#but i have a few ideas a-brewin folks

[sylvestiessss]

Phil had been Dan’s floor supervisor for the six months since he started working there. He was tall, good at his job while only being somewhat obnoxious about it, and was still the only one in the store who Dan thought could pull off the tacky blue polyester vests.

Or, the Superstore AU I treated myself to writing (:

[rosesisupposes]

Destined, part 22

aka The Missing Prints

Character Tags: Virgil/Anixety ; Patton/Creativity ; Patton/Morality ; Logan/Logic ; Remy/Sleep ; Dante/Deceit

Chapter Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality, mention of Anxceit

Chapter Warnings: Graphic description of violence, Visions of Major Character Death, Swearing

Specific content warning note: Graphic descriptions of violence and depicted MCD from "The world twists upon itself..." to "Hands grabbed him and shook him..."

Reader Tags: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice   @nightmarebeforevirgil​ @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt

Summary: After centuries of acting as an oracle to heroes, quest-seekers, and villains alike, Virgil just wants to live as a normal, modern human. For someone who can see infinite probabilities, you’d think he’d know better.

<<Chapter 21 | Masterlist | Chapter 23>>

read on ao3

Virgil was used to being nervous. Kind of par for the course, when you’ve spent thousands of years watching single decisions transform the course of lives and centuries. That nervousness was the kind that paralyzed him, sent him into weeks- or years-long stupors of contemplating the butterfly effects of human life. He was also getting happily used to this new type of nervousness that spawned in Roman’s presence, this fluttery feeling that made him want to babble out all his feelings, float away in champagne bubbles, or just run into the sunset with Roman’s hand in his.

Roman hadn’t responded to any of his texts since last night, including the “Let me know when you’re home safe” text. He wasn’t sure which type of nervous he should be feeling, but he was probably going to err on the side of overwhelming terror.

He went to How You Brewin’ as normal, but couldn’t suppress his jitters.

“Remy, is it a bad sign that Roman isn’t texting me back?”

“Girl, chill. You just started dating, don’t even worry about it.”

Fat chance of that, Virgil thought to himself. But Remy hadn’t been caught up in the drama of the past few days. He wasn’t on edge, and had no reason to be.

Virgil tried not to ruminate too much through the morning rush. Any moment now, Roman would blow in, all red and white and glamorous smile, and he’d ask for something ridiculous, like a jumbo latte with 13 pumps of vanilla syrup.

Any moment now.

Any moment.

The morning crowds left, as did Remy. Logan came in as normal, and lingered in the bakery, waiting for Patton to emerge from the back. When the baker did so, Virgil could have sworn the sun had risen again right there across the bakery counter, a solar flare of smiles reunited. Logan’s lost glasses were replaced by seldom-used contacts which only served to make it easier to see just how delighted he was to see Patton again.

Virgil, meanwhile, was checking his phone obsessively.

Okay, let’s assess the situation. I’ve sent a lot of texts. And he hasn’t responded once. So what should I do now??

I should send just one more text anndddd sent.

Nostradamus, what am I DOING?

Okay, he clearly could not handle this on his own. It was time to bring in backup. He checked quickly for customers then scuttled over to the bakery. Logan and Patton looked up at him from where they’d been holding hands as Logan leaned on the counter. Something in his face clearly told them both that this was important enough to warrant the interruption. Logan steered Virgil to an easy chair while Patton brought him an apple turnover, still warm. They both sat as close together as possible on a small couch next to Virgil’s chair and waited expectantly for him to explain.

“It’s Roman,” he blurted out. “He’s not responding. Normally I would think that you know, we just spent a whole day together and he needs a break from me but I can’t shake the feeling that something is very, very wrong. And… it might be my fault.”

Patton leaned across Logan to pat Virgil’s knee. “Kiddo, I’m sure it’s not your fault - what could you have possibly done to cause him pain?”

“It’s not what I could have done, but what someone else could have done because of how I got him involved…” Virgil put his head in his hands. This was no good. He was going to have to explain everything for this to make any sense. “I asked you both for advice before, and you helped me make the right choice. At least, I think it was the right choice. And I don’t know who else to trust. Plus… you’ve both already lived through the effects.” His eyes flicked sadly to the bruise on Logan’s temple. Someone had clearly helped cover it with makeup - Virgil suspected it had been Talyn, but even their skill wasn’t quite enough to hide the swelling.

He swallowed nervously.  “I’m about to tell you both something that is going to sound incredibly weird and possibly delusional, but I swear it is all true.” Logan looked cautiously skeptical already, but Patton wasn’t showing any emotion except calm acceptance.

Virgil took a deep breath and said, “I am not human. I am an immortal being called a Sage. I can touch people’s hands and see the possible paths their life will take. As part of that power, I am obligated not to share specific details, but give only hints towards that person’s pivotal choice through riddles- the way I’ve been taught since I came into being at the Oracle of Delphi approximately 3400 years ago.”

Virgil stopped and looked up at his friends. Both were staring with wide eyes, Patton’s mouth hanging open. Neither seemed able to form a verbal response just yet, so Virgil plowed forward.

“Just over 500 years ago, I read the destiny of a sorcerer who wanted to rule the world and was willing to destroy anything or anyone who got in his way. Luckily, back then, he was defeated. Six days ago, however, I ran into him here, not too far from my apartment, and saw that he was back to try again. This man, Dante, was your kidnapper. He wanted your research to find people like me, magical beings who are still left in the world. That’s what those genetic anomalies were, Lo. They were me, and him, and all the other remaining magic folk left in the world. I thought at the lab that Roman had killed Dante in his shape-shifted snake form… but now, I’m not so sure. He’s cheated death so many times, and he will blame us - well, blame me - for being the common thread in his defeats. And I… I am so nervous that he’s gone after Roman for revenge. Or maybe just as bait. But even if it is a trap, it will work, because I cannot let anything happen to Roman, not if there is anything I can do to stop it. But I don’t know what to do.”

He stopped talking and forced himself to breathe. His heart was pounding and he felt slightly delirious.

After several minutes of stunned silence in which Virgil imagined he could practically hear the bullshit alarms going off in his listeners’ minds, Logan recovered first. “Well. That is quite a lot of… new... information. Thank you for clarifying that my attacker - Dante, you said his name was? - actually did turn into a snake. I thought I’d seen a snake in the lab but was worried it was just the concussion speaking.”

“I also saw that, I thought I’d taken a blow to the copperhead ,” Patton added. The pun didn’t have quite the baker’s normal level of delight, but Virgil appreciated his attempt at lightening the mood. From the twitch at the side of his mouth, Virgil could tell that Logan did too.

Logan steered back to the matter at hand. “So, let me get this straight-”

“Good luck with that,” Virgil muttered.

“You can see possible futures. And the string of events that lead to them. When you asked us for advice before, that’s what it was about? Whether or not to share what you knew.”

“I already had seen Dante’s futures, and Roman was included in them,” Virgil said, nodding.  “I was trying to decide if I should offer to look through all of Roman’s futures too, try to give him as much preparation as possible, but was worried about how once you know, you’re locked in. It makes choices a little less free because of the very fact of knowing the nature of the future you could be working towards. The question of free choice versus determinism becomes a lot less hypothetical when you see the future the way I do. I don’t know that I thanked you enough. You both helped a lot - I was so worried about Roman’s ability to make free choices in the future that I lost sight of the freedom of choice I was preventing him from having in that moment.”

Logan chewed on this information. “Your… ability, this, uh, magic .” He shook his head as if to clear it. “I can’t believe I’ve spent my whole life researching the natural world and am just suddenly finding out ‘oh hey, magic exists and also your wingman is an immortal magic being.’ But, well, we can discuss this more later. Can you see where Roman is now? Or Dante, who is a sorcerer , you said?”

Virgil shook his head, shame-faced. “I wish I could see him. It only works if I have direct contact, both hands on their skin. And yes, he’s a sorcerer or wizard. One of those, I’m not positive which. A human with the ability to do magic without a wand.”

“Well, if you can’t see Roman or Evil Snakey Man,” Patton offered, “why don’t you try looking for yourself? If there’s a possibility that Roman is in danger and you rescue him, you’d be able to see that in your own future, right?”

Virgil was stunned. The idea had never even occurred to him. “I… that’s… I don’t even know if that’s possible . It’s definitely not allowed by the Sage’s Law, which are the rules that we have sworn to follow.”

“Patton’s right,” Logan said, an approving hand on the baker’s knee. “It seems the only logical option - seek the information that is available to you before you make a decision. What would be the consequences if such an act of seeking indeed breaks this ‘Law’ but you are able to do so?”

Virgil could feel his breath coming faster, his heart rate increasing. Outright breaking the Law? The one constant that he’d kept as a guide for over three millennia? “My brethren would punish me, somehow. I don’t know what they’d do. But,” he admitted, “it would likely take them a while to get to it. Their sense of time is a little off.”

“If Roman is really in danger, are you willing to risk it?” Patton asked softly.

Virgil looked straight into Patton’s blue-grey eyes and saw nothing but understanding and affection. His jitters were nowhere near gone, but the uncertainty vanished. “I… yes. Yes, I am. If it means keeping him safe, I’ll do anything.”

Logan placed hand on the violet-haired man’s shoulder. “Then I think it is indeed worth a try. Can we help or support you in any way?”

“I just… I need to think,” Virgil whispered, closing his eyes.

Virgil was terrified. Not for himself, but for Roman. His friend and newly-minted boyfriend. Was this a punishment for pulling an innocent man into a destiny he hadn’t sought out? Did he bring this upon them all from his foolish attempt to be a human rather than a Sage?

His brethren might be merciless. They might cut him off from the ether, turning him mortal. They might forcibly bring him back into the ether, ending his human life and ensuring that he remain a spirit for the rest of eternity. They could even do both, if they were feeling particularly displeased: kill his current form and cut him off from his connection. He’d be truly dead then, with absolutely no chance of returning. There was no way of knowing what action they’d take, or if what Virgil was about to attempt was a heinous enough offense to warrant any punishment at all.

All he knew was that he was willing to risk both eternal life and this finite one if it meant Roman would be safe. He took a deep breath, summoning his power, and linked his own arms, forearm to forearm.

He sees a world like the current one. Humans thrive. Magic is invisible to the point of nonexistence. He sees Roman, alive, happy, safe . His heart is soothed until he realizes - he can’t see himself in this future.

The world twists upon itself. He sees natural disasters and apocalypses, the world spinning too fast, the sun collapsing and exploding in a brilliant supernova that stretches to infinity and leaves behind vast nothingness.

He sees himself as Supreme Ruler over humankind and magic folk alike, dragons returning and fairies dancing.

He sees himself at Dante’s side, the man’s former beauty fully restored. He is clinging to his lovers’ arm, doted upon by the sorcerer-king and tended to by the humans that labor in servitude to their magical overlords.

He sees Dante die, himself die, Roman die. And Patton die. And Logan, and Remy, and Virgil’s landlady, and Remy’s boyfriend Antony, and Joan and Talyn and the bakafé’s regulars, Heather and her daughter and Emile and and and...

He sees Roman’s death over and over in hundreds of futures. Now, Dante transforms into a massive adder and tears a chunk out of his shoulder. Now, Roman’s theatre burns in dragonfire, the princely man trapped inside by a falling set as he desperately pushes the last of his cast to safety. Now Virgil himself sends Roman to a labor camp, Dante grinning smugly at his elbow. Roman leaps in front of a witch’s curse in the last fight of the Human Rebellion, keeping Logan and Patton alive for just a few more minutes. Dante chokes Roman to death, holding him up by a vice-like grip on his neck, legs flailing desperately in midair until they go still. Roman, gaunt and hollow-cheeked, dies of starvation in an unknown ruin. Dante breaks Roman’s ribs in his serpentine coils. Roman dies of old age, alone in a dark retirement home. Roman’s blood drips sluggishly down his chest as he is forced to watch Dante kiss Virgil’s neck, and the sorcerer’s casual gesture sends another iron spike through his body- enough to continue killing him, never enough to let him die outright. Roman is in a hospital as a heart monitor slowly blips to flatline. Roman kisses Virgil desperately as an unavoidable blast of magical energy hurtles towards them both. Patton and Roman both watch in horror as Patton thrusts a sword directly through the Roman’s heart, compelled to act against his will by a vindictive fairy’s spell. Roman dies falling from a tower. Roman dies at a furious sprite’s hands, crushed under falling stone. Roman dies. Roman dies. Roman dies.

Tears pour down Virgil’s cheeks. He can’t find the crux. Where is the one choice? What is the future decision that will put the world on the correct path? Who can save the only person he’s ever loved?

Hands grabbed him and shook him to wakefulness. Logan held both his shoulders, pale and visibly shaken, but forcing himself to remain calm. Patton was turned away, glasses on the table beside him, weeping silently. Virgil stared at them both through red-rimmed eyes. He’d broken the Law, risked his powers, and what did he have to show for it? He hadn’t seen anyone whose choice would shape these futures.

But… perhaps that didn’t mean it had been useless. All these years, he’d been sought out by those who didn’t know better, hoping to make the best out of uncertainty. What had he given them? Guidance? That guidance had been a road map to an untimely death as often as not. Following the Law of Sages hadn’t changed that. He’d followed every rule with Kat and she’d died as surely as Colan had. Yes, she’d had a fuller lifetime, but the end result was the same. She’d died, as surely as Baxter had, and Vorel, and Pasithee. What value did his gift add, compared to the pain it had caused, and the tradeoffs he’d made?

His long, long life had been temples, grottos, and mountain caves. Isolation or captivity. His Seekers has been young and old, brave and cowardly, good and evil. And in all his thousands of years on this earth, he’d felt more alive in these last few weeks than ever before. He’d been watching humanity skitter to and fro for eons and only just now understood how wonderful and wonderfully imperfect they could be. And never, in all these years, had his own choices been a part of any future.

All these lives he’d lived. All those false choices he’d presented- were they ever really different? They all lead to death. The ersatz hopes had stacked on each other into a tottering tower that was his present, and there was only one thing keeping it all from collapsing with an impact that would reverberate through his entire past and future. 

These men. These friends . He’d never felt such easy and sudden connection before, had never felt able to trust anyone so completely- Patton, Roman, even Remy. Even Logan, despite it feeling less direct with the scientist. Each of them echoed with familiarity, a thin and whispered melody as old as his power and just as intimate. Why did he feel as if he’d known them before? Why could he picture each of them alive and surrounding him in each one of his past lives?

It couldn’t be magic. He would have been able to sense if any of them were a magical creature. But then why did he feel like these friends of his had weathered and waited through the ages just as surely as he had? As surely as Dante had?

He believed necessarily in the power of choice and free will, but he was not such a fool to stop believing in meaningful coincidence. These men, all of them, meant something to him. And he’d be fucked (sorry, Patton) if he wouldn’t do all he could to protect them. And when he’d looked for a decision-maker in all those possible futures, he hadn’t seen anyone… except himself. 

“Dear Cassandra, forgive me. I can’t just stand by any longer,” he whispered. He grabbed his backpack from beyond the bar and started throwing in anything and everything that his own futures had shown to be useful. “Patton, Logan,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m sorry I can’t explain more right now, but I know where Roman is, and I’m going to save him. If you want to risk it and help, I’ll be at the corner of Canterbury and Laurel. Bring flashlights, and be on your guard. Tell Remy I’m sorry for ditching my shift.” The bell over the door clanged urgently, and he was gone.

Patton watched him go, still in shock. He’d never seen so much pain on one person’s face. Not even in the foster homes he’d lived in before his forever family found him. He wasn’t sure if Virgil knew he’d been continuing to cry as he’d whirled out of the cafe. It hurt his heart to see his young - well, not so young, apparently - friend grieve and suffer right in front of him, his eyes glowing a painfully bright white as tears flowed without stopping. Patton hadn’t been able to bear it, and had had to look away as he begged Logan to “Wake him up, please, God, wake him up!”

Logan turned to him now, and without a word embraced him tightly. Patton hugged back, tears seeping into the other man’s black polo.

“Patton… I’m sorry you had to see that. You’re so gentle and good and…” Logan shuddered, and took a deep breath. “And that was painful to watch.” The blonde head laying on his shoulder nodded. “I don’t want to pretend we’re not both scared, but… I want to help Roman. I want to help Virgil, no matter who he is. Or what he is. After you all saved me… I owe them both that much. But if you can’t or don’t want to, I won’t think any less of you. It’s a scary, uncertain situation, and we’re walking in blind. The sensible option is to avoid it.”

Patton lifted his head, eyes puffy. “Who ever said I’m sensible? They’re our friends, and they’re in trouble.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, and picked up his glasses from where they’d fallen on his lap. “We have other options, but there’s only one right choice. I have flashlights under the bakery counter,  next to the first aid kit. You go grab them, and I’ll lock up the store. Remy will understand.”

author’s note: welp, that happened, did it not

(Now is a GREAT time to tell you this: Dante’s prophecy was inspired by, I kid you not, the movie ‘Pokemon 2000’. “Though the water's Great Guardian shall arise to quell the fighting, alone its song will fail. Thus the Earth shall turn to ash.” As in, Ash Ketchum. ‘The world will turn to flame,’ as in Flame the fire sprite. Did you think this was some deep shit? Nah, man, I am a dork)

[concussed-to-pieces]

ESC; Part Two

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Jon Moxley/Roman Reigns

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Saturday ho! Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and of course, @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains rape/attempted rape/vivid allusions to attempted forced sexual activity via pornography, as well as human muzzling of a non-BDSM variety. This gets heavy, so please read safe everyone!]

He had a real name once. He knew he must have at some point. But through the years he’d forgotten it. He was simply Lion now.

…

Elias fidgeted beside the counter, tapping his fingers. With his guitar slung over his shoulder via the strap and his sunglasses firmly in place, he surreptitiously scanned the coffee shop yet again. Probably his fifth time since he walked in.

His gaze kept getting drawn to an older man, maybe early forties. The man sat all alone by the window, his own coffee appearing forgotten beside his laptop. The guy constantly looked up and around, like he was doing something he shouldn’t. It immediately set off warning bells in Elias’ head.

“Pardon me, ma’am.” He said softly when the barista slid his coffee to him. “That guy over there has the look of a man trying to be sneaky. He in here often?”

“Wow, good eye.” The barista snorted. “Yeah, he’s a regular. We're pretty sure he comes in just to watch porn with our wifi. But since he’s not like, actively jerking off or bugging anyone there’s not much we can do about it. He buys a coffee, you know how it is.”

“Much obliged, ma’am.” Elias gave her a quick flash of his smile, taking a sip of his drink as he meandered away from the counter. There was a bulletin board on the wall behind that suspicious man and Elias knew that was always his best bet for finding more traveling shows, circuses and exhibitions. A lot of the mobile carnivals didn’t have websites or calendars to track, so his fieldwork was still important.

The man glanced up at him as he sauntered by, making a scoffing sound when he took in the mass of scarves around Samson’s neck. Elias paid him no mind, perusing the flyers on the wall silently. A few older ones for Heyman’s Delights, when he was still advertising the ‘turned feral’. Elias shuddered. Two for McMahon’s Dog And Pony Show, ‘fun for the whole family!’. Since Vince had sold the remainder of his ferals off to Heyman, the group had focused their efforts elsewhere. One of the bars in town was having a talent night.

Samson turned around to head for the door and froze as he caught sight of the suspicious man’s laptop screen. ‘RESTRAINED FERAL LION PLOWS TINY SLUT!’ screamed the title of the video. Elias forced himself to ignore the video, forced himself to instead commit the site’s name to memory and as he walked by on his way out he slammed the man’s laptop shut. The man looked up to protest and Elias narrowed his eyes, giving the man his nastiest glare and curling his lip in a snarl. Don’t even think about it.

The air from outside was cooler than he anticipated, shocking a little of the blind fury out of his system. Elias pulled his flip phone free of his pocket and started typing.

-Nev I’ve got something.

He sat down on a bench and drank some more of his coffee while he waited for their fearless leader to reply. His fingers tapped the fretboard of his guitar, twanging a string here and there. “Well, gold digger took my money, dipped my heart an’ hands in honey.” Samson began singing quietly, “Snake lady stole my savin’s, don’t go thinkin’ she was havin’ my babies.” He carried on, singing the tune of a disillusioned young man facing the electric chair in July. Nobody ever wanted to hear happy songs, anyhow. It was always Johnny Cash for these people. “You’re young, an’ qualified, got a date with that chair out in late July.”

A man walking with his dog smiled at Elias and Samson smiled back, tipping his head. He had to remember sometimes that most of the ‘regular’ folks weren’t scumbags. There were just an exemplary few in the herd that outdid the rest. His brow furrowed as he thought back on that guy in the coffee shop, rhythm faltering. He checked his phone quickly.

-Send location for pickup Samson.

-Not that simple this time Nev. Will explain when present. Get Mox. See you soon.

Samson got to his feet, dusting himself off and continuing down the sidewalk.

…

Moxley’s eyebrows ended up in his hairline when the name of the website left Elias’ mouth. “Listen man, I know everyone’s got their kinks but-” His protest was cut short by Samson’s blistering glare. “Oh, this ain’t a social visit.”

“No Mox, it’s not.” Elias grumbled while Neville typed.

“They literally just call him Lion.” Neville tugged his glasses down his nose. “What the hell kind of…this is some fucked-up shite.” He pointed to the screen, highlighting a paragraph after a moment. “'Sedated Submissive, Lion knows only to please!’ I’m going t' toss in my mouth.” Neville did look green.

Mox’s own stomach went queasy at the wording. “Sedated?” He asked weakly.

“He’s not a willing participant. That’s fuckin’ revoltin’.” Adrian said bluntly. “They get him out of his mind, muzzle him and restrain him. Can you even fucking imagine how terrifying that is?”

There were a few publicity photos for Lion’s profile, all without a stitch of clothing on the tattooed young man. Just another feral, what does he need to be treated like a human for? Moxley snapped his teeth angrily. Lion had that glazed stare over his stifler of something trapped for too long. “What’s the plan, Nev? I know ya’ got somethin’ brewin’.”

“Bits an’ pieces.” Adrian pushed his glasses back up. “I’ll circle the wagons when I’ve got more information.”

“Let me sponsor this one, yeah?” Mox asked quietly once Elias had departed back to his own trailer. “He’s gonna’ need some delicacy and I’ve dealt with the druggin’ before.” He still had nightmares sometimes, recalling the cloying pull of the substance Vince plied him with to keep his rages under control.

“If you think you’re up for it, Mox.” Neville shrugged. “This whole op is going to need some delicacy. Grab your spiral-bound.” Adrian had a tendency to over-prepare when it came to their data collection, but Mox knew it was either have as much as they could or go in defenseless. So he obediently collected his notebook and flipped it open to an empty page, beginning his usual work of writing down everything that came out of Neville’s mouth.

Regardless of whether it made sense or not. Adrian had a habit of lapsing into his accent a little harder than normal as he rambled (he called it ‘going Geordie’, whatever that meant), so occasionally Mox had to have him repeat things. But when Neville rattled on he claimed his brain worked twice as fast as his mouth, and Moxley had to admit that his smarts hadn’t failed them yet.

“The producer. A shadowy fuckin' title fer a shadowy prick that apparently makes fucked-up porn.”

Moxley grunted as he wrote that down.

It was well after two in the morning when Adrian pushed himself off the seat by the table and stretched with a loud yawn. “We’ve got him, Mox my lad. He’s as good as ours.” He grinned tiredly. “We’ll talk to Regal in the daylight, get an idea of what we’re dealing with. Maybe he’ll have another miracle cure, eh?”

Mox snorted, getting to his feet. “Yeah, maybe. I dunno’, man. He keeps telling me he’s close to figuring out why he can nuke Elias’ rages but not mine and it’s like, shit old man, prioritize.” Moxley scolded. “He’s gonna’ get behind on the antibiotic doses for the newbies and then we’ll be fucked, stuck with some kid that’s got super lice.”

Adrian chuckled, rubbing his nose against Moxley’s cheek. “Don’t worry about the old monarch. He knows what he’s on about.”

Mox pulled him in the rest of the way for a headbutt, grinning back. “Fucker, you’re in on his shit.”

“Oh, but that’s no secret.” Neville teased. “He's a stubborn old bastard, but he's our stubborn old bastard.”

…

The cement felt nice against his aching head. Cool. Solid. Real, much more real than the way everything shimmered like heat waves in front of his eyes. He groaned, half-wishing that there was something else in his stomach to come back up. Maybe if he got sick on himself again they would leave him be for a little while longer.

His thighs were sore and his wrists hurt, chafe marks still raised and raw on his skin. His throat was so dry from the muzzle that smothered his face in its grip. So it hadn’t been that long that he was unconscious for. He couldn’t decide whether it was good or bad that the dark patches were getting longer but thinner. He kept waking up, waking up with women on top of him, the scent of the cosmetic products they used to conceal his chafing thick like oil in his nose and mouth. Sometimes he wanted to cry, when he came to and couldn’t go back under to hide from the things they did to him.

Sometimes he wanted to rip everyone in the room apart, his chest heaving with fury and hands clenched into fists in his binds while he stared at the ceiling and just waited for it to be over. But those angry days were becoming fewer and fewer. His body wasn’t his own, his brain riddled with fever and drugs persuading him to just lie still, to move his hips and whimper when appropriate.

He was Lion, ‘Sedated Submissive’, those words he didn’t understand that dug into his skin like more needles and choked in his throat like more dry pills. This was who he was. He could grit his teeth, scream and strain while he had his mind, but it wouldn’t do him any good.

The cement felt like it was leeching all the heat out of his skin. He shuddered, getting up off the floor on shaky legs and moving to his cot. His restraints dragged heavily at his arms. Maybe…maybe more sleep would help.

…

Mox crept through the doorway after Neville. “Three seconds,” Neville muttered, staring at his watch. They both waited until the camera reset and then bolted down the hallway. Three seconds didn’t seem like much, but if Neville had done his math right (and of course, Mox had full faith in the notion that he had), it was more than enough to get them around the corner.

“This is a little different from our usual snatch an’ grab, Mox. We are officially cat burglars. So suit up.”

Moxley felt a little silly in his black jeans and turtleneck, but he knew he had to look the part. Plus, according to Neville the camera was old tech, a black and white CCTV kind of thing, so in all black he had a better shot of blending into the gray.

He eased open the first door on his right when they entered a hallway, an empty bedroom meeting his eyes.

“We’ll do a full sweep.” Neville said softly, “The only info we had mentioned a room off a hallway, yeah? You take the right.”

Mox nodded, closing the door and carrying on. Two more bedrooms passed with no incident, though Mox found it weird that they were made to look like they were in totally different houses.

The next door revealed a bedroom that was drastically different from the rest. Red carpet, no windows. Black straps attached to the headboard caught his attention and Mox took a cautious step in, clicking on his small flashlight to get a better look.

The bedspread and sheets were solid black, the fabric coarse and cheap under his touch. A simple video camera was set up on a tripod at the foot of the bed, another one resting on the flimsy bedside table. Mox felt the nausea build in his throat for a minute before he got a grip on himself.

The closet door by the bed was half open and he carefully crept to it, gesturing for Neville to follow him from the hallway. Adrian’s quiet gasp of breath alerted Mox to the fact that he’d noticed what the room was for.

There were stairs in the closet. Wooden stairs that led down, to what appeared to be a basement.

“Bingo.” Neville turned on his own flashlight. “This place seems…huge for one feral.” He pointed out as Mox descended the steps in front of him. “I wonder if their Lion is just a test run? Imagine how useful assholes like us could be in this industry if we were docile.”

“Priorities, old man.” Moxley reminded Adrian. His eyes widened as his flashlight swept over a collection of cells built all in a row like a prison. “Oh. Well then.”

“Sometimes ah’ hate bein’ so fuckin’ smart.” Neville grimaced, his accent thickening. “We need to get that lad out an’ nip this shite in the bud, yeah? I’ll stay by the stairs. Could be our only exit.”

Moxley nodded, creeping forward. All the room had for illumination was one red light, blinking sluggishly at the far end of the cells. His night vision might be good enough to draw from that, but his flashlight made him feel a little safer. Every cell that he passed seemed to be open and empty. He wondered if someone had tipped off the producer, scouring the cells for some motion, some flicker of life.

Then he found the locked cell. Mox’s heart jumped into his mouth but no, no, Neville had picked much harder locks than this one. There was a blanket-covered mass on the cot across the cell and Moxley took a chance. “You awake in there?” He asked quietly, eyes falling on the loop of chain that wound around one of the bars and led beneath the blanket.

The lump under the blanket stirred, raising their head to look at him. Lion’s eyes were a light shade of gray, but they looked eerily white now in the beam of his flashlight.

Mox made a soothing noise in his throat, lowering the flashlight so the other man wouldn’t stare directly at it. Lion responded listlessly with a quiet sound of his own, more of an echo, muffled by the thick piece of leather over his mouth. His gaze held absolutely no interest or curiosity, he just stared because there was something different in front of him. “Nev he’s here.” Mox called, beckoning his partner over. “Get this open, man. He’s all fucked up.”

Neville got to work on the lock, twisting his pick set this way and that with extreme care. Mox wanted to talk to Lion, make sure he was aware that they were there to help, but he knew Neville needed to hear the tumblers so he stayed silent. When the lock clicked open Adrian got to his feet and eased the door to the side. “Lion?” He asked softly. The man under the blanket made a noise of distress, peering out at Neville.

“He’s got one of those stiflers on, Nev. Dunno’ if he’ll bite.” Mox observed. Those pale gray eyes flicked to his face when he spoke. Lion shook his head, metal cuffs around his wrists displayed when he reached up to claw weakly at the muzzle covering his mouth and nose. Moxley took in the raw skin around his wrists, the leather burn marks on his neck and jaw. “Christ.”

“Watch his pupils, he’s fucked up hard on somethin’.” Neville gestured and Lion flinched back after a second, his reaction delayed. “Let’s get him out of his cuffs. Do you understand us, Lion?”

The young man groaned in reply, finally nodding. Mox breathed a sigh of relief. That made things a hell of a lot simpler. Lion held his hands out but he didn’t seem particularly happy or excited. It was just a motion, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Mox, take off that muzzle while I work.” Neville directed, kneeling beside the cot and flipping through a small ring of cuff keys he had on standby.

Moxley moved forward, starting to wrestle with the stiff buckles securing the stifler. He felt Lion’s face press against his shirt and he heard a quiet inhale of breath whistle through the muzzle. “Hey there, you gettin’ all the good smells?” Mox asked gently. “One more second and I’ll have you out. It’s okay.” The leather under his fingers finally loosened, then pulled free. Moxley eased the muzzle off, letting it hang slack around Lion’s neck. “There, I bet that’s a little better.” He continued, watching worriedly as Lion just carried on staring at the floor. “Lion?”

That head of unruly black hair jerked back up, eyes wide in the dim light. Lion seemed to be having a difficult time focusing, looking like he was working overtime just trying to hold his head up.

“We’re getting you out of here, okay? We won’t leave you down here.” Moxley said slowly, hoping Lion could understand him. The whole cell reeked of cleaning chemical smells, Mox knew he was in for a splitting headache if they didn’t leave soon.

“Got it, here we go.” Neville said triumphantly, unsnapping the cuffs. “Alright lad, we’re gonna’ wrap this blanket around ya’ waist. I can’t believe I didn’t think to bring clothes.” He tied the knot on the blanket over Lion’s hip. “Now, neither Mox or I are strong enough to carry ya’ like a princess, but I figure between the two of us we’ll get some locomotion yet. On your feet.” He urged and Lion obeyed, almost collapsing a second later. Mox managed to compensate for the sway, draping Lion’s heavily-tattooed arm over his shoulder and hesitantly laying his hand on the other man’s ribs.

Lion’s skin was clammy, fever-sweat dampening the area under Mox’s touch. His head dropped onto Mox’s shoulder and he slumped, making himself dead weight. “Easy, easy.” Mox soothed, wondering if Lion knew that he wasn’t being dragged out for another…performance. “One foot in front of the other, okay Nev? Just nice and careful.”

“His body temp is all damn wrong.” Neville grunted as they left the cell and headed for the stairs. “Poor fucker.”

…

They weren’t usually this careful. And they never unlocked his restraints without putting his leather cuffs on first. The headache refused to abate. He was pretty sure that regardless of his empty stomach he was about to puke. They had asked if he understood, of course he understood. More work to be done.

The stairway opened up in front of him and that was when he realized where they were bringing him. He struggled. He usually didn’t, they usually dosed him and let everything settle into dark before pulling him up the stairs. But they hadn’t this time. They didn’t even kill his breath. The tall man with the bright eyes had taken the muzzle off.

He found his voice at the top of the stairs, the dark doorway into the fake bedroom yawning like the jaws of a hungry beast.

…

“No!” Lion suddenly exploded. Mox felt kind of dumb for not anticipating that, he’d gotten increasingly squirmy the closer they got to the top of the stairs.

“Whoa, whoa, easy.” Mox said firmly, maintaining his grip on the weakly-struggling man. “Easy, shh. Not today. Not ever again, got it?” Lion pushed his face into Mox’s neck, whimpering. Mox felt tears start to soak through his turtleneck. “Not ever again.” He repeated, digging his fingers into that thick mane of hair to keep Lion’s face where it was. “Shh, it’s alright. Nev, I’m maintaining his position. Go open the door.”

Adrian fairly bolted across the room, pausing to yank the memory cards out of both camcorders on his way by. “Confiscatin’ evidence. Dunno’ if they’re in standby mode.” He said to Mox’s unasked question. “Alright, you got him then? That last hallway is gonna’ be the hard part.”

“I need you to move your feet. Don’t look at the bed. Just keep your face tucked into my neck.” Mox continued to enunciate all his words as clearly as possible. Lion finally, finally shuffled forward, hiccupping loudly. “That’s right. We’re just going to the door. Gonna’ get you out of here.” Moxley tried to encourage him and it appeared to be working. Lion just didn’t seem to have much left in his proverbial tank, continuing to sag against Mox and allowing him to move him as he saw fit.

When they hit the edge of the rug was when Lion stopped. The rug in the hallway was a beige color, a stark contrast to the ugly red one in the room. Lion hesitated before taking a step out, his whole body tense enough to snap. Mox released his hold on the young man’s hair, letting him look up. Lion squinted in the light, his eyes obviously having a difficult time adjusting. “Who…” He began, his voice surprisingly deep when he wasn’t in a panic.

“We can explain later. You’re not out the woods yet.” Neville whispered. “I dunno’ if anyone heard ya’ little outburst at the top of the stairs.”

Lion winced. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. C’mon.” Mox had rapidly eased into his sponsor role, taking Lion’s hand. The young man clung to his arm like he was drowning, half-hiding his face. “It’s alright. We’ll just keep walking. Be outta’ here in no time.”

“Sorry. M’ stomach…” Lion made a retching noise. “Nothing there.”

“The hell is it always like this for?” Neville griped. “Always with the no food, the shite conditions. What the fuck did any of us do to deserve this?”

“Grew teeth an’ didn’t use ‘em fast enough.” Mox answered bleakly, pausing at the corner of the hallway. “Here we are, now comes the hard part. So. At the end of this hall is freedom. Real, legitimate freedom that you can touch an’ taste, bury your fuckin’ nose in. The only issue is if we don’t make it in three seconds, we’re fucked.” He explained carefully to Lion, who instantly went back to tense. “Now, Nev can help on one side, I’ll take the other, and we’ll make a mad dash for it when he gives the signal. You ready to run?”

Lion nodded slowly.

“Take a couple deep breaths, get yourself centered. I know ya’ in a drug fog. I promise we’re real, tangible things.” Mox watched as Lion appeared to focus, his eyes narrowing slightly. “There ya’ go, s’ little bit better. You’re gonna’ be floatin’ again in a minute but all we need is three measly seconds.”

“Ready?” Neville asked, staring down at his watch. Moxley nodded, his grip tight on Lion’s hip. “In three, two, one.”

Lion’s fingers dug into Mox’s shoulder hard enough to bruise as they made a break for it, the young man obviously in full survival mode. Neville shoved the door open and they burst out into the night, hurrying down the side access steps that resembled an old fire escape.

“ETA minute thirty, we have to get to the safe zone so Samson can come grab us.” Neville whispered, all but pulling Lion along behind him.

“Easy Nev, he’s got no fuckin’ shoes on man.” Mox pointed out, a bit annoyed.

“Can go. Doesn’t matter.” Lion grunted, shaking the hair out of his eyes. He slowed abruptly when he caught sight of the moon, though. She was beautiful tonight, round and brilliant white. Mox wanted to laugh at the expression on Lion’s face. “Oh.” Lion said softly, reaching one hand up as if he could touch it. “Look, look it’s-”

“Yeah, the moon.” Mox’s brow furrowed. “How long has it been since you seen her, buddy?”

“I don’t…I’m not sure.” Lion mumbled.

Mox felt his throat tighten up at how confused the other man sounded. Neville made a noise of disbelief beside him. “Seriously? That’s awful.”

“No windows.” Lion pointed out.

“Never thought I would be lucky to be in a cage outside. But the idea of bein’ stuck inside…” Mox trailed off as Lion pushed away from him, almost toppling over again. “Easy, easy. I know the contact makes you uncomfortable. Just let us help ya’ to the van an’ then we ain’t gotta’ touch you again without ya’ permission, okay?” Lion made a low sound in his throat. “Where can I touch you?”

A huge part of being a sponsor was respecting the boundaries the newly-freed instated, regardless of how silly they seemed. It was about putting the power back in their hands after it had been missing for so long, about easing them into a life that they had direct control over. Numerous individuals had passed through their little organization, Regal setting them up with what they needed to balance things hormonally before they struck out on their own.

“Want to walk by myself.” Lion said determinedly.

“Alright. I’ll be beside you then. If ya’ feel woozy, just lean on me.” Mox stuffed his hands into his pockets, wishing he had his jacket. He quickly fell into step next to the other man, studying the hitch of his gait. He looked like he hadn’t stretched his legs in ages, which was entirely possible.

“Much further?” Lion asked, his steps faltering over the uneven ground. Mox shook his head and Lion clenched his fists, straightening his back stubbornly. “Okay.”

“What a fuckin’ trooper.” Moxley praised, “I promise once we get in that van we’ll bundle you right the hell up. You’ll be the coziest motherfucker this side of New York.”

“Am cold.” Lion admitted. “Sore.”

“You’ll get the once-over from Regal. He’s our doc, he helps all of us out.” Mox was used to having to defang the idea of doctors to new charges. He would call William a pharmacist, but that just tended to confuse. “Get that fog outta' you, huh?”

Lion didn’t reply as they came across the van, Elias ready and waiting with the side door open. “Nice to meet you. Climb on in and we’ll be on our way.” Samson was entertainingly formal, shaking Lion’s hand. He did it with all the new acquisitions, doing his part to drive home the point that they should be treated with dignity.

Lion looked back warily at Mox, who smiled at him. “It’s okay. Want me to get in first?” Lion nodded, moving to the side to let Moxley pull himself up into the van. “See? It’s alright.”

Lion had a little difficulty getting his legs up high enough, the blanket snagging around his thighs. He made a frustrated sound, finally resorting to tipping into the van on his stomach and fumbling his way up into a seat. “My head.” He said by way of explanation, wincing. “Dizzy.”

“It’s totally fine. You can sleep now, okay?” Mox slid the door shut and then tucked a blanket around Lion’s shoulders. Lion almost immediately snuggled his chin down into the soft material, his eyes already heavy. “I’ll be right next to you if you need anything.” He assured, settling onto the floor in between the two middle seats. Lion nodded sleepily.

Mox leaned his forehead against the plastic frame of the seat, yawning.

…

“Look at Mox.” Elias whispered, grinning. The third member of their operation was sound asleep, his face mashed up against the seat next to him while he snored. “He’s gonna’ have a corduroy imprint on his cheek.”

“M’ surprised Lion is sleeping.” Neville mumbled, his eyes fixed on his small laptop screen as he watched the footage he’d taken from the memory cards. “This is terrible stuff, Samson, Jesus Christ. The place was huge too, like a correctional facility.”

“Lofty aspirations?”

“Yeah, let’s fucking hope that’s all they are. Pipe dreams and great goddamn expectations.”

The audio cued up in the middle of a conversation and Neville turned it up a little, pressing his headphones to his ear. “-reasonable, come on. You know how this works--”

“Dun’ want t’.” Lion slurred through his stifler, his head pitching forward until his chin rested on his chest. “Legs hurt.”

“That’s too damn bad, isn’t it. Get makeup in here, it’s still a mess from the last bout.” The producer grumbled. “Its thighs, no shit. Fix it. It can’t rub off on her, either, so seal it.”

Lion struggled as best as he could, the faint click of teeth barely registering on the audio. “Bite you, dun’ touch.”

“If you don’t knock it off you’re gonna’ get knocked off.” The producer threatened. “This belligerent crap isn’t going to help you.”

“Hurts!” Lion yelped as the makeup girl liberally smeared his thighs with concealer. Neville had seen that his thighs were all raw and the idea of pouring thick cosmetics onto open wounds made his own skin crawl.

“We’ll just have to tone down the lighting I guess. Its hopeless.” The producer grabbed Lion’s jaw, growling in his face. “You’re fucking pathetic.”

“Need a break.” Lion begged.

“You can have a break when you’ve fucking earned one. All you do is lay here anyhow.” The producer flicked a finger roughly over the head of Lion’s stiff cock, making the dark-haired man cry out behind the muzzle. “We have two more scenes, two more girls. You’re fine.”

“Hurt.” Lion said desperately. “M’ hurt. Can’t.”

“You’re fine, you know how much I hate liars.”

“Please, I-” The producer quickly put an end to Lion’s mumbling by covering the nose opening in his muzzle. Lion’s chest heaved, eyes going wide in panic.

“No more talking or you’ll get shut up forever. Tell her we're ready. Remember, you idiot, you’re a feral and that means animal noises.” The producer slapped Lion across the face. “And no passing out!”

Lion’s breath wheezed loudly through the muzzle, the young man obviously panicking as a condom was rolled down over his cock. His hands tightened into fists when the woman climbed over him, his whole body gone  rigid.

Lion halfway sat up abruptly, making the woman scream and recoil when his face was suddenly inches from her own. Vomit bubbled thickly out of the bottom of the muzzle and Lion’s shoulders shuddered with his retching.

The producer swore loudly. “Fuck’s sake. Loosen that, don’t want it suffocating on its own vomit. Sorry sweetheart, looks like today’s shoot is cancelled.” He apologized to the woman, who mostly just looked annoyed as she wrapped herself back up in her robe. “You absolute dick. What the fuck is wrong with you?” He berated Lion, who at this point was coughing and hiccupping hard, his face wet with tears. “You cost me this fucking contract and I’ll leave you in your fucking cell for the rest of your pitiful life!”

“Good!” Lion spat, easier to understand with the stifler loosened. “Want that!”

“Yeah I bet you'd love that. I don't have time to deal with you being a dramatic little shit. Get it back in its cage. Cut recording. What a waste of--”

The footage ended with a crackle of static.

“Man, you look like someone just punched you in the stomach. What was that?” Samson asked quietly after a minute.

“None of us have had it easy.” Adrian swallowed hard, closing his laptop carefully. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “It's always something, Elias.”

Elias reached across the center console and squeezed Neville's shoulder comfortingly. “We're doing what we can.”

“I should have known that shite like this would happen. I never thought...druggin' us, usin' us like damn livestock. Some absolute piss-head makin' his money off the trauma. I...It's a lucky thing Regal can get rid of the rages for the most part.” Neville snarled, his accent thick with anger. “Ah'd like to go off on tha' motherfucker, right proper. We can't let Mox see this. He'd go to pieces on us.”

“Look at it this way.” Elias reasoned. “Lion's with us now. All that garbage is behind him. We're going to help. Focus on all the good we can do, not the bad that's already been done. It'll eat you alive.”

“I know you're fuckin' right.” Neville grumbled. “You can't just let me be angry?”

“Hell no, you're stuck on the wrong thing when you get angry and you know it.”

“Bloody impossible.” Neville slumped a little further down in his seat. Elias rumpled his hair out of the tight bun it was in. “Oh piss off.”

“Nope!”

…

Moxley became aware of a strange trend over the days that followed. Lion kept pilfering his leather jacket. Every time Mox would slip out of it for a second, his shadow was there to scoop it up. Which would have been fine, except for the fact that Lion was a bit broader in the shoulders than Mox. So there would be the squeak of stressing leather that would alert him to the fact that someone was wiggling into his coat again.

Baron thought it was the funniest thing, trying his hardest to keep from laughing whenever Lion crept past with the article of clothing. A lot of times Mox would pretend he didn't see the other man, carrying on with his repairs. It seemed like there was always a leak that needed patching in someone's roof, but he supposed that came with the territory of secondhand trailers. At least now he had Baron to help. The taller man had a definite knack for spotting problem areas before they became so.

Mox wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to how quiet Lion was, or how closely he followed him. As Lion's sponsor it certainly made his job a bit easier. Didn't exactly have to go looking for the guy every time Regal demanded to see how his thighs were healing. Moxley did his best to maintain a respectful relationship with Lion, knowing that he walked the razor's edge between friendly and beholden in his line of work. Debts of gratitude weren't really his thing, it just made him feel awkward.

In a way it was a good thing Lion wanted nobody to touch him. Things were simpler when that was removed from the equation. Casual touch was rife in the 'feral' community though, so it took some getting used to.

He still got antsy with William if he was left alone, and sometimes Mox would have to help when it came to that by lurking in the doorway. Lion's thighs became a...well, calling it a problem would imply that it was bad. It wasn't a problem. Mox kind of just wished he could touch sometimes, was all. He wished that Lion didn't flinch every time he had to take his coat back.

Lion would stay up so late at night, obviously not used to any sort of sleep schedule. And without the haze of downers that Mox knew so well, he no longer seemed to feel the urge to dream his life away. Consequently Mox would find him passed out in odd places, usually by one or two in the afternoon. Once he found him on the roof of his trailer and they had a serious discussion about structural integrity and not ruining the waterproof treatment. Then Lion just kind of...jumped down. Mox damn near had a heart attack at that, scolding the black-haired man roundly and realizing halfway in that he was definitely a mother hen. Lion smiled at him and that stopped him dead. “Th' heck is with the grin? You coulda' broke a leg!”

“You're worried.”

“Damn straight I am! You gotta' think before you do things.”

They talked at length sometimes, normally when Mox was trying to sleep. “Moxley?” The question would come quietly through the dark. Mox always knew he could ignore it, but he didn't really want to.

“Yeah 'sup.”

They still weren't sure how long Lion had been where he was. Neville couldn't rustle up any records if he had nothing to type in at the beginning. All searches on the producer turned up frustratingly empty. Lion couldn't even recall his first name, his real name. It felt wrong to call him his feral name but until he settled on another one, Lion it was.

Moxley, while not really granted permission to touch him, was gifted the odd privilege of being allowed to brush his hair. He had seen Lion struggling one day with a hairbrush (Mox had no idea where he'd even gotten it, probably from Regal), the dark-haired man appearing on the verge of tears as he tugged and yanked at his unruly mane. “Hey, lemme' help.” Mox had carefully taken the brush from Lion's hand, hearing the other man sniffle threateningly.

When Baron had come to them he was filthy, his long hair tangled with mats and the vestiges of creepy-crawlies. Needless to say, Mox got very good at brushing. So it was slowly that he started, separating Lion's hair out into smaller sections.

It became a ritual of sorts, one that Lion could have put an end to if he wanted. But no, he continued coming to Mox once or twice a week with his brush. And Mox knew it was dumb for him to feel special, knew it was stupid and a waste of his time and all it did was further a doubtless-forming codependency and...

...and none of these reasons were enough for him to resist the way Lion's eyes looked when he asked for help.

Lion was mostly content to wade and stumble along on his own, stubbornly rebuilding his humanity from the ground up. Regal for the most part salved him and sent him on his way. Maybe he understood a little more than Moxley ever would. Maybe he was just tired of dealing with the rub marks, the scars and bruises from shackles probably commonplace to the pharmaceutical veteran. Lion refused to have his hand held proverbially or literally, refused all but the most clinical of attention. He wanted to be given tasks just like everyone else but Neville was leery of his strength level, worried that he wasn’t fully healed yet.

So Mox would ask him for help with little things. Ask him to pass him a screwdriver. Ask him to toss him some more clothespins. It was silly small stuff but Lion lit up eagerly every time, because it was something to do and he was needed.

…

There was a name that had been on the tip of his tongue for a solid week. He loved how it sounded, repeating it over and over quietly when he was alone. But he knew everyone else would think it was silly.

Maybe…maybe Mox would like it. The light-haired man had mentioned that calling him Lion made him uncomfortable, like he was ‘reinforcing the bad shit that had happened’.

“I’ll be a lot better when you pick a new name for yourself.” Mox admitted.

It had eaten away at him, the search for a real name. Mostly because he wasn’t really sure who he was. Male, sure, but according to Neville that had no bearing on the situation. “Whateva’ name makes you feel happy, we’ll be more than glad to call ya’ that. Boy, girl, don’t matter.”

He would go through lists in his head, lying awake at night while Mox snored in his bunk. Steve was a nice name, simple, but Alex had the sharp letters in it which would be easier to write. He had asked Moxley what he felt about John and Mox got real quiet for a long time, before finally muttering that it “wasn’t right for him.”

But this name wasn’t a common Steve, or a sharp Alex. He said it aloud to Mox and watched the other man’s body language for anything bad. Moxley mostly just seemed confused, then asked him to pass him the new timing belt for the truck he was working on. Which wasn’t exactly the response he’d been going for, but it definitely wasn’t a negative response either.

…

“Mox?”

Moxley groaned, rolling over onto his side to face the bundled-up man on the opposite bunk. “’Sup, Lion?”

“Roman.”

“Yeah man, you said that earlier, what’s it me-”

“I want that to be my name.” Lion interrupted, his brow furrowed like he’d been thinking hard about this. “I like it. I like how it sounds.”

“Well I shoulda’ known you wouldn’t go the conventional route.” Mox propped himself up on one elbow. “If Roman is what you want, it’s what you’ll get. Nice to meet ya’, Roman.” Moxley extended a hand across the trailer for a handshake, which Lion-Roman returned (to his surprise). “Name’s Mox, I do the fixin’ around here. Welcome aboard.”

“I…yeah. My name is Roman.” The excited smile he gave Mox sat odd in Mox’s stomach. “I’m Roman. Hi, I’m Roman.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t wear it out. You’re stuck with it forever.” Moxley warned with a laugh. “Roman.”

“I love it!” Roman didn’t seem to be able to stop smiling. “It’s mine. I have a name. I…I’ll be back.” He flung off his blanket and unlocked the door of the trailer, heading outside. Mox sat up, a little confused as he heard Roman climb onto the roof. “Moon!”

Mox grumbled under his breath, pulling on some pants and stalking to the door. “Jesus Roman, you can’t just go hollerin’ to the moon every time somethin’ happens. Get down from there before ya’ hurt somethin’.” He ordered, trying to keep the grin out of his voice.

‘Roman’ didn’t make him think of all the terrible things that had happened. ‘Roman’ was a fresh start, clean and enthusiastic and currently yelling at the crescent moon.

‘Roman’ was a good name.

Roman dropped to the ground in front of him, a little breathless. “I told the moon.”

“I noticed. So did everyone else.” Mox said wryly. “I’m sure Styles will be over any second now t’ scold ya’ for disturbin’ the peace.”

“Don’t care.” Roman didn’t look like he was ever going to stop smiling.

Mox couldn’t help the little snicker he let out. “Alright, let’s get back inside. S’ fuckin’ freezin’ out here.”

Roman wrapped an arm around Mox’s neck, surprising the hell out of him when he nuzzled his nose against his cheek like Neville would do. “Because we’re friends, just like you and Adrian.” Roman said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Mox coughed. “Roman, Neville does that because he’s a fuckin’ weirdo. You might wanna’ pick a different call sign.”

“Oh.” Roman looked crestfallen and Mox felt a bit guilty. It had obviously taken a lot of guts to reach out like that and of course he shot it out of the sky. He bumped his forehead into Roman’s silently after a moment, displaying his own particular method of showing affection. Roman’s shoulders straightened out and like it was a reflex he full on headbutted Mox, cracking him right in the temple.

“Fuck!” Moxley yelped, taking a step back and holding the side of his face gingerly. “Christ, what gives man?”

“I…” Roman’s confusion was obvious. “…I thought I had to do it as hard as I could?”

“Fuckin’ hell, you really think that was all I had? Get over here you asshole, you’re gonna’ feel the wrath!” As the trailer was rather small, it wasn’t long before Mox had him in a loose headlock, undoing all the hard work he’d put in earlier when brushing.

Roman wound his arm around the back of Mox’s knees, freeing himself from the headlock by lifting Moxley bodily and then plopping him down onto his bed. Roman pinned him there, laughter coming in gasps as he dug his forehead against Moxley’s and rubbed it back and forth vigorously. “Ha! Now you’ll look like you headbutted the carpet.” He said when he pulled back to admire his handiwork.

Mox’s cheeks puffed out momentarily with the effort of stifling his own laughter. “You dope, you got the same mark on your forehead!” He laughed, rubbing his thumb over the red area.

“Kinda’ like the marks Baron makes? On his friend’s neck?” Roman sounded hopeful. “Is that his weird thing?”

On his friend’s neck. “Nah, Baron really likes his friend, so that’s a special thing he only does for them. I-” Roman buried his face in Mox’s neck and bit down, making Moxley snap, “Hey!” His stomach writhed at the way Roman instantly flinched back from his sharp tone. “Shit, sorry. You startled the fuck outta’ me, man. Can’t latch onto a guy like that.” Mox tried to play it off, tried to ignore the sad look that Roman got. “Roman, hey. You can’t just bite people. That’s rude.”

“But you just said…you said Baron did it special for his friend because he really likes them.” Roman pointed out.

“Roman, Baron’s friend also agrees to that beforehand. You don’t get to do something to another person without their permission.”

“Oh.” Roman’s eyes suddenly widened and Mox braced himself for the impact. “Why did…when I was at the other place, they never…” The black-haired man didn’t seem to be able to finish his sentences, sitting back on his haunches. “The…producer.” He finally snarled, his voice gone harsh.

Mox sat up cautiously. “What about him?”

“Never asked me.”

“You weren’t a person to him. Nobody like us is a person to that guy.”

“I am a person. You’re a person, too.” Roman insisted. “And Baron and Neville and Elias.”

“I know that, Ro. You’re more of a person than that fucker could ever imagine.” Mox said fiercely. “You’ve got a name now, a name that shithead never heard. A name he never touched. You ain’t ever been Lion, that’s not who you are. S’ just what they called you.”

Roman’s face was still troubled so Mox took his hand, slowly tightening his grip until Roman responded in kind. The two of them sat there in silence, Roman staring down at their hands and Mox staring at Roman while the other man was deep in thought. “Roman is my name.” Roman finally said softly. “Because I say so.” He raised their joined hands, making eye contact again. “And because you say so.”

“Your opinion is the only one that should matter here, man.”

Roman shook his head. “No. You let it be real. You said it out loud.”

“Hey, Neville told you we’d call you whatever you wanted. Plus, we aren’t assholes.” Mox didn’t really feel that this should be made into a big deal. The way that Roman was looking at him had his skin crawling with nerves and he swallowed hard. “It’s your name. Your body. Your call as far as who does what to you, from the second Neville opened that door. And don’t take any shit from anyone who tries to tell you otherwise.” Mox said gruffly, dropping Roman’s hand after one last squeeze. “Plenty of folks out there will tell you until they’re blue in the face that you shoulda’ stayed put, that you deserved whatever happened t’ ya’ because of who you are. You ever come across anybody like that, you jus’ tell ol’ Moxley. I’ll fix their fuckin’ wagon.”

“You’re a good friend, Mox.” Roman said shakily. He wiped at his eyes after a minute. “M’ sorry, I know it’s late. Just wanted to hear whether you liked my name.”

“That’s a proud as hell name. Tough.” Mox wanted to laugh at how red Roman got. “You don’t even have to grow into it.” He snapped his fingers after a second. “Oh, I keep meanin’ to ask. Why the hell do you steal my jacket?”

“Smells like you.” Roman replied simply. Mox wasn’t really sure what the noise that came out of him was but he was incredibly happy he managed to camouflage it into a sneeze. “Bless you.”

“I just…I uh, I’m gonna’ hit the hay. I’m glad you picked a name, man. Tomorrow you can tell Nev and he’ll get you squared away.”

…

Smells like you. Mox shook his head at himself, trying to keep reading the manual for the solution to the latest mechanical nightmare he’d come across. Through the screen door of the trailer he could catch glimpses of the fire Styles and Samson had built, and faint strains of guitar reached his ears as night fell on the small convoy.

Baron didn’t exactly have a great singing voice, but he definitely made up for his pitch with volume. Mox would have loved to join them, but he was extremely leery of fire. There had been an incident when he was in juvenile housing, a glorified kennel that turned into a firetrap when someone had dropped a cigarette.

He was grateful that his trailer had a microwave. Even the little propane stove made him anxious.

Roman opened the trailer door as Elias started a rousing chorus of ‘Wonderwall’, his face sticky with the remnants of a s’more. “You gonna’ come out?” He asked hopefully. “There’s an open chair.”

“Can’t. Gotta’ figure this out.” Mox grunted, staring at the same page he’d read backwards and forwards for the past twenty minutes.

“Please?”

“Ro, m’ busy. And I don’t do fires. Ever.”

Roman shut the door behind him, wiping the marshmallow off his chin as an afterthought. “What?”

“I said I don’t do fires?” Mox raised an eyebrow. “What, Elias didn’t tell you my deep dark secret? M’ scared of fire.”

“You’re scared of something?”

“Yes Roman, I am afraid of something.”

“But-” Roman gestured vaguely with his hands. “You’re so brave, though!”

Mox couldn’t help the little huff of laughter that escaped him. “I ain’t nothing like that. Somebody lied to you.”

“No, I’ve seen it.” Roman insisted. “Like the other day when the motor was still running in that truck and you just kind of stuck your-”

“You’re confusing stupid with brave. Common issue. See, Neville is brave. He’s brave because he’s smart and quick and quiet.” Mox pointed at the Band-Aid covering the busted-up area on his hand. “I am stupid.”

“Would a stupid person have pulled me out of that cellar hole?” Roman asked testily.

“Well that’s more of a morals question, Ro, we were definitely breaking and entering-”

“Mox.”

“A dumb person absolutely would have done it, man. Would a dumb person have succeeded, is the question you oughta’ ask.” Mox put down the manual, looking up at Roman. “If that dumb person is directed by Neville? Shit, he can take near any rotten situation and turn it into an advantage. If that dumb person is me? I stop at nothin’. Fuck that hell or high water shit. I’m useful in this group because I’m stupid. I embrace that talent, Ro.”

“You’re brave.” Roman repeated stubbornly. “Bravest person I know.”

“You say such nice shit.” Moxley scoffed with a grin.

“I’m scared of something.” Roman said hesitantly. “I…I mean if you can be scared of stuff, I can too, right?”

“Fear is healthy and natural. S’long as you don’t let it rule you, obviously.” Mox opened his mouth, then quickly shut it again. “If you…ever needed to talk to someone about what you’re scared of, you know I’m here.” He offered finally. “No judgement zone, Ro. I don’t even care if you think it’s dumb.”

“M’ scared of people touching me.” Roman mumbled, twisting the hem of his shirt. “I don’t…scared of…I’m scared of people touching me when I’m, um...”

“When your clothes are off?” Mox supplied. Roman nodded quickly. “That’s kinda’ to be expected, man. You got manhandled and you never want that shit to happen again.” Mox willed his jaw to loosen. It had gone tense when he thought about what Roman must have endured.

“I’m all messed up though. In my head. Because I want…I want to. But I’m scared.” Roman seemed frustrated.

“You want people to touch you…naked.” Mox said slowly, his stomach lurching at the idea.

“I want one person to touch me naked.” Roman corrected, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I…”

“It was always girls. He only let girls have me. I don’t know if that has anything to do with it.” Mox’s hands clenched down onto the bunk under him. “Sometimes he would flick me on the tip of my…he’d flick me with his fingers.” Roman just kept talking. “If I didn’t cooperate he’d cover my nose so I couldn’t breathe.”

“Roman, please, Jesus Christ.” Mox said weakly. “You shoved your face into my neck an’ started fuckin’ cryin’ when we came up those stairs. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that some terrible shit’s happened to you.”

“I want you to touch me.” Roman said, his voice faltering a little. “I want…I trust you. I want to know if I’m broken or not. I mean, it’s alright if I am, I’ll figure it out. I just want to know.”

“You want me to…”

“I want you to touch me all over and I want…I want to see what happens.”

“I can tell you what’ll happen, man.” Mox got to his feet, brushing off his jeans. “But if it’ll make you feel better, if it’ll help you? Yeah, I’ll touch you without ya’ clothes on. Pretty sure I’m getting the better end of this deal, anyhow.” He tried to joke, the humor falling flat when Roman hurriedly yanked his shirt over his head. “Hey, hey. Be gentle to y’self. You’re safe here.”

“Don’t want to waste your time, I know you’ve got the thing.” Roman nodded at the manual. “Have to fix problems.”

“Shh, that ain’t a priority. It’s alright.” Mox carefully laid his hands on top of Roman’s to still them, the young man already heading for his zipper. “So clothes-off one-o-one here, first rule is if you ain’t into it, clothes stay on. Simple. Easy to remember.” He murmured. “Second rule is ask first. ‘Can I’ or ‘may I’ always goes better than ‘I’m going to’. Can I unzip your pants?” Mox asked softly.

Roman’s mouth was a little slack, his eyes a little wider than before. “Y-Yeah.” He gulped.

Mox slid down the zipper. He watched with quiet fascination as Roman’s torso trembled from a shaky breath. “May I touch?” Mox flattened his palm on Roman’s chest when the other man nodded rapidly, just feeling the way Roman tried to keep his breathing under control. “Hey, I’m not gonna’ cut you off. Breathe regular.” He instructed. Roman looked guilty and Mox began tracing the lines inked on his chest. “No no, none of that. Just breathe. Nice and easy.”

“Want to.” Roman arched a little and Mox’s fingers trailed over his nipple. “Oh.”

That was a noise that would make anyone curious. “Like that?” Mox asked, lazily circling his index finger around Roman’s nipple, which began to harden from the attention. “Is that good?”

“Oh God, jeez, I-” Roman fumbled for his words, settling on a simple, “No one’s ever…not there.”

Moxley huffed out an annoyed noise. “’Course not. It’s never been about you, right?” He ducked his head to carefully lick the area, encouraged by fingers slowly working their way into his hair and Roman muttering oh God oh God over and over. Mox took it as a compliment. “Where do you want me to touch you next?” He pulled his mouth away to ask, walking his fingers over Roman’s other pectoral.

“Huh?” Roman asked dazedly. “Oh! Oh. Sorry. I um, I…this is so strange.” His hands continued to stroke through Moxley’s hair absently. “How do you make it so good?”

“I ask. And I only use my teeth when people beg for ‘em.” Mox’s hands moved down to touch Roman’s hips while he kept his mouth busy. “What do you want me to do?”

“I…oh.” Roman covered Mox’s hands, his face suddenly serious. “I almost forgot.” He said sheepishly.

“Hey, we don’t have to go any further than this.” Mox assured him. “I ain’t here for me, so don’t worry about stoppin’.”

“I know.” Roman tugged his pants over his hips, letting them settle around his thighs. “More? Please?”

“Much as you want.” Mox replied quietly. “Can I touch you? Through your boxers. I ain’t got to touch your skin if you don’t want me to just yet.” He slid his palm down the expanse of Roman’s stomach, chuckling a little when Roman sighed. “Touchin’ doesn’t have to be frantic. And it doesn’t have to lead t’ anythin’. When you say stop, it stops.”

“You can touch me. No…no flicking, please.” Roman mumbled, biting his lip and making another noise when Mox smoothed his hands down his sides. “Y-Yeah, mm, good.”

“I like when you talk.” Mox whispered, easing his palm over the front of Roman's boxer briefs. “When was the last time you touched yourself?”

“I um...” Roman was clearly, endearingly flustered.

“How do you touch yourself? Can you show me what you like?” Mox asked gently. Roman went silent, his fingers twitching nervously. “Roman? Do I need to stop?”

“No, no. I just...I mean, no one's ever asked me that. Dunno' what to say.” Roman shrugged, grimacing.

“O-kay.” Moxley said slowly, running his thumb down the curve of Roman's cock beneath his boxers. Roman put his hands on Mox's shoulders, exhaling hard into the air between them. Mox felt like he might be a little overdressed for the situation but the last thing he wanted was to scare Roman off.

Roman bumped their foreheads together and moaned, jumping slightly when Mox rolled one of his nipples between his fingers. “Ah, God, yes, that-” He pleaded, “More, touch me I--fuck-”

“Look at you, God.” Mox murmured, a little awestruck at the way Roman bucked his cock clumsily into his hand, practically rubbing himself off. “You like that? Y' like when I stay still an' you can just hump up against my fingers?”

“Make my stomach feel funny when you say stuff like that.” Roman groaned and Mox felt like someone had cranked the heat up.

“Yeah? So I shouldn't talk about how I want you t' rub yourself on my thigh until you come? Shouldn't say that, because it makes your belly drop out? I shouldn't talk about how I wanna' tease your chest until you're achin' for me to touch you, dick all stiff and leakin' on your stomach? Shouldn't talk about that?” He asked, his words tripping out in an excited rush.

“Fuck.” Roman whimpered, his fingers digging into Mox's shoulders and pulling him in tight against him so he could tuck his face into the other man's neck. “Mox, Mox, please-”

“You can bite me if you want to.” Mox offered.

Roman looked up, gray eyes wide. “But you said-”

“For special friends. Because I really like you.” Mox grinned. “You're lettin' me touch you all over. S' only fair.”

“I want to, I want to, Mox, are you sure I can?” Roman was half-asking, half-begging, his mouth already open over Moxley's neck.

“All yours, Ro.” Roman's tongue tasted the area momentarily before his teeth crushed down and Moxley had to choke back a satisfied grunt. “Yes, fuck, Roman-” He growled.

“I'm-” Roman's whole body went tight and Mox wasn't sure he'd ever been this satisfied by someone else getting off in his entire life. Roman's moans were stifled by his skin, the frantic bucks of his hips dissolving him into a quivering mess and then Roman kissed him abruptly, mouth hot on his own. “Oh! Shit, I...sorry.” The black-haired man gasped, pulling back. “Should have asked, sorry.”

“I am not complaining.” Mox panted, “Hi Roman, I'm Mox, and I am fuckin' here for this shit.”

…

He managed to convince Mox to come out and sit by the fire, now almost burned out. Baron had apparently decimated a bag of marshmallows all by himself, his friend beside him looking decidedly stickier than they had before.

“Look at you!” Elias praised Moxley, smiling broadly as the light-haired man settled warily into the folding chair. Once he pulled it a little ways back, of course. Roman sat on the ground between Mox's legs, having promised to keep him safe from the fire. “And of course, ever present Roman. I've got a song for you, man.” Samson tinkered with the instrument on his lap for a second, humming a few bars. “Me, and my shadow, walking down the avenue...” He crooned slowly, strumming away. “There's no one here but me, me and my shadow...”

Roman eased back against Moxley and felt careful fingers lace into his hair, stroking over his scalp. Without intending to, his eyes drifted shut. He fell asleep there, wrapped in the warm sensation of Moxley's body solid against his own and those fingers, gently rubbing.

“There's no one here but me and my shadow...”

Part Three