another delay.

   I looked up the number for the Mandarin. It was no trouble switching our reservation to Saturday. However, I knew that rescheduling with Justin would not go off quite as easy and I dreaded the conversation.

 I went back to preparing dinner, and layered arugula with sliced chicken, walnuts, and feta cheese. I was about to pour a balsamic over the top, when a knock at the door interrupted me.

 My stomach grumbled in annoyance over the second disruption as I went to answer it. I peered through the peek hole to see who it was, but there wasn’t anyone on the other side of the door.

 That’s weird.

 I opened the door anyway and found that there was a flower delivery on the floor in front of the threshold. Unsure as to whether the flowers were for me or for Allyson, I picked up the beautiful arrangement of blue delphiniums and baby’s breath and brought them to the kitchen. Placing the bouquet on the counter, I removed the envelope from the vase. The card was addressed to me.

   “I have found that among its other benefits, giving liberates the soul of the giver.”

 - Maya Angelou

 Looking forward to the weekend…

 Justin

   I smiled after reading the quote, appreciating Justin’s attention to detail by citing my favorite poet.

 I was about to put the card back into the envelope, when I noticed a blue velvet satchel tied around the neck of the vase.

 What’s this?

 However, I predicted the answer to the question almost as soon as I thought it. Knowing that Justin wouldn’t take back his gift of the necklace, I had decided to forgo any sort of argument by simply leaving it on his dresser the morning that he left for Boston. Apparently, this was his way of turning the tables on me.

 Loosening the drawstring tie from the cloth bag, I dumped the contents into my palm. Just as I expected, out poured the platinum triskelion and chain. It was then that I understood the reason for the Maya Angelou quote – Justin wasn’t only referring to the flowers, but to all of his gifts.

 In the face of his sweet gestures, I couldn’t help but to feel a little sad about it. It would be so much easier if I could simply accept everything that Justin had to offer, but I didn’t feel right about it. I sensed that he wanted more from me, but there were some things that I could not give – at least not without compromising my standards.

 I’m at a crossroads.

 One path would have me push Justin away in order to create more distance between us. He may not like it, and it could potentially lead to our demise. It would be a risky choice, because I knew that I wasn’t ready for things to end.

 But if I chose the other, I would become deeper involved. I’d expect more from Justin, and would want him to be more open about the secrets that I knew he was carrying. From the history of his parents to his underground life, everything was a mystery to me. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to continue without answers. However, that path had its risks too, as it may force me to reveal my own truth.

 The prospect of facing that pain frightened me, for giving up my secret would hurt me in ways that physical submission never could. The choice should have been an obvious one, knowing that I did not have the strength to handle the latter. However, I couldn’t decide what to do – for emotional surrender was my only true hard limit.

 The conference was going relatively well, even if it was boring as all hell, and I arrived back to my hotel room shortly after dinnertime. I considered going out to the Faneuil Hall area with Burke in search of a bite to eat, but decided on the solitude of room service instead. I didn’t feel like keeping company with my old friend, but rather wished that I had pushed Selena harder about coming to Boston.

 A short rap on the hotel room door signaled the arrival of dinner. I opened the door to find a pretty brunette balancing two platters. I was absently wondering how she managed to knock with her hands full, when I noticed that the trays were balancing precariously in her small hands.

 I was dangerously close to wearing stuffed flounder and hollandaise sauce.

 “Here, let me take one of those,” I offered, removing a tray from her wavering grasp.

 “Thank you, sir,” she appreciated.

 We both entered the room and set the trays on the small dinette set that was situated in the suite’s living room.

 “Do yourself a favor and use a cart of some sort next time,” I told her, fishing out my wallet to get her a tip.

 “Oh, yes,” she readily agreed. “I’ll make sure to use one the next time I come up. Will you be staying here long? Um, Mr.…”

 She sounded giddy, almost school girlish. My head snapped up to look at her. I was all too familiar with the tone that she took. She was watching me with a pair of innocent doe eyes, but this girl was anything but naïve and was obviously looking to score more than a tip.

 I pursed my lips in annoyance, choosing not to answer her. I handed her a twenty.

 Be on your way, doll. That’s all you’re going to get.

 “Thank you,” I told her, albeit dismissively.

 She looked momentarily disappointed, but took the dismissal in stride and left me alone to enjoy my dinner in peace. The transparency of some women floored me at times, and I suddenly had a newfound appreciation for Selena’s ambiguous personality.

 I wasn’t impressed by the hotel fare. The flounder was over cooked and the sauce was flavorless. I began to regret my choice to not accompany Burke to one of the cities more notable seafood restaurants. As a swallowed the last bite of the rubbery fish, my phone pinged with the notification of a new email. I pushed the plate away and pulled out my cell.

 It was a confirmation notice that the flower delivery was received. The time stamp on the message told me that it was just after seven, which meant that Selena should be home from Wally’s.

 I’ll try calling her now. Maybe she’ll actually pick up this time.

 Exiting out of the email, I dialed Selena’s number.

 “Hello, angel,” I greeted after she answered. It felt so good to hear the sound of her voice.

 “Hey. How’s the trip going?”

 “Incredibly boring.”

 “That bad, huh?”

 “Next time, you’re coming with me,” I told her.

 “We’ll see,” she murmured on the other end of the line. She seemed distracted. I had been so pleased that she finally answered her phone, that I hadn’t picked up on how distant she sounded until that moment.

 “Is everything okay?”

 “Everything is fine. Oh, and thank you for the flowers by the way.”

 I noticed that she didn’t mention the returned necklace, but decided not to bring it up. I missed her and I didn’t want to spoil our conversation by risking an argument.

 “Are you sure that you’re alright?” I asked again instead.

 “I’m good, really I am. I’m just tired and a little sore. It’s been a long day.”

 She does sound tired.

 Perhaps that was truly all that was wrong.

 “I thought Walter would have gone easy on you since today was your last day.”

 “Oh, work was alright,” she assured me. “I’m just worn out because I was up early and at the gym by six o’clock this morning. I couldn’t get an evening appointment with the trainer that I like to work with, so I had to go early if I wanted to meet with him.”

 Him?

 The idea of Selena having a one on one training session with another man made me uncomfortable.

 Extremely uncomfortable.

 Am I jealous? Since when do I get jealous?

 “I didn’t know that you had a trainer,” I tried to say indifferently.

 “It’s pricy, so I don’t do it often. But Eric is a good motivator and I needed him to get me back into a routine.”

 Eric? So the asshole has a name.

 I pictured Selena in spandex shorts, possibly a sports bra. With her midriff slick with sweat and face flushed from exertion, she would have been a provocative sight to behold. Hopefully she had the sense to cover up with a t-shirt.

 Either way, I didn’t like the situation one bit. I made a mental note to set Selena up with my own personal trainer, someone that I knew and could trust to keep his sweaty paws off of her.

 “Routine is good, but don’t over do it. You need to save some energy for the weekend,” I joked lightly, suppressing the uncharacteristic jealousy that wanted to come lashing out.

 “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that – the weekend that is,” she said a little too quickly.

 “What about it? I mean, I’ve been keeping up with the storm and I know that flights into New York have been delayed indefinitely. But I’ll make sure I’m back in time for the party at Murphy’s.”

 “Oh, it’s not that. Although, I’m glad that you decided to come. This is about Saturday.”

 “What about it?”

 She went on to tell me about her planned girls day out and how flight cancelations forced them to reschedule for Saturday. Then she proceeded to talk non-stop about how poor the weather would be for boating, barely pausing to take a breath. She sounded nervous, almost as if she was afraid to tell me about the change of plans.

 “I’m sorry. I know that I promised you the weekend,” she finally finished.

 Amused by her ramblings, I decided to go easy on her.

 “That’s fine. It’s only for the earlier part of the day. If you’d like, I could have Hale drive you and Allyson to and from your appointment.”

 “Allyson would get a kick out of that for sure,” she laughed. And if I wasn’t mistaken, she almost sounded relieved.

 “Consider it a done deal. Just email me the reservation details and I will forward it on to Hale.”

 “I’ll do it in the morning. Right now, I’m going to change into pajamas, eat my dinner, and then collapse on the couch. Maybe I’ll catch up on a few shows that I had set to DVR,” she considered.

 “That sounds exceedingly dull,” I teased.

 “Oh, not to me. A stormy night, house to myself…I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing.”

 “I could think of a few things,” I said suggestively. I could hear rustling in the background. “What are you doing?”

 “Exactly what I said I was going to do,” her voice was echoing, like she had switched me over to speakerphone. “I’m changing my clothes.”

 An image of her slipping out of her bra and panties caused a stirring in my groin.

 “What are you wearing right now?”

 “Um, a tank top,” she said, sounding slightly confused.

 “Anything else?”

 “Just my…” she paused. “My underwear.”

 Sweet Jesus…nothing but panties and a tank top.

 I suppressed a groan as the image of Selena’s lithe naked legs clouded my vision. I stood up and began pacing the room in an attempt to work off the restless energy that had suddenly come over me.

 “Are you trying to torture me?” I asked.

 I could hear her fumbling with the phone, switching it off of speaker mode.

 “No, I’m not,” she tried to convince me. However, her words sounded raspy, a sure sign that she was connecting the dots and that her mind was beginning to gravitate to the same dark place as mine.

 “I don’t believe you. In fact, I may have to leave Boston right now just to come home and punish you.”

 “Oh, really?”

 “You sound excited by the possibility, Miss Cole.”

 “Maybe I am,” she teased.

 “You’re asking for it,” I warned.

 “I’m not asking for anything. But now that you mention it, how would you punish me exactly?”

 Oh, game on baby.

 It was time to enlighten Selena on the many ways I could punish an obstinate submissive.

 “I would bind you face down, with your arms and legs spread to all four corners of my bed. You won’t be able to move,” I told her. There was dead silence on the other end of the line. I waited a moment before continuing, hoping that she was forming a visual. “You will be blind folded so you can’t see what’s coming. You remember the bite of the flogger, don’t you?”

 “Yes,” she whispered.

 “It will be different this time. I’m going to run it torturously slow down the length of your body, over and over again until you beg me to mark you with it. But even then I won’t. The more you beg, the more I’ll introduce new tortures, ones that will bring you near to the edge of your breaking point and keep you there.”

 “What kinds of tortures?”

 I smirked at the way she provoked me, knowing that she didn’t have an inkling of knowledge about the torments that I could introduce her to.

 You want to play femme fatale…let’s see how you react to this.

 “You’ve felt my finger, but just wait until you feel a plug stretching you impossibly wide.” I heard her breath suck in sharply. “Yes, Selena. You know what I’m talking about. Close your eyes. Picture it. Now imagine the plug, with me standing over you, finally giving you the flogging that you begged for. But even then, I won’t let you come until you’ve earned it.”

 Her breathing became heavier, the sound a turn on that left my head spinning. I leaned back against the wall of the hotel room and stared at the ceiling. If only I could reach through the phone and touch her. I wanted nothing more than to leave the mind-numbing conference, go home, and plunge into Selena’s satin heat.

 “When will I have earned it?” she prodded me further.

 I suppressed another groan.

 Oh, angel…keep pushing me and I’ll be on a plane within the hour.

 “That depends on how quickly you begin your penance.” I continued the game, but decided to add a twist.

 “Penance?”

 “Go to the full length mirror in your bedroom. Stand in front of it,” I told her. “Are you still just wearing panties and a tank top?”

 “Yes, why?”

 “Don’t question. Just let me know when you’re in front of the mirror.”

 “I’m here,” she said after a few seconds.

 “Good girl. Now look at yourself. See what I see when I look at you. Follow the long lines of your legs, to the curve of your hips. Notice the swell of your perfect tits…I imagine that your nipples are poking through your tank top. Am I right?”

 “Y-yes. They are.”

 Her stutter sounded hoarse.

 “That’s because you’re incredibly turned on. Now I want you to feel what I would feel. Touch yourself, Selena.”

 “Justin…” she hesitated.

 “Earn it, angel. Slip your hand down the front of your panties. Feel how wet you are.”

 “I – I can’t do that. I’d rather wait for you.”

 I could hear the shyness in her voice, but I could also hear the longing. I only had to push her a little further.

 “Not following my directions will only make your punishment worse. How much do you think you can take?”

 “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out when I see you next. Until then, goodnight, Justin.”

 At that, the line went dead.

 Goodnight!

 I banged my head back against the wall.

 Once. Twice.

 She’s gotta be freakin’ kidding me!

 I had a hard on that rivaled any other, yet she left me hanging.

 I took me a solid five minutes to steady my racing pulse. My only consolation was that I knew her frustration was surly matching my own.

 I stepped away from the wall and rubbed the back of my now sore head. I stared down at the phone, resisting the urge to chuck it across the room. Instead, I pocketed the cursed thing and went to the bathroom to take a shower.

 A very cold shower.

     ****

     The wind and rain slapped at my face, but the storm was no match for the resolve that ran hot through my veins.

 I had to find her.

 I will find her.

 I just wasn’t searching in the right places.

 Out of the rain and into a dark building. It smelled musty in here, like unwashed hair and dirty laundry.

 I stepped into a room that had long been neglected, abandonment taking its toll over time. I knew this place all too well – the curtains that hung from the windows, the tattered couch against the wall. Cobwebs covered the lampshades on the end tables.

 I hadn’t been here in so long…

 I glanced down at the throw rug in the living room and saw a large brown stain of blood. Bile rose up in my throat at the sight, and I quickly turned away.

 How did I end up here?

 I knew she wasn’t here. I had come to the wrong place again.

 “Justin.”

 I heard my name, but the voice was wrong. It wasn’t the voice that I had been searching for. It belonged to someone else – it was the voice that had the ability to soothe and frighten me all at once.

 “Selena?” I called out.

 “I’m here,” I heard her say from another room.

 I ran through the dingy apartment in search of her. She didn’t belong here, not in this dirty, tainted place.

 How did she find out about it?

 How did she know to find me here?

 “Selena, where are you?” I yelled.

 I tore through the hallway, searching room after room. But it was as if every time I closed a door, another would appear. The dim lights began to flicker, until eventually they went out completely and I was left in nothing but darkness.

 “I’m here,” she said again. With only her voice to guide me, I stumbled into another dark room.

 “Where? I can’t see you?”

 “Here,” her voice came from somewhere behind me.

 I turned to go towards the sound, but my feet came out from under me and I was falling.

 “Selena!” I yelled through the air that whipped past my ears. “Help me!”

 “I can’t,” I heard her say, but her voice seemed to be further away now. So much further…

 Falling.

 Falling.

 I couldn’t let her slip away. She was my only hope. I grappled for something to hang onto, anything to keep me from plummeting to the ground.

 “Selena!”

 “Justin,” her distant voice echoed through the endless abyss that threatened to swallow me whole.

   I sat up like a shot, sweat drenched and shaking. The sound of rain lashing at the windows caused me to become disoriented, and it took me a moment or two before I remembered where I was.

 Boston. The hotel. Only a dream.

 But I could still smell the damp air. I still had that sinking feeling in my gut from falling – the kind you get on a roller coaster after it goes over the first crest.

 It was the second time in a week that I had been shaken up by a dream. I could blame the dreams on my heightened emotional state since meeting Selena. Or maybe it was an underlying fear that my sister’s ex-husband would dredge up the long buried past. Or perhaps tonight, it was simply that I had bad fish for dinner.

 I lay back down against the overly soft pillows and tried to shake off my unease.

 A shrink would have a field day with me.

 I rolled on my side in an attempt to get comfortable again, but my efforts were futile. There was no downplaying certain elements of the dreams. They left me with a feeling of emptiness that made my heart ache. I could not ignore the fact that while I was sleeping, I had been searching for my mother.

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