#every single time they call them 'Flame-Chasers' a part of me died

[blazingblorbos]

The last 20 seconds of this trailer have me in the strongest chokehold

[guardianofjunmyeon]

Finding Atlantis (part 6)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description:   20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor,  to  any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man  has  heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But  fewer  men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean,  the key  to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold  should they  find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself.  Thus, the hunt  began.    

A/N: I meant to update last week but my VPN wasn’t working! I couldn’t access tumblr bc it’s blocked here in china but i finally got it fixed lol. This one is long! WARNING(s): Smut + Character Death (??)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

After hours of discussion and blindly heading southeast, you all were finally able to somewhat crack the code of the rhyme and the map.

“Follow the sound of your soul, she’ll call out to you to bring you back to your shoal. That’s clearly about the Atlantis return song. It’s the most important part of all of this. If we don’t get a better handle of when it appears and when it doesn’t we won’t get through the rest of the trails.”

“Trials?”

“Yes, there are three different trials masked in the lyrics of the song. The way back isn’t easy. If you leave Atlantis, you have to prove that you truly want to return,” Yeri replies.

You squint at the map now covered in writing.

“She’ll fight you to prove that your heart is true, to crush you and build you back stronger in her darkest shade of blue,” Sehun reads. “It’s about a storm. A very big one by the sound of it.” He points to an area of the map with nothing but water. “You see this area? It’s known for its unruly currents and unnatural weather patterns. It ranges from snow to thunderstorms large enough to wipe out entire islands.”

Junmyeon grazes his fingers over the map, passing the spot Sehun mentioned and further southeast. “Beautiful songs will call out to confuse the path, to distract you, but remembering your heart will get you through…if we continue beyond the location of the storm we’ll be set to approach Isla de Sirena within a week.”

“Shit,” Baekhyun murmurs.

Yeri looks on in confusion. “Why shit?”

“Isla de Sirena is an island known for luring ships underwater. They crash ships among the rocks with song. They appear as the most beautiful creature that you can imagine; whatever you subconsciously find the most alluring. I don’t know how they do it. Different people can look at the same one and see different things; they trick you that way. Mermaids…sirens, whatever you want to call them. Freaky little bitches.”

“Baekhyun,” Junmyeon admonishes.

“What? They are!”

“So we’ve got to face…beautiful singing women? Oh no the horror,” you gasp jokingly.

Baekhyun pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are so horny, and so stupid all the fucking time.”

“You’re one to fucking talk-”

“Children!” Junmyeon scolds. “Can we please hold off on the flirting until this is over?”

“We aren’t flirting-”

“Anyway!” You and Baekhyun close your mouths in embarrassment. “We’ve gone near Isla de Sirena, once,” Sehun adds grimly, eyebrows pitching angrily. “If you’re able to ignore their voices then you can see them for they are. They’re the ugliest creatures I’ve ever seen in my life.” He shivers.

“So what’s the final trial?” Baekhyun asks, back to contributing to the conversation and not being a pain in your ass.

“She’ll finally take you in her arms again, cradled and safe where all life began…” Yeri reads. A sigh. “We aren’t completely sure. It’s something about a rebirth?”

You scratch your chin.

“Maybe it’s about being drowned.”

Everyone turns their eyes to you.

“What?” you ask; your wide eyes look back at everyone staring at you as if you said something crazy. You point to the map in the general area where you think you all may end up. “There’s no land anywhere near here, and the city is underwater. Born from water, taken away from water, and then reclaimed by the water. If you leave, you must be drowned and reborn into an Atlantian again right? Why else would you forget your memories and connection to the sea the longer you’re away?”

“You are reborn in the place where life began…” Baekhyun mumbles. “You might be right. The final trial is a drowning of some kind. There’s a reason only Atlantian’s are the only people who can reach the city.” Baekhyun smacks you on the shoulder. “You’re not completely useless!”

You frown and hold your shoulder.

Bastard.

~~~

Candles cover the deck of the ship as the sun sets on the horizon. You watch somberly as each member of your crew places an object that reminds them of Taemin, of Amber, of Kun, and of Jaehyun in each of the four caskets meant to sail them to the other side.

Their bodies are wrapped in cloth to save everyone the trauma of facing their decomposing faces. Flowers, candies, articles of clothes surround each body with the things that made them who they were in life.

And will hopefully comfort them in the land of death.

Your most artistically inclined deckhand, Ten, places a portrait of each of them in their respective boat. An image to match the body.

“Jaehyun was always smiling; he worked hard as a gunner. He’d hoped one day to be master gunner of the ship.” Mark stands over the casket. “He uh, he never said much but he had the most imaginative mind of any person I ever met,” he says with a sad smile. “When the cannon backfired and killed him, it was quick, so at least he didn’t suffer for long. Farewell friend. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Luna takes over where Mark left off, standing in front of Amber’s casket. “I’ve known Amber since we were kids. She was a strange one,” she laughs. “She was very head strong and opinionated even when she was wrong. We both knew that working in the artillery was going to be rough, that it would be dangerous, but I know that she loved this job more than anything. She had a family with us, and she died where she would have wanted, I think.” Tears fill her eyes as she sits back down in the circle of crewmen.

“Kun…was like an older brother to me. He would tell me that I was getting on his nerves, but he would always take care of me…uh…take care of all of us in the best way he could. Every meal he served, every wound he healed, was done with care. Unfortunately, sickness isn’t as kind. He tended to Taemin with his last breath, tried to heal with all he had until he had nothing else to give. I’m going to miss him and his cheesy magic tricks.” Ten takes in a deep breath to keep his voice from wavering. “I hope he’s taken care of with as much love as he gave us.”

You can hear people holding back their tears. Sniffles and soft sobs escaping into the air every few seconds.

This time you stand as the representative to send off Taemin. You avoid everyone’s eyes and focus your gaze on his wrapped body and the trinkets around him. “Taemin was one of my earliest crewmen. I may have owned the ship, but Taemin was the one who knew best how she moved. He piloted with a grace and confidence I have still yet to achieve. I don’t have a single doubt that he’ll be able to guide himself to the other side without issue. He had a natural skill for movement.” You focus on an object nestled snuggly at his side. “I just hope he doesn't lose any of the things we’re sending with him the way he always loses his money pouches.” You manage a smile.

A couple of people chuckle softly, sadly.

“As Captain of the Storm Chaser, I release the four of you from duty.” You raise your gun in the air. “I couldn’t have asked for braver, hardworking, and loyal men.” You fire a single shot into the air.

It rings through the night.

Everyone stands, begins to close the wooden coffins, and Junmyeon soaks them in gunpowder and oil.

You watch the coffins get lowered into the water one by one. As they begin to float away, you, Mark, Luna, and Ten line up along the edge of the ship.

“Ready,” you all cock your guns. “Aim.”

“Fire.”

The coffins alight with flames. Yixing lights a single firework and it shoots into the air and covers the sky in bright yellow sparks.

May these lights guide them on their future paths.

No one moves until the coffins are far out of sight, their flames no longer visible. Until nothing but darkness rests in the distance. With heavy eyes, and heavier hearts, you all pull away from the railing.

Those who were close to the ones sent away cry openly and you allow everyone the rest of the night to rest and mourn as they see fit. Crying, shaking, screaming.

People cope in different ways.

As everyone disperses below deck you see Yixing rubbing Jongin’s back as the two of them cry clinging tightly to the other.

You know that Yixing grew up with Taemin. Yixing had been the one to recommend him for the crew because of their shared history. Knowing now that Yixing knew Jongin at the same time, you realize that Jongin must have known Taemin closely as well.

Leaving them to console one another, you walk away.

The stories of their deaths, of their lives, makes your heart a bit less heavy. Knowing that they died doing what they wanted, and not because life was stolen from them in situations counter to their personality eases a bit of the pain.

Minutely.

It still hurts, but the anger is no longer there. Just sadness.

This is the life of pirates after all.

Junmyeon has hidden himself away somewhere on the ship, as he always does when he wants to cry without being found, so you make your way towards the food storage for a drink. You need it after today.

People cope in different ways.

The stairs creak as you descend. One of the lanterns is already on, bright near the liquor storage. It shouldn’t surprise you. You wouldn’t be the only person who wants to drink to numb a bit of the pain.

What does surprise you is who you find hunched over with his face in his hands.

“Baekhyun?”

His head lifts and you immediately take notice of the red in his visible eye and face in the dim lighting. He seems alarmed to have been caught. He looks away in shame.

You sit down in front of him.

The bottle of whiskey at his side is half empty; you reach for it and take a sip.

For your men.

Silence shrouds you both.

You feel the need to speak. To clear the air. Whether you are doing it for him or for yourself you aren’t sure. “No one blames you, you know,” you say so softly that it almost blends into the silence. You hope he doesn’t hear.

But of course he does.

He looks over with anger. “I never said it was my fault.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re down here drinking alone after a funeral. This screams ‘this is all my fault’ you emo fucker.”

He snatches the bottle from your hands.

“Look, okay. No one thinks it’s your fault. You heard the stories. Yeah, you guys shot my ship, but their deaths weren’t directly a result of that. Things went wrong; I will accept that it was just a shot to immobilize us. If any of us thought you a murderer, in this case, we would have hung you by your neck long ago.” You forcefully grab the bottle back with a frown. “There’s plenty of other shit for you to feel guilty over. Like the time you shot me…or stabbed me…or left me on that island for dead.”

“I swear to the Gods-”

“The point is…this one isn’t on you. You don’t need to carry this guilt. Not this time.” You take a quick drink. “If however,” you point your finger at him menacingly, “this was on purpose, then I take all that back and I will kill you right fucking here I swear to the Gods.”

The bottle is taken back. “It wasn’t,” he admits, softly, angry. A swig. “It wasn’t on purpose,” he says again tiredly.

His honesty takes you by surprise. Baekhyun has killed just as many people as you have in your life. If he had tried to kill them, well that would be expected. But for him to be this affected by the accidental deaths? That’s surprising.

“What are you doing down here anyway?” he asks.

“Do you really think you’re the only person on this ship who hides down here drinking? You’re talking to the master!” you boast. “And it’s my ship you ungrateful wrench.” You finish off what’s left of the whiskey and reach for a bottle of golden rum tucked securely on a shelf. Uncorking it with your teeth, you hold it in the air between you. “To Taemin, Kun, Amber, and Jaehyun!”

It burns like hell itself going down.

You hold it out for Baekhyun with an expectant eyebrow raise. You wait.

He grabs it gently. “To Taemin, Kun, Amber, and Jaehyun,” he repeats in a murmur. He makes a noise of pain as the alcohol burns its way down his throat. “What the fuck is this?”

You shiver as the alcohol settles uncomfortably in your stomach. “It's the bad rum I think.” You cough violently. “Oh fuck I think I’m going to die,” you say clutching your stomach.

His wild laugh echoes in the dark space. A bit of the gloom lifts.

You let your hands fall from your stomach while you take in the relaxed happiness on his candlelit face. His eye crinkled in a crescent, shining with mirth. You don’t think you’ve seen him laugh like that since the first time you met him.

He’s pretty. You’d have to be stupid not to admit it. From his soft and shiny hair, to his cheeks that bunch up when he smiles. From his big dumb ears to all of the little moles that dot his body.

The bottle goes back up to his ridiculously pink lips and he laughs as it hurts his throat just as bad as the first sip.

All it takes is a second of thoughtless, drunken courage for you to lean forward and quickly press your lips against his, cutting off his giggles.

When you pull pack, the happiness on his face has made way for shock and then once more to nothing.

“Don’t kiss me,” he says tonelessly. His voice is serious, but you see the spark of challenge in his eye.

Ignoring the part of you that always tells you that jumping headfirst into him is a bad idea, you lean in again, slower. You brace your hands on his thighs and feel them tense beneath your palms. He stares at your lips and you watch enrapt as his tongue pokes out to wet his bottom lip.

You can feel your skin vibrating from the proximity to him, and you freeze; a breath away from meeting skin with skin. Your eyes glance up to meet his and you can see the want, the restlessness, and something else you can’t quite place in the dark.

As if waiting any longer would be torturous, he leans forward impatiently to press his lips against yours. The bottle of rum falls to the ground and spills onto the floorboards of the storage room.

You don’t care.

You push harder; open your mouth to let his tongue slide against yours in a way that sends tingles through every nerve in your body. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the touch of sadness, but something feels different about this time.

You crawl onto his lap, driven purely by instinct and press every inch of your body against his. Heat seeps through your clothes and you pant longingly as he pulls you closer by your neck, his other hand grabbing you roughly by your ass. A wanton moan escapes your mouth and he pulls you closer, rougher. Breaths puff into each other’s mouths as you messily connect your lips over and over again. It’s uncoordinated. It’s wet. It’s exactly what you need.

You thread your fingers in his hair and yank his head back; diving to lick and suck along the column of his neck, to the sensitive spot behind his ear that you know drives him crazy. His grip on your body tightens as he releases a shaky groan and rolls his hips up against yours. Anticipation thrums through your body. To every noise, to every touch your body responds in earnest.

This is nothing but a distraction. For you. For the both of you, you don’t care. Neither of you have to think as clothes are removed. The sadness can be ignored as you claw against his skin and coax his tongue into your mouth. It’s all movement. All feeling. All lust.

People cope in different ways.

It always happens like this. You argue. You fight. You threaten each other. You fuck until you’re both exhausted and too tired to care about the years of hatred between you. For these few moments all you are, are bodies. Bodies moving in tandem, kissing the right places, touching the right spots, connecting at the right angle. Like this things are easy, wordless.

You each just understand how the other works.

Every movement is matched in urgency, in desperation. Touch for touch. Kiss for kiss. Sound for sound. Push for pull. Gasps, moans, whimpers are muted as best you can in the quiet of the storage. You don’t realize that you’re subconsciously avoiding aggravating the stitches that lie there, still fresh, in his side as your hands leave burning paths along his skin.

Just for now, you can allow yourselves to feel that maybe you don’t hate each other as much as you let on.

~~~

“Get your own fucking telescope!”

“Where am I going to get one? We’re in the middle of the god forsaken ocean; do you expect me to pull it out of my ass?”

“You should have brought yours with you if you wanted to use one so bad! That doesn’t give you permission to just take my shit whenever you feel like it. You aren’t Captain here.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“I’ll do worse than that. Seulgi, get me my pistol.”

“Captain I don’t think-”

“You think you’re going to shoot me? Chanyeol where’s my gun?!”

“I’m gonna shoot you right in your last fucking working eye you dirty fucking son of a-”

A hand covers your mouth before you can finish your curse. “Baekhyun, you’re needed in the kitchen. Kyungsoo is asking for you.” You and Baekhyun share one last deadly glare before he stalks off and you’re released.

“What the hell Minseok?” You turn on your gunner, anger from your argument with Baekhyun being projected instead onto him. It has to go somewhere.

He crosses his arms over his chest, unbothered.

“So you’re in love with him right? That's why you’re acting like this?”

Your eyes bulge out of your skull. “I’m sorry, what did you just ask me?”

He sighs, grabs you by your arm and drags you all the way to the infirmary. You’re forced to sit down stupefied as Minseok stares at you expectantly. “The two of you are exhausting to watch. If you weren’t two of our most capable men we would have tied you both up and put you in the brig until we found Atlantis days ago,” he says evenly.

You scoff, mouth agape.

“I would tell you to fuck and move on, but seeing as that seems to be what triggers a fresh round of arguments, I’m going to ask that you two refrain from ever having sex on the ship again in the future.”

You splutter embarrassed. Your skin heats at having been called out so boldly. “W-what?! How- Wh- How’d you find out?”

“Any time the two of you have sex, you spend the next month or so telling all of us how much you hate him, how you’re going to kill him, blah blah blah. After a while you stop being as vocal about it, but then we make port, usually at Arae, and he happens to be there, then BAM we're back where we started. You’re obsessed with each other.”

You flush. “We are not,” you try to deny. His face is unimpressed. “I don't know where you got the idea that either of us feel anything but pure hatred for the other. Okay yeah, we’ve had sex a couple of times. So what? It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve had sex with half of Arae.” You cross your arms defiantly.

“As soon as this is all over, we’ll part ways...in 6 months we’ll go to Arae for a bit, as we always do, you’ll have ‘angry hate sex’ yet again and then spend the next month being pissy over his existence. No one who genuinely hates someone spends so much time a) around them willingly and b) obsessing over them when they aren’t around,” Minseok says matter-of-factly. “I think you should both admit you’re in love with each other so we can all move on.”

“Minseok!”

“I agree,” Jongin’s head pops up from behind the singular bed in the room.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, heat again filling your cheeks at the extra witness to this interrogation.

“I work here?”

“I mean hiding behind the bed!”

“Oh…I uh tripped and then the door opened and you guys started talking and I was too afraid to get up and interrupt,” he says quickly.

You squint in judgment.

“This whole…” Minseok waves his hand around as he searches for the word, “…archenemies thing is getting old, Captain. If you really wanted to kill him, you would have done it already. And I’m sure the same goes for Byun. Right Jongin?” he turns to face the younger.

“Yeah,” Jongin agrees with a shrug.

You can’t believe your ears. “He just…hasn’t done anything worth actually killing him over yet. He’s useful sometimes…for information…” you murmur lamely. The excuse is weak even to you.

“You are both dumb and annoying…and also super transparent. Whenever you injure the other, it’s always in a place that won’t kill or do permanent damage. Don’t act like it’s just been luck that you’ve both managed to miss any kind of serious blow from the other. You’re both deadly fighters, you know how to kill someone if you want them dead.”

“He ditched me in cuffs on that island-”

“You had the key to the cuffs,” Jongin chimes in unhelpfully.

Minseok rolls his eyes at your words. “Yes, and again, in a survivable situation. Was there not food and shit on that island?”

You open and close your mouth pathetically.

“Exactly. It’s not like you’re an incompetent dumbass. You would be able to find your way off even if you hadn’t been found. He didn’t blow the ship to bits like he could have a month ago, you haven’t slit his throat like you could have many months ago. You both dance around injuring each other, making the other’s life difficult, and fucking. You’re in love, please just accept it. I don’t care if you’re into BDSM and blood play or whatever freaky shit gets you guys off, but I would at least appreciate it if you kept it in your bedroom.”

Jongin nods from the back. “I just think it’s obvious,” he adds simply.

“Pff…Psh…Tch…I’m-I am appalled that you would talk to your Captain like this.”

“I know, I know. You could have us hanged, shot, thrown in the ocean, whatever…but the fact of the matter is that you aren’t going to do any of that, and you know that we’re right. Now, I’m going to go make sure Chanyeol hasn’t shot any of my men with any of my valuable pistols, and I’ll leave you to your duties, Captain.” Minseok nods his head with finality and exits the room.

Mutineer…

You glare at Jongin for ganging up on you. He flushes timidly. “I’m uh…gonna go see if Kyungsoo needs any help…Captain.” With a nervous smile he dashes from the room.

This is mutiny…

~~~

The ship sails southeast for days before anything alerts you all of the impeding first trial. The weather is normal, the water is normal, and then all of a sudden, the winds become violent.

“Captain, I think we’re getting close to whatever the first test is…” Yixing says tremulously.

The wind whips around you and the sails of the ship flap violently. There’s no way to tell which way the wind is blowing from as it whips from what feels like every side simultaneously. The ship tilts dangerously to one side.

“Junmyeon…that song telling you anything right about now?” You ask anxiously.

Your first mate looks out on the horizon with worried eyes. “We’re going the right way…” is all he says.

“Helpful,” Yixing murmurs sarcastically.

There is no visible sign of a storm; nothing seems out of the ordinary outside of the unnatural winds. The crew is already reefing your regular sails and raising the storm jib and trysail. If the winds get any stronger, which they will, they’ll catch your regular sails and capsize your ship before the waves even begin to hit.

“Who can man the helm? Who’s the best pilot on board right now?” you ask Yixing.

Yixing looks around a bit panicked. “I don’t know… I don’t know Captain.” The ship lurches to the side.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you scan the ship. Most of the men are working on preparing the proper sails, securing any moving parts, and making sure the wind alone won’t turn the ship on her side. You see Baekhyun working with Wendy on securing lose lines. You haven’t talked to him since your lecture from Minseok all those days ago. “Junmyeon, go check to make sure we have enough ballast in the hold. We’re going to be rocking and we need to pray that we have enough weight to keep us as stable as possible.”

He rushes away; you try to think of what else you can do to prepare. There’s no way to tell how long this storm is going to last, how bad it’s going to be, and you would rather prepare for the worst.

A sea anchor.

“Johnny!” The boatswain is immediately at your side. “Take whoever you need and deploy the sea anchor. We should have one somewhere in the hold. I need you to work fast, but be thorough.”

The ship is going to have to sail against the wind and against the waves. The wind will push the ship off course, but to survive a storm like this the ship needs to keep its bow to the waves. If a wave catches the ship on her side or back, there’s no chance for survival. You’ll have to use your sea anchor and just pray that the Gods are feeling merciful.

“Baekhyun!” you shout. He turns immediately at the sound of your voice. “How good are you at the wheel?”

“I’m decent.”

“How’s your tracking? Your jibbing? Can you keep the ship from capsizing in this storm?”

He looks up in the sky when the sound of thunder shakes the floorboards. “My jibbing isn't the best, but I think I can keep her afloat,” he promises.

The feeling of static fills the air. The hair on your body rises to attention. Another rumble of thunder rolls across the ocean, louder than before. The sky is darker than it was 5 minutes ago.

There isn’t much longer until the storm hits.

“I need you at the wheel. I’m trusting my ship to you. Don’t let me down.” With a determined nod, Baekhyun is off. You see your first strike of lighting. Bright blue and not far off.

Chanyeol runs up to you to assure you that all of the cannons, ammunition, and artillery are properly secured. “Tell Minseok to get all his men below deck in the storm rooms. Secure any hatch and pray to the Gods that we make it through this,” you instruct. He nods and runs off.

When a storm hits, it hurts more than it helps to have people above deck. Three people would do the job just as well as all 20. Half of weathering a storm is the training and skill of the crew; and the other half is just pure luck.

The beginning patters of rain begin to pelt the ship. You run back up to the helm where Baekhyun has stationed himself.

The ocean gets choppy, picks up ferocity. The ship leans starboard. Baekhyun has never steered your ship, and truthfully, you have no idea whether or not he can actually steer through a storm. You’ve never seen him at the wheel of any ship in all the years you’ve known him.

“Do you think we’ll make it through this?” you ask.

“Honestly…I don’t know,” he admits. “We have enough sea room; we won’t crash into anything this far out. I just hope we can pick up enough speed before the waves start to grow.”

Junmyeon reappears, with Kyungsoo at his side, both out of breath. “We’ve prepared all that we can. The sea anchor is deployed, we’ve got a decent amount of ballast, the jib is ready to be backwinded, and the crew is all prepared for the rocking. What’s the plan?”

“Heaving to,” Baekhyun says simply. He swipes at his bangs, heavy with water and clinging to this forehead. “We keep the bow to the waves, keep close to the wind, and then lock the helm in place.”

“Won’t we broadside?!”

“No, if we were to lie ahull, we would broadside,” Kyungsoo supplies, blocking his eyes from the rain picking up in ferocity. “By heaving to, we can keep the ship from going parallel to the waves and capsizing. We’ll have to stay above deck to correct it if the wind or waves suddenly change. Since you’ve got a sea anchor we’ve got more chance of keeping the ship sailing straight into the waves rather than along them.”

“If heaving to doesn’t work, we try to run off downwind. As the wind increases we’ll have to slow down the ship as much as we can so that we don’t dive straight into the wave in front of us.” A bolt of lightning hits the waves. The rain gets harder.

“We would die…” You say unhelpfully. Lighting blasts in front of you and the waves crash angrily against the ship’s sides.

“Exactly. So if we run off, we’re going to need more than the four of us to throw whatever heavy lines you have off the stern,” Baekhyun’s voice rises to be heard over the increasingly loud winds and waves.

“As a last result, we’ll lie ahull and just fucking pray that when we capsize the ship holds for long enough to keep all of us alive,” Kyungsoo shouts.

You exhale shakily as another three bolts of lightning flash across the sky.

Poseidon be kind to us all.

You leave Baekhyun with the job of steering the ship against the waves that grow in size and power by the second.

At Kyungsoo’s instruction, Junmyeon is in charge of keeping the jib backwinded, and you reef the trysail as soon as it becomes clear that it’s going to be a hindrance in the grand scheme of things. Kyungsoo stands at Baekhyun’s side correcting course when he gets thrown off balance. Baekhyun does the same as Kyungsoo is knocked to the side in turn.

The waves become brutal, rocking the ship so hard that it’s nearly impossible to keep on your feet for more than 10 seconds at a time.

The wind finally sets in a single direction, fiercer than anything you’ve faced, and the general direction of the waves becomes apparent. The ship rocks violently from side to side and then immediately forward and back. You’re thrown into the foremast by the unexpected direction change with enough force to knock the wind out of your body. You gasp in pain. You get up on wobbling legs and try to breathe even as the water falls so fast and heavy around you that it feels equivalent to drowning.

You can’t see more than two feet ahead of yourself.

Think. Think.

There is rope at your feet, secured to the mainmast of the ship. You untie it with cold, wet fingers and hold it tight as you walk to the helm. The ship crashes into another large wave and you fall to your knees as water washes over the bow of the hull, covers the deck in freezing water and pitches the ship forwards. You stand up, shivering but determined. You tie the rope around your own waist to help you keep note of where you’ve come from.

Getting to the helm is a challenge, but you make it. Junmyeon is helping Baekhyun and Kyungsoo lock it in place.

“We should head below deck!” You shout as loud as you can. Thunder and lightning work in tandem to drown out your voice. To remind you of who is louder. Who has more power. You’re soaked to the bone.

Each man above deck is in a similar state. “We’re going below deck!” Junmyeon shouts. “We think heaving to may work.” The ship lurches dangerously to the right.

“Quick! Let’s go,” Kyungsoo screams, hair clinging to his forehead in inky black tendrils.

You use the rope to guide you. It feels as though you’re swimming through the air with the amount of resistance the winds and rain are putting up. Kyungsoo makes it to the hatch that leads below first. You follow behind, climbing down the ladder with shaking limbs. Water leaks through the boards, but it’s a welcome change from the brutality of facing Mother Nature directly.

You gasp for breath, finally able to breathe without also inhaling water, and look around the space for the ship’s emergency supplies. The ship dips, your stomach lurches.

Freezing water streams into the room from the open hatch above. You realize belatedly that there are only two of you in the compartment. Baekhyun and Junmyeon haven’t made it down.

You’re thrown to the ground when the ship dips without warning.

Clattering catches your attention as Junmyeon is swept into the room with a fresh rush of water. “Baekhyun fell overboard!” Junmyeon screams. He crashes against the ground. The sky screams.

What?

Kyungsoo turns away from opening the hatch down to a lower level of the ship to gape at Junmyeon’s words in horror.

Gasping, soaked, Junmyeon looks around the compartment frantically.

You’re moving before you have a chance to think.

You vaguely hear your name being called out from behind, but you don’t turn around. Rope still secured around your waist, you run, slip, stumble, over to the closest life boat. As fast as your shaking hands can work, you cut yourself free of the mainmast and tie the end of the rope not tied to your body to the dinghy.

You slice through the thick ropes holding the dinghy to the side of the ship with an urgency you’ve never felt. Water hits you head on, chilling you to the bone.

The final rope snaps and you and the dighy fall into the water with the force of landing on cement. Something is broken, but your adrenaline is pumping so violently that you can’t feel the pain. It doesn’t register.

Doesn’t matter.

You look around frenzied. The water is pitch black and moving too fast. The rain pelts your skin. It stings, burns, blurs your vision.

The waves are too big for him to survive out here on his own.

They’re too big for you to survive in your search for him.

The sky roars.

The waves crash, flip your boat once, twice.

You settle upright for the second time when, by the grace of the Gods, you see his white shirt illuminated against the dark water by a strike of lightning. You row frantically as a wave begins to swell. You nearly scream in relief when you reach him, but the sound dies as your heart sinks.

He’s not moving.

And he’s face down.

With all the energy you can muster, you pull him into your little boat. You take a few seconds you catch your breath, then you realize the height at which the wave has lifted you. It begins to cascade down; instinctively, you wrap your arms around Baekhyun’s unmoving form and brace yourself for the crash.

It’s dizzying.

It hurts.

It’s terrifying.

You hold your breath, close your eyes, hold onto the man in your arms with all you have, and wait for the water to stop jostling you around so violently. The water seems to calm slightly, so you open your eyes.

The water is dark, and then bright. Black, and then illuminated by lighting.

Your chest tightens as your need for oxygen reaches desperation. You maneuver yourself beneath the water enough to hold Baekhyun with one arm and swim to the top with the other.

You break the surface and gasp for air desperately.

You pull your rope and the boat appears at your side, thankfully upright. You lift Baekhyun aboard first, and then with heavy limbs, you topple on top of him. You don’t give yourself a chance to catch your breath before you’re leaning over him checking for signs of life.

You lower your ear to his chest. You can’t tell if he’s breathing. If his heart is beating.

“Come on Byun. Don’t die on me like this,” you beg. You repeatedly push against his chest, the way you were taught to restart a heart. After a few beats you press your ear to his chest again to listen for a change.

Nothing.

“Fuck. Come on…come on,” you pant.

You pinch his nose and lean down to cover his mouth with yours, filling his lungs with the air that he’s unable to take in on his own. His chest rises each time you exhale into his mouth. You go back to pumping your locked hands against his chest. A wave knocks you on your side. The boat stays upright.

You exhale into his mouth again, once, twice. You beg the rain to let up. You beg the waves to grow smaller.

You beg his heart to start beating.

He jerks and water spurts from his mouth. Relief hits you so hard that all the energy left in your body is expelled and you sag forward and land directly onto his chest.

You can finally hear the dull thumping of his heart. You can feel the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

At last, you can take a second to just breathe.

The small boat continues to jerk around, but it’s clear that the worst of the storm has passed. The waves now are shallow and choppy. The rain has lessened to nothing but a drizzle. The thunder rumbles farther and farther in the distance.

And Baekhyun’s heartbeat gets stronger.

You close your eyes, and let exhaustion overcome you, lulled into sleep by the beat of his heart and the rocking of the boat.

[artificialqueens]

Crossing pt. I (Katlaska) - sebald

A/N: [4574 words] Sex is sex. The rest is just noise.

The fat dick lies limp in Justin’s hands, and a small part of him wants to cry at how utterly pathetic his sex life has become.

It's a sad sight, reminding him vaguely of the first time he’d tried to cook sausages in college. Having been completely unblessed with any culinary skill or instinct, and being deathly afraid of burning their mousehole of an apartment down, he had taken the sausages out after a minute in the pan. His roommate had thrown one at him after a bite, complaining that it was cold as a dead man’s cock inside.

He’d rather cold sausage than a hopelessly limp dick, but Justin tries not to look disappointed. Limp dick is still better than no dick, he convinces himself. And anyway, he’s a fairly polite person. He even pretends to ignore Clark's showboating moan when he finally begins half-heartedly sucking at the tip.

He wishes he’d turned the TV on. He could be watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians right now. The human turd that is Scott Disick would excite him more than this frankly insulting cock.

Justin can’t complain too much. He gets it. If he ever ended up naked in a hotel room with an equally naked Bette White, his dick would probably shrink down to the size of a tic-tac, if not just fall off and scamper away under the bed. It wouldn’t be because she’s a woman, but because she’s Bette Fucking White, and it would be more surreal than the one time he and Brian played Street Fighter II after sharing a tray of edibles. Point being, it would be overwhelming. Of course, Justin would never actually dare invite Bette to bed–not because he’s gay and about six decades younger than her, but because he’s smart and considerate enough to know that he wouldn’t be able to deliver where it counts. Unfortunately, the carousel of men he’s had in his carousel of hotel rooms have not been as smart or considerate. About 70 percent of Justin’s sex life these days consist of an impressive number of men with very unimpressive dicks. He wouldn’t even really mind if they were race chasers, he just wanted an erect fucking dick, goddammit.

Clark keeps groaning and moaning above him, putting on a full show, but his dick is still only barely upright. Justin is both appreciative and annoyed. He pulls off the salty tip and proceeds to lick long stripes right down to the balls, but Clark, apparently determined to cross the line between embarrassing and infuriating, suddenly grabs Justin’s head with his clammy hands and starts grinding his nuts on Justin’s face, slobbering out an unconvincing growl that sounds straight out of a budget porno on the “rough gay” tag on Pornhub.

Christ. Justin pushes away from him. “Easy, cowboy.”

For his part, Clark has the decency to look apologetic, even putting his large hands up like he’d just been served a warrant. “Sorry, Lasky.”

“Justin, please,” he reminds firmly, getting up from the bed and walking to the fridge. He always makes it a point to introduce himself as Justin, hoping it would help separate him from the whole TV persona, but it doesn’t always work. He pulls two bottles of water out and tosses one to Clark.

“Right. Justin. Sorry,” he says. He catches the bottle and thankfully seems to realize the implicit signal that comes along with it. “Guess that’s it for tonight, huh?”

We should be asking your malfunctioning penis that, he wants to say, but he told himself he’d be nice. “It’s getting late anyway. Early flight tomorrow. Sorry.”

“No biggie.“ Clark shrugs magnanimously, as if he’s the slighted party who’s willing to overlook Justin’s sexual incapacity. Completely unacceptable! Justin is a champion cocksucker. Even his drag is inferior to his cocksucking prowess.

Smiling stiffly, Justin bids Clark a firm goodbye. "Should I call front desk to get you a cab?”

Heeding his signal, Clark declines and says he’ll grab himself an Uber. In three minutes flat, he's dressed up and making his way out, wisely choosing not to say anything more than a “Have a good night.”

Justin washes his face and brushes his teeth, resigning himself to another night alone with his own hand. It’s not as if he’s addicted to sex or anything like that. Once or twice every few weeks–months, even–is enough to get him by. The rest of his days he’s quite content doing it all by himself. It’s more the warmth that he misses, and the Mobius strip of receiving pleasure from giving pleasure and so on. He’s not actively looking to land himself a boyfriend either. There are perks to living the prime of his life as a single gay man. Sure, he gets a lot of disappointing race chasers, but he’s also had his fair share of mind-blowing sex. So he’s far from unhappy.

Still, it’s hard not to feel so alone at times.

He blames hotel rooms. They’re not conducive to happiness, not with the way their bareness announces impermanence. He knocks down his shaving cream and deodorant sitting on the counter, seeing if the slight mess would take away from how sparse and clean and impersonal the whole set-up is. It doesn’t.

Collapsing into bed, he picks his phone up, intending to pull up the ever-reliable 50-Load Weekend and get his erection over with. He's welcomed instead with one message from Willam (“Bitch I took more trade dick today than Brent Corrigan ever did in his entire twinkfant life”) and a string of texts from Brian–six consecutive messages only saying “!!!” and a seventh one saying “Joanne!!!!”

He hits Brian back with an “?”, congratulates Willam on his success, and goes back to his search for porn. But just as he makes it to his porn folder, his phone pings with another message. Jesus must not want him to jack off today.

Brian: Forgive me mawma for I have sinned.

Justin: Elaborate?

Brian: I’m sorry I sound like I’m joking but I’m really serious. Please don’t hate me.

Justin: I already hate you. What do you want?

Brian: I want love. Tonight I wanted it in the form of a threesome. Which I might have jokingly suggested to Sharon and Chad. And which they might not have taken so jokingly. Which might have led to an actual threesome.

Justin raises a brow. It’s a thought he’s entertained in the past, being in a threesome with those two. For all their troubles, Aaron had always been good in bed, and Justin has the distinct feeling that Chad might enjoy railing him out of spite. But the waters are too complicated to tread for it to be worth a go.

His phone rings with a call before he can think up a reply. “Hello Miss Minaj,” he greets.

“Hey.” Brian’s voice is subdued. “I’m sorry. Are you mad?”

“Girl, no.”

“You have every right to be.”

“Honestly, Brian, it’s totally fine. Fuck all my exes. Literally. They’re all good lays.” He cackles a little. “So how was it?”

Brian hesitates. “It was okay.”

“I’ve slept with Sharon. There’s no way it was just okay,” he chides. “In fact she’d be offended at that tepid description and might never talk to you again. Spill.”

He can hear Brian relaxing on the other end. “Well, if you insist. Sharon was a mouthful, but Chad basically drilled a hole right through my pharynx and out the back of my head.”

“Bigger than Sharon? No way.”

“Oh, all the way, mawma.”

Justin whistles.

“Catch this though–I thought they might have wanted to get all up in my ass or something, because they give off that creepy domineering Dracula tandem vibe, right? But, twist of twists, we ended up spitroasting Chad.”

“Huh. That fucks up my threesome fantasies with them.”

“You have threesome fantasies with them?”

“Of course. Congratulations on living my dream.”

“Eh, it was just all right. It was hot in theory, but they were both way too into each other for it to be anything remarkable on my end. I felt more like a volunteer called up to stage by a magician. Like I was there participating, but it was a kinda detached, voyeuristic participation, and I wasn’t in on the magician’s secret. And in this case there were two magicians, and them chuckling at things I didn’t understand and sending sticky glances to each other the whole night was kind of a boner killer.”

Justin shrugs off the slight sting he feels to hunger. He hasn’t had a proper dinner, has he? Yes, that’s what it is. “Well, that’s better than flaccid trade, girl.”

Brian lets out a whoosh of air in sympathy. “Sorry. Tonight?”

“Yep. Some budget John Stamos dude I picked up at Flaming Saddles.”

“Chaser? Or just another lonely stranger?”

“Chaser, definitely. Bought me a drink to congratulate me on All Stars, and then kept calling me Alaska after I’d insisted he call me Justin thrice. But he looked kinda hot and the last I got laid was like a month ago, so I took a chance.”

“And?”

“And nothing. Limp dick. Rubbed his nuts on my face like I’m a fucking towel. It was hopeless. I more or less kicked him out.”

“You didn’t come?”

“Nope.” He toys with his dick. It’s dead weight in his hand now, his erection having died down. “Maybe later. I’ll think of your threesome. But maybe with me in Chad’s place.”

“That already sounds hotter than how it really went. Think Sharon will be up for it?”

“Sharon, maybe. But Chad would only consent to it if you and Sharon were fucking my rotting corpse.”

“Now there’s a hot image. My dick’s getting stiff again.”

Justin laughs. “Fuck off.”

“I should fuck off now, actually. I realize that it’s three o'clock,” he concedes. “Brenda just wouldn’t let me go to sleep without telling you.”

“Well, tell Brenda she doesn’t get to impinge on my sleep schedule either.”

Brian cackles. “Like you were sleeping. Fifty bucks says you were rubbing it out to Dawson.”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner,” he says, while unsuccessfully suppressing a yawn. “Unfortunately it’s not my dead erection.”

“Shall I talk you through? My university guidance counselor told me I could be the most successful phone sex operator in Boston if I put all my time and effort into it.”

“I dunno, you sound like a dying grandfather at your sexiest. Talk me to sleep like my Grandpa Joe used to, though. I’d appreciate it more.”

Brian wheezes, and Justin smiles sleepily.

“You’re a fucking cuntwhore, you know that? But actually, yes, I do have a story to torture you with.”

“Thrilling.”

“Shut up. So yesterday I arrived in Pittsburgh, and Lola was supposed to pick me up, but of course she overslept—”

“Or pretended to have overslept. I have a text from her saying her ex came by yesterday morning with a very moving oral apology.”

“That bitch. Well anyway she left me sitting in the airport feeling like Joan Crawford, except I didn’t even have a Mamacita to keep me company. So I sit next to this old Asian lady knitting some pattern, and what do you know, it’s a fucking ‘Make America Great Again’ scarf. So I’m all confused right, because Trump hates immigrants and all, but I remembered what you said about not cutting ties with Trumpers and republicans, because that’s not gonna get us anywhere, right? So I very politely try to engage her in conversation, but she didn’t speak a lick of English—”

“Or was pretending not to,” he says through a yawn.

“Yes! Exactly my thought, so I persisted, asking her why she was making the scarf and even complimenting her on skill—which, I know shit about knitting, so she could probably tell that it was all bullshit. After a while, I think she got tired of me and she finally said, in very broken English, that she hated Americans like me, because she worked very hard to become a legal American citizen while I got born in this quote unquote great country, and now I’m wanting to open it up to the rest of the world all willy nilly, when I know absolutely nothing about immigrants. And then I kind of just shut up, because she’s right, I don’t know anything beyond broad liberal ideals, so even if she’s politically and morally in the wrong she’s still one up on the ladder of understanding the plight of immigrants more than my white ass ever can. But there’s got to be a middle ground, it can’t just be, I dunno, I’m white and she’s Asian, so I automatically lose the debate—it’s not even about a debate, I just want to understand. I left her alone because she wasn’t having any of my questions anymore, and—”

Justin grunts and hums in the appropriate pauses, still awake enough to make a mental note to tell Brian how he’d sorta patched things up with is republican aunt, but not awake enough to vocalize his thoughts. He picks up on flashes of Brian’s monologue, at one point talking about his sad airplane food, and much, much later, about how pretty Pittsburgh is and how he sees why Justin stayed there for as long as he did. Justin imagines that he was able to give an enthusiastic response to that, but perhaps he was dreaming it.

The next day, when he wakes up, he has three texts. One from his manager, sending him his flight details. One from Sharon, telling him of the threesome. And one from Brian, billing him for the cost of the call and for his professional service as a storytelling grandfather.

Justin: I'd pay you 10k via PayPal but I already donated to charity this year. How about a ten-dollar dinner when we’re both in LA? You can spill the threesome’s sordid details in your full breadth of expression.

Brian: Bump it up to $20 and call it date. I get home Saturday.

Justin: Me too. $18 and tip’s on you.

Brian: Fine. See you, snake lady <3 

~~~

The only thing Brian loves more than his mother’s Christmas peppermint cookies is a warm, pert ass to cushion his face against as he dives in to explore new horizons with his searching tongue–as a respectful visitor, of course, and not an oppressive white colonizer staking his loveflag on unmarked territory. He has lost two seasons of Drag Race, but really, he’s still a winner, and his prize is a multitude of very willing bedmates across the globe. (Well, across the northwestern hemisphere anyway, and then confine that to only the major cosmopolitan centers. The neocolonial claws of American gay culture only extend so far.) With a mix of fascination and envy, he listens to Willam's detailed story of a threesome with two closeted Afro-Asian sportswear models in Tokyo, to Milk's vague allusions to a hookup with a local volunteer in Zambia, and to Justin's tragic retelling of how he sadly had to turn down a Filipino stripper offering to blow him in a club because his show was to start in five minutes. But Brian doesn’t allow himself to be too sad about the limits of his sexual map so far–it just means there’s more beautiful men for him to explore in the future.

Tonight’s ass is new to him, but the face and the place isn’t. He almost laughs into Justin’s asshole when Justin predictably whines for him to get in with his dick already. He ignores the pleas and slows down even more, spreading his cheeks further apart and rimming his entrance at a torturous pace.

“Fuck, Brian,” Justin pants, instinctively moving his ass away from oversensitivity, but Brian grips his hips and pulls him back. He can feel him quivering under his tongue. “Go fucking slower, by all means." Brian is impressed by how he manages to say it with enough sarcasm, even through his shaky breathing.

"Patience, you petulant child," he chastises, slapping Justin's ass lightly before moving his head up to trail his tongue along Justin's spine while finally pushing two fingers in. Justin actually mewls and shivers as his back dips in a concave, and Brian has never understood the perverse allure of bestiality, but he almost comes right then.

"I’m so open, fuck. Please," Justin pleads, his arms going out under him, his body now forming a steep slope, ass at the apex. Brian marvels for a moment about what a long and endless stretch of a human being Justin is before finally deciding to take mercy on the poor, shaking boy—and on himself, really, as he feels about ready to come untouched just from the sight and sensation of Justin’s hole crudely clamping around his fingers.

"All right, since you asked so nicely,” Brian says playfully. He gently retracts his hand and drops a kiss on top of Justin's almost concerningly prominent tailbone before tumbling down from the couch. He twists himself over to reach for his discarded jeans under Justin's messy coffee table, burdened by their empty pizza box—fancy veggie pizza from a fancy trend-cashing hipster place down the street actually, and Justin paid the tip before Brian could take out his wallet. Justin threw a water bottle at his head when he started chiding him for the overpriced pizza choice.

“Oh my god.” Justin huffs at the pause in action and collapses down onto the couch, turning sideways to watch impatiently as Brian fishes through his pockets for his wallet. He starts stroking himself, the insatiable whore. While it’s a stunning visual that Brian stores away in his mental porn archive, right under “Video: Chubby Bear Takes Hit From Bong Dildo Lodged Up Hipster Twink’s Ass," he tuts and bats the hand away with a stern look.

"No. You’d come way too early and embarrass us both.”

“At the rate you’re going, neither of us are ever going to come,” Justin grumbles, but he keeps his hands away. "Edging is purgatory. I’d like the sweet release of paradise someday.“

Brian grins and goes back to his wallet, but there is only a Chipotle receipt in the spot where his condoms usually are. He looks up at Justin sheepishly. "Bad news, Dante. I’m out. Where do you keep yours?”

“Oooh. The lady is a traaaamp,” Justin sings teasingly, pulling his plastic lips back in a parody of a sensual smile. “Bedroom. Nightstand drawer. You get it, I’m not standing up.”

“Aye, aye, cap'n,” Brian says with a salute. He gets to his feet and begins walking out of the living room. "Hurry up!“ Justin calls after him, and Brian looks over his shoulder and grins wickedly as he slows down. He gets a pillow thrown at him for his efforts, and he cackles and speeds up to avoid it.

He’s only been inside Justin’s room once, and very briefly at that, when he and Courtney crashed Justin's apartment after a gig together in downtown LA. Courtney was wasted beyond help, and Justin’s place was close by, so Brian rang him at three in the morning and asked if Courtney could rest his pretty little Australian bird wings for the night. Justin waited for them at his steps, and together the two of them hauled Courtney from the Lyft to the bedroom. There was really only room for two people on the bed, so Brian bid them goodnight and faceplanted on the couch for eleven hours straight.

Justin’s room is a drag dump. Brian wades through piles of shimmering fabric and spiky heels before reaching the bedside drawer, which is surprisingly organized. There’s a basket of condoms, a bottle of lube, three black pens, and two notebooks. Nosily, he peeks into the notebook on top, and he’s met with sketch after beautiful sketch of cartoonish women–or woman, perhaps, as they seem to be varied iterations of Alaska, all big-haired and possessing of that unearthly hourglass figure. While the features are constant, their expressions run the gamut of human emotion. Some are, predictably, fierce and modelesque. Others are bright and toothy-smiled. Others are in tearful telenovela hysterics. Others still are grotesquely furious, only heightened by Alaska’s already excessively arched brows.

The one that stands out the most to Brian is the one where she’s expressionless, depthless. It’s the same size, same features, same ink, applied with the same weight as all the other sketches, but it seems smaller, less present somehow. Blank. It’s unsettling.

Brian doesn’t go farther than that, pushing the drawer shut and making his way back to Justin.

"How generous of you to remember that I’m sitting here, ass loose and buck-ass naked,” he quips. He’s got his long legs crossed and hanging off the arm of the couch, his Mae West smile a bawdy intrusion upon the grace of his equine features. All thoughts of the sketches evaporate from Brian's mind at the ridiculous sight.

“Your room is messier than the group-on dressing rooms we had at BOTS.” He massages Justin’s rim and then prompts him to turn over and drape himself over the arm of the couch. He gamely obliges. “Let’s pray your anal cavity isn’t half as bad.”

“Don’t worry, I douched. I thought I might meet someone at The Abbey tonight.”

Brian rubs the tip of his condom-clad dick around Justin’s entrance, and Justin’s back muscles melt at the gesture. “Hm. Too bad you’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, only barely. “You’re fucking terrible.” Brian pushes in then, reducing Justin to a surprised moan.

Justin relaxes quickly, opening up to his thrusts and receiving them with abandon, like he has faith in Brian and believes that he would give nothing but the best fucking that he could. Brian moves his hips in small circular motions, experimenting and trying to find that one spot that would send Justin keening. In the process, he has to grip the base of his cock to keep himself from coming before he finds Treasure Island. It’s difficult, with how tight and warm Justin is around him, not to mention the the way he’s running up and down the scale from deep grunts to breathy whimpers. It’s like every inch of Justin’s rectum—hell, his entire body—corresponds to a unique noise. It’s an impressive range Brian has discovered so far. If he fucks Justin long enough, he’s sure Justin can dethrone Mariah Carey.

They’ve spent too long sending each other into near-orgasm for this to really last a respectable amount of time, and soon Justin is a trembling mess beneath his equally trembling hands. He pulls out and stumbles down on the sofa, pulling the panting Justin over his lap and kissing his comedown away. Justin kisses back gamely, like he hadn’t just been fucked over to the next plane of existence.

Justin laughs into his mouth and then pulls away. He rests his head on Brian’s shoulder and talks to his neck. “I feel like a fucking teenager.”

“You come like a fucking teenager,” Brian confirms. He wipes Justin’s hair off his forehead, but Justin shakes his head like a dog and sends sweat flying toward Brian.

“Better that than your slow-ass grandpa thrusts.” He smirks. And then, as if to prove his agile youth, he jumps off Brian in one clean motion. It’s hardly an impressive feat, but Justin, who has all the grace of a fumbling fawn, looks mighty proud of himself. Brian smiles, until Justin offers a hand out. “Time for your bath, gramps.”

Brian kicks him but takes his hand. “Is this how you won All Stars? Gerontophilia?”

Justin taps the side of his head with a finger, like he’s passing on some wise secret. “Gotta know how to play the game.”

Brian nods as he gets up and lets Justin pull him to the bathroom. "I’ll keep it in mind for All Star 3: All-Star All Stars, where I duke it out with Raven for second place.“

"Oh my god.” Justin halts walking and buckles over in laughter, tears collecting in his eyes. Brian has to drag the dysfunctional Laughing Track of a human being to the bathroom and push him in the tub.

“You’re a handful,” Brian sighs as he settles in the tub as well, facing Justin.

“I’ve been told.” Justin reaches up behind him and gets the warm water going.

“Can it, Joanne. Not bigger than Chad.”

Justin shoots him an intrigued look. “Is he really?”

“Bigger? Yeah. Although size is immaterial for bottoms. And you’re a much better bottom.”

Justin preens and shakes his imaginary peacock feathers. "Thank you,“ he inflects in Tatianna’s voice. "Don’t tell Sharon, but I think you’re a better top.”

Brian laughs. “You whore. You’ll say anything to get dick up your ass.”

“Playing the game, I told you.” Justin shrugs. He swirls a finger in the two inches of water collecting around their feet. “Honestly though? I don’t care too much for it. Sometimes it’s more work than it’s worth.”

Brian cocks his head to the side. “You coulda skipped douching. I’ve never tried scat, but I’m open to new possibilities.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t,” Justin observes teasingly. He reaches behind him for a bar of soap and runs it through the water before sliding it across his legs. “I’ll keep it in mind next time.”

“Next time?” Brian asks, smirking. He reaches out to steal the soap for his own use. “I know you like this cock.”

“I’ve never prided myself on having good taste,” Justin retorts, sticking his tongue out. He kicks the bar of soap out of Brian’s grasp and into the water. Brian chuckles and picks it back up as Justin settles down and continues. “I was about ready to whore myself out downtown tonight. I never did get around to coming since that night you called me.”

“I actually was going to let Trixie set me up with a friend of her boyfriend for drinks after our little artisanal pizza dinner—” another kick, dangerously near his balls this time. Brian shields himself and continues, “but your skeletal system allure was too much to resist. I texted the guy and told him I had the runs.”

“You’re not being subtle about your scat fantasy, are you?”

“Well if there’s anyone I trust to make me see the merits of scat, it’s your filthy ass.”

“Okay, I’ve never done scat and have no particular desire to try.” He slides down and submerges himself in the water now that it’s filled up half the tub.

Brian’s surprised at how easy it had been for him and Justin to fall in bed together. Well, couch. One minute they were having a kiki over Sharon’s insane come control, the next Brian was demonstrating some random trade’s sloppy grandpa kisses on Justin’s mouth. And then it was the most sensible thing to start making out heatedly, until they were both naked and sucking each other off.

That’s three Ru girls down. Brian quite enjoys sleeping with them, he decides. No pressure, and no overwhelmed, limp dick. Maybe he’ll ask Trix and her boyfriend if they’re down for some three-way fun times next.

In the meantime, when Justin emerges from the water, Brian’s there to greet him with a soapy kiss.