#but i hope he seemed less skeevy and more amused/concerned here

[mintypothos]

LOOK YOU DONT HAVE TO DO THIS BUT 10 KINGBURR

DON’T WORRY ANON I’VE GOT YOUR BACK. PLEASE ENJOY BURR GETTING HIGH AS BALLS OFF OF OLD TIMEY AND LIKELY VERY UNHEALTHY PAIN RELIEF 

10. Sitting next to them and starting to cry because they’re just so perfect

KingGeorge was an annoying, clingy man, Burr had long realized.Unfortunately, he was a clingy man who also happened to have absoluteauthority over all of England, and especially over the proceedings ofhis own palace. Which included Burr, despite being an entirelyunwilling resident. Or, so Burr told himself. It was gettingconfusing, lately.

CertainlyBurr had never had such fine clothes and food and book collectionback in America- or such constant attention, though that was both ablessing and a curse.

“Littlebird? House sparrow? Wren? Where are you hiding?” The king's voice,playful and nearly musical in tone, rang from down the hallways. Burrtried to squish himself further into the wall- the bookshelf he washiding on was not very wide at all. The ground was a very long waydown, but his hiding place was perfect. Any time the King startedbreaking out the bird names was a good time to hide lest Burr besmothered in affection and played with like a puppy.

“Youcan't hide from me, little bird!” The sing-song voice entered thelibrary. Burr held his breath. The King's footsteps echoed in thesilence as he slowly swept the aisles. “I know you're in heresomewhere, little bird. The guards ratted you out.” Burr winced.That figured.

Burrlistened as King's footsteps made a circuit of the library. He didn'tdare poke his head past the shelf to check- he knew he wasn't fullyout of sight to start with. This depended on the King not looking tooclosely up at the ceiling. With any luck, he would think the guardssaw wrong and give up. “I know my guards would never be mistaken ona matter I find so important, they're too well trained for that. It'sonly a matter of time, sparrow, don't make me punish you!”

TheKing's definition of punishing Burr was generally a matter ofembarrassing him in front of people whose opinion of Burr was alreadylong shot- being the King's official play thing would do that. Still,Burr wrinkled his nose in distaste. He was already committed thisfar, Burr couldn't back down now.

“Isthat- oh, little bird, you know better than to knock books of theirshelves,” The King was very close, somewhere just below Burr'shiding place. His already frozen body stiffened further. Burr hadn'tbeen able to do anything about the few books he spilled, climbing hisway up. But maybe the King wouldn't look up, maybe he would move on-“Aaron!? What are you doing up there!?” Or not.

Burrsqueezed his eyes closed, though the jig was up. “Get down fromthere!” The King screeched, nearly piercing Burr's eardrums. Hesnapped his eyes open and carefully shuffled so that his head peekeddown. The King stood below him, arms held up and a pale look on hisface.

Wasthe King... actually concerned? Burr furrowed his brows. “Why?”He tried, quietly.

“Why!?You're going to hurt yourself! What were you thinking!? Guards, getover here!” The King pitched his voice, immediately summoning thenearby pair that likely saw Burr enter the library in the firstplace. “You two! Find a way to get my Aaron down safely! Honestly,”He turned to Burr again, “I know I call you 'bird', but I did notmean that literally!”

Theguards were both large men. They didn't look like they'd be able toclimb up the way Burr had. “Your majesty!” One bowed, deep andformal. “I will retrieve the library step ladder.” Burr inwardlycursed. He'd forgotten that a library with shelves so tall would haveto have one.

“Excellent,please do!” The King clapped his hands together. “I'm sure whenthis is done, my wren will apologize for wasting your good time. Iknow you take this job very seriously.” The guards puffed at thepraise, one running off to find the step ladder.

Burr'stime was up, that much was obvious; but at the same time, he wasalready too far in. He put one knee in front of the other andcarefully scooted a few inches down the shelf. It worked, so he triedagain.

“Sir!Stay where you are, please!” Burr scowled. The other guard. Heignored the voice and started crawling in earnest. “Sir!”

“LittleBird! Aaron stop, I order you this instant! Hurry up with thatladder!” Burr could hear the rumbling wheels of the library stepladder. He crawled faster. Then his foot slipped.

Burr'sleg fell over open air. His heart seized, but his center of gravitywas still firmly on the shelf- he was fine. Then, Burr tried to pullhis leg back up, only for his elbow to slide off the smooth woodenshelf next. For one surreal moment, Burr was weightless; but only fora moment. Gravity caught up, and Burr plummeted, his gut leftsomewhere up on the shelf.

TheKing was screaming, so loud that Burr didn't even hear his ownimpact. He felt it though, first as a fully body, numb shock, then asa piercing pain from his leg, crumpled somewhere under his body.

“Oops,”Burr muttered as several pairs of feet stomped around him, blockinghis vision. Then, he passed out.

--

WhenBurr woke up, he felt pleasant and dreamy and had no idea why. Therewere a few flashes of recognition- pain, something being forced downhis throat, soothing words, oh god, his leg hurt- but they weredistant, almost ethereal. He was laid out on a fluffy, soft bed. Hisown, perhaps?

Burrpeered at his surroundings. His head swam at the motion- why was theair swimming?

“Aaron! Are you feeling better?” The King's voice was beautiful,as always.

Whywas it so beautiful? Burr turned to see the King's piercing- far toopretty- eyes. They were wide as saucers, and awfully close to Burr'sown face.

“Youthink my voice is beautiful? And my eyes? Why thank you, littlebird!” The king eyes turned fond, though still wide and surprised.

Itwas weird. Aaron wasn't speaking aloud, was he?

“Someonefetch a stenographer, immediately!” The King hissed, a wild smileon his face.

Evenhis hisses were melodic.

“Now!No, that takes too long, just get someone who can write quickly! He'ssaying my hisses are 'melodic'!”

“Ican write quick,” Burr noted, dreamily. “I like being helpful.”Oh. He didn't usually say that out loud. Was that okay?

“Morethan okay, little bird, more than okay!” The King's lips stretchedinto an even wider smile, his too-perfect teeth flashing. Predatory.It fit. “Now, do you know where you are?”

Burrlooked around again. “Not really. Not my room?” He was rewardedwith the chiming, bell-like laughter of the King. Bells werewonderful things, just not the tiny high pitched ones. The Kingwasn't quite as dignified as a low church bell, but perhaps thosehand bells- now there was a nice sound.

Therewas a snorting sound by Burr's side. “I'm plenty dignified, thankyou. I've had you moved to my rooms, so I can watch you moreclosely.”

“That'snice,” Burr answered.

“Itis nice, thank you!” The King sounded pleased. Burr decided heliked that.

“Ibet your bed is very nice. You are the King, after all.”

“Itis very nice. You're laying in it right now.”

“Oh.”Burr tried to turn over, but something prevented him. “What-?”The King's hand pushed Burr's chest, until he was forced back intohis original position.

“Don'tmove, sparrow- your leg was broken in that fall. But not to worry,I've gotten my best doctor to care for you. He has assured me you'vebeen given the best pain relief there is.”

Burrnodded, or he thought he did. Maybe the room was nodding around him.He wasn't sure. The taste of the air was distracting.

“Thetaste of what? Wait, never mind, our stenographer has arrived!”Burr considered that 'stenographer' was such a nice sounding title.He considered applying to be one when he got back to America. “Now,my bird, tell me what you think of me!”

Burropened his mouth, considering the words the King likely wanted tohear. But that sounded far too difficult, how was he supposed to getinto another's head? “I can't be other people, but I'm alwaystrying,” He admitted.

“Uh,”he King coughed. “I'm sorry?”

“Ishould tell you what you want to hear.” Burr closed his eyes- theroom inflating and deflating infront of him was far too distracting.“But what does anyone want to hear? How do you know the thoughts ofanother person's mind? Minds aren't even physical things to befigured- reasoned out.”

“Isee.” Burr could hear the rustling of cloth as the King adjustedhimself. “Then tell me what you yourself think. I'd like to know,since, as you say, I can not truly know your mind. You mentionedearlier that my eyes were... pretty?”

“Theyare,” Burr confirmed. “So pretty. Your face is perfect.” Hepaused when the King made a choked, squeal of a sound. “I don'tknow why you pay so much attention to me when you're so damn pretty.Don't you have a job or something?”

Sputteredgiggling. Burr kept his eyes shut- the colours dancing behind hislids were quite nice. “You are very pretty yourself, little Wren.”The King's voice turned quiet, and closer to Burr's ear. “That'sthe real reason I kept you, you know. Of course, now I know you areso much more interesting than a thing to simply look at. I'm veryglad to have made that choice.”

“Oh.That's nice.” Burr felt something welling up, inexplicably. “Noone found me interesting back home.” Something wet was pinching athis eyes.

“That'sbecause they're all a bunch of idiots, over there,” The King wasquick to comfort. Burr sniffled. “I'll always give you theattention you deserve.”

Handswiped at Burr's tears, hands that weren't his. “I hate admittingit, but I like the attention.” Burr said, interrupted by a suddenhiccup. “I wish other people wouldn't see as often, though. Andsometimes it's too much. But I like feeling wanted.”

Thehands lingered on Burr's face. Something soft touched against hisforehead, and then disappeared. “I like making you feel wantedtoo.”

“Montgomerydid, too.” Burr wasn't sure why he was bringing it up. Maybe theKing reminded him of those days. “Then he died in Quebec and I wentto Washington. He never liked me, always ignored my work, nevercommended me when I did twice the work of my fellow officers. Andthen he put me in charge of babysitting Hamilton who just let me getabducted in his stead.” The tears were streaming now, and Burrwasn't even sure if he was really upset or not. “I probably deserveit.”

Thesoft touch came back, one on each of his wet cheeks. “You deservenone of that. You are perfect.”

Burrcould feel himself openly sobbing, now. “You're more perfect thanme.” His voice hitched. He hiccuped again. “You're keeping melike a pet, but at least you're good at your job. Why would theyrespect me? I got dragged off by redcoats when I wasn't even thetarget!”

Armsdrew around Burr, fuzzy cloak soft under his chin. “Shh, it'salright.” The King crooned. Somehow, it was soothing. Burr relaxedinto the hold.

Thisfelt nice. Burr didn't want the feeling to stop, even if his head didseem to be full of bees.

[magpie-scribbles]

Gasoline (Rappa x OC Hoshi)

Chapter 1: Little Trouble

Rating: M (Whole story rated E)

Warnings: Drinking, stripping, violence, unsolicited attention

Word Count: 2.7k

Wowwie! It’s the first chapter of Rappa and Hoshi’s Origin!

Once again his scheduled fights had been a let down; squirming little pricks begging for their lives, for him to not beat them into a pulp. If they couldn’t dish it out or take it they should fuck off. The past few weeks had been like this…maybe the past few months, uppity little shits trying to show off their quirks and their power. Doesn’t do you much good when you’re gargling on your own blood and begging your opponent for mercy. His knuckles didn’t even hurt after that last fight, and they had dragged the guy outta the ring, cause he couldn’t even stand up after the beating he took. 

It wasn’t much of a rush when your opponents sucked…So after a lousy couple of fights and a less than ideal payout, he sticks to his usual routine.

He’s pretty certain the door’s on it last legs as he shoves it open; maybe because of him, but it wasn’t like he was the only restless and riled up person that came to this seedy little club. Hell he probably wasn’t the shadiest or the rudest either; though he had started a few fights here, some had been better than his matches. 

The bouncer that does jack shit, nods at him in greeting; guy probably didn’t get paid enough to take care of half the riffraff that dragged their troubles here. Most the time Rappa just watched as he hauled piss drunk sobs out, or waited until a fight ended with someone unconscious; the loser getting kicked to the curb. The only time he had ever really seen the man do anything was when someone got too handsy with the dancers or threatened one of the bartenders. 

It wasn’t like Rappa was complaining, this place was a little slice of heaven in it’s own rough way. Besides the beer was cheap and wasn’t too watered down; and it was nice to see some ass and tits after a night of beating the snot out of people. 

A drink girl passes him on his way to a seat and he orders a pitcher, she looked  him up and down for a moment as if trying to decide if she should give him one to himself before walking off agreeably. There was no way one pitcher was going to put him on his ass, especially since he downed a few burgers and nearly a whole bag of fries before he got here.

He doesn’t have a usual spot, he’s not the kind of guy that would waste time marking his territory in a place like this, where ever has a decent view is good enough for him. 

He should be grossed out by the tackiness of the chair or the grittiness of the floor as the legs scrape as he pulls it back, but hell if he was; slumping into the seat and propping up his feet on the table, completely relaxed and content.

One girl is working the stage, circling the pole with practiced ease, almost looking bored, another was giving another very overzealous patron a lap-dance. A light tap on his shoulder and he turns his head; drink tray, with a very full pitcher angled towards him. The pitcher almost looks like a normal sized mug of beer in his hand, the drink girl doesn’t even wait for him to respond, just walks off; at least she didn’t tell him to get his feet off the table.

Taking a swig he watched the show on the small poorly lit stage; he wonders if others could see it, the raw energy below the barely there clothing as the woman worked the pole. True he was a man and thought with his dick but he could also appreciate the power behind it, if anything the power was just as sexy. 

As he nurses his drink bickering piqued his interest and another patron was trying haggling the price of a lap-dance from one of the other dancers and he snorted when she pressed her foot too harshly against his nuts; daring him to try further bargaining.The man quickly paid up; too bad he was hoping for a scrap; Rappa doubted the squirrelly little businessman could have taken her.

He drains the rest of his drink, not even a buzz running through his system yet, he stared down at the foam at the bottom of the pitcher wondering if they watered it down, usually he at least felt a little relaxed. He looked around for the drink girl; the place had gotten busier, he gazes at the flickering clock on the wall they still hadn’t fixed the stupid thing. 9:12pm…at least he thought it was a 2 on the end. The business men were crawling out of their holes or away from their boring family lives, general riff raff and scum, looking for a place to get smashed. And Rappa could only hope this meant some action, this place usually saw some good tumbles after 9 and fuck where was the drink girl?

Growling he knew his seat was going to be taken if he got up to go to the bar, but maybe that meant someone would fight him for it and if that didn’t get his blood pumping. Hauling himself up and rolling his shoulders, he didn’t bother pushing his seat in. 

The place is already crowded enough that he needs to physically push his way to the bar, not that it’s hard, but he just wants a fucking drink. One guy is loudly boasting, standing right in his path and paying no attention to the behemoth seeking to get passed him. So Rappa does what he always does and lays a large hand on the mans back and shoves. There’s a scramble and some concerned gasps as the man is catapulted over a nearby table, but no one dares reprimand the beast that shoved him, especially not after they saw his sheer size.

Finally he wades through the sea of other patrons to the bar, the music is getting louder and he’s glad to at least find a seat at the bar, even if the backless chair looks comically small under him. He slams the pitcher on the counter, loud enough that it could be heard over the sound of the environment. 

“What’s a guy have to do to get a fuckin’ drink around here?” he rumbles. 

It’s almost too quick for his eyes to catch but then there’s a small head of pink hair popping up from behind the bar. Bright eyes staring him down. He had never seen her here before.

“It’s called waiting your turn!”  she quips, grabbing one of the drafts and pulling into a regular sized pint.

For a moment he wonders why she’s still kneeling and then he realizes she’s just a tiny little thing…and she’s telling him off. He’s caught off guard for a moment, most people are intimidated by him immediately but she’s…oh, well now she’s ignoring him. 

Slinging the drink down the bar towards another patron, another calls out their order and she rolls her eyes. She turns to face him, still nonplussed by his size.

“Ok, what’cha want big guy?”

He grins and goes to say something when he hears a wolf whistle.

“Look at you, you little thing!” 

She’s already bristling as she looks over her shoulder for the offender.

“Surprised they don’t have workin’ the pole up there; well why don’t you come over and sit on daddy’s lap and work somethin’ else.”

Rappa looks over, a skeevy man with slick back hair is eyeing her up and patting his thigh.

The little pink haired bartender looks back over to him, and fuck if she was directing that feral smile at him he might be a bit cautious about bite behind those teeth.

“Excuse me for a moment.” she says sweetly and bats her eyes.

She moves achingly slow towards the cat-caller, swaying her hips side to side, and, well he’d be lying to say he wasn’t watching the curve of her pretty little ass as she sauntered. 

Casually she leans on the counter, back curved enticingly and chest out as she gazes at the sleazebag that had been talking to her. Slowly she reaches out and grabs his tie, fingers gently pulling on the material. He lets himself be pulled.

“Well look at you, what a good little girl.” he growls at her, or tries to.

Rappa is very curious at this point, wondering if she’d just go with the flow and get some extra cash from the guy by taking him out back but then…

“You don’t look like a daddy.” she tilts her head, and if Rappa had a drink at the moment he’d be doing a spit take because she’s full on sucker punching the guy square in the face. The only thing keeping the man from falling backwards out of his seat her iron grip on his tie. And then she tugs him back, slamming his head into the counter before finally releasing him.

The man whines pitifully hands coming up, getting ready to catch any blood, when he finally decides to sit up.

“And ya sure don’t sound like a daddy.” she huffs, rubbing her knuckles on the back of a drink cloth. The guy is still refusing to look up at her, but he whimpers when she leans down, hand going under the bar, reaching for something Rappa can’t see. “And I ain’t a good girl.” the hand below the bar, pops up and she’s placing one of those little overly sweet, dyed cherries on his head.

She stands back up and smiles.

“That one’s on the house!” she says in a sing song voice. 

She practically skips back over to him, mood seemingly unsoured.

“Now, let’s try this again.” she leaned her elbows on the counter in front of him and rests her chin on steepled fingers. “What can I get for ya big guy.”

The smile she gives him is genuine and he can’t help but smile back and release a bellowing laugh, nudging the empty pitcher towards her.

“A refill.” he settles on his forearms, now that the commotion has settled, or at least it appeared so for now. The little bartender picks up the pitcher; where it looked comically small in his hands, it looks comically big in hers.

“You drink all this yourself?” she looks into the bottom like it might hold a clue. “Wowwza! You can pack it!” 

She seems almost excited about that, and he can’t help but find her more and more amusing. He eyes down the bar, the man she had punched is still nursing his wound, bloodied napkin pressed to his nose. Rappa sneers when the man caught his eye. 

“Whatcha havin’?” she grabs his attention as she moves over to the drafts.

“Triple IPA.” 

Immediately she recoils, wrinkling her nose and sticking out her tongue.

“That stuff’s so bitter!” still she turning to pull more of the deep amber liquid into the pitcher.

“It’s gotta good alcohol content.” he replies smartly.

“So do Martini’s and Pimm’s!” she shoots back.

“I ain’t drinkin’ pussy drinks.” he drums his figures against the bar, maybe that would get a rise out of her, he was interested to see more of her reactions.

“I Ani’T DrinKIn’ PuSsy DrINks.” she mocks, slamming the pitcher back down on the counter dangerously close to one of his hands, some of the beer sloshing over the side and onto his fingers. “At least they don’t taste like piss.”

He grabs the refill and takes a long swig, watching as she pops and few cherries into her mouth…and a few green olives…

“And how would you know what piss tastes like?” he arches his eyebrows after as satisfying swallow and foul smirk pulls at his lips. He wonders if she’ll punch him.

She observes the lemon wedge in her hand for a moment before biting into it.

“And why would I tell you? Maybe it’s a dirty secret.” she says around the wedge as she continues to suck on the sour fruit.

He nearly spits out his next gulp of beer. 

“Sakuretsu!” someone calls from behind him, and he watches as the drink girl pushes her way through the crowd, looking rather annoyed. “Stop. eating. all. the. GARNISH!”

The small bartender, no, Sakuretsu sags dramatically and throws the lemon away. That’s a mouth full of a name for something so small. She starts removing empty glasses from the other woman’s tray and putting new ones on. 

“So, Sakuretsu-” he begins when the drink girl walks off with her orders.

“Ugh, no.” she whines and he cocks his head. “Hoshi, my name is Hoshi.” she says something else under her breath but he can’t make it out. 

“Well, Hoshi, you won’t tell me why ya know what piss tastes like, will ya tell me why I haven’t see ya here before?” he’s already halfway done with his pitcher and he’s finally starting to feel the buzzing through his body.

“I got some friends, pulled some strings.” she’s not shy in her answer and he has a feeling her friends probably aren’t good people. “Guess you can’t exactly go around nicking people’s wallets for all your chump change. So a real bonafide job is the way ta’ go, it’s a lot less fun though.” so she was a little pickpocket.

“Awfully honest.” he rumbles leaning closer. She works fast, seemingly already good at the job she had just gotten.

“No point in lyin’, it’s beatin’ around the bush! ‘Sides you don’t seem like the type to be an undercover boy.” she waves him off almost boredly, and then suddenly she’s in front of him smiling. “I bet’cha you’re one of them underground fighters!” 

He can smell the citrus from the lemon she had been eating, and fuck she’s a cute little thing; with the alcohol thrumming through him he can definitely feel his dick twitch.

“And you’d be right.” he rumbles, leaning a little closer wondering if he’d scare her off.  

“You probably knock the snot outta them!” she says excitedly, fuck the fact that she seems into it definitely has him even more interested.

He has to pull away to to clear his head, which he completely ruins by finishing off the rest of his beer; dammnit and he needs another, especially if this little bartender was going to keep toying with him, he wonders if she even knows what she’s doing. Pushing the pitcher back he taps plastic with a blunt nail, his eyes hooded, the lopsided smirk pulling at his lips dangerously close to something he might wear in the bedroom. She doesn’t seem to notice his primal look.

“Wow, you’re a fuckin’ BEAST!” she grabs the pitcher in awe. He’d definitely like to hear those words again.

She turns to fill it up again and he takes the chance to dig the heel of his hand roughly against his dick. Fuck… true he’s gotten hard from the girls here before but that was the strippers; maybe getting another drink wasn’t a smart idea, but Rappa wasn’t a smart man.

She gives him the refill but it’s hard to pay attention to beer because she’s crooking her pretty painted finger at him and he leans in. She glances around quickly before pulling a card out of her top. 

“Took that sleazebag’s card.” she looks very happy with herself. “And!” she flicks it. “I’ll pay off your tab with it if ya get me into watch one of the fights for free.”  

He still had enough brain power to consider her deal. True the entry fees went to pay the fighters, but his prize money was going directly into the pitcher in front of him. It honestly wasn’t much of a decision at this point with a good portion of his blood running straight to his dick rather than his brain and the rest singing with alcohol.

“Deal.” 

“Yes! bloodbath! “ she pumps her fist and grins at him. “This is gonna be fun!”