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e1dritchjackal0pe · 1 year ago

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𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔮𝔲𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰

Summary: Your relationship with Farleigh Start has always precariously walked the line between friends and enemies for years.

But maybe there's something else there, too.

Warnings: 18+ content; MDI. AFAB, Oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex (this is fiction, please use protection in rl), hints at s and d dynamics; brief, barely there choking, outdoor/technically public sex. Sex while under the influence (takes place during Oliver's party, so drugs for Farleigh and alcohol for the reader). Farleigh being an a*s, but what's new. Reader is American. Heavy denial of feelings in the beginning.

Notes: 14.6 k words. There is an abhorrent lack of Farleigh content on this site, so I thought I'd contribute. Not proofread, divider by @saradika-graphics

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎𝖎 - 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦𝔦

Honestly, it's a wonder how you always manage to forget the sheer opulence of the Saltburn Estate - even when it wasn't in the throes of a celebration that costs more than your yearly salary. It's like some sort of dream almost. While you're in it the details are all startingly intense. Overbearingly so. Flaunting in front of you with all of its details and sights; like a kaleidoscope. The memories never do the estate any true justice. The soft, rolling lush fields; the crystal blue skies that loom over the tall gray spires. It's all painted behind your eyelids with a haunting clarity. But as soon as you leave - as soon as you wake up - the entire experience never truly feels real. Bits and pieces slip through your fingers. It loses its tangibility somehow and you can't help but wonder if you had imaged the whole thing, even with Felix's number programed into your phone; a physical reminder that Saltburn is indeed a real, tactile place.

But even here tonight, while walking the halls and strolling through the courtyard, it doesn't feel like reality. It seems as though you've stepped into a fever dream, crossed some imaginary threshold and entered some mirroring realm. The air is charged. Electrifying. And you swear you could feel the magnetic net of adrenaline and excitement prickling at your fingertips. A cocktail of emotions amplified by alcohol and drugs and endorphins.

Everywhere you looked there were jovial, writhing bodies. People dancing and laughing. Some full on making out - and others dangerously close to toeing the line of having public sex - and others were having a less enjoyable time by collapsing in exhaustion or blacking out in an inebriated haze. One unfortunate soul had thrown up all over the floor boards of the foyer, and you had just narrowly missed being sprayed by the projectile vomit as you had passed. It was like the Exorcist.

Thank God it hadn't been on one of the Persian rugs.

It was someone's birthday, it seemed. A little impromptu. Not initially planned. Oliver's - at least that's what you believed it was. The same Oliver that Felix had mentioned during one of your phone calls. He had spoken of him fondly, but when Felix had rushed outside this evening to greet you from your taxi and help you gather up your bags, he had seemed less interested and even a little irritated in the mention of his newest companion - or as harsh as it sounds, charity case (he seems to have a new one each summer). And he had been quick to divert your line of questioning, stopping you with a somewhat curt, "he's just a friend from Oxford. That's all." And that was that. You knew not to press him over it.

But your time with Felix was cut short when he was pulled aside by an excited Elspeth, who had spared you a quick glance and a "hello, darling," before eagerly trying to get his advice on the party preparations. Which he didn't seem particularly enthused about being dragged into. And it left you to stand awkwardly on your on in the middle of the foyer, trying to force your bleary eyes open. Jet lagged with your will to live paper thin from only having a rough five hours of sleep to back it up. And for a moment you had feared that you might actually pass out on your feet but luckily Venetia had sought you out and saved you from feeling too awkward amongst the others. Occupying the time by gossiping and interrogating you about your time back in the States. All of which, you had confessed have been rather boring. Filled with exams and dead-end dates and careless flings. And even though the initial arrival always leaves you feeling like a fish out of water, you were thankful to have been invited back over to Saltburn. The sprawling, golden fields and fresh crisp air always a welcome reprieve from the loud, chaotic clamoring and the smog blanketed horizon of Los Angeles.

Even though the wild, scattered throng of sweating bodies that were bumping into you honestly weren't all that different from the clubs you frequent back home. Of course, the sheer show of wealth and splendor that had been rolled out for Oliver was nothing that you had ever seen before with the only thing to rival it (and surpass it, probably) being Felix's very own birthday party that you had been able to take part of a few years back. One that had been themed after a strange but no less entertaining amalgamation of cowboys, space and disco, and the costumes and decorations then had left you in a state of awe, much like tonight.

Everywhere you looked there was something else to gawk at. Glittering lights, a hired contortionist and at one point you had even seen a swan rush past you out on the courtyard - which you had only felt sad and a little angry for.

It was pure, unbridled pandemonium. Noisy and cloying with the scent of perfumes and marijuana and alcohol; and you couldn't escape it. Not even when you had gone outside to take advantage of the dark, balmy summer breeze to cleanse your lungs. And everything had been going well until a drunk man had lunged out of the crowd towards you. Wobbling on his feet with a loud wail akin to a war cry as he aimed a narrow tube directly at you. And you only had a fleeting second to wish that it was one of those party canisters full of tensile when he had set it off with a loud pop! And a large, shimmering cloud of glitter had burst over you like a mist, layering across your hair, and costume and skin like a sheen of sweat. You didn't even have time to yell at him before he was scurrying off into the crowd with a demented cackle, probably on his way to find some other unfortunate person to glitter bomb.

And even worse a quick glance downward had revealed that the drink in your champagne glass had been tainted by a thin coat of sparkling silver. Even if you wanted to be lazy and drink around the floaters, the amount drifting around in the champagne was too much. You probably would have ended up choking on all of it. It was with a defeated sigh that you tossed out the remainder of your drink onto the trampled lawn.

For the first time tonight you're actually thankful that Venetia had chosen to leave you for some tall, dark, and handsome stranger that she had met near the beginning of the party. You hadn't seen her since, but maybe it's a blessing in disguise. You would hate for her to see the state of her dress. It is just glitter, easy to wash off in the grand scheme of things, and too be fair she had said that she didn't even like the garment. It was just some random piece from another one of the Catton's wild parties - themed after Renaissance art and fables, you think. And she had sifted it out from the depths of her closet with little fanfare. "It's just some old thing, " she had told you plainly, even though the dress probably cost more than your monthly rent. Clearly, she wouldn't be distressed over some glitter, but you were still having a hard time fighting the sinking feeling in your gut. It was borrowed. She was letting you wear it. And now it was covered in a dust of silver because some guy decided to be a dick.

It could be worse though. It could have been a glass full of wine that he had dunked on you instead. You suppose you should take your wins where you could get them.

A part of you thinks about returning inside the manor and calling it a night. Taking a much-needed bath to clean off the layer of glitter from your skin and just going to bed. But really, you aren't sure if you'll even be able to manage falling asleep with the sheer volume of the music playing throughout various sections of the house, and the sound of the raucous cheering and laughter. And you could imagine what Venetia or Felix would tell you, to quit being so reclusive and to get out and socialize.

You did fly all the way over here. Planned this trip for a few weeks and made preparations with your job and roommate when Felix had called to invite you over for the summer. It would be a complete waste to turn in for the night and huddle yourself up in your quarters.

And with the fog of alcohol draping over your body you know you should probably put a pause on it for a bit but fuck it, it's a party and you need another drink.

You glance around the courtyard, hoping to spy one of that servants that have been forced to parade platers of alcohol around for the many guests but all you see are the scattered throngs of people dressed in fairy wings, strange animal masks, and plastic swords. Honestly, it never amazes you how many people get invited to these events. Even with all of the family members combined, there's no way they all know every individual here directly. There's probably enough to fill a damn stadium.

In your search your gaze sweeps over the steady bonfires, the temporary lovers grinding against each other and a pair talking amongst themselves - wait. That catches your attention. You feel heat prickling at your chest; irritation rising in some subconscious sort of reaction and as if they have a mind of their own your eyes skitter back over to them to confirm if what you thought you saw was true. And lo and behold, there he is. The bane of your existence. Farleigh Start.

Your eyes flicker across him from his head to his old-fashioned boots. He's holding some sort of mask in one of his hands. A big bulky thing with long protruding ears and an equine shaped face and you have to squint to come to the concussion that it appears to be a donkey.

He seems to be talking to someone. A person that you don't recognize but they both seemed to be engaged in some sort of heated stare off from near a rotating pig on a stick. It looks like he's found another unfortunate victim to prod at and humiliate. Not that it was difficult for Farleigh. He was always eager to find someone to harass and belittle. And the more that someone fought back, the more interested he seems to become. He's been a personal thorn in your side for longer than you'd like to admit.

Of course, you knew he would be here, but that didn't necessarily mean that actually seeing him made it any easier. It had to have close to a year since you've last interacted with him, which had to have been during that awful Christmas party back in the States. Why Graham had invited both of you when he knew that neither of you get along is a mystery. It could have been some lame attempt to get two of his closest friends to finally clear up whatever animosity was between them, but in all actuality it had just made worse. All of the passive aggressive barbs and thinly veiled sneers had nearly reached a boiling point that night when Farleigh wouldn't just leave you alone. Seeming to make it his mission to antagonize you at every turn with childish insults. But as childish as they might have been, they added up over time until you were giving him what he wanted, lashing out in response to his nasty little comments.

And to think at one point you had actually been excited to meet him. As Graham's close friend and roommate, you were interested in getting to know the guy that he couldn't stop gushing about. The one who he had praised nearly nonstop. Farleigh had been nice enough in the beginning. And you even enjoyed his company for a time. His humor had always been a bit snarky, and the jokes he told were usually at another's expense. But he had been - as much as you hate to admit it, fun. And at one point, you had even considered him a friend of sorts. Or at the very least an acquaintance whose company you enjoyed while you both rambled on about nothing and everything, often gossiping about others.

It had all been fine between you. That was until Felix had come down to L.A. to visit. He had gone out with Farleigh and Graham to go and sightseeing, which eventually steered into hopping from club to club as the day wanned into night. And when the invitation had extended to you, your relationship with Farleigh had taken a turn. For whatever reason talking to Felix was easy. But that was just Felix you suppose; always able to make friends with just about anyone in the room. And the closer that the two of you had become, the more strained your association with Farleigh had grown until it was filled with nothing but sardonic remarks and passive hostility. And instead of being a sort of surface level confidant, he gradually became a presence that you detested. And your relationship had gone from a mutual respect and cordial conversations to some sort of strange cat and mouse game. The both of you exchanging snarky jabs in an attempt to see if the other would crack.

You would be lying if you didn't admit that some part of you enjoyed your little spats. And maybe you had hoped that he would be here tonight. Not that you'd ever tell him that. You'd rather trip onto the sharp end of a knife.

Suddenly Farleigh is stepping towards the stranger, shoulders rigid and body pulled taught, seeping with irritation. And he takes ahold of their face, forcing the shorter man to look into his eyes in some sort of intimidation tactic. Farleigh's nearly seething. And his expression is firm with an apparent frustration. You don't think you've seen him so visibly aggravated before. You can't help but wonder what the mystery guy may have done to warrant such a response from him.

And then Farleigh is pulling away, releasing the stranger from his grip with a smug smile. But on him it looks more like a sneer with the way his lips are stretched and showing off his teeth. He's moving towards your direction now, probably intending to head back to the house, and he's yet to notice you. You contemplate leaving. Of slipping back under the cover of the scattered crowd and disappearing before he sees you, but your body doesn't move. Instead, you're stock still. There's some awful feeling in your gut that seems horrendously akin to anticipation; fluttering and soft and nauseating.

You should just leave. You could leave if you'd just move. But it's too late. You swear there's some awful full body reaction that occurs when Farleigh's gaze meets yours and he stops in place to assess you. For a moment it's like you've been sucked into a black hole. It's like time has dilated and shrunk down around you until it's frozen solid and suddenly the lively chaos around you falls quiet, muffling down into an insignificant hum in the background. Recognition flickers in his eyes and something else crosses his face too. Something that you don't quite recognize but regardless, it feels as though the both of you are engaged in some sort of wordless exchange. There's another smile growing on his face. It's mischievous but still much more relaxed and familiar than the previous one that he had worn, and you can't help but return one of your own.

It's then that you're finally able to gain control of your own body, walking backward a few steps before you twist around to slip amongst a gaggle of passing girls with something that is suspiciously close to excitement bubbling in your gut. You briefly use them as cover to get you closer to the house entrance, and they're all too occupied with giggling and gossiping to notice your presence. But you're able to remove yourself from the cluster when one of them drunkenly trips on her skirt, and she saves herself by latching onto the shoulder of one of her friends with a wild laugh. The others all gather around her to jokingly reprimand her as they assist her in righting herself but you're already stepping through the back threshold of the manor, and you're thrown headfirst into the alcohol infused, neon casted mayhem. Party streamers, glow sticks and blaring upbeat music. It's complete madness. You can hardly hear yourself think and trying to work yourself through the tight gaps between people's swaying bodies proves to be a challenge of its own and it's a heavy reminder as to why you had even gone outside in the first place.

The atmosphere is cloying and thick; you feel as though you might actually be able to choke on it like it's a physical thing. As otherworldly and exciting as this party is, it's another experience entirely when you're being elbowed in the ribs by an oblivious drunk girl who isn't aware of her windmilling arms and all the intoxicated men who think that you're trying to feel them up and flirt with them when in reality you're just trying to get by. And for a split second you feel as though you may never make it out of the tumultuous sea of bodies. That you'll be cursed to wander around aimlessly in the wild, dancing masses for eternity. Subjected to the ear shattering music and scent of spilt wine and bourbon and sweat.

But then you hear something that sounds suspiciously like your name. It's distant and damp as though your ears are plugged and for a second you had thought that you imagined it before you hear it again. This time louder and there's no mistake that someone is calling you. It has you pausing for a moment to analyze your surroundings and then you catch sight of someone familiar at the far end of the room and for a moment you think that your eyes might be lying to you with the aid of the dim lighting. The deep, saturated, shifting hues of purple and blue and red tinting the chaotic space doing very little to aid you. But someone is waving their arm up the air for you to spot them better and a long glance confirms that you were right in your assumption. The relief that sweeps across your bones is insurmountable and the glimpse of a hand raised up in the air to beckon over you is even more incentive to press forward. And you have to shoulder past people until you enter a small break in the crowd.

"There you are!" Venetia shouts triumphantly, swaying to the rhythm of the song playing at full blast. "I've been looking all over for you!"

You don't bother refuting her. Of countering that she was the one who had wondered off without any plans to meet up afterwards. Instead, you just move up closer to her, doing your best to match her movements and energy but you're entirely too self-conscious to actually meet her. And you feel the fleeting sense of relief that she has yet to notice all of the glitter covering her dress or doesn't care.

"I had to go outside and get some fresh air, " you confess and even underneath the low lighting you can see the way that she nearly rolls her eyes at you, but even then, there's a well-meaning smile on her face.

"You're at a once in a lifetime party, and you were spending it outside?"

"Just for a minute." But she looks completely unamused by your apparently flimsy defense and suddenly she's grabbing you by the shoulders and leaning towards you like it might seal in her words better.

"Well, you're supposed to be inside. Dancing and partying and getting drunk." She squeezes her hands against your skin. "Seriously, it's like you're allergic to fun."

Okay, a little bit rude. And you try to remind yourself that she's just saying it because she's probably drunk. For the most part, all of the younger Catton's (Farleigh included) have a tendency to be social butterflies and party animals. It was something that you had struggled to keep up with when you had officially become friends with Felix. Luckily, he was typically the most understanding out of all of them, and he was aware enough to take notice when you were burning out. It was something that you had thought that Venetia had come to terms with as well, but every now and again she always makes sure to voice her objections.

And you open your mouth to protest but you hardly get anything out. "That's not tru-"

"And as your friend it's my duty to ensure that you do exactly all of the above!" She pulls away with a smirk that is entirely all too satisfied, and it immediately has the alarm bells inside your head blaring. "And maybe even a bit more."

You don't like that last bit.

"There's someone who I think you'd love to meet!" And you swear you can feel your stomach drop at those words but exasperation bleeds through the discomfort until you're holding back an irritated sigh as she practically gushes some stranger's name. "Reuben!"

And at the call of his name, the guy seems to appear from the darkness and shifting bodies like some sort of spirit. It takes you completely off guard how closely and quickly he moves, and you have to physically keep yourself from flinching back. The entire situation is jarring, and you feel like an insect pinned to a corkboard with how both Venetia and this stranger - Reuben are watching you expectantly. And it takes everything to muster up a smile that you know must look strained and unnatural. "Hi," you greet lamely, but he doesn't seem to be the least bit deterred or put off.

And he is cute, you'll admit. Kind, joyful eyes that you think are hazel but it's honestly impossible to tell in this lighting and there's a dusting of freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. He seems inviting enough if first impressions are anything to go by, but for whatever reason you don't find yourself gravitating towards him or longing for any sort of conversation with him.

"It's nice to meet you!" He returns, loudly projecting to be heard over the stereo system. "Venetia's told me a bit about you."

"Uh-huh, " you nod for him to continue or maybe divulge, but he doesn't. He just stands there silently without removing his gaze and you can't tell if it's because he's just oblivious or if maybe he's just socially awkward, but it has you shuffling on your feet all the same, desperate to move or do anything to make this less weird. And you glance over at Venetia who still has that hopeful expression on her face, doing your best to telegraph your discomfort without tipping Reuben off. And she does seem to notice but she doesn't tell him to leave or direct him somewhere else like you had wanted.

"Reuben said that he's been to America before," she reveals. Apparently trying to salvage this little interaction and cultivate it into something more.

"Oh, really?" You perk up a bit, or at least try to. "Where did you visit?"

"Uh, New York. City, " he clarifies at the end before his demeanor shifts into something a bit sheepish and playful and the gold plastic crown perched atop his head glints in the lights. "It was a bit of a bore, I won't lie. But that was probably because I was there on a business trip and not on holiday, so feel free to put the blame on me."

His attempt at joking does thaw at some of the unpleasant tension that had burdened the air, but even with the initial ice broken there's still just a simple, straightforward uninterest underneath it all. You aren't stupid. It's obvious why Venetia had pressed to introduce him to you, it's obvious why he had agreed. And you don't fault him for trying to get lucky at what might just be the party of the decade (for you at least) but keeping him here and stringing him along is a complete waste of everyone's time. You aren't going to sleep with him. Not tonight or any other night. And then you go to tell him as much, parting your lips to just get to the point and lay all of your cards out on the table but then Venetia is tapping on your shoulder, making you pause to look over at her.

She has this strange, delighted smile on her lips that's even worse than the one she was wearing when she had invited Reuben over. She nods her chin over to your right, watching eyes trained on something or someone. "Your shadow's here."

You nearly break your neck to follow her line of sight and your heart skips a beat when you see Farleigh standing several feet away from a gap in the crowd and you have to wonder just how long he's been standing there for. And you don't know why you suddenly feel as though you've been caught doing something wrong. Why your body flushes and prickles with shame and you feel like cringing. Maybe it's because of the way that he's looking at you. How his eyes dart from you to Reuben like he's assessing something. Most of the emotions flickering across his face are unreadable. But for second you think that you catch glimpses or what might be anger or irritation and worst of all betrayal before it leans into something neutral and flat. And then just as you had, he's turning on his heels and vanishing. But unlike you, he doesn't smile as he leaves. He doesn't walk away with a silent invitation to follow.

And then Venetia is turning to Reuben with a sweet smile and tilting her head. "Alright, you can go now."

He looks just as confused as you do, and he turns to look at you like he's expecting you to jump in to defend him or at the very least offer an explanation, but you don't have one to give. You're just as lost as he is and when you don't speak and tell him to stay, he backs away, spreading his arms out in a sort of silent 'what the fuck?' gesture and vanishes back into the throng of bodies.

"What . . . was that?" You ask, tense with a mutated type of bewilderment and anger.

"I just wanted to see it." She says cryptically and irritatingly, begins to dance in place before finally disclosing on that little comment. "The look on his face."

"What?" You snap.

"Please, the way you two dance around each other is getting dreadfully old. It's boring and tired. I just did something to get the ball rolling."

This in particular isn't new by any means. You had heard it all before from the two Catton siblings. Their vehement insistence that you and Farleigh had some unspoken attraction for the other that you both refused to act or speak on. It had nearly become a joke for the both of them. To prod and poke at you and Farleigh with to their hearts content. It was something that the both of you had learned to accept over time - somewhat - and ignore. But this. This new and entirely strange.

"So, what? You were trying to make him jealous?" Your forehead crinkles as you watch her; incredulous and perplexed.

"Trying?" She echoes amusedly." I succeeded. Did you see the way that he was looking at you? He was practically seething."

You almost scoff. He wouldn't be jealous; he had no reason to be. And you don't know why Venetia's little ruse has pissed you off, or why that strange look on Farleigh's face had made your heart drop, but it did.

"The two of you are so dense that it's honestly as frustrating as it is entertaining," she says with pure exasperation. "I mean, whenever you're here, you're practically fused at the hip. Bickering like cats and dogs like we can't all see the truth." She laughs but it's more of a scoff really. "He speaks about you. All the time. Always whining and complaining about something you've done. But it's different. He practically has hearts in his eyes while does it. And it's exhausting." And then she's backing away from you, leaving you to settle and drown in the disarray of your own thoughts and come to terms with that. Does he really speak about you like that? Surely, there's no way.

"So can the two of you, for all of our sake's, sort whatever mess you've got going on between you and just fuck already? "

And then she's spinning away her heels, sending you a wink over her shoulder and the silver chains wrapping around her body in a delicate draped halter glint and twinkle underneath the lights; showcasing that elaborate weblike shape that they've been constructed in. And she just leaves you. Abandoning you in the middle of the temporary dancefloor while you fight with an upstream of odd emotions. You just standing there while you tussle with the urge to find Farleigh and apologize (apologize for what?) and tell him that it was just some weird joke from Venetia (why does that matter?). You don't know why you feel the need to go and try to repair whatever damage Venetia may have just done. What that said 'damage' may even be, you don't know. And you also don't know why you're suddenly heading off in the direction that Farleigh had disappeared in, scanning the crowd for him with some ugly sense of desperation that you don't want to unpack and analyze. Not even as you yield to it.

You aren't even sure how long you search for; your gaze jumping over every face and person that you see in the hopes that you find him. But the room is packed to say the least, and the odds of you actually stumbling across him must be low. He might not even be in this specific room anymore. And if that's case then you might as well as give up now. The estate is sprawling; if he doesn't want to be found, then he won't be. And you think about giving up. Of turning in for the night and trying to talk to him in the morning when you inevitably see him at the breakfast table.

But then you see him. Only this time there's no double take or reason to reconfirm that it is him, this time you spot him immediately.

He seemed to have shed his doublet at some point, leaving him in his pale undershirt. His mask is gone as well. And it takes your mind a second to realize that he's not alone. That he's pressed against some girl like he might kiss her. There's a smile on his face; inviting and flirtatious and the tips of their noses brush together as they lean in close.

You're an unintended observer. You shouldn't be here watching them in a moment that clearly isn't meant for you but it's as though your feet are glued to the floor. It's like watching a car crash. You don't want to look; you don't want to be here but some awful part of you is making you stay. Your muscles have gone still from something prickling and cold and disarming. You can feel it in your chest too. It's making your lungs seize and for one long, paralyzing moment it's almost like you can't breathe. But you don't have a right to be bothered by this. Farleigh's entitled to have one-night stands or flings or to go on dates with people if he wants to. There's no reason why he can't. And there's no reason why you should be feeling shame and betrayal and hurt right now. Absolutely no reason. You wonder if this is what he had felt just a few moments before while you were standing with Reuben and that odd little side of you hopes that he had.

God, what if Venetia had been right? What if -

Their lips brush together.

They're going to kiss, some hideous part of your brain whispers and even worse your body tenses and coils like it's bracing for some sort of dreadfully anticipated impact. This is it. The moment the car crashes and erupts into burning flames.

But then Farleigh goes still. Pausing as though someone had called his name or he's remembered something. The girl that he's pressed up against leans back with a confused furrow pinched between her eyebrows when he turns his head and his eyes land on you.

Your mouth goes dry, and your tongue seems thick and useless, and you try to swallow around it. Now that you're here you don't even know what to do with yourself. You aren't even sure what you had gone after Farleigh for. You didn't have a plan to begin with; you didn't know what to say. You have to internally curse yourself for following after him and putting yourself in this situation. It's strange and awkward and it takes everything for you to even manage a smile. To try and look casual and pretend that maybe you had just stumbled across them and hadn't intentionally tracked him down. And you lift a hand up in a lax wave while your mind ceaselessly chants for you to leave. To just go.

You can feel Farleigh's gaze searing into you, drilling holes into your head even as the girl that he's with leans towards him and you can't hear over the distance or the music, but she appears to be saying something if the way that her mouth is moving is any indication.

You're quick to turn on your heels and all but nearly speed walk away from the both of them, eager to create as much distance between you and them as possible. You don't feel like you're apart from your body. It's like you're disconnected from it, uncomfortably aware of your limbs and movements as you rush away. And it's like your emotions are stuffing your body full and threatening to tear it at the seams. Emotions that you don't recognize; that you don't want to recognize.

A warmth and pressure suddenly encircles around your wrist, much like a hand would and for a moment you think that you've imaged it. But then you're being pulled back gently by the strength of someone's grip, and it forces you to stop. You know who it is before you turn to look at them. You can smell the burn of tobacco from his cigarette habit on his clothes, and it blended with the delicate musk of his cologne. The woody notes of amber joining along with vanilla and bergamot and cardamom made your mouth water in some horrid Pavlovian response. It was humiliating.

Then your eyes are meeting his; dark and glimmering underneath the flashing, sweeping lights dancing about the room. And for one agonizing moment neither of you say anything. It's like you're both simultaneously drifting away and stuck in place. The energy looming over the both of you is foreign and strange, and Farleigh can feel it too if the blank, unsure expression on his face gives away as much.

And then he's releasing your wrist and you let your arm drop down at your side. He shifts on his feet and the weird tension in his shoulders drop as easily as if it were a piece of clothing and a smirk takes shape on his face. This is the Farleigh that you're more familiar with, with the condescending look in his eyes and a prideful tilt to his head. It puts you at ease. Dulling the nervous butterflies in your gut and allowing you to settle underneath his presence.

"Well, if it isn't Felix's favorite little pet." It's meant to be an insult. Most would read it as such, but for you it brings nothing but relief. It feels like a consolation almost. That whatever these strange little interactions have been they haven't damaged your relationship with Farleigh (what relationship?) and made things odd. He glances around the room and all of the festivities, the swaying crowd and streamers and flowing alcohol. He wrinkles his nose in a way that comes off as falsely apologetic. "Or I guess I should say second favorite now."

"Then it's a good thing that I didn't come here for him," you respond easily enough. Internally thankful that the last remaining remnants of tension in your throat hasn't prohibited your ability to speak. "I just know how thrilled you always are to see me, and so I couldn't possibly bring myself to skip out on the trip."

"Thrilled," he echoes with a scoff. "Is that what you think? Because personally I feel like drowning myself in the pond right about now."

"No one's stopping you, " you quip back easily, finally slipping back into your old dynamic.

His forehead scrunches as he pins you with an incredulous look, tilting his head as he moves in closer towards you. "And leave you here all alone? What would you do without me?"

"Thrive. Live. Experience peace."

"Sounds boring."

But you don't have time to respond. He's leaning back on his feet and stepping away from you while he digs one of his hands into the pocket of his costume's pants. And when he removes his hand, it comes out clutching a packet of cigarettes, which he's quick to ruffle around in. "Come on, I wanna smoke."

You don't ask any questions as he moves, leading you out from the dancefloor and throughout the house. Every so often he glances back over his shoulder like he's reconfirming that you haven't wandered off and left. He guides you up a set of staircases, past the couple planted by the first step who are openly making out and grinding on each other and up into the twisting, changing hallways.

"Where are we going?" You ask, nearly getting shoulder checked by a pair of girls who rush down the corridor in a fit of giggles.

"I told you, " he replies and hardly looks back. " I want to smoke."

You want to press him about. About how suddenly he's unable to smoke inside when you've seen him do at least a thousand times. Even at the breakfast table. He probably does it on the toilet too. It wouldn't be a surprise. You aren't sure how long the two of you walk for, higher up into the highest floors of the house until he's finally stopping and opening a door at the end of the hall. He pauses in the threshold, dipping his head in and looking in like he's checking to see if it's occupied. He could have just knocked. It would have been an unpleasant surprise for the people inside if it actually had been unavailable. But the coast must be clear because he's slipping inside and nodding his head for you to follow after. He shuts the door behind you, closing it with a click and gives you a passing smirk when you shoot him a curious glance.

You follow him into the room, vacant apart from some paintings and a few pieces of furniture - an old office maybe, and he leads you across the floors towards a pair of large glass double doors.

He tugs on one of the handles, swinging it open, revealing what appears to be one of the balconies. He's outside before you. And by the time you slide up beside him he's already leaning against the chiseled stone railing on his elbows and the cigarette perched between his lips is lit and smoldering.

The air outside is still warm, sweet and earthy with the scent of moister in the air, like some distant, unseeable storm is brewing. And you can see so much of the estate from this high up. The frolicking people down below in their costumes and those massive, glowing lotus lamps drifting in the pond. But even with all of the guests down on the courtyard engaging in various kinds of trouble; drinking and shouting and singing amongst themselves, up here their voices can harldy reach you. It sounds like a faint murmur on the soft summer wind. And for maybe the first time tonight you actually feel a sense of calm.

"He's a selfish lover, " Farleigh says randomly, flicking the butt of his cigarette to sprinkle the dead ash onto the far grounds beneath. "And a notoriously fast one too. Eliana Merrick said he busted as soon as he put it in."

He notices the lost look on your face and sighs, twisting around on his feet to lean his back against the railing instead. "Your little boytoy from earlier. Reuben Amory." He spits his name out with something that sounds suspiciously like contempt. Venomous and irritated and he lifts the cigarette up to take another drag. "His father's a friend of the family. To James specifically. That's how he always manages to weasel his way into our parties."

"I guess I dodged a bullet then." You joke, absentmindedly fiddling with one of the elaborate pearl earrings dangling from your ear.

"What? He didn't scratch your itch?"

"No," you shake your head with a light shrug. "He was fine. It's just . . . I don't know, I wasn't interested."

Farleigh snorts, making you glare at him, eyebrows furrowing. "What?"

"Nothing." But his tone is a little sarcastic, and unconvincing and the nasty smile on his lips reveals as much. "He just seemed to fit the bill of your type pretty well. Well-meaning, polite and a little pathetic."

You nearly laugh but it comes out as more of a scoff. "That is not my type."

"Oh, really?" He challenges, moving closer towards you and you can smell his cologne again. The vanilla sticks out the most this time. Delicate and sweet. "What about that guy you used to flirt with at IHop? "

"He was a server. It's literally his job to be nice-"

"And then there was your neighbor back at the apartment. The one across the hall with the abysmal amout of plants. And then who could possibly forget, what was his name? Adrian? Who you dated for all of four weeks."

It has you falling silent, unable to counter his argument even though you have a remark waiting on the tip of your tongue. You've never realized that Farleigh had ever paid that much attention to you and your affairs. It has that syrupy, fuzzy feeling pooling in the center of your chest despite that fact that you're actively telling yourself that it doesn't actually mean anything. It's normal for people to notice things about people that they're forced into proximity with.

"Wow, I never knew you were so interested in my love life, " you say, gripping onto the rough texture of the railing. Stroking your fingers over the soft groves and bumps. "Maybe you should get one of your own."

"But yours is always so entertaining," he snuffs out the cigarette and carelessly drops the butt onto the ground near his feet. "You know, with the way that it always seems to crash and burn."

It probably would have stung to hear if you weren't able to say that you were the one to end all of the relationships that you had been in. That you were always the one to take the first step in severing ties. Even with Adrian you had been the one to sit him down and explain that you just hadn't been able to see it progressing anywhere. The both of you were too different. Your goals and wants in life were polarizing and the only things that had brought you together were superficial at best. You just weren't built to last.

"Please, like yours has ever been any better." But he doesn't look the least bit offended. Instead, there's a satisfied quality to his expression. Your lips purse and something akin to defeat weighs down your shoulders. "Besides, they were all too sweet anyway. A little too nice. They could never keep up. I'd always end up saying something to hurt their feelings on accident and they would think that I meant it and then I'd get the silent treatment."

"Not like us, huh?" Farleigh responds a little softly. And he was right. There was always something about your dynamic with Farleigh that you had never been able to achieve in your relationships. The constant push and pull. The competition of your endless banter and insults. The way that you could be completely bare and unrestrained with your words without putting your standing with him at risk. There was . . . an intimacy in it that couldn't compare with anyone else. You had seen the worst of Farleigh. The sneers and jabs and heated sarcasm. And in turn he had gotten the brunt of your own ire and jokes, but it still didn't change a thing. Neither of you ran from it. Instead, you both seemed to revel in it. To seek it out even. It was a type of security that you had never found with any other friend or lover.

And you don't know what it is, but some invisible element shifts and rises between the both of you. Something that's always been there. Simmering and quiet, building up underneath your every interaction like water boiling on a hot stove.

"No. Not like us," you admit in a near whisper like if you spoke to loudly that it might disrupt whatever magnetic thrum has fallen over you both. So low that he might not have heard you. But then you see something flash in his eyes. Something hungry and eager and he's moving closer until you can feel his body heat pouring over your skin, seeping underneath the delicate fabric of your dress and into your bones.

"I hated all of them," he says it like a confession. Hushed and passionate. And you suppose that it is one. Told in total confidence, with a certain fervor like a sinner tucked away in a confessional booth. "I hated them because they should have been me."

It makes you gasp lowly. And your fingers squeeze around the banister like it might ground you and keep you from floating away. And suddenly Venetia's previous statements are echoing around in your skull; mocking and satisfied. You feel slightly stupid now. Blind. But never in a million years would you have guessed that Farleigh had actually ever been jealous of the men that you had dated. It seems like such a silly concept. Or else it would have in the past, but now here he is confirming the very thing that the two Catton sibling's have been vehemently trying to drill into your head for years. And you like it. God, you actually like it. Some nasty little side of you is completely satisfied and even elated that he's been seething over all of your old flings and exes. It feels good because you've been doing the same thing you suddenly realize. Every time that stinging burn had caught up in your chest at the sight of him curled up with some other person - it hadn't been irritation for Farleigh. It was jealousy. You had actually been jealous.

"Can I tell you something?" You ask.

He just hums, low and soft. You can't even glance away from him. Not even if you wanted to. Not with the way that he's looking at you. His stare is heavy and intense, and it feels like you're being held by the throat, forced to maintain eye contact with your breath steadily being stolen from your lungs. "I wished they were you, too."

It's like something breaks free from you when you say it. It was heavy, oppressive and suffocating and in its absence, it's replaced by a sense of ease and a freedom that makes you want to laugh and maybe even cry. And maybe if you weren't preoccupied with the entirety of your attention zoned in on Farleigh you might would have.

Now he's stepping even closer than before, and now you can actually feel the press of his body against yours. The pressure of it has your lips parting, and you have to angle your head to maintain your shared gaze without breaking it. Then his hand is tucking underneath your chin; the pad of his thumb lifts to brush over you, tracing the shape of your bottom lip with something that feels close to reverence.

"Can I kiss you?"

Something inside of you breaks apart at the question, crumbling and washing away like sand underneath the crashing power of a wave. You nod before you even fully register it, and your body is buzzing with a honeyed heat. And you understand that if you do this then whatever relationship you have with Farleigh is going to fundamentally altered. It will be the point of no return and the consequences, positive or negative, will be unavoidable. Maybe tomorrow things will go sour. Maybe by then you'll be back to hating each other, even worse than before. But you want this. Consequences and all.

"God, yes. Please."

His lips are soft and warm, and they taste sugary and faintly floral with what might have been the flavors of some beverage that he had drank earlier. There's the bite of tobacco on his skin too, sharp and smoky. It's usually something that you had never enjoyed when kissing people in the past, but right now it hardly even registers. You're too busy getting lost in the feel of him. The warmth of his hands framing your face, the way that he shifts you on your feet and nudges you back against the railing of the balcony. Your hands are everywhere that they can reach, stroking down his chest and dipping down to grip his hips, pulling them flush against you like any amount of space left between you might kill you.

He groans into your mouth at the gesture, nipping at you lip before soothing the sting with his tongue. It has heat, liquid and thick building between the cradle of your thighs. And you know that it's just kissing, but you can't help but internally berate yourself, because if the both of you hadn't been so horribly bullheaded you could have been doing this the entire time.

And he pulls away from you all too soon, making an embarrassing whimper bubble up from your throat, but he's hushing you with a soft coo, snickering lightly under his breath when he ducks his head beneath your chin to suck at the skin there. Taking it between his teeth and lips and you can't help to soft, breathless pants that start to leave your chest in response. It's purely possessive and you're sure that he's trying to leave marks there, and you can't find it in yourself to tell him not to. It's like your muscles are melting, going boneless at the sensation of his tongue tasting your skin, licking up the salt from it. You can feel the shape of his smug smile against your throat, and it makes you want to slap him. But instead, you're reaching a hand up to cradle the back of his neck, keeping him close to you.

You're wet already, soaking through your underwear. It's something that you would have been awfully conscious of in the past with another partner, but here and now you can hardly think around the red fog that's beginning to cloud your brain. And then he's shifting, sweeping a hand underneath the silk skirt of your dress to clasp around your thigh so that he could pull it to the side, allowing him to nudge his leg between the both of yours.

"Farleigh," you gasp, and he cruelly grinds his thigh against the heat of you, steadily feeding the pressure thrumming there but not letting it build towards anything more. It's frustrating. Mean. And it has you clawing at his shoulders impatiently.

"Yeah? What is it?" He asks, nipping at the sensitive skin on your ear, making sure to be mindful of your earring. You don't respond at first, unable to with the way that he's still steadily moving his thigh against you. It's simple, but with the way that you're already so pathetically worked up, it feels like agony. "Come on, you can tell me."

And to make it worse, that hand that had been gripped around your leg is now moving further underneath your dress, slipping between the press of your bodies to settle above where you want him. His fingers play with the elastic band of your panties, teasing, implying more. But then he hooks it in the crook of his fingers and pulls, letting it snap back against your skin. The sting is dull, but it has you gasping regardless. You mindlessly reach for his hand that's still underneath your skirt, taking it into your own. And you briefly fear that he'll pull it from your grip. But he allows you to guide him. He removes his head from your neck to look into your eyes, watching your expression when you finally slip his hand underneath your underwear, and you can feel the shocking chill of his signet ring trailing across your heated skin. He takes over from there and you can't help the way that you arch into him when his fingers finally move down to where you need him the most. His face pinches when he spreads you open, and he nearly groans at the feel of you. "Jesus, baby, you're fucking soaking already."

Your eyes flutter from the drag of one of his knuckles brushing over your clit and it's like it's directly connected to every individual nerve in your body, making you squirm and moan raggedly.

"Is this all for me?" He asks, dipping one of his fingers lower, teasingly circling the entrance of your cunt but he doesn't go any further.

"Yes." Your lungs feel tight and your nipples brush against his chest with each breath that you take, doing little to help ease the tension and desire threatening to tear you apart. "Yes, it's 'cause of you. Please, Farleigh. C'mon."

"What's the rush?" He taunts, angling his head to take your bottom lip between his teeth and biting. "The night's still young. "

He rocks his thumb against your clit, smirking at you with pure arrogant satisfaction from the way that you shudder underneath his touch. You know that he's absolutely delighting in the way that you've been practically turned into mush by what is essentially some heavy petting. Especially after all of the years of trying one up each other, you're sure that this is doing wonders for his ego. Like it needs to get any bigger. That little prickle of irritation peeks out from underneath the saccharine haze shrouded over you, and you can't keep it down. "I fucking swear, Farleigh, " you nearly hiss, nudging your hips in the hopes that it'll drag the pressure of his fingers closer. "If you don't do something, I swear I'll-"

"You'll what?" Comes his immediate reply, the low rasp of his voice sounds completely unbothered.

"I'll leave, " you say firmly. Or as firmly as you possibly can with the way that the knuckle of his thumb has begun to rotate around your clit in tight, but soft sweeping brushes. But he doesn't appear to be worried in the slightest. He just grins at you. And shakes his head as he lowers it to nudge his nose against yours.

"No, you won't." He says it so certainly. Like he's omnipresent and has already seen the decided future. Like your fate is already sealed. And he's right as much as it pisses you off to admit it. You won't leave. But you don't want to tell him that and give him the satisfaction. " 'Cause you need me don't you, baby? Need me to make you cum."

You're nodding in agreement before you even realize it, throwing whatever semblance of control that you had right out of the window.

"Yeah? Gonna let me taste you?" Just the words alone nearly makes you keen aloud like some desperate slut, and you just barely swallow the sound down. But he must see it in your eyes. The sheer want and desperation that you feel coursing through your body like a drug. The need possessing you might actually be debilitating and you're back to clawing at his shoulders and arms in an attempt to just do something. To pin your focus on something other than the heavy ache between your legs. And you can just distantly hear yourself chanting a string of 'yes' like a broken record.

He tugs his hand from your underwear, and you can't help but mourn the loss, even when he's lowering himself down on his knees and planting kisses down across the expanse of your body as he goes. But then he's rucking the skirt of your dress up over your hips and tucking his fingers back into your underwear like he's getting ready to pull them down. Instead, he's just staring, and his eyebrows are pinched together almost like he's pained.

"You really are soaked," he says with a sort of awe. A thrum of embarrassment rings through you when you realize that he's probably admiring the noticeable wet spot that has dampened the crotch of your underwear from your arousal. You try to close your legs, mostly out of reflex but the sharp, reprimanding smack on the outside of your thigh that you get in response makes you freeze in place. He glares up at you and you have to reach behind you to grip the railing to keep from collapsing from underneath the intensity smoldering in his gaze.

"Keep them open," is his only warning before he all but rips your panties down your hips. Guiding one of your legs up with a hand for you to step out of them, but he leaves your lace underwear to hang from the high heel on your opposite foot; apparently too impatient to fully remove them. And he barely gives you time to think or breathe before he's taking ahold of you by your waist and swinging both of your thighs over his shoulders.

The feel of his tongue laving over the heat of your pussy in a long, greedy swipe makes you scream, completely uncaring for all of the guests down below. And all some distant, buried part of you can do is hope that you're up too high for anyone to hear you. That no one happens to glance up and see you clutching onto the railing for dear life. There's no build up to it. He's completely unrestrained, apparently having the goal to make you cum as quickly as possible with the way that he's working his mouth on you. Swirling his tongue over the swollen, sensitive nerves of your clit and lapping at the dripping entrance of your cunt like a man possessed.

You mouth drops open with heavy pants, and your hands scramble across the cool chiseled stone for something to ground you and keep you pinned to reality. You can see the glint of your arousal smearing across his lips and cheeks and the look in his eyes is a blend of determination and a dazed kind of contentment, and you can feel him groaning against your pussy, amplifying your pleasure. And if it wasn't for the way that you could barely stop whimpering and crying out, you'd nearly think that he was enjoying this more than you with his pleased hums thrumming throughout your body.

He takes your clit into the cradle of his mouth and sucks, and you think that you actually sob but you feel miles away from your body and also helplessly, deliciously trapped inside of it. "Farleigh, " you keen, humping against his face in a debauched display of hedonism. One of your hands reaches down, gripping onto his hair when your eyes roll back from the hot suction of his mouth.

"You taste so good, baby, " he huffs, lapping at the entrance of your cunt with firm, maddening strokes. "So fucking good."

It's too much. You feel like you're on fire. Like he's pulling you apart with each swipe of his tongue and putting you back together again one agonizing piece at a time. It feels cruel but it's also utter bliss. Your thighs are shaking from how tightly they're seized, clamped around his head in a tight squeeze. But he doesn't seem to be bothered about it, because when you try to be mindful and spread them open, he just takes them into his hold and presses them back up against his ears again like he wants to be suffocated. And the thought of that alone has something sharp and electric zipping through you. You file that little theory away for later.

And that familiar ache is rising up like a high, simmering tide. Building and rushing towards you with a quickness that takes you by surprise and you can feel your entire body winding up and coiling tight in anticipation. He drags you closer to his mouth, scooting you down lower against the railing. You're pretty sure that your back is going to be covered in scratches from the rough texture digging across your skin, but as of right now you couldn't give less of a shit. You let your head loll back on the stone, unable to find the concentration or strength to keep it up yourself. You stare up at the sky sightlessly, just barely taking in the winking glow of the scattered stars above while pure, liquid heaven seeps across your limbs.

That overwhelming looming pleasure is right over you now, just a few good strokes off. And with the way that he's licking and sucking at you with his mouth it won't be long before you're breaking apart for him.

"Farleigh," you whimper, choking around a wanton moan, trying to warn him.

He doesn't give you any verbal indication that he hears you. But the grip on your thigh's tense in response, and he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue before dipping it down inside of you; fucking you with it. You can't help the way you're grinding against him, crying out breathlessly when the point of his nose nudges against that swollen bundle of nerves, urging your orgasm to rush towards you at a breakneck speed that you can't brace for.

"Farleigh!" You nearly shriek this time while that wild, rush of pleasure crashes down on you with the intensity of torrential downpour. It tears through your body in a way that's almost violent, making you twist under the heat of his mouth and the iron grip that he still has secured around your legs like you've been jabbed with an electrical current. You sob through the brunt of it, probably alarming the entirety of the Saltburn Estate of your current position. And even after the most of it has made its way across your body, he doesn't stop lapping at you, determined to make sure that he wrings every ounce of your pleasure out of you. It isn't until you're weakly nudging his head away from your sensitive cunt that he pulls his mouth away, but he occupies it by kissing at the inner stretch of your thighs. He massages your hips gently and the sensation works to help guide you back into your own body and return a sense of coherence to you.

All you can do is just sit there and catch your breath, panting raggedly into the night air. You stare up at the stars with complete disbelief while your brain tries to catch up with the fact that Farleigh had just casually sucked your soul out of your body. Sure, you had heard stories of his sexual prowess from some of his past flings before. Heard all of the people gushing and praising his technique in the bedroom, and you had never not believed them per se, you had just never imagined that he was actually this good.

"You doing alright up there?" He asks and his voice is ragged and a little raspy like he was the one screaming and not you.

"Yeah," you confirm after a brief pause. "Just give me a minute and I'm gonna suck your dick."

You can feel him chuckle against you, playful and more than a little cocky but he's more than earned the right to be. "Take your time."

Thankfully, the strength has begun to come back to your body. And even though your limbs are still a little bit shaky you're more than determined and able to ignore it and push through. You raise your head up look at him, using your arms to shift and lift yourself up. He looks up at you expectedly, eyebrows raising with amusement while he aids you in removing your wobbling legs from his shoulders.

He must notice something in your gaze; desperation, want, determination, because he just moves to lean back on his elbows with a relaxed smirk.

"Right here?" He asks. You just nod wordlessly as you lower yourself down on your knees. You could go inside. You probably should. There wasn't a bed in the room that you had entered the balcony from, but there was a couch. Hell, even the floor in there would probably be more comfortable for the both of you than the harsh rock underneath you right now, but you don't want to wait. Not even with the room being so close. Your knees are going to absolutely hate you tomorrow but as of right now, you can't find it in yourself to care.

He parts his legs for you to settle between them and you're fast to crawl over him while he lifts himself up to kiss you. Your lips connect with teeth and tongue, and you moan into each other's mouths when you reach down to cup the length of him from over his pants. He's hot and heavy, even with the layer of fabric covering him. You're still sensitive from your recent orgasm but when you feel the weight of him against your palm, your pussy flutters and tinge of heat settles in the base of your abdomen.

"Baby please, just take it out, " he whines. His voice is petulant and quivering. On any other night you would have used it as an excuse to tease him, but as of right now, you don't have the heart (or patience) to. The urgency in his tone has you thumbing at the buttons closing his pants, but it doesn't help that they're so small and that its dark. You have to squint underneath the dim moonlight to find them and your fingers slip more than once. But luckily you manage to pop all of them through their opening in the fabric; even with the way that Farleigh impatiently grinds into the air, trying to use your hand and forearm as something to grind his cock against.

It's so desperate and dirty but it's also so fucking hot. Seeing him all laid out and begging has a heavy anticipation fizzling underneath your skin, prompting you to grip at the edge of his pants. He's eagerly lifting his hips up, aiding you as you tug the fabric down, working it around the swell of his ass and his hips. And he audibly groans in relief when his cock springs free from the restraint of his clothes. It's so hard that it looks like must be uncomfortable, and there's a steady stream of precum pouring from the tip and trailing down along a thick, throbbing vein in a pearlescent sheen.

Your mouth waters at the sight, and you have to swallow it in the fear that you might actually drool if you don't. He catches the way you're admiring him, and something smug bleeds into his dazed expression. A reversal from the way that he had outright begged for you earlier. You really want to wipe that look off of his face.

Then you're giving into your basest desires and leaning forward to lick at the head of his cock with long, steady sweeps, scooping up the salt of him into your mouth. He's rewarding you as soon as you touch him, breathing out a strained, "fuck," while his fingers come up to grip your hair, already knocking a few of the fake flowers clipped along your updo free; honeysuckles and pink camellias. He doesn't force your head down, but he doesn't remove his hold either, gently urging you to keep going and you can't help but concede. Stretching your jaw open further to slip him inside your mouth before slowly pulling off of him with a firm suck, lapping at the slit of his cock when you do.

He isn't the biggest you've taken, but he's still thick enough for you to feel a slight strain at the hinges of your jaw, but it doesn't deter you in the slightest. You nod your head down to take him in your throat, making sure to be mindful of your teeth as you go and luckily, you're aided by the lubrication of your saliva. You don't stop until you feel the faintest hint of your gag reflex and even then, you have to push off the thought to just keep going, to let yourself gag on him. You'll save that for some other time. As of right now, you want to be able to savor every little movement and twitch and whimper.

You've just started and it's already so sloppy, wet with the way that your drool smears around your lips and chin, and Farleigh seems to be struggling to keep his hips still, resisting the urge to fuck your mouth. His thighs are tense underneath the palms of your hands, muscles flexing and twitching with frayed restraint and each jerky hitch of his hips is punctuated by airy sighs and moans.

A glance up from your place between his legs has you appreciating the way that his back is already arching. He looks gorgeous like this, all splayed out with the thick of his eyelashes fluttering against the jut of his cheek bones. You've always had the sneaking suspicion that Farleigh would lean a bit on the submissive side in bed. Always overcompensating with his arrogant attitude and sarcasm, but you didn't think that he'd be this sensitive. You aren't sure if it's just because he might have already been so worked up from eating you out, or if he's naturally just responsive, but either way the way that he's acting is doing wonders for your ego. The power that you're getting from seeing him already so pleased and dazed is filling your head full of a syrupy sort of satisfaction.

You pull off of his cock with a pop, delighting in the way that he whimpers in protest. You just hum in response, smirking at him while you nuzzle your nose down the line of his shaft and all of his complaints die out once you take one of his balls into the warm cradle of your tongue, reaching up to grip him in your hand while your mouth is occupied.

He moans raggedly, a string of whispered, "so good, don't stop - please, don't stop." Like you'd ever do that now that you've got him underneath you. And not to sound dramatic, but the sky could split open with brimstone and hellfire and the apocalypse could reign down on Saltburn and you still wouldn't pull away from him. Not when he sounds so sweet. Not while he tastes so good. Salty and earthy across your pallet. And the way that he pants into the balmy night air, already breathless has the heat between the apex of your thighs back with a vengence; burning and wet, and you have to rub them together in an attempt to ease the tension there.

You can't help the way that you moan around him, lightly sucking at the sensitive point between his balls and the base of his cock while you smear your thumb over his slit. You the use the fluid to aid in few more pumps from your hand before you're licking back up his shaft again, swallowing him back down while your hand switches places to fondle his sack and the cry that he lets out in response is heavenly. Urging you to bob you head down on him in a steady rhythm. You try to remember to breathe through your nose but in your fervor, you often find yourself neglecting to take in lungfulls of air and as a result an oxygen deprived haze has begun to fizzle over your head. But you can't bring yourself to be worried over it. It feels good. The fuzzy, drunken buzz stuffing your skull full while you work his cock is stupidly addictive.

He must notice the glazed over look in your eyes because he's smiling at you from around the way that his lips have dropped open to release a bout of heavy pants. He drops the hand that had been clutching your hair to sweep his fingers across your face in a gesture that's way too sweet for a guy who's getting head. And it has something soft and sweet blossoming in your chest when he strokes your cheek with his thumb; it makes you feel delicate and adored even while your chin is smeared with spit and cum and your jaw is starting to ache.

"You're already a little fucked out aren't you?" It's rhetorical, you know, but you find yourself moaning in response regardless. "You look so georgous like this."

Liar. There's absolutely you look even remotely attractive right now. You can feel the prickle of tears threatening to slip past your water line and down your face, and you're sure that your lashes have begun to clamp together from the damp. Your lips are swollen and there's a sheen of sweat glittering on your forehead. You probably look like a wreck but it still has you melting, and you begin to lick and suck at him with even more passion than before.

And it must have felt good for him because his head is rolling back on his shoulders and his elbows nearly collapse, leaving him to drop onto his back with a gutted groan. His eyes roll back, and his thighs seize. His white undershirt has ridden up around his ribs, showing off the stretch of his abdomen and you can see the way that his muscles flex and tense with the same pulse of his hips. He's close and it only has you doubling your efforts with even more vigor, desperate to taste him on your tongue, to feel the heat of him in your mouth and throat. The sound of his gasping has changed in pitch, rising into something that sounds close to a sob.

But then you're being torn off of him without warning and you can't contain your mournful whimper when the weight of him leaves your mouth. Irritation and betrayal flares and you can't keep yourself from glaring at him even while he looks close to wrecked, rambling underneath his breath something that sounds like, "I'm sorry baby, I need to feel you, " as he hauls you onto his lap.

And your scattered brain is still able to grab onto what he wants. You gather up your skirt to settle your knees on either side of his hips and you're quick to grab ahold of his cock to line it up with your entrance. Neither of you have the mental capacity to tease or draw the process out longer than it needs to be, and you're thankful that he had already ate you out earlier, giving you some semblance of prep. And without any fanfare you're sinking down onto his cock, and your pussy flutters around his girth, stretching until he's buried in at the hilt.

The shared groans that you let out are ones of relief and pure bliss. Your body shudders at the fullness nestled within the apex of your thighs and Farleigh impatiently grinds his hips up into yours, rocking his pelvis into your clit with a petulant huff. "Come on baby, ride me, " he urges. "Fucking take it."

You can't find it in yourself to deny him. Or yourself. And he lets you plant your hands onto his chest for support when you lift yourself up with your thighs to begin wildly bouncing on his cock, grinding and swiveling your hips with each downstroke. That thick, heated pleasure is already building up near the base of your spine, and you already know that you aren't going to last long. Not with how worked up you are. And you don't think that he's going to be able to hold off either.

He's watching you with something akin to wonder in his eyes and his lips are snagged between his teeth like he might be trying to quiet himself. Like he's trying to selfishly hide those punched out little moans. And you don't know why he tried to be hushed now after he's been groaning and whimpering this entire time but that petulant expression on his face tells you all you need to know. He's doing it on purpose, the brat. It has you leaning over him to pepper soft kisses over his cheeks, nipping at his chin and jaw sweetly, before you squeeze your pussy around his cock like a vice and you place your hand around the base of his throat. You don't tighten your fingers around it, but let him feel the pressure of your grip, testing the waters to see if your earlier theory had been right.

And his body goes taut underneath you while his hips thrust into you with a harsh twitch. A gutted moan follows closely behind, and he grips onto your thighs like he needs it to ground himself and keep himself present.

"Feel good?" It's admittedly a little condescending but even then, you can't help the softness that bleeds through your tone. He nods his head drunkenly, tilting his head back to bare his throat to you. The way that he's melting underneath the ceaseless roll of your hips and mindlessly fucking into you with deep, heavy thrusts is already driving you towards that tide of heat and ecstasy, and they way that you openly keen reveals as much.

Your knees are already stinging from the harsh stone floor digging into them and your thighs are already burning with exertion from the ruthless pace that you had set. But you have no desire to stop yet. To switch positions or ask him to take over, not with how beautiful and fucked out he looks beneath you.

You're both already messy and incoherent, chasing after your pleasure desperately. The noises coming from the place where your bodies are joined is filthy with the repetitive smack of skin on skin and the crude squelching of your cum echoing off of the rock walls around you. And maybe if your brain wasn't practically mush you might would have had the capacity to care, but you just can't find it within yourself while you watch every minute, rapturous expression flit across Farleigh's face. Not while his plush lips are parted for him to gasp, and his eyes have nearly gone cross.

"Baby, " he whines brokenly. A warning for the way that he's quickly hurdling towards his release from the constant rock of your hips. Yours isn't far off either, simmering and curling within the pit of your abdomen and you can already tell that your orgasm is going to destroy you. It's so close. So, so, so close and you find yourself nodding shakily in response to him.

"I know, I know, " your jaw goes lax at a partially hard thrust from his hips, muscles spasming around the drag of his cock.

"Where - where can I- "

"Inside," you answer, choking on your breath." I'm on the pill - it's safe, you can- "

He cuts you off with a gutted, shredded groan of your name and his entire body seizes up from the power of his orgasm. The warmth of his release spreads throughout your lower stomach and another choppy, wild thrust from Farleigh grinds his pelvis into the tender nerves of your clit. It just sneaks up on you. Sweeping you up and dragging you down before you can even register that it's ravaging your body and making you scream. For a second you completely forget what it means to have a physical body. You don't have hands, or feet, or a mind. You don't have a favorite song and there aren't any bills to pay, or an apartment back home in America, and the chaotic party downstairs doesn't exist. The cold stone floor beneath your knees isn't there. You're just floating. Suspended in a state of bliss and pleasure.

For a moment you just are.

And then your lungs are gasping, filling up with oxygen. Clarity comes back to you in pulses and the feeling in your limbs follows behind. Sensation returns to your toes and fingertips and then your eyes are fluttering open. The first thing you hear is the rapid pulse of a heartbeat and when you breathe the scent of something like vanilla and cigarette smoke nestles within your lungs. It has you rubbing your cheek against the heat of their chest - Farleigh's chest, your brain supplies sluggishly. You don't remember collapsing on top of him but apparently you had.

"God damn," he slurs, prompting an amused, tired laugh from you. For a moment the two of you just lay there, taking the time to return to yourselves and grasp your senses. And with it, reality rises up too. That you're laying here with Farleigh on an open balcony with his cum dripping from between your thighs. And apart from his confession earlier there's some small insecure part of you that's worried that he hadn't fully meant it. That this was just a simple fling. Something to ease the tension that's been brewing between the both of you for the past few years. But you don't get to wallow in your fears for long before he's tapping on your thigh and shuffling up onto his elbows.

You just hum at him questioningly, not yet trusting your voice.

"Need a cigarette," he answers.

That has you moving, lifting yourself from his hips and you both hiss, sensitive and raw when he slips from you. Your knees are tender too, aching and you inelegantly plop yourself on your rump beside Farleigh to give them some relief. And you briefly occupy yourself with your underwear, slipping it back underneath your dress and smoothing out your skirt as best as you can.

He works on slipping his pants and tights back over his hips, digging into his pocket as soon they've been righted for a cigarette and his lighter. You watch him with something nervous in your gut. And you tell yourself that you're being stupid and overdramatic. So, what if this was just a one-time thing? It was an amazing time. And if this turned out to be some random fling then that would just make it even more special, right? And he said that he was jealous of your past exes but that didn't necessarily mean that he had feelings for you. You had been the one to jump to conclusions and assume.

And even if by tomorrow he pretends that this never happened then that would be fine. You'd make do. You'd survive. It won't be the end of the world.

"Do you want to spend the night with me?"

The question tears you from your thoughts. Saves you from them really and pulls your attention onto Farleigh. His eyes are glimmering from the burning embers at the end of his cigarette, laying some strange quality in his gaze bare. But whatever it is looks uncertain and hesitant. And it serves as reminder that this is new territory for him as well. That he's just as unsure as you are. It gives you a little boost of confidence that you aren't alone in your self-induced doubts. It makes you smile; soft and relaxed and you hope that it helps whatever thoughts he may have running around in his own head.

"Sure," you say. "But I want to rewatch House of Wax. "

His face scrunches up in response, but he's already rising up to his feet and holding a hand out for you to take, helping to pull you up on your wobbling feet. "That movie is shit."

"Well, I wouldn't be able to tell with the way that you wouldn't stop talking the last time that we all watched it." You grip onto his forearms while you find your balance, lowly cursing your heels and unsteady ankles. The energy has shifted into place, as easily as breathing; thawing all of the worries and insecurities that had initially clattered around in your brain as though they hadn't been there at all.

"That's because the characters were nothing but cliches and one note, " he scoffs and promptly drops his cigarette on the balcony, snuffing it out by grinding it with his shoe.

"I also need a bath."

A smile curls on his lips, a little teasing. " Want to share?"

You stare at him, a little disbelieving. There's absolutely no way that you could do that again tonight. At least not so soon. You're exhausted, barley holding yourself up as it is and you're still clinging to one of Farleigh's arms for support.

"Really? After that?" You question, eyebrows raising, but you can't keep yourself from trying to joke despite your surprise. "You're terrible."

Farleigh chuckles, guiding you towards the double doors gently, "Oh, don't look at me like that," he says, purely amused. "I wasn't suggesting another round, you're the one with your head in the gutter."

You don't reply. Too caught up in the fuzzy way that it makes you feel; his request to share a bath with you. A small gesture maybe, but it also feels wonderfully domestic and intimate. It has you leaning into his side as you step into the adjacent room, breathing in the scent of his cologne, soaking up the body heat that radiates from his skin. Whatever new chapter between the both of you has opened has still left you two with a lot of unsaid questions and answers. You still don't know what you two are. If there's a label to apply to you both of it was just a one-night stand, but you don't have to get those answers right this second. For now, you can just bask in his company and come morning, once you've both had time to think and adjust you can sit him down and have a conversation. And maybe (hopefully) your relationship will finally become something more.

But as for now, you don't mind spending the night in his room. Of cuddling up underneath the covers of his bed after a nice bath and watching a movie together, even though you know that the duration of it is going to be spent with him criticizing every line of bad dialogue and griping over plot holes, no matter how insignificant they may be.

It sounds like the perfect night, honestly.

But still there is still one burning question that's searing at your brain like a hot coal, and you can't keep yourself from voicing it.

"Do you think anybody heard us?"

And his answer is blunt and honest.

"Oh, yeah, there's no way they didn't."

#farleigh x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh saltburn #farleigh start #farleigh start x you #farleigh start smut #farleigh catton #saltburn #saltburn movie #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn x reader #saltburn x you #oliver quick x reader

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shinynewboots · 18 days ago

Text

Staring at the Sun / Adam x Lute Chapter 15

Summary: After the battle, Lute attempts to flee with Adam. They find themselves unable to return to Heaven and must adjust to life in Hell.

AN: It is way past my bedtime. Pls enjoy

Warnings: 18+, Graphic depictions of violence, Blood and Gore, Cursing

AO3

Chapter 14

Chapter 16

The morning of their meeting with 666 News and the Vees was one of anxious anticipation. Charlie could not keep still, practically bouncing off the walls as she rehearsed her notecards of points she wanted to make on live television. Angel had filled Lute in on the night before that Charlie’s last television appearance had not gone very well. She fucking stunk, was how Angel has put it delicately.

Lute on the other hand felt nerves similar to that before a fight. A familiar anxiety that greeted her like an old friend. She had chosen a large, dark hoodie that could not only easily conceal her wings but the bombs she had been given by Cherri. She had strapped those to a harness across her chest. She had a concealed gun at her waist and a knife hidden in her combat boots. To top it off, she wore the hood up to hide her hair, which she had pulled back in a low ponytail, and wore sunglasses she had borrowed from Cherri to further conceal her appearance.

Lucifer had informed the hotel earlier that morning that Adam had advanced to the Lust ring. She didn’t dare dwell on that piece of hope and optimism that kept threatening to spill out from her heart.

There was a piece of Lute that worried about what, or who, Adam would encounter in the Lust ring. She had no claim on him. He wasn’t hers. She didn’t want to play a role in the never ending nightmare he kept enduring in the Trials. ( But she would be lying if she didn’t have the fleeting thought that maybe Adam’s adversary in Lust would be some version of her. )

Something pulled on the bottom of her pants leg, freeing her from her less-than-pure thoughts. She looked down to see that her Egg Bois had assembled without her notice. She frowned. She was getting sloppy. She wasn’t some dewy-eyed cherub getting lost in the fantasy of a crush. She was the first command of the Exorcists, for Heaven’s sake.

“Attention.” She said, her tone taking on a militant quality. “About face.”

The eggs got into formation and turned, just as she had taught them. Their hands were held behind their backs (though unable to reach all the way around due to the anatomical dilemma of being too round with too short of arms).

“Status report, Fred?”

“Nothing to report, Lieutenant,” Fred reported back. He glanced over at her from the corner of his eye, not daring to turn his head for fear of being reprimanded.

“Then what is the meaning of this?”

One of the eggs coughed. Fred dared to look at Lute, his eyes wide and simple. “We wanted to wish you luck on your second mission, Lieutenant.”

“Oh,” Was all Lute could say. Her gaze softened at the eggs. Why had she ever considered scrambling them?

“We’re hoping it's more successful than your first one,” Blue offered up. Lute huffed. Oh yeah, that was why the thought crossed her mind at least once a day.

“Fall out,” She said. The eggs wobbled out of position and looked up at her with expectant stares. She smiled at the dumb little creatures who had imprinted on her like ducklings and knelt down to better be on their level. “Thank you guys. I expect you all to hold down the hotel while we’re gone.”

Orange nodded their head (and their whole body followed because…they were an egg). “You can count on us! And Mister Alastor.”

“Mm, that’s what I’m afraid of,” Lute replied, frowning. “Just keep an eye on the place. No funny business.”

Fred’s facial expression became suddenly serious; the other three eggs followed suit.

“No funny business here, Lieutenant!” Fred said, swinging his arms to indicate the seriousness of the situation. Unfortunately, the erratic movement threw his equilibrium off balance and he toppled to the floor, bringing down his brothers with him. Lute watched the four eggs wobble around on the floor, trying desperately to stand back up. They were smart eggs; they would figure it out. She stood and gave them a half-hearted salute goodbye.

“Make me proud, guys.” She said, trying to hold back a genuine cackle at the sight as she walked away to join the others on their expedition.

Charlie, Vaggie, and Lucifer stood near the doorway, each looking as though they were processing a different stage of grief. Charlie looked up from her notecards and smiled nervously at Lute. Lute was feeling less confident in their mission with every passing second. Angel, Niffty, Husk, and Cherri stood near the bar, taking in the scene with interest. Alastor was nowhere to be seen. Lute didn’t mind.

Vaggie looked over at Lute and nodded in approval. “You packed and ready to head out?”

Lute nodded and lifted her pant leg to reveal the knife she’d stuck in her boot. Vaggie nodded and mimicked Lute’s gesture by showing a knife in the almost exact same placement. Lute smirked at the sight. Some things never changed.

Lucifer looked between the two fallen angels with mild apprehension and awe. He had always been a fan of strong women. He shook his head, trying to pull himself from his thoughts before they went where they always went eventually: to Lilith. He clapped his hands together.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” He exclaimed. Charlie’s eyes were wide and nervous.

“So soon?” Charlie stammered, her typical exuberant, if not awkward nature replaced with one of pure anxiety. “I mean, yeah! Fuck yeah! We’re gonna show the Vee’s who’s boss.”

“We’re screwed,” Angel whispered loudly to Cherri at the bar. Lute cut them a look.

“Not fucking helping, shit ass,” She hissed towards the two. Angel shrugged and whispered to Cherri, who was unable to hold back a cackle.

Vaggie put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and whispered encouragement into her girlfriend’s ear. Though meant to be encouraging, it seemed to be making the nervous air around Charlie increase. Lute took in a deep breath and turned back to Charlie to face her head on.

Lute pointed her finger at Charlie. “Listen here, Hell Princess.”

“Lute,” Vaggie warned. Lute ignored her.

“You need to pull yourself together in the way I know that you can. Your annoying optimism and perky personality, while absolutely fucking grating at times, has been the most effective weapon I have witnessed in Hell thus far. You literally held your own against Exorcist Angels bent on annihilating you. You successfully rehabilitated a fucking sinner, even if you left me with his fucking egg creatures.” Lute took a breath before she continued. “You have accomplished every single fucking thing you have ever put your delusional mind to. So get your head out of your own goddamn ass and get to fucking work. Because I know how fucking capable you are. It’s time to show everybody else.”

Charlie looked like she was on the verge of tears as she looked down at the former Exorcist with awe. She threw her arms around Lute, who stiffened at the sudden touch. “Oh Lute, that was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“You’re welcome, Charlie,” Lute said uncomfortably as she could feel herself getting smothered against the larger woman. Charlie finally let go and looked between the group.

“Let’s fucking do this!” She exclaimed before rushing out the door. Vaggie looked over at Lute with an amused expression.

“That was oddly inspiring,” Vaggie said.

Lute shrugged. “It used to work on you cunts like a charm.”

Vaggie shook her head with an amused snort and followed Charlie out the door. Lute and Lucifer made eye contact before Lute gestured for him to leave first. Of course, awkwardness must run in the Morningstar genes because Lucifer tried to offer the same a beat too slowly. Lute shook her head and looked at the King of Hell with a sharp expression. He finally relented and walked through the door.

Lute followed, closing the door as she left.

“Good luck Bitch!” Angel and Cherri called from behind her. Lute raised her robotic middle finger without looking back.

The group of four piled into a car that Lute had been completely unaware that the hotel owned. Vaggie jumped in the driver’s seat with Charlie riding shotgun, leaving Lute and Lucifer squished together in the back seat. Lute moved as close as she could to the window.

Lute had seen the scars that had been left by Adam’s Casting Out from Heaven from the skies when Charlie and Razzle had flown her back to the hotel. Even in her state of shock, she had been able to take in the brokenness that he had left the Ring, creating unnatural ridges and cracks in the landscape reminiscent of a shattered mirror.

Seeing the state of the Ring from the ground seemed even more jarring somehow. Through the car window, she could see the cracks that cut through the landscape like a knife. The sky was even more blood red than Lute could remember it being. On the streets, she saw Sinners even more pathetic and demoralized than she could recall from her many Exterminations. Bodies littered the street, many having been crushed by falling buildings or debris during the explosion.

Lute could hear Charlie sniffle at the sight. She turned to look at her other companions in the car. Vaggie wore a stony expression. Lucifer was somber, his fingers gripped around his cane so tightly it made even his pale fingertips take on a deathly pallor.

The rest of the ride was quiet as everyone sat in somber reflection. Lute’s thoughts turned to Adam, as they always did. She hoped he was safe. She knew he would be, he was Adam. But he was alone and he hadn’t had to battle alone in so many centuries because she had always been there at his side. But he would be fine because she believed in him and his abilities. He was Adam. He was unstoppable.

The car came upon a crowd in the road, blocking what Lute assumed to be the entrance to the Vees’ Tower. There were numerous sinners gathered around, some holding signs in protest.

Where is our King?

Exterminate all Angels!

Down with the Devil!

FUCK REDEMPTION

Vaggie honked the horn, trying and failing to get the crowd to disperse so they could drive.

“They're so angry at us,” Charlie whispered. After a few more honks from Vaggie, the Sinners began to part like the Red Sea, allowing them to drive through. They banged on the windows, all shouting vitriol and hatred the likes of which Lute had never seen from Sinners.

“They’re just scared,” Lute whispered, more to herself than to the other occupants. This was becoming closer to an angry mob situation than a simple visit to the Vees district. With everything she knew about the Vees, she wondered if Vox had provided the Sinners the cheap posters they had written their disgruntlement on.

After an agonizing crawl, they finally parked in front of the Vee tower. The sinners crowded the car, screaming and slamming their appendages on the sides of the car so violently it rattled the vehicle.

“What are we going to do?” Charlie asked, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and sadness. Lute grabbed under her hoodie and revealed the bomb she had been given by Cherri.

“Absolutely not!” Vaggie said once she caught sight of the bomb. Lute simply shrugged and placed the bomb back in its holster. “Any ideas, your majesty?”

“Uhhhh,” Lucifer stammered. Lute wanted to shake him. “ Um, I ugh, I have an idea! We’ve gotta act quick though, it's only gonna last for so long.”

“Dad, what are you–?”

Charlie had no time to finish her question before Lucifer snapped his fingers and formed an energy shield that engulfed the car, pushing the sinners away from the vehicle.

“This will only last for a few minutes,” Lucifer said, shooing them out of the car. The force field seemed to follow them with every step they made closer to the entrance of the Tower. Sinner resumed their crowding of the force field, trying and failing to get through its protective shield. Some resorted to spitting on the field. Others resorted to throwing even more unpleasant bodily fluids to them.

They finally made it to the door and inside the Tower when Lucifer snapped his fingers and caused the force field to dissipate.

“Good thinking, Dad.”

“You must be the Morningstars.” A sinner ahead of them said. Lute looked ahead to see a welcome desk with the most unpleasant-looking slug-like Sinner.

“We are! I’m Charlie and this is my dad.” Charlie answered, rushing up to meet the receptionist. The slug Sinner looked between them unamused. She rolled her eyes.

“You’ll have to go through security. Mr. Vox is very concerned about keeping his employees safe.” The slug Sinner said, pointing at the security desk behind her with a turnstile and an Alligator-based sinner who sat guard.

“I’m sure he is,” Vaggie muttered under her breath. Lute agreed.

Charlie walked over to the security desk and was able to walk through the turnstile with no issues. Lucifer was able to do the same.

When it came Lute’s turn, the security guard looked her up and down, stopping her before she could even attempt to walk through.

“No weapons allowed.” The guard said, sneering at Lute.

Lute grabbed the gun at her waist and placed it on the table, her eyes never leaving the sinner who sat at the security desk.She tried to walk through the turnstile but stopped. The sinner placed a firm arm on her shoulder and shook their head.

“All weapons, please.”

Lute huffed and grabbed the bombs under her jacket. The sinner continued to look at her with a raised eyebrow. Lute rolled her eyes, grabbed the knife concealed in her boot, and slammed it on the table. She tried to walk through once more.

“You missed one,” The alligator sinner said, her gaze fixed on Lute’s prosthetic arm.

“There’s no way in Hell I’m giving you that.” Lute spat, taking a step back and instinctively covering her prosthetic arm with her real one.

“You are in Hell, darling,” The sinner sneered.

“It’s her arm, it's not a weapon, asshole,” Vaggie said as she placed a knife on the table. Charlie and her father watched the exchange with awkward smiles that seemed to mirror one another. The apple didn’t fall too far from the tree, it seemed.

“It’s company policy.”

“I’m about to shove your ‘company policy’ up your–” Lute started but was cut off by the sound of static that seemed to fill the air. Her ears began to ring at the noise and she felt as though she had been chewing on aluminum foil. She looked over and was met with the all too unsettling presence of Vox in all of his television glory.

Vox placed a hand on the shoulder of the security guard sinner. “Oh don’t worry about her, Patricia. I’m sure our guests will behave themselves.”

The Sinner, Patricia, sneered at Lute. Lute returned the favor.

“If it isn’t little Miss Sunshine herself. And she’s brought back up. ” Vox said, his eyes scanning the group. He looked from Charlie to Vaggie and finally to Lute, looking at her a few seconds longer than he had the two former. His voice was filled with all the honey and charisma of a television personality but they held a dangerous undertone. “Keep a close eye on your angelic pets, Charlie. In my experience, they can be downright feral.”

Lute bristled at Vox’s words. One look at Vaggie showed that they shared the same sentiment. Even with her hair drawn back in a hood and sunglasses, she still felt overexposed, as though Vox was searching her soul through some kind of television waves.

Vox looked over at Lucifer. “And oh, fuck, roll out the red carpets everyone we’re in the presence of a king. I think. It’s been so long I almost forgot what you liked, your highness.” Vox said, his grin reminding Lute of a shark.

“Vex, I take it,” Lucifer said, his nose pointing to the arm as he tried and failed to look down at the overlord. A rather humiliating sight as Vox towered over Lucifer the way most Sinners did. “Where are your better thirds?”

“Vox, actually. And they won’t be joining us. They’re working to clean up the little mess that your angelic friend made,” Vox replied through gritted teeth. He seemed to glitch for a moment before regaining his composure. He looked over their meager group as though he had just happened upon a group of cornered prey. “If you follow me, we will start the interview soon. A special, breaking news segment with me.”

“You?! I, ugh, I thought it was with Katie and Tom again?” Charlie stammered.

“You think I would trust Katie and Tom with the story of the century? Ha!” Vox laughed, as though it was the most absurd thing he had heard today. “That’s cute Princess. No, you’ll have to be stuck with little ole me. Don’t worry, I won’t go too hard on you.”

Vox grabbed at Charlie’s arm and linked it with his. Vaggie tried to protest but was stopped by a pleading look from Charlie. Vox motioned for them to follow. Lucifer began walking towards him, with Vaggie and Lute falling into line quickly behind them. Lute could feel the presence of multiple sinners following closely behind them. She had a sinking suspicion this wouldn’t end without some kind of confrontation.

They were ushered into a crowded studio filled with various faceless sinners. Even with her sunglasses, the stage itself was a blinding neon blue. On the stage was a desk with the words Vox-2-Day printed on the front. Beside the desk was a white, uncomfortable-looking couch that perfectly faced both the desk and the audience.

“Oh, you two will just hang back here with the rest of the support staff,” Vox said casually, offhandedly waving both Lute and Vaggie off. They were left near the camera and sound crew, melding into the dark background like all the other audience members. He turned back towards the Morningstars and guided them towards the stage.

Charlie raised a hand over her face as the lights caught her eyes. “It’s kind of bright.”

“Of course it’s bright, that’s show biz.” Vox said, his shark-like grin never wavering. He gestured for the Morningstars to take a seat. In the awkward way only a Morningstar could be, Charlie and Lucifer tried to offer the seat closest to the desk to the other. Vox’s smile strained and his eye twitched. After a few moments, Lucifer begrudgingly sat closest to the desk.

Vox smiled towards the camera, as he had done a thousand times before. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to a breaking segment of Vox-2-Day. There have been chaos and riots in the streets folks, a literal explosion that ripped through the entirety of our beloved Ring, the matter of the Exterminations up in the air, and the unanswered question of ‘Where in the Fuck have the Morningstars been?’ Well, today those questions will be answered because I have King Lucifer and Princess Charlotte Morningstar joining us!”

The camera panned to the Morningstars in question, who were met with a ripple of boos from not only the audience but the sound track as well. Charlie smiled at the camera despite the reception and waved. She looked over at Lucifer, who simply looked confused at the camera before nudging him on the shoulder to wave as well.

Lute feared perhaps she should have reviewed Charlie’s interview with Katie Killjoy that Angel had hinted at. According to Angel, as long as Charlie or her father didn’t burst out in song they would already be off to a better start.

“Lucifer, Charlotte, it is so good of you to grace us poor, wayward sinners with your presence.”

“We’re so glad you invited us to come and set the record straight,” Charlie answered, nodding to Vox first and then turning to the camera.

“Well, Charlie, Lucifer, I think the record speaks for itself,” Vox said. Behind him, the background began to play the footage of Lute shooting at the camera that had followed her and Adam during their escape to the Embassy. Lute felt herself swallow hard. Her palms were growing sweaty and she suddenly felt too hot with the hoodie on her skin. She was grateful she was still wearing the sunglasses, despite their impracticality indoors. It was one more shield to hide her identity.

The footage changed to the explosion from the moment Adam was Cast Out of Heaven until finally settling on the footage from the last extermination.

“I think that the record doesn’t accurately portray the, um, events in the more, um, holistic way that they played out,” Charlie said, choosing her words carefully.

Vox laughed, a soulless sound that set Lute on edge. “You know, actually Charlie, I want to get back to that. I actually wanted to direct a question to our dear King that our viewers have been dying to know.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes as he looked between Vox and the camera. Lucifer laughed uncomfortably. “And, what um, what question would that be, Vax?”

Vox, visibly irritated by Lucifer’s inability to remember any names, leaned over the table to get closer to Lucifer so that he almost loomed over the shorter man. “Where’s the Queen?”

Lucifer’s expression dropped. “What?”

(Unaware to the group at V Tower, the hotel group had tuned into the programming just as they promised they would. The words “Oh shit” were uttered by every occupant, apart from Alastor who could only cackle maniacally at the question).

“Queen Lilith? You know, your wife.” A laugh track played in the background. Chatter began to arise in the audience. Of all the questions and topics that would have come up from this interview, that had not been one that Charlie or her father had talked about. Lute had learned, according to Angel, that Charlie hardly spoke of her mother, and when she did she developed the signature Morningstar nervousness.

“She, ugh,” Lucifer laughed nervously, quickly glancing around the studio. He pulled at the top of his collar. “Uh, is it hot in here or is it just Hell.”

Lute wanted to smack her forehead. How was this the great King of Hell?

“What my dad means to say is that my mom has stepped back in her role to a more administrative position.” Charlie offered, looking from her dad to Vox. “And I think we should get back to the matter at hand, right?”

A chorus of ‘fuck you’ could be heard from various members of the audience. Charlie’s eye twitched as her smile grew uncomfortably large. Lute did not like the way the crowd grumbled behind her, nor the way Vox seemed to be egging them on.

“And, as far as the explosion, we had everything under control, right Dad?” Charlie continued, looking over at Lucifer with a pleading expression. Lucifer could only stare straight ahead at the camera, lost in thought. Charlie glanced back at Vox with an almost apologetic expression.

Vox raised an eyebrow. “Did you? Is that why now we’ve got a massive crater in the middle of our beloved Ring?”

“Everything was under control,” Charlie repeated, her tone more steady than it had been only a few moments earlier.

“And what caused that explosion where everything was,” Vox lifted his hands and gestured air quotations, “‘under control’.”

Charlie was quiet for a moment until she finally answered, her voice softer than normal. “An angel, um, exploded.”

“An angel exploded?” Vox repeated back to Charlie slowly, pronouncing every syllable.

“Yes?” Charlie answered though it sounded more like a question.

Vox laughed, that soulless laugh once more though this one sounded as though it originated even deeper in his belly. “Ladies and Gentlemen there you have it, angels explode!”

“It’s true!” Charlie countered. Lucifer had not yet moved his gaze from the camera.

“You know what I really think happened, Princess?” Vox said, his tone becoming dark and accusatory. “ I think that you and Daddy dearest pissed off Heaven after you captured their two leaders of the Exorcist army. And Heaven decided to plant a bomb to show you and your hotel a lesson.”

“That's not what happened!”

“And despite your proclamations that you want to ‘save and redeem sinners’ the truth of the matter is that you and your father do not give a shit about us, lowly sinners.” Vox continued, his voice rising with every word. Lute felt large arms grab her and wrap themselves around her body and hand over her mouth. She looked over to see Vaggie being held in the same position, unable to scream out.

“And to add insult to injury, it seems you’re in cahoots with heaven. You’ve brought two angels here to the studio, putting my crew and other civilians in danger.” Vox raised a sharp finger and pointed into the audience where Lute and Vaggie stood. The cameraman panned towards Lute as the sinner who held her pulled down her sunglasses and hood.

Lute felt naked and exposed as the sinners around her spewed slurs and hatred from their mouths. Her hair felt too white. Her eyes felt too golden. Her wings twitched at her back, itching to fly away from the scene. Fuck, she wished Adam were here.

“Get away from them!” Charlie yelled, jumping from the sofa but was held back by static that seemed to emit from all around Vox, similar to the way Lute had witnessed Alastor’s shadows wrap around her all those days ago.

“They’re different! They’re here to help Hell!” Charlie yelled, thrashing against the static restraints.

Vox leaned down and turned off the audio to his mic, speaking so low that only Charlie and Lucifer could hear. “Oh, I believe you. I don’t think you have a single bone in your lovely little body that would let you lie, but unfortunately, I don’t think there’s anything you can do to convince them.”

Vox pointed to the audience, who snarled at Lute and Vaggie. Charlie struggled against the restraints, her irises turning red and horns growing from her head.

“Dad!” Charlie yelled, trying and failing to snap her father out of his dead-eyed stare.

“I think the time for a new face in charge!” Vox yelled his hands out at his sides like a ringleader in a circus waiting for applause. The crowd roared at his words.

Lute struggled against the large Sinner that held her, all too aware of the audience behind her that wanted nothing more than to tear her limb from limb. Fuck! Fuck Adam for not being here. Fuck her for starting to give a shit about Hell and the fucking Hell Princess. FUCK!

Fuck all this shit. She was a fucking Exorcist and she would damn all these fuckers to Hell again if she had to.

Lute kicked back against the sinner, a forceful jab in the knee. The sinner wailed in pain and aggravation, loosening his grip long enough for Lute to escape and run right towards the television demon. The cameraman followed her every move, broadcasting her misdeeds to all of Hell.

She rushed at Vox, her arm and the bombs the only weapons she was still in possession of. The security guard was technically right; her arm was a weapon. She raised it high, hellbent on smashing the Television to bits.

What she had not been anticipating, however, was Vox’s reaction time. He was more dexterous than was to be believed and Lute was utterly surprised when Vox caught her raised prosthetic hand and gripped onto the metal with glee.

A shock of pain traveled through Lute’s arm as Vox pushed the electricity through his palm in her prosthetic. The prosthetic jerked against the current until it finally hung limply at her side. She tried to will the arm to move like it had before, but it wouldn’t budge. Whatever machinery had led to the miracle of the limb had been short-circuited by Vox’s electricity. Lute looked at Vox with such rage as she smirked down at her.

“Not so strong without your little upgrade, huh? Oh, we got all the footage from that fight you had with the Princess’ little girlfriend. What a pathetic way to lose a limb, huh?”

Lute did the only thing she could think of and headbutted Vox on the screen.

“Fuck!” Vox yelled and dropped the grip on her arm. His screen developed a large line down the middle that seemed to glitch and buffer as he tried to speak. “Y-y-ou fu-u-cking b-b-bitch!”

With Vox distracted, the static dissipated around Charlie and she was able to hop up from the sofa. She ran towards Vaggie to help her escape from the sinner.

Vox jumped at Lute but was immediately knocked down as the world around them began to shake. The studio lights in the ceiling began to topple down, shattering and exploding when they made contact with the floor. Parts of the ceiling began to collapse on some unfortunate audience members while others tried to run for their lives.

Lute held her ground and used the suddenness of the shock that seemed to go on for a while to grab one of the bombs Cherri had given to her. A bit difficult with only one useful hand, but this wasn’t her first time in this predicament. She was so grateful in that moment that Vox’s big fucking ego had kept her from having to give up all her weapons. She picked a wall and threw it, hoping and praying to watchever archangel would listen that the wall led to the outside.

“You fucking bitch!” Vox repeated, his words still slurred and glitchy. He reached up for Lute but was distracted by the sonic boom of the bomb going at the far wall. “NO!”

“Let’s fucking move!” Lute yelled, pulling up on the hoodie (easier said than done as her prosthetic hand lay limply at her side) and throwing it off her body to stretch out her wings. Lucifer, who seemed to be pulled from his thoughts from the quake, and Vaggie both spread their wings in a glorious show of angelic power.

“All these people!” Charlie mourned, trying desperately to help up a feral-looking weasel sinner who tried to bite at her with sharpened teeth. “We have to help them.”

“We can’t help any of them if we don’t help ourselves,” Lute yelled back, running towards the newly formed balcony of the V Tower. She didn’t turn back to see the look of regret Charlie shot her way. Lute would rather her be regretful than dead.

Lute jumped from the ledge with all the faith of a trust fall. Her wings began to flap behind her and had she not been running on pure shock, she would have laughed with joy at the sensation. She turned to see Vaggie carrying Charlie with Lucifer following closely behind.

“What the fuck was that?!” Vaggie yelled towards Lucifer.

“A Hell Quake,” Lucifer said, still shaken from the questioning about Lilith. “They’re just gonna get worse and more frequent until Adam finishes the trials.”

“Is there anything we can do to help him?” Lute asked desperately. Is there anything we can do to help us? Lucifer shook his head.

“We need to get out of here and plan our next move,” Vaggie said quickly. “The Vees aren’t gonna take kindly to this and it's put an even bigger target on our back than there already was.”

Lute agreed with Vaggie. She hated that she had started to agree with the former exorcist more and more often as of late. (Though perhaps that said more about the quality training Vaggie had received as a former exorcist than anything else).

The flight back to the hotel was quiet. Oh, all of Hell was in chaos with screaming and fighting in the streets. But the group was quiet, lost in thought. Charlie seemed almost on the verge of tears as she nuzzled against Vaggie at the sounds of anguish coming from the streets below.

There were a few sinners who yelled abou t fucking angels and fucking heaven as they flew overhead. Lute didn’t think she could blame them at this point.

The Exterminations had been predictable. A necessary evil the citizens of Hell faced from Heaven. Since that fateful last extermination, it had been chaos. There was no predictability. No guesswork about when the next attack from Heaven would come. That comforting clock tower that stood as a beacon of Heaven’s love no longer displayed Heaven’s next move. Instead, it had brought nothing but chaos when Adam was cast out.

When would Heaven strike next? That was a question even Lute didn’t know had an answer for. Whatever the next move, the Sinners were antsy. They felt abandoned not only by their leaders but by the reliable predictability of the exterminations; the controlled free-for-all all with a designated beginning and end.

The hotel came into view like an oasis in the middle of the desert. She could only guess how she would be bombarded by questions and comments by Angel and Cherri. And her Eggs.

Lute sighed and looked down at her prosthetic arm that hung limply at her side. She needed a drink. A strong one.

========

Adam screamed until it felt as though all the air had left his lungs. His throat was sore and raw from use. What did it even matter at this point anyway?

All of his life’s regrets had been laid out in full display, over and over and over again. He had only conquered two rings; could he be strong enough to defeat the rest?

He thought of Lute. Would she see him in all his human shame? Naked and vulnerable, nothing more than a pathetic shell of the Head of the Exorcists he once was. Would she still look into his eyes, brown like mud now, and still see the leader she had revered?

He didn't think so. She had wasted her life by saving him. She had damned herself to an existence the same way he had damned others. Everything he touched turned to ash and brokenness.

“Are you done celebrating your pity party?”

Adam blinked and turned. Without even noticing, the landscape had started to change around him, darkening to a deep blue and purple neon hue. He realized then he was no longer in Envy.

“Asmodeus,” Adam said, facing the embodiment of Lust. He looked just as he had the day he had brought Lute the replacement arm. Something squeezed in his chest at the thought. He would have been cast out eventually, he knew that without a doubt. Why did he jumpstart the eventable? Why did he not cherish their quiet moments in the hotel more at the time? “I'm not having a fucking pity party.”

Asmodeus raised an eyebrow (or rather, three when considering the other two heads at his side). “Oh yeah, because screaming out in the sky after being faced with one of the worst days of your life is just a normal Tuesday for you, huh.”

“Leave me the fuck alone, asshole.”

Asmodeus gave him a pitying look. “It's time for your next trial.”

“Fuck, I'm fucking sick of this,” Adam exclaimed, standing. He ran his hands over his face. “Just leave me to fucking rot.”

“Pity party,” Asmodeus repeated. Adam could have punched all three of his heads. A true cockfight, if you will. He narrowed his eyes.

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“I will if that’s what keeps you going. You gotta keep that fire stoked, otherwise these trials are gonna snuff out whatever fight you have left in you.” Asmodeus answered, his voice more amused than anything else.

“And why the fuck do you care?” Adam snarled.

“Because some of us have more than just the rings at stake. I’m sure you can relate to that, huh Adam?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I’m literally just doing this to save my own skin. Some self-preservation bullshit.”

Asmodeus laughed, a genuine belly laugh that shook him with every breath. “You can lie to yourself about your reasons whether that be your own self-preservation or something else but you can’t lie to me. I know what, or who occupies your thoughts.”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole.”

“You lust after her, don’t you Adam? Not just her body, but you lust after her mind. Her time–” Asmodeus goaded, his hands on Adam’s shoulders.

“SHUT UP ASSHOLE!” Adam raged, pure power bristling around him.

“The way she gives you the time of day. You lust after her because she gives a shit about you Adam, even when no one else does,” Asmodeus continued, pointing a finger at Adam and tapping it into his chest.

“I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LIMP DICKED FUCK.” Adam yelled. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes flashed their angelic golden color before turning back to their earthly brown. Asmodeus looked at him with a look of triumph. Golden waves of power seemed to emit off Adam’s fingertips like static electricity.

“What the fuck is happening,” Adam whispered, his breath heavy as he looked down at his fingertips.

“You’re getting your sparkle back,” Asmodeus replied, all three of his heads looking at Adam with a grin. “That right there is what’s gonna help you save Hell.”

“Fucking rage?” Adam asked dumbly.

Asmodeus shook his heads. “Angelic Power. You just had to tap back into it.”

Adam breathed out a heavy sigh and narrowed his eyes at the Sin. “Why are you helping me?”

“Like I said, some of us have a little more at stake than just losing our rings. Bee and I gonna try and help you out as much as we can. I can’t say the same for Mammon and Satan but just be reassured you’ve got people behind you. Begrudgingly. You are quite literally our last hope.”

“Is this because of your partner? The clown-thing-man?”

Asmodeus looked as though he wanted to correct Adam but thought better of him. “Fizzarolli. It’s because of him I’m even helping your sorry ass.”

Adam nodded. “He was a pretty cool dude. I liked his voice.”

“I like his voice too,” Asmodeus replied wistfully. “You ready to start your trial of Lust? To save your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my–,” Adam started but then thought better of it. “Yeah, let’s go save Lute. And the rest of Hell I guess.”

Asmodeus smirked and snapped his fingers and the landscape around Adam began to change and morph until he found himself back in his apartment in Heaven, all the details and discarded soda sitting just where he remembered them being.

He walked around hesitantly, his fingers brushing across the various pieces in the living room; his television, his guitar, his exorcist mask. Not a single detail was out of place from what he remembered.

He had been in a hurry the last time he had been in this apartment. So ready to spill Sinner blood and show the Hell Princess who was boss. How times change. He wondered if anyone would clean out his apartment if he had died in Hell like they all thought he had.

No, probably not. The only person who would have was stuck in Hell right alongside him. Lost in his thoughts, he missed the subtle breathing behind him indicating that he was being watched.

“Adam?” A voice said from behind him. He raised his head. He would know that voice in every life he lived, he just knew it. He turned to face her.

“Lute?!”

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