#his mouth probably tastes foul I’m sorry but I will still lick his teeth

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

A Freak and a Basket Case: Eddie Munson x Hispanic!Fem!Reader

Chapter 3: No One Like You

I’m back bitches. This chapter was a bastard to get out. I’ve been fucking around writing for every other scenario except the one where you two actually fucking get together. Fucking shit.

I hope you all enjoy my autistic rambling about Dune as well.

[Masterlist] - Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three (You are Here) - [Latest]

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“You ever read Clan of the Cave Bear?” You asked.

It was such a non sequitur. You heard an obnoxious snort from next to you threaten to turn into laughter.

“No, what… what the hell is that?” Eddie was red faced. Giggling.

“Prehistoric science fiction, bro” you said. “Caveman shit.”

“Cavemen?!”

Eddie guffawed. Covering his face with his hands as his giggles threatened again.

“It’s not funny!” You whined, unable to control your laughter.

“I’m so… ha! I… I’m sorry…” Eddie insisted, taking a deep breath and exhaling through pursed lips. “I’m sorry. But you said… you said it’s about cavemen?”

“Yeah like, a girl from the Cro-Magnon people gets adopted by a group of Neanderthals and she becomes this hunter who’s all bad, right? Then she gets kicked out of her cave and the second book opens up with her in this valley where she tames a horse and a lion cub. Real girl power shit. But it’s crap.”

“Why crap?”

“Because the girl turns into this air headed romance novel heroine when she meets her perfect jock caveman boyfriend.” You said. “And the book got all torcido in the second novel. You wanna know what her boyfriend Jondalar’s biggest flaw is?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your critique of the story.

"Lay it on me. What's the great character flaw of Jondalar, Mr. Perfect Caveman Boyfriend?"

“He’s sad because no girl on earth can handle his huge fucking wiener.”

Eddie screamed. Honest to god screamed. Screamed like a banshee and then dissolved into the worst fit of laughter you’d ever seen, laughing so hard you could have sworn you saw him trying to clench his butt cheeks so he wouldn’t laugh so hard he’d accidentally fart. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but the idea of a sad dimwitted caveman crying over his trouser snake was too much.

"I swea… I…” he paused, wheezing before he finally inhaled and managed to speak, “God dammit. How the hell did that even make it into a real book?!"

“Evidently Jean M. Auel had a lot of money and a lot of free time to be traveling to sites where they dug up remains.”

You sat up straight on the leather seats of Eddie’s Gaucho, hands seeking out the tactile wonderland of the spots on the leather seats where the top grain had begun to disintegrate.

“Like… imagine though?” you said, voice lowering to a conspiratory whisper as if Jean M. Auel herself was lurking outside the windows listening in, “You spend all kinds of money to actually learn how to make stone tools, build a lean to, and then you go and fuck it all up writing about sad peepee man over here.”

Eddie laughed even harder, his shoulders shaking and his face now burning red as a tomato.

"Peepee man, oh my God... You're killing me here! And… Ha ha, yeah… all that free time and money to learn about the Stone Age, just to turn it into a cringe-fest with Jondalar and his... oh shit!"

There was a frantic scrambling to prevent disaster after Eddie’s muddy Reeboks knocked over a full ashtray, sending a few roaches flying with the blunt in a sea of ashes onto the already filthy floor of the Gaucho. He looked at you, looked at the mess, then began howling again with laughter. You burst into laughter too, a delayed reaction. The distinctly pungent, acrid odor of the aftermath had already gone stale in the enclosed space, and it made you cough a little when you inhaled.

When you both finally looked up at one another after a moment of calm, you noticed Eddie was staring directly at you, smiling widely.

“Damn… you're a bundle of laughs when you're stoned, aren't you? I’ve never met a dork like you who was so captivated by prehistoric wiener.”

“Stop it…” you threatened, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter, “Don’t make me laugh… I… I’m gonna pee…!”

He was about five seconds away from laughter himself. Biting his lower lip to stop the sound.

“Oh? You want me to stop? Because believe it or not, I’ve got a whole arsenal of stupid jokes I can whip out to see how bad you really need to pee…”

A loud yelp erupted from his throat, followed by laughter when you began swatting him with your Carhartt jacket. The fabric made a snapping sound as it connected with his skin, and the both of you looked like jocks having a towel fight in a locker room when he began hitting you with his denim vest.

Before the van, before the two of you shared the reefer, Eddie had still been holding you by the waist back at school, the two of you hellbent on basking in the presence of one another. Then the bell rang to dismiss the first period, and you had honest to god pouted.

“Don’t make that face.” Eddie had grinned. “Who says we’re going to second period?”

“Huh?!”

“You really think I’m going to let you go to class? Away from me? Nah, we’ve got better things to do. You’re sticking with me today, princess.”

His voice dropped down into a conspirator’s whisper, hot breath ghosting along your ear as he spoke again.

“Unless…” he teased, “You wanna… you know, be a good girl and to second period…?”

“Hell no.”

“Didn’t think so.” He grinned. “After all, we only just started getting properly acquainted. What say you to us having a little alone time in my rather… unorthodox school hang out spots?”

He gave a light squeeze. A promise of an exciting adventure.

You scowled.

“… Bro I don’t even wanna be here at school.” You murmured. “I hate it here.”

His expression had softened. Maybe it was the hint of vulnerability in your voice, or the fact that you looked wilted and drained, either way he nodded eagerly. Desperately trying to please you from the looks of things.

“Yeah, okay… no, no I feel you. This dump was never designed for us. Let’s face it, we’re too badass to be here.”

For a moment you looked around. Confused as to who Eddie was talking to. Who the hell around here was cool besides him? Certainly not you.

“New game plan: let’s ditch class and go on an adventure. Just you and me.” He said.

“Okay but like… What’s there to do here?”

“Hawkins is our oyster. There’s a lot we could do. We could go cruising to the park, the lake, maybe find an old abandoned scary house and get chased by ghosts accompanied by a psychedelic synth number. The sky’s the limit. Anywhere’s more exciting than this hell hole.”

“… there’s a lake?”

You knew lakes. Liked them even. Abiquiu was a particular favorite. With the outcropping of mountains in caramel and umber surrounding the blue water…

“Yeah. Lover’s Lake. It’s quiet there on a school day. Especially now in the morning. Perfect for an adventure. You in?” Eddie asked.

“I wanna go!”

You sound like a damn kid. So eager. It’s just… no one’s ever invited you anywhere before like this. Plenty of your classmates back home ditched. One girl in your math class took off during a pizza party for the simple fact that she didn’t bring anything, and she’d just walked out of the room like nothing while you sat there at your desk gaping after her.

“Atta girl! We’d better be sneaky about it though. I don’t feel like catching hell from dirty old Higgs for commandeering you for a joyride.” He didn’t wait for you to put out your hand. He took yours in his, tugging at you to follow.

You laced your fingers with his, holding onto his arm as the both of you weaved through throngs of students, looking back every now and again to see if anyone noticed you were fleeing Hawkins High. For the most part students and faculty alike avoided Eddie like the plague if they saw him coming, and a stage five clinger like you wasn’t even a blip on their radar. Once you were both outside, the humid summer air punched you both in the face. By the time Eddie led you over to his van, parked all the way in the far corner of the lot, you were sweating and dying to get in it. The van itself was a bit beat up, but it ran, and that's all that mattered in the moment really.

"Here's our chariot. Hop on in, we're gonna have the best field trip of your life." Eddie said, attempting to move to pull the door open for you.

You did not hesitate for a single minute. Immediately once you approached his vehicle you tried the door handle. Just gave it a yank without even making sure the door was unlocked (it was) and hopped into the passenger’s side. He didn’t hesitate either, he just laughed loudly at you, making the engine sputter to life and peeling out of the lot the second he found the opportunity.

"Most girls I know would never just hop into a stranger's van like that. You're either fearless, oblivious, or just crazy," he laughed, rolling down the driver’s side window. “Did McGruff teach you nothing?”

“At this point I wouldn’t even care if you were Baron Harkonnen himself.” You said, buckling in. “I’d still go with you.”

"Well, princess, I promise you I'm nothing as sinister as Baron Harkonnen. Just a humble D&D dork with a bit of a wild side. Although, I do sometimes dabble in the melange trade." He winked at you as he turned the van out onto the road.

“Hold the phone… you… you actually know who the Baron is??” You must have looked incredulous.

No one had ever been familiar with your references to Dune, and here was Eddie just casually dropping lines about the Siridar-Baron and spice melange…

"Of course. Who doesn't know who Baron Vladimir Harkonnen is?" he replied casually, one hand steady on the steering wheel while the other fumbled for a cigarette in the pocket of his denim battle vest.

He must have done it a thousand times, you’d thought. Watching wide eyed as he lit his cigarette with one hand using a dented Zippo lighter.

"Dune's pretty much one of the major foundations for every science fiction world out there. It’s got everything. Space, politics, giant sandworms... What's not to love about it?"

“Yeah but…” You protested, unsure how to voice what you were thinking.

"But what? You seem surprised I know of Dune's existence," he said.

“I kind of am.” Alex admitted. “I never met no one who could keep up with my weirding ways…”

You had been buried deep in the desert sands of Arrakis ever since second grade, when your father had been tasked with reading you a bedtime story. That time you were so sick with pneumonia, the doctor told your parents that you had to miss more than seven days of school. You were inconsolable. You loved your second grade teacher Mrs. Viola so much, and you wanted to play with your best friend Jessica. Instead your parents kept you home and force fed you this disgusting bubblegum pink antibiotic that made you gag. Dad was home from a job luckily, it would be another month before he started hauling again. So instead of dealing with just your mom and brother, Dad was home and he’d decided to read to you from one of his old paperbacks he’d picked up at Waldenbooks while hauling in Dallas a few years prior.

The way Dad described the setting was magical. You loved the gentle intonations of his voice as he spoke aloud the dialogue of the Kwisatz Haderac: Paul Usul Muad’Dib Atreides, and the fearless women of the Bene Gesserit space witches had captivated you body and soul. Arrakis was your second home. Your escape from the world that did not understand you. You longed to learn to ride through burning sand dunes atop Shai-Hulud, to hold the Gom Jabbar with Alia Atreides as she killed the evil Baron Harkonnen, to drink the water of life with Lady Jessica and become the next Reverend Mother, the harbinger of an abomination. You even wanted to join Stilgar and Chani, feeling like a Fremen child yourself as you had been born and raised in the desert just as they were…

Four novels and eleven years later, on all levels except physical, you were still very much buried under the spice tinged sands of Dune, a blue tint evident in your eyes…

"I've read the first book and seen the David Lynch movie, I went with one of my friends." He smiled, glancing over at you briefly before returning to the road, taking a long pull on his cigarette before exhaling. “You’re not the only person in Hawkins who's been tainted by the Weirding Way. So I’ll be privy to any little Bene Gesserit mind tricks you try on me, princess.”

"You know, you're really different from anyone I've ever met before. I mean that in a good way."

It took you a second to remember that you were in Hawkins, Indiana, not on a desert planet or even a desert state. Instead you were laying back on a leather bench seat in the back of a green 1979 GMC Gaucho, smoking pot with a guy that looked exactly like Jason Newsted.

“I’m different?”

You seemed a little shocked at this. Almost offended. What? Was it not normal to get philosophical about prehistoric caveman fiction?

“That’s… that’s kinda cliche, don’t you think…?” You mumbled.

Eddie shrugged, his smirk turning into a lighthearted grin.

"Maybe it is cliche, but I meant it. You're not afraid to speak your mind, princess, even if it's about some fictional dude's wiener."

You couldn’t help the giggle that came out, covering your face.

“… I guess so…” You admitted bashfully. “I guess I just didn’t realize how many girls don’t talk about book characters like it’s some hot school gossip. I… I don’t really talk to a lot of girls, or really guys either… I… I don’t really have friends.”

"Hey… hey, princess."

His warm hand brushed against your bare shoulder, raising the goose flesh against your skin.

"You shouldn't say that. I'm sure there's plenty people who want to be your friend. You just... you need to find your people.”

“I guess but… I don’t know… I don’t… I don’t think there’s really anyone on earth, let alone here in Hawkins, who wants to be my friend.” You said this as if you couldn’t even imagine Eddie, for all his laughter at your antics and his cuddly nature, even wanted to be your friend.

The idea was laughable. There was no way he liked you like that. Maybe you were a fun time? Something silly to do on a Monday morning instead of school.

Eddie paused for a moment, his gaze unwavering.

"I'd be your friend." He said after a moment.

You tensed up. Gulping. Not wanting to look him in the eyes.

“Really?” You whispered.

"Yeah. You're smart, you're funny, and you've got a love for fantasy. Those are all… that’s badass, dude."

“Are you serious to me right now?”

Your voice was so small, so helpless. As if you couldn’t believe it.

Eddie's grip on your shoulder tightened gently. Red rimmed, watery brown eyes boring holes into yours.

"Yeah, really. I'm serious. I'd be honored to have a friend like you."

He gave you a soft, genuine smile with his laugh lines cutting deep, dimples creating divots in his cheeks. Even his eyes were smiling, crinkling at the corners.

You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well that’s real cool because I really like you and-…” You immediately slapped your hand over your mouth, a squeak erupting from the throat when you realized you had just admitted the quiet part out loud.

Eddie's smirk faded into a look of surprise as he heard the words come vomiting out of your mouth.

"Princess..."

He said your name softly, his eyes searching your face and taking in the flushed expression.

"You... you really like me?"

You didn’t look at him, just kept your mouth covered as you looked down shamefully. Slowly, you nodded your head yes.

“You know, princess… I like you too.”

“You do…?”

“Yeah, I do. I like you a lot.”

“… even if I’m the weird kid you just met…?”

“Especially because you’re the weird kid I just met.” He scooted closer to you, cocking his head to the side and getting in your space.

"You think you’re the only one in this van that does weird out there shit? We’re both weird. We’re both freaks. I don't care if you are a weird girl that talks about sand worms and prehistoric cock. I like it. I like you."

He cupped your face as he said this. Your hands hesitantly reached up, palms over his as you stroked his fingers. Every little sensation from the callouses to the jewelry he wore begged to be touched, your fingers ran along the grooves and ridges of his many rings, finding comfort in the shapes and the feel of the metal.

“… really warm…”

Eddie's breath hitched as he felt your hands on his, the sensation of fingers tracing the edges of his rings sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. He let out a low, soft laugh at your comment.

"Warm, huh? My rings?"

“Yeah…” you nodded. “People… people say that rings are cold but… yours… the metal is warm…”

You looked up at Eddie, and noticed something magical with his eyes: when the morning sun hit them just right, his iris glowed a warm amber, like cognac. And you could see all the beautiful little lines on his face, the eye bags, the early signs of crows feet in the corners of his eyes when he smiled.

You couldn’t help yourself. Your eyes darted down to his rosy lips, chapped and a little dry, but plump. Kissable lips.

Did he taste like cigarettes? Weed? Maybe minty, like toothpaste?

Slowly, your hands left Eddie’s and cupped his cheeks, and you found herself pressing your lips against his. Eager to find out. At first he stiffened, totally caught off guard by your movements. It took a second or two, but at last he began to reciprocate, immediately wrapping his arms around you and pressing you further into his chest.

This didn’t feel real. You couldn’t believe you were doing this… A moment ago you two were having the time of your lives. Nearly pissing yourselves with laughter, enjoying the bantering back and forth and being real friends.

His lips were chapped. Bitten in what might have been a bout of nervous habit, but… oh so warm…

His fingers tangled in your hair, a wet lathing at your bottom lip as his tongue gently stroked across your lower lip. Eddie was pulling desperately at you too, as if trying to get you to hop onto his lap, and you eagerly scrambled onto him. You frowned when you realized he was licking at your bottom lip sloppily, rapidly, as if he was an eager Saint Bernard looking for peanut butter.

“What are you doing…?” you asked.

Eddie blinked, pulled out of his momentary stupor by your question. He quickly tried to explain himself, a hint of guilt in his voice.

"Fuck... I didn't mean to! I just... I thought... I got caught up in the moment! Oh shit… Princess, I'm sorry-..."

“No like… what are you doing with your tongue?” You asked, genuinely confused.

"It's... I’m kissing you? Y’know, like, Frenching? You stick your tongue out and... and kind of…”

What the fuck was he talking about?

It took you a hot minute. A really hot minute to figure it out, and just before Eddie made like he was going to push you off him, you stopped him.

“Like wait no, hold on… is that… is that what they’re doing on tv…?” You asked softly.

Eddie nodded awkwardly. Unsure of what to say.

"Yeah... yeah, it is. When you kiss and... then you kinda slip the tongue. It's called... making out…"

“I mean I know what making out is but like… I didn’t know that’s what was happening… inside.” You said, feeling a little stupid as you too turned red.

"Are you telling me you've never kissed someone with tongue before?"

“… I’ve never kissed anyone in my life… let alone done that tongue thing.”

“Jesus H. Christ, you’re a fucking virgin!” Eddie laughed loudly and obnoxiously, as though reveling in the revelation of your awkward secret.

Now it was your turn to huff indignantly, only staying because Eddie had put his arms around you and held you in place.

“I’m sorr… sorry!” He wheezed. “I’m sorry! No… no that’s not funny.”

“Pinche mamon!” You hissed.

He shook his head, wiping a tear from his eye as he smiled at you gently. His hands began rubbing at your bare shoulders, enjoying the sight of you in your sleeveless linen summer dress.

"Would you like to try it again...?” He asked softly, “The tongue thing?"

You curled your soft legs around his thin waist, your Chuck Taylors pressing into the armrest of the leather bench seats of the van. His body responded automatically, intimates standing to attention in a single fluid contraction of throbbing hot flesh through denim… when you felt him get hard, how could you stay mad at him?

“Yeah… teach me, how do you do the tongue thing…?” you asked.

He gently pressed his forehead to yours, faces mere inches apart.

"Well, princess, it's pretty simple."

He paused for a moment, leaning in slightly closer to your face as he spoke in a soft, low voice.

"Gimme the Gene Simmons, like this..."

He slowly stuck his tongue out, the tip brushing against your lips. You giggled, mimicking him and laughing when his long tongue flicked against yours.

"That's right, princess. Just like that..."

“Then what?” You asked. Words were a bit garbled because your tongue was still lolled out.

"Well, princess, once our tongues are out, we... we kind of…”

He paused, his eyes locked on your lips before leaning in a little closer.

"Let them... explore each other..."

“O-oh…”

Eddie smiled at your quiet, accepting response.

"Don't worry, we'll go slow. We don’t have anywhere to be." He said, eyes never quite leaving your lips.

"I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?"

“Okay…”

"Close your eyes, princess."

You obediently closed them, lips parted slightly as you felt Eddie’s warm breath caress your face. He evidently decided he would skip the gentle pecks and go for the tongue thing, so you kept your mouth a little open this time.

"Good girl.” He whispered, leaning in towards you, “You keep your mouth just like that…”

It was then you realized that not only did he taste like the Camels he smoked, but like cheap beer, chocolate, and some kind of cereal you couldn’t quite place. All a myriad and fucked up mishmash of different flavors.

And you loved every minute of it.

[scarofthewind]

Touch at Midnight || Vampire!Brahms x Reader

A/N: This took so long, I am sure half of you forgot about this mini series I did. I’m sorry this took forever, I was just trying to make it perfect as well as work on requests too. I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: NSFW, R18+, breast worship, blood kink, biting, oral (m receiving), dom!brahms, rough sex, no prep, reader is under mind control so consensual/non-consensual, mentions of masturbation, plenty foul/dirty talk, creampie

word count: 2.01k Tip Jar (every bit helps!)

Mini Series Masterlist

There was a time in your life that you thought you’d live past eighty and get to watch your children, grand-children and even great-grand-children, grow up. There was a time that you believed in the world being a decent place and that you would make your mark on it one day. Now, you realized just how delusional it all sounded. Now, you knelt before a man you thought you knew, thought you would grow old with, thought you would love forever, your life dangling before you with nothing to spare. 

When you had met Brahms, you never thought anything of him; just that he was a strange man who liked to keep to himself. You’d applied for a job to work under him; to cook, clean and care for him, as though he couldn’t do it himself. During the first few months of your duties, things were tense with you being new and Brahms really trying to understand what kind of woman you were. However, as the months went on into years, you slowly became drawn to the man, often times thinking of him from dusk until dawn. 

Your mistake really.

See, you had no clue that he was a monster; something only silly children believed in. He was soft and gentle before you’d found out- another mistake on your part. Now he stared down at you with dark eyes that were once directed towards you with such kindness and joy that you almost fell for it; you did fall for it the more you realize. You fell for a man with no remorse for taking a human life, a man that could kill you with just one movement, a man that you didn’t know. Those thoughts alone nearly killed you. 

You’d been sitting on the floor in front of his chair he had in the corner of the library, the moon peeking through the window curtains and casting a small amount of light towards his feet. His eyes were the only thing you could see on his face here in the dark; red with an anger so hot you had to pray he’d have mercy on you. You don’t know how long you’d been like this, unable to move as he stared down at you without moving an inch. The hair on your skin rose when he finally spoke, slow but sharp, “You had to be nosey, didn’t you?” Your lips trembled as you contemplated speaking. “I truly had no intention of ever hurting you; you did your work around the house wonderfully. Dare I say that you were the best at it?”

Your heart hammered in your chest at the confirmation of other caretakers before you, all of which were most likely dead. They probably got too comfortable too and went looking around in places that were off limits for a reason. Like his bedroom; where you remember finding a trunk full of blood bags from the hospital down the road. “Please,” you whimpered, watching him blink before shaking his head, silencing you. 

“I’ve spent years in that pretty little head of yours, listening to everything. I know all of your secrets, (Y/N).” You sucked in a breath as he leaned forward in his chair, hovering over your face with a look that only made you want to cower even more. “I’m honored to know how fond you were of me, truthfully I am. I’d grown fond of you as well, but,” he clicked his tongue, reaching out and grabbing your jaw roughly, ignoring your whimpers of pain. “You know too much.”

“Please, I won’t tell anyone I swear! Just let me go and I’ll leave tow-” you were cut off by a sharp laugh; Brahms’ eyes wild and manic. 

“Leave? No, no, no, you’re never leaving me.” His eyes were intense, red as the flames of hell and staring into your own without so much as blinking. “Here are your options; be my personal blood bank until you die, which is usually a couple of weeks, or, prove to me that you’re worth keeping alive. Of course, both require you to stay here with me,” Brahms touched your cheek gently with his other hand, moving some hair from your eyes. 

“You know I care about you, don’t you (Y/N)? Don’t you want to stay with me?” His words had an effect on your mind that made it hard to think. The world seemed to slow, as if you’d been drugged, but you knew that it was just the power he had, manipulating your mind to believe that whatever he said was true. You could feel tears fall from your eyes as you stared into his condemning ones, a soft hush falling from his lips as he wiped the tears away. 

It was wrong for you to say yes, you knew it even though you couldn’t stop it. Yet, some dark part inside of you almost wished he would keep you this way; brain being manipulated by whatever he wanted for the rest of your days. At least that way, you could imagine everything being right; you could day dream on the thoughts he forced inside your head. One’s where you end up with him, one’s where your happy.

One’s where he loved you just as much as you loved him.

This isn’t love, you thought as you made yourself sit up enough to press your lips against his. 

This isn’t what I wanted, you told yourself when he spread his legs in the chair and you unzipped his pants. 

This wasn’t how I was supposed to live, you cried as his fingers moved through your hair, guiding your mouth up and down his cock.

All you could do was prove to him that your life meant more than just being used as food. The buck of his hips every time you swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock made your eyes sting, the length making it hard to take all of it in your mouth. “You look so pretty like this,” Brahms gasped as he felt you take more of his member in your mouth, his eyes scanning your face and his mind going a mile a minute. He knew everything you were thinking as he pushed more ideas into your head, his control on you something he wished he’d never have to do. 

A lulling tug of tiredness waved in the back of his head, knowing that he hadn’t gotten to eat tonight because of the unfortunate incident of you finding his real food supply in his room. Of course, fresh blood always tasted so much better than the crap he had in bags. Brahms felt himself grow bored of watching you try to make him come, you jaw surely was hurting by now. Roughly grabbing your hair, he pulled you off his cock before standing up and pulling you up with him. You barely could get a word out as he turned you facing the front of the shiny, black piano, bending you down to where your front half was pressed against the cool surface. 

He wasted no time in ripping your clothes off of you, throwing them around the room and spreading your legs for his wandering eyes to see. A low growl made your cunt clench as he watched your juices build at your entrance where he drug the tip of his cock across. Brahms gave you no warning before sinking inside you to the base, the air practically taken from your lungs as he began moving immediately, your tight walls getting him off perfectly. “Do you know how many nights I wanted to do this?” He asked as he thrusted his hips roughly, the tip of his cock ramming against your cervix with no signs of easing up. “I’ve watched you, my innocent, precious (Y/N). Your fingers stuffing this filthy whole of yours as you squirm in bed, trying to cum.”

You can feel your walls tighten around his length at his words, your hands trying to grip the flat surface of the piano from the force he was jostling you around with. Your breasts bounced wildly, his hands coming up from your hips to find purchase there. His fingers pinched your nipples, twisting them and pulling until you were soaking his cock in your juices. “Did you know I was watching you touch yourself? I bet you did; you liked it didn’t you? Having someone else watch you fuck yourself until your tired...hmm?” 

“N-No,” you groan, trying to reason with yourself, but the impending orgasm you felt building making it all the harder to. Quickly, Brahms moved you to where you were facing him, your back fully pressed against the piano as he fucked into you at an in-human pace. You couldn’t help the sounds that were coming out of your mouth, urging him to continue. 

“I know what’s in your mind, my love. I’ve seen you think of me while you squirt all over the sheets,” you tremble at his words as his thumb barely grazes your clit. His mouth moving to your breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth and nibbling on it before teasing it with his tongue. With one sharp sting, he sinks his teeth into your breast, a short cry coming from your lips as he eases his hip movements while lapping at the blood pooling from the wounds. “If only you could see in my mind too. Then you could see just how man nights I’ve fucked my fist to the thoughts of this.” He chuckled to himself, licking his lips that were stained crimson. Pulling his head back, he stared down at you with something you didn’t recognize. 

The feeling was good though. Something positive out of the emotional negative you’d been put through. Brahms nearly stilled when you reached up and touched his face, his eyes watching yours for any signs of you trying to get away; all he found was sincerity. Running your fingers through his curly hair, you pressed his head down to yours where he kissed you without another word. From there, the sex was as beautiful as the day you first met him. Then, there had been sun, now there was the moon shining down on both of you. When he had first shaken your hand is was cold but now as he held yours, pinned above your head, it was all warm. 

His teeth managed to find your neck, biting there and feeding a couple of times but other than there, his lips never left yours which were swollen from the heatedness of the kiss. You moaned into his mouth when his fingers circled your clit, your thighs shaking from the intensity of the orgasm that proceeded to wash through you. Brahms made sure to hold you close, swallowing your gasps and cries of pleasure as he eased you through your orgasm. His cock twitched inside you a few more times before he finally came, deep inside you with no regrets. Everything was quiet for a minute, your lips molding against his and the soft pants leaving them was the only sound left. 

When he finally pulled away, you could see the glowing red of his eyes fade, returning to their normal hazel color and looking down at you with the kindness you had once known. His hands moved the hair out of your face and wiped away any tears that still fell, his fingers gentle against your skin. This may have been a different man to you now, but he was still the Brahms you’d fallen in love with years ago. 

That was enough to make you stay.

[hawklanstargazer]

Fractured Diamond Chapter Two

"Wakey, wakey, Diamond-boy~."

The first thing Mondo heard as he came to slowly and painfully. A singsong tone from a gruff voice he swore he'd heard once before.

Mondo was never the fastest Diamond in the gang. Always slept in, always arrived late at meetings, always slow with clever comebacks when criticized by other members, and worst of all always drove too slow. It was no wonder why he'd mostly get left behind after a heist, not that he'd expect anyone to slow down for him. It's every man for himself out here, and if Mondo were to one day cover for his brother's role as the leader, he'd have to learn how to carry his own weight. Otherwise, how would he be expected to carry the gang? Even if he'd have to find his way out of jail.

Getting arrested was probably the most shameful thing to happen to a gang member. It's bound to happen at some point to any criminal, but to a Diamond, its weakness unfolded. Diamonds are strong, everyone knows that. Nothing can ever break a diamond, except perhaps another one, a reason why infighting was strictly prohibited within the gang. Diamonds are stronger when they're packed together, but each one is made to be strong itself. No chips, no cracks, not even a chink. A weak link can break the chain, as they say. Mondo was a prime example of that. It was one thing to fall behind and get yourself arrested, it was another thing entirely to fall behind and get captured by a rival gang.

"I said, wake up!"

The voice burst between the cracks of Mondo's returning consciousness and struck him square in the stomach. Literally. With what felt like an iron fist.

Before light could pierce through his vision, shapes began to form and dance around his head. His throbbing head. It hurt like hell, and he was certain there was a pretty good-sized bruise on his temple. Although he couldn't for the life of him remember how he got it, either the ground or blunt force. Probably a side effect of his injury. He recoiled in pain, hoping to find at least some sliver of comfort after coming to, only to find he was standing uncomfortably upright. Most of his body weight seemed to be supported by his arms above him. He moved them and was met with what unmistakenly sounded like a chain rattling. He'd figured he was probably cuffed if it weren't for the obvious splintered rope eating at his wrists. Mondo realized his shoes were missing when the icy concrete under his feet surged through his body, but at least he was able to release the tension from his sore arms, finally able to comprehend his condition. Hanging by the wrists on a meat hook, maybe? Mondo recalled something like this happening in a horror movie he and Daiya used to watch on Halloween, only the victim wasn't hung by their wrists. Mondo was slightly grateful his captives weren't that fucked. Slightly.

As if his eyelids were anchored by boulders, Mondo was finally able to get a view of his surroundings and see the silhouetted owner of the gruff voice who brought him back from unconsciousness. The Diamond tried to speak but his throat was stuck together as if it was pasted with glue and shards of broken glass in some psychotic kid's art project. Only a hoarse groan escaped through his teeth.

"Ugh..."

"Well, looky here, boys. Sleeping Beauty awakens." the voice taunted. "Oof. That's quite a bump ya got there, boy." Mondo's face twisted in pain as a pair of fingers flicked his throbbing temple, earning a sea of gruff chuckles from the other men in the room.

Mondo swallowed, somehow managed to utter a noise through his hoarse, weighted throat as if he was speaking with a chest full of sand. "Hha...hoo ah...yuh..."

The man mockingly cupped a hand over his ear, grinning at the miserable boy. "Hm? A little louder, champ. I'm hard of hearing. 'Old man', as you said."

Mondo didn't try to figure out what the man meant by that. He didn't have the energy. He tried to swallow but to no avail. His tongue couldn't even produce saliva at the moment to help his parched throat. "W...wuhh..."

" 'Wuh'? 'Wuh', what, boy?" The man pretended to mull it over. "Wah...wah... Oh! Water? You want water, boy?"

Mondo licked his lips and let out a tiny hoarse cough as if to confirm the man's "guess". The man turned to the group behind him. "The boy's thirsty. Give him some water."

Another muscular man holding a plastic bottle approached Mondo with the same sick grin as the first man and unceremoniously poured the water over Mondo's head. His body slightly jolted at the sudden action as if naturally trying to get away from the cold liquid. Of course, no prevail, much to the men's amusement. Mondo's pompadour draped over his face, the water sticking no matter how many times he may shake it.

"Aww, you ruined his pretty locks." said the first man in mock sympathy. "So sorry, boy. Must've taken hours to do." He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a canteen. "Alright, here ya go, boy."

The man pressed the nozzle over Mondo's lips, who greedily began chugging. It was then when he was immediately struck with a foul taste on his tongue, and he spat out the beverage onto the floor, followed by the remaining contents of his stomach. He coughed and gagged, feeling much worse than before. The men laughed again.

"I guess some "men" just can't hold their liquor." the first man chortled.

"Fug yoo..." a whisper crawled from Mondo's throat. Even he didn't hear it, but sure enough, it met with the ears of the other men.

"What was that, boy?" the first man towered over Mondo, who scowled through his eyebrows and mangled hair.

"Fuck...you..." the Diamond hissed as if his voice was poisonous. A stupid thing to say in his position, but Mondo was prepared to die for it.

The man snatched a fistful of Mondo's wet bangs and forced his head back to meet eyes. Mondo heard a small metallic sound, followed by something sharp being pressed against his throat. It didn't take long to decipher what it was.

Before the man could do or say anything else, another male voice thundered from the lit doorway.

"He's awake, I take it?"

The first man's eyes widened before turning toward the new man. "Y-yessir." A superior, Mondo thought.

Sure enough, his suspicion was correct in a way Mondo could not be proud of himself for. The men parted, making a small path for their boss to enter. From the towering heads, Mondo was able to see the man in full form. A taller, brawny man with short black hair and piercing blue eyes as if they were made from hell flame. He was shirtless and wore bandages around his abdomen like the Diamonds and other gangs, but his shoulders were draped in a grey trenchcoat, and he was covered in tattoos. The vice leader of The Deadly Grey Reapers. Mondo remembered seeing a bigger man, the real leader, who always accompanied this one. For some reason, he was nowhere in sight.

"Good." the man approached Mondo slowly, making sure each step added more and more growing intimidation, if not to Mondo then to his subordinates. They all lowered their heads and stared at their feet. Mondo internally scoffed. How pathetic. To have to intimidate your members in order to control them. Daiya never had an issue with insubordination, and it wasn't because he was soft or weak as other gangs believed. Daiya treated his members as if he was one of them, and he was. He served them, not the other way around. 'A true leader walks among his people, not above.', Mondo remembered his brother saying. If he were here, he'd talk some sense into these so-called "men".

The grey-clad man finally reached Mondo, towering over him as if the Diamond was a mere insect that needed to be squashed. "Mondo Owada. Do you remember me?"

Of course, he did. It was only a few hours ago that night, longer depending on how long he was knocked out. A typical heist near the shopping district, followed by a classic case of wrong place wrong time, which in turn turned into a turf war. Maybe a few steps were missing, but those were the only ones that mattered right now. In the end, the Diamonds were victorious and made haste before the cops showed up. What happened afterward Mondo could take a few guesses.

He said nothing, furrowed eyes fixed on the man as if his looks could speak for him.

The grey man cocked a brow. He didn't smile. "What, they finally cut out your tongue?" he said unhumorously "It's disrespectful to stay silent when asked a question, boy. I took the effort to remember your repulsive name. Didn't your brother ever teach you to respect your elders? Oh wait, that's just not his style, is it?"

Mondo's brows arched deeper against his violet eyes. Still, he chose to be silent, although the need to smack talk the older man for disrespecting his brother was clawing its way through the back of Mondo's throat.

The man shifted the toothpick sticking out between his lips -Mondo had always thought about shoving that toothpick down the man's throat every time he sideglanced Daiya- to the other side of his mouth as he glanced down at the young biker's feet.

"Why is he all wet? And why is there vomit on my floor?" the boss asked coldly, barely turning his head to imply he was speaking to his subordinates. The men glued their eyes to their feet, making only subtle glances at each other, almost urging one of them to speak up before things got messy. Finally, the man that Mondo woke up to opened his mouth.

"H...he said he was...thirsty, boss." the man's voice quivered as something wet splashed onto the ground below him "S-so, we gave him some..."

The grey man glanced over at the empty plastic bottle and flask near the mens' feet. He let out an exasperated sigh with an almost disappointed tone. "I thought I told you not to harm him."

The first man gulped. "U-um, w-we didn't-"

"Do you think I'm fuckin' stupid?!" the grey man shot a glare over his sticking-up jacket collar with eyes like icicles shooting across the room and into the other man's chest. He was forced to look at his boss this time.

"Wh-wha-!"

"When I said not to harm him, did you think you could draw a loophole or somethin'? That I wouldn't notice if you did anything at all other than subdue him as I told you to? You thought you could get away with it?"

A shadow cast over the first man's sweating form. "Uh, w-well, boss, ah...h-he gave me and the boys a...rough time back there, a-an' w-we-I-I thought that m-maybe we could h-have some fun w-wi-"

KRRSK

Silence swept across the room. Mondo would've thought he'd gone deaf from the sickening crack if it wasn't for the sound of droplets falling from the grey man's knuckles and forming a puddle onto the concrete floor. The same color that stained the wall before him with the limp form of the first man. The back of his skull had been cracked open like a melon and blood poured from his face onto his lap. He was dead.

'One hit...he killed him in one hit...' Mondo thought. If he anything left in his stomach, he would've made a new mess over his old. Instead, all he could do was stare with unbelieved eyes and parted lips. He'd seen bloodshed many times, but not like this.

The other men barely flinched, which only deepened Mondo's growing fear. Was this a common occurrence?

The grey man flicked his hand, spraying the remaining wet beads from his knuckles before wiping them with a cloth he pulled from his pocket. Two other men made haste to drag the bloody corpse from the room, others followed behind, leaving only Mondo and the grey man alone.

"That give you a pretty good idea about how this works, boy?" he shoved the bloody rag back in his pocket, "I imagine this is your first time with a real gang, so I decided to give you an illustration. That, and I just hate wiseguys."

Mondo knew he had to look at the man in the eyes to avoid severe punishment, but he couldn't tear his vision away from the red stain on the wall. The longer he stared, the more he realized gruesome details like teeth and pieces of broken skull with dark hair still attached scattered across the floor. When Mondo was finally able to find his voice, he spoke as steady as he could.

"What do you want from me?"

"Glad to see we're on the same page. Maybe there's hope for you after all." The grey man began pacing back and forth, "It isn't about what I want from you, more what I want from your brother. He's done me a great pain this evening. I want to deliver the same onto him."

Mondo raised his brow, eyes fixed on the man as to assure himself he heard him correctly. "Pain? In what, the heist? It was a simple robbery. Just in and out the plaza. It didn't have shit to do with you, but you guys decided to turn it into a turf war, and we kicked your asses. None of us were stupid enough to stick around when the cops showed up. And here you are, taking it out on me like a pussy. If you want that shitty plaza in the middle of nowhere just barely off the highway, be my fucking guest, just leave me out of it."

A pair of boots stopped dead in their tracks. Mondo was facing the grey man's back, the aura darkened around the room as the man spoke in a voice like molten gravel.

"You think this is about that stupid plaza?" the man's knuckles turned white against the faded crimson. "Do you remember my brother?"

His brother? Was that the man Mondo remembered seeing with him all the time? The true leader of the Grey Reapers? That's his brother?

"Isn't he the leader here?" Mondo asked unsurely.

The grey man turned back towards him, eyes shadowed over his face. "He was," he said in a harsh whisper, making sure to put extra poison into that last word.

" 'Was'?" Mondo didn't really need to ask what he meant by that, he could figure it out quickly, but he had to be sure.

"He was killed. After the cops showed up, and you hightailed, the rest of us Reapers stayed behind and fought. We could've scattered like you cowards, but my brother wasn't having it, and we put up a pretty good fight. But one cop aimed his gun at me, and my brother jumped in the way. Bullet went right through his head. I still remember the cop's face."

Mondo's face widened, almost sympathetic. He knew he'd heard gunshots and the sound of battle behind him, later drowned by his bike engine. It wasn't a sound he was unfamiliar with, it was an adventure like he was living in one of those action movies. The thrill of gunshots behind him, police sirens, thugs shouting. It's almost euphoric. But it never occurred to him the danger, death, and loss, the true bloodshed that came with it. With being in a gang.

"But...why me? What does this have to do with me?" Mondo asked

"Your brother needs a lesson. A message." the grey man glanced over at the red stain "An illustration. Everything happens for a reason, I believe. My brother died so I could live and become the leader. Your brother left you behind so I could punish him through you. The pain and helplessness I felt that evening, your brother will never understand until he feels it for himself." He towered over Mondo with intense eyes.

"So, what are you gonna do, kill me?" The biker tried to ask with masked bravery, but he wasn't sure if it came off like that. He heard another metallic sound, the same one he heard before.

"It would send your brother a message." the grey man said pressing the pocket knife against Mondo's throat "But I'm not going to give you what you want, a quick death. Like I said, I want to give your brother an illustration. Do to you on the outside what he did to me on the inside."

"You're wasting your time. He'll come back for me." 'He always does.', Mondo thought the last to himself in shame. How weak he really was.

"I have no doubt he will. But when he does, he won't find his brother. He'll only find a broken kid who shares the same blood."

"You...you won't break me. I'm-"

"-A Diamond? No one can break a diamond, is that right? But I can see right through you. You're not a diamond, not a real one. You're just a shiny piece of glass. And glass can break just as easily as bones. For instance,"

Pow!

Mondo yelped in pain with a sharp gasp as something hard rammed into his abdomen with a sickening crack. His knees buckled beneath him as his wrists once again were forced to support his body weight. Mondo could only take in short breaths, he was sure a rib was cracked. Horror crossed his mind when he remembered how easily that other man died from one punch. He was holding back.

"See? A real Diamond wouldn't crumble like that." the grey man said. Mondo winced as he grabbed a handful of his hair, hoisting his head up to meet eye contact. "You're going to break, Mondo Owada. You're going to be cracked. And what happens to a diamond when it cracks?"

Another blow landed on Mondo's midsection, this time definitely breaking a few more ribs. Mondo could only let out a small whimper as he bit his lip, fighting back the urge to cry.

"It becomes worthless."

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Three

Ao3,  MasterPost,   C.1,   C.2

Relationships: eventual queer-platonic intruality

Warnings: swearing, innuendo (thanks Remus), a bit of spiraling thoughts, even more guilt (patton get a grip man),  

Word Count: 2,721

Patton stood in the center of Remus’ room, waiting patiently while the being darted this way and that. Maybe he should’ve sat down, but none of the furniture in the room looked domesticated enough. Maybe he should’ve moved out of the way, at the very least, but the edges of the room rolled and moved and Patton did not want to know what made the corners seem so indefinite.

Remus moved in repetitions. First, he would reach into some shelf or jar or receptacle (or, on occasion, stick his hand right through the wall)- retrieving some item large or small- and hold it in his claws. He would then turn it over in his hands, and smell/lick/poke it. Each time he’d deem it not what he was looking for, drop it- never in the same place that he’d gotten it from- and then move on again. Around and around he went in the room, doing the same thing on each cycle. 

Patton was starting to get dizzy watching it, honestly. 

Remus stopped in front of his closet this time, and leaned in. He rummaged, loudly, but this time there was a shout of “Aha!” that made Patton start in surprise.

“What-!” He cleared his throat, “What did you find?”

Remus jumped to his feet, shimmying his shoulders back and forth. A loud clatter followed each movement, like legos in a barrel. When Patton tried to see what he had, though, he turned his back to him again. 

“I found something to do that won’t traumatize you!” He sing-songed, dancing around and keeping up the clamor of his mystery object. Patton laughed, light and surprised, trying again to take a look. Again, Remus danced ridiculously out of the way.

“Well, that’s very considerate of you," he trailed behind the source of the noise, smiling,  “Mind telling me what it is?” 

“What’s it sound like?” Remus shook the box again. Although- Patton could see now that it wasn’t a box as much as it was a case; a very, very large and heavy-looking case, half the size of Remus’ torso. 

“Um- bean bag filling?”

Remus cackled, his head tipping side to side.

“Nope! I’m pretty sure I would’ve eaten it by now!”

“Uh-huh,” Patton couldn’t help giggling to himself, as Remus’ laughter- along with many things about him- was infectious. “Is it a box full of maracas?”

Remus bounced on his heels, shook his head. Patton didn’t waste time guessing again. He knew just what an impatient Creativity looked like, and so he waited the last few moments before Remus couldn’t help turning around on his own and happily displaying the container. 

  Cradled in the Duke’s arms was the enormous case of clear-plastic, filled to the brim with what Patton could now see were pony beads. The beads came in every color thinkable- plenty of varieties, too. Glitter, metallic, letters, star-shaped, heart-shaped, tooth-shaped, et cetera et cetera! There were also, of course, spools of elastic. And charms, metal or rubber, plenty of those for decorating.

Patton examined this carefully, as a cautious excitement warmed him through his chest. He looked from the case to Remus, finding the side grinning proudly up at him. 

“Bracelets?” Patton questioned.

“Bracelets!” Remus answered.

He was caught off-guard by such a wholesome hobby, he couldn’t lie, but Remus showed no signs that any of this was odd at all. As he wandered across his room, kicking heaps of trash and laundry out of the way to make room for them to sit, Patton found himself following his lead without much debate. 

“I know you like to make those little thread ones,” Remus sat down on the floor, gesturing loosely to Patton’s arm, “And I make these beady things every now and then, so.” 

“But I’ve never seen you wear any?” He sat down across from Remus, folding his legs beneath himself. The carpet was stained with many unpleasant colors- mostly dark red, and an upsetting amount of yellowed-gray. He was careful to avoid those patches. 

“I wear ‘em under my sleeves, for when I wanna play with them. Making them gives me something to do with my hands, I guess,” Remus slid his fingers under the ruffled cuff of his sleeve, slipping a bracelet off his wrist. He held it up, displaying its murky green and black beads, the word ‘vomit’ spelled out with square beads in the middle of it. 

“Oh!” Patton reached forward in excitement, rolling the plastic between his fingers. It felt smooth, movements fluid, the beads rattling pleasantly against each other. “You use them to stim?”

Something in Remus’ expression lit up like fluorescents, replacing his usual unnerving mania with a flash of genuine excitement. 

“I use everything I wear to stim, Daddio,” he gestured first to his frayed sash, then the teeth sewn into his shirt, and onto the layers of glittered fabric. He was covered in flashing colors and textured fabrics and different parts, all apparently intentionally placed.

That spark of similarity was all it took for Patton to forget the vestiges of his awkwardness, as he let go of Remus’ bracelet and yet again laughed.

 He helped Remus set up the case, slotting the different sections of it out and setting them down in between themselves. There were so many, and once it was all set, Remus wasted no time in getting to work. The motions he went through were practiced, well-worn with almost nothing other than muscle memory and a vague sense of design. 

Just like that, they were both quiet again- Remus because of his focus, Patton because he lacked the words to say. He tried to follow the other side’s lead, snipping a bit of elastic off a thick spool from the center of the case and grabbing a handful of beads, haphazardly.

Opening up his hand to look at the selection, he found a few neon pink ones, reds shaped like anatomically accurate hearts, and an oblong metal charm that bore striking resemblance to a-

Oh! 

He tossed that one back, feeling flustered. 

They’d both been quiet for too long, he realized. He didn’t know what to say, still, came the dawning fear next. Patton looked up from his work, mouth falling open without any plan, to find that Remus was already staring at him. Intently.

“Hi,” Patton blurted.

“Do you like music?” Remus said it at almost the same time as him, the words chasing each other. In his voice was a trace of awkwardness- not nearly as much as Patton’s, but it was there, and that was… comforting, somehow. 

He looked down at his hands, looping a few pink beads down his string. 

“What kind?”

Remus hummed confusedly, giving the distinct impression that he’d forgotten music came in different varieties. 

“Most kinds!” He began, “But today, I think I’m feeling violent- violent in a cute way, don’t worry,” he smiled, too, like that made sense at all, like he was trying to be persuasive. It was- what, endearing? Or at the very least it was funny. 

Patton smiled back, his hands twisting around his string.

“Whatever you want, bud.”

Remus had summoned a speaker already, but as he leaned over to place it he dropped it with a weighty thump. Patton jumped, seeing Remus sitting slack-jawed in surprise across from him. Concern filled his head, but then it clicked.

He’d never called him anything so… friendly.

“Oh- Remus, I-”

“It’s fine!” Remus scrambled to grab the speaker, claws skidding off it more than once. “Call me whatever! I don’t care!”

But his voice was a little too pitchy, and his pupils a bit too dilated, and Patton thought that he did care- that he in fact cared very much. 

When music filled the room, painfully loud at first, Patton said nothing. He watched Remus, twisting the volume knob in a very focused manner, and he felt warm. 

The sounds weren’t what he was used to, to say the least, but it was almost nice. Everything was a little too noisy, and a little too vulgar, and a lot too foul, but beneath it all he could see the appeal. He listened to it, and it seemed almost like he was learning. Patton scooped up another set of beads- this time with a bit more care- threaded them together contentedly. 

It felt like Remus was really trying to be hospitable. He wasn’t doing too bad of a job about it, either- which was more than Patton could say about himself, in years past. A lot more, actually. 

Remus’ voice broke through the music: “What are you thinking about?”

Patton blinked, smiling up at his maybe-sort-of-potential friend. 

“What do you mean?”

Remus’ face was angled down towards his project, contorted with concentration.

“You’re thinking about something. You make less noise than a day-old corpse when you get caught up in your head.”

“Oh!” Was he really that easy to read? Wait, don’t answer that… “It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.”

“C’mon, don’t do that. Take it from me- reigning champion in thinking about upsetting shit- talking about it is how you make sure your brain doesn’t devour itself Ouroboros-style.”

And Patton said, quietly:

“Yeah, but your upsetting thoughts don’t upset you.”

“Who said they don’t?” Remus sounded confused- genuinely, sincerely confused. Patton winced, taken aback by his own insensitivity. 

“Oh my goodness, it- I had no idea, I’m so sorry.” 

Remus’ confusion mounted.

“That’s alright?” He started, “I’m used to it all, I know how to handle it. Which is why, I was going to say, if you keep it all up here-” he tapped his head, a faint rattling resulted in it, “-then all your brains are gonna goosh out from your ears and eyes and nose from the stress! Probably.”

“I-” his voice wobbled, “I know.”

There was a beat.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” it wasn’t a question, but it was soft enough to sound like one. Patton refused to look up anyway, hands pulling taut the elastic of his bracelet. His eyes slipped closed for merely a moment, and he sighed.

“I can’t stop feeling guilty around you… but that’s just my problem, okay?”

Remus’ reaction was unexpected, even for him. He breathed out slow, exhaustion crawling down his face in such a foreign expression for him. His lips were quirked down in a half-scowl. 

“I make you uncomfortable, yeah?” He rolled his eyes, gesturing with his free hand. “This was your idea, you know. You can leave anytime you want, I’m sure as fuck not gonna think you’re rude- you think I’m in a place to judge people?” 

With a sudden intake of breath, Patton twisted his partially made bracelet around his hand and pulled it taught, startled and fidgeting. 

“What-? No! You aren’t the problem, Remus, I am,” he shook his head in bewilderment, “I don’t- I have no idea how to talk to you, but I know that I do want to! Everything you’ve done today makes me want to talk to you more, and I still can’t figure out how, and I- I’m sorry. I can’t get over the- well, the everything, Remus.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. Remus looked oddly vacant.

“Do you-” He stopped short.

“I should-” Patton cut off. 

This was a bad idea. It was a bad idea and he never should have done this and he never should have accepted Remus’ help in the first place. He wasn’t going to get the hang of this no matter how hard he tried, and now he’d somehow rendered Remus speechless, which clearly meant he’d messed up beyond what he thought possible. Patton hadn’t changed a bit, still so ungrateful and insensitive to this creature, who’d so selflessly helped him and held him and. And.

He felt sick. 

“It’s not your fault?” Remus’ words came out like a question. “I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, actually. Or why you’re doing that.”

Patton dropped the last few beads onto place, staring blankly at the untied jewelry in his hands. He counted the beads. Tried to breathe. 

“I’m sorry because you think that I don’t like you.”

Remus snorted. 

“You don’t like me.”

“Wh- yes, I do!”

“Oh, do you? Or do you like that I did something nice for you, and you think you need to pay it forward.”

Patton ground his teeth, indignant. No, he was confused about a lot of things, but this much he knew wasn’t the reality anymore.

“You know what? Maybe that was true, when I first decided I ‘had’ to do this, but I’ve done a lot of thinking- I can’t stop thinking about you, actually. I had so many ideas about what you were, what you meant, and it’s hard to understand that for thirty years- thirty years- I was wrong,” Patton set his jaw so tight it hurt. “But I’m going to understand it because I can see that you’re- you can be kind. You did a nice thing for me and you didn’t have to. You’re funny, too, I never thought you’d make me laugh, but you-”

Remus interrupted him with a snort. And then, he was cackling, doubled over and wheezing and Patton had no choice but to wait for him to finish. 

“Stop, fuck, stop talking,” Remus giggled, “I knew you were a himbo, but wow, dumb. You’re really beating yourself up about this, huh?” Remus had his chin resting on his hand, leaning forwards with half-lidded eyes and a lazy grin. “You don’t have to list all the reasons you should like me. You don’t owe me anything, and I like it that way.” 

Patton didn’t respond. Remus continued anyway. 

“I let you cry on me cuz you were having a meltdown. That’s just what people do. You’d do it- you’re way more cuddly and lovey-dovey than me, you’d do it for anybody. Anybody would do it for anybody. It doesn’t matter, Pops.”

Patton tied the knot of his bracelet, finally. looped the string over itself thrice and tightened it well. The backs of his eyes stung.

“Is it really so bad that I want to try being friends with you? Is that really so stupid?”

Remus’ expression cleared, the words not yet processed. Slowly, his mouth twisted, his eyes went just a bit wide, all in a look that shouted something like epiphany. He sunk his teeth into his lip. 

Remus snapped the bracelet he’d made with his claw, letting the beads scatter across the floor. He dove forward for the case, scooping up a new set, and got to work. He ordered them strategically, fixing them all into a line and moving so quickly that Patton realized he’d only been working so slowly before so that he was matching Patton’s own pace.

He was done in a minute or less, tying it off and slicing off the excess elastic.

“Arm, gimme.”

Patton felt a small rush of surprise, not even hesitating to stick his wrist out and let Remus push the bracelet up past his hand. The touch was gentle, letting the accessory fall into place on his arm.

It was bright and neon- more so than anything Patton would ever wear, usually. The colors were an eyesore, but they were. Well. Teal, white, interspersed with occasional green, and that said more about the jewelry than however saturated it was. There were unique beads dotted throughout, too- teddy bears and hearts. It was cute. It was comfortable.

Patton glanced up, so many things that he thought he should say but none of them came to fruition. Remus’ eyes bored into him with their intensity, questioning and fierce and almost confused.

Patton picked up his own small creation. It was pink and gray and white, all pastel and pretty, with metal charms that were cool to the touch. He nudged it over to Remus, fully aware that it contrasted with the side’s aesthetic even more than Remus’ gift did for him, and that he already had so very many.

But Remus didn’t hesitate either, shoving his sleeve up and adding the new piece to his collection. He grinned. 

And, as cheery as he ever sounded, like nothing odd had happened at all, Remus said:

“We should do this again sometime, then. Maybe I’ll even make you something with real hearts!”

Chapter Four

Taglist: @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 

[hallospaceboyy]

Zelda Spellman x Female mortal reader. Coffee shop AU. Pleaseeee & thank you!!

Lol, I'm sorry if smut was not what you were looking for with this prompt, but apparently u say Zelda and coffee shop AU and I immediately imagine Zelda waltzing in like the force she is and taking reader in a supply closet. So there ya go. I hope you enjoy!

You couldn’t help but notice the redhead that had become a regular at the quaint coffee shop you worked at. She had an air of confidence about her, the mere way she held herself a command for attention, and you noticed many people stare, but it only seemed to be you that she paid the same attention to. A week or so of serving her coffee, and she introduced herself. Another week went by, and you found yourself holding pleasant conversation with her, found her a little less intimidating, and a little more fascinating, and a lot more distracting.

Zelda had been on your mind since you started your shift, and just a little after 10am, the bell above the door jingled and in she struts, her green eyes darting directly to you, and smirking as you immediately grow flustered, and drop the stack of paper cups you had been holding. She leaned against the counter casually, watching you pick them up and dust off the knees of your jeans.

“Hi, Zelda. The usual?” You ask, flashing her a bright grin.

“Yes Y/N dear, thank you. I think I’ll sit in here and drink it today, actually,” You set about making her usual plain black coffee, in an antique looking floral cup and saucer that your place of work had become quite famous for in Greendale, and you try not to tremble as you felt Zelda's gaze on your back, suddenly all too aware of the lack of other customers, leaving you and Zelda alone.

“Take a seat if you like, I’ll bring it over,” Turning to look at her, you saw that her gaze had wandered quite low, and you flushed at the thought of Zelda Spellman checking out your ass. You expected the woman to be embarrassed that you had so obviously caught her brazenly ogling you, but she didn’t seem at all fazed, just met your eye with her usual devilish smirk and winked, making your blush deepen. She strolled away from the counter, taking a seat at the table closest, and resumes watching you. “Just you in today, Y/N?”

“Oh, yeah. Jenny's off sick, and there’s a carnival on the other side of town, so I’m not expecting to be busy. I just said I'd work the whole day and lock up. I have no plans, as usual,” You shrug, realising how pathetic you must sound, fairly new in town and basically friendless, a recluse for someone so young. But Zelda's eyes are warm when you turn, and she’s still regarding you with an interest no one had really shown you before. Her eyes rake down your body again as you bring her drink over, and wipe your hands on your apron.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” She looks as if about to say more, but shuts her mouth abruptly as a group of people set the bell ringing as they enter, frowning in their direction as if they were causing her a nuisance. You smiled apologetically at her, and she winked again, turning her attentions to her coffee and leaving you to serve the waiting customers, and trying your best not to let Zelda distract you as she sat with pursed lips, blowing on her coffee, you took their orders You glance up and nod in Zelda's direction some time later, when she had finished her coffee. You notice her glancing at the opening hours on the door as she left.

*

The mind-numbingly boring day was now over, and you gave a sigh of relief as you changed the sign from open to closed that hung on the door, and start overturning chairs to place on tables, ready to sweep and mop the floor. You always liked the end of the day. Not only because it meant nearly home time, but because this part of Greendale was always quiet come early evening, and being 6pm now, the street outside was almost deserted. The carnival across town probably helped. You revelled in the solitude, getting on with the general cleaning and tidying uninterrupted.

But just as you had finished sweeping, you were interrupted. The bell jingled, and you realise that although you had flipped the sign, and put your keys in the door, you had forgotten to actually lock it. You heard the lock click now, from your current place in the supply closet, and your heart was immediately in your throat, your breath becoming erratic as you started to panic. You peered out, and gave a sigh of relief when you saw Zelda standing there, a hand pressed over your heart.

“Fuck I thought you were gonna rob me!” Your voice was shaky, and you giggled nervously, stepping fully out of the closet, your hand still in place over your heart as you waited for its beating to regulate.

“Such foul language from a pretty mouth,” That devilish smirk was back again, and she took a few steps closer to you now, a cloud of perfume filling your lungs. “Sorry, sweet. I didn’t mean to startle you,”

“Is there something I can do for you, Zelda?” Your face was bright red now at her remark, realising your slip of the tongue and she chuckled. Her hand came out and brushed a stray curl behind your ear, and she licked her red painted lips when your breath hitched in your throat.

“Do forgive me if I’m being presumptuous,” Confused, you open your mouth to ask what on earth she's talking about, and then her lips are on yours, and her hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, crushing your body against hers. She instantly takes advantage of your parted lips, and slips her tongue into your mouth, and you whine into her. She tastes divine – of cigarettes, and coffee, and... cake, which you assume must be due to the sister she had told you about that’s an avid baker. Your hands slide into her auburn curls, and you tug unintentionally when she nips your lower lip, a heat pooling in your lower abdomen as she groans. You eventually come up for air, flushed and breathless, and you bite your lip, wondering if now is the moment that you’re supposed to let her go, but you don’t want to, and she isn’t showing any signs of doing so either. Instead, her hands roam lower, moving to grip your ass and she gives it a firm squeeze. You close your eyes and gasp, and she chuckles, low and sexy and begins to back you towards the still open supply closet behind you. “I'll take your enjoyment as confirmation that I was right in thinking you find me irresistible,”

You laugh, and kiss her again, hoping that will be answer enough, as you’re not entirely sure that your words won’t fail you right now, in this position, with this woman that you have been crushing on since you first set eyes on her a few weeks ago. You're now both standing in the closet, and Zelda shuts the door firmly behind her, and when she turns back to you, her eyes are dark with lust, and she tugs the strings of the apron and lifts it off. She pushes you against the shelving forcefully, immediately bringing her thigh up to press between your legs, and you throw your head back and moan. Your hand clutches her hair again when her mouth meets your neck, and she begins to lick and suck there, all teeth and tongue, and you know there’ll be more than a few pretty marks left there when she’s done with you. Her hand squeezes your breast, letting out a groan of delight as she finds you bra-less beneath your t-shirt, quickly removing her hand to snake it beneath your shirt before replacing it on your bare breast. Her nails scrape over your nipple, and you keen under her touch, feeling almost overwhelmingly hot in the confines of the closet, but not daring ask her to stop. You don't want her to - would happily burn up in this tiny space with her.

Before you know it, deft hands are unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down your legs, and you have to grip the shelving behind you to keep yourself up as she lifted your feet one by one to remove them. You’re not sure if the sudden inability to balance is due to the standing on one leg, or the sight of the redhead crouched below you, her face so close to your cunt. She smirks as if reading your thoughts, green eyes meeting yours as she rakes her nails down your thighs, and then presses her firm kiss to your core over your thin lace underwear. You let out a strangled moan, trying desperately to keep your eyes open, needing to see her, to watch her make you come apart. Zelda pulls your underwear down your legs slowly, teasingly, and you find yourself rubbing your thighs together, the desperation for some friction becoming too much. A firm smack lands on your thigh and you whine as she pushes your thighs apart again.

“Patience, little girl,” She whispers, and then her mouth is on you, licking the length of your slit, and then wiggling it between, teasing your clit with the tip of her tongue. You pant and moan, your hips bucking against her, and her slender fingers grip you, keeping you still, holding you up. She hitches your leg up onto her shoulder for better access, digging her nails into your ass as she continues her ministrations on your sensitive nub, and you try so hard not to wriggle beneath her, but you can’t help it, and her fingers have a bruising hold on you now. Your stomach flips at the anticipation of seeing all the marks blooming tomorrow, marks of Zelda, and how she made you come. You can feel your orgasm building now, her tongue licking and sucking at your cunt eagerly, and her groans of pleasure vibrate against your clit. You open your eyes and look down at Zelda, feel her smirk against you, meet her green gaze with pupils blown, and teeter over the edge. “Fuck, Zelda! Yes, yes!” Wave after wave of pleasure courses through you, and she chuckles against you as you ride out your orgasm, enjoying her name mixed with obscenities flowing from your lips.

Zelda rises from her knees, pressing herself against your body, still twitching in the aftermath of your orgasm, and she presses a hungry kiss to your parted, panting lips, and you taste yourself on her tongue as you suck on it. Her smudged red lips leave yours, and you bite back a whine. She holds up your underwear, hanging from a single delicate finger, and winks at you as you take them with a trembling hand.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for my coffee,” She turns to leave, and then looks back at you, flicking a perfect curl over her shoulder. “Although I must say, you taste infinitely better than the coffee,” You flush bright red and she grins, leaving you spent and panting, still clutching your underwear in your hand.

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 11 Part 1

Oof. Busy day at work today. Resume! The boys have something to talk about...

Discussion this chapter of magical injuries, and we get our first big swear.

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 11

Aziraphale’s upturned face was full of hope. He opened his mouth to speak.

Crowley held up a finger. Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut. Crowley had no idea what his own face must look like, but the sight of it caused the light in Aziraphale’s eyes to snuff right out. The angel swallowed and stared at him.

Crowley tried to collect himself while experiencing twenty-two emotions in the span of ten seconds.

In a cracked voice, he said, “What. The Hell. Are you doing here.”

Aziraphale’s hands wrung together. “I’m so sorry to drop in unannounced,” he said.

He sounded sincere. As if a lack of manners was the issue. Crowley made an undignified noise.

“It must have given you quite a shock. If there was some way to contact you beforehand -”

“I didn’t need another of your notes.”

There was a horrible pause.

“Qu-quite.” Aziraphale looked pale. “Um. Perhaps I should explain?”

An explanation. Crowley flashed back to the day he’d returned to the bookshop, shame-faced and heart-bruised, and found it dark and empty, summoning circle cold for hours, and that one sheet of paper on the bureau addressed to him. His stomach dropped away.

“I came back, because… because I had to see you. The thing is…”

Aziraphale’s lip wobbled. Then it burst out of him like a dam exploding.

“I couldn’t do it, Crowley! I couldn’t sit up there and smile while they all counted down to Armageddon like it was New Years’ bloody Eve. I want no part in any of it. They were going to give me a regiment and - Crowley, I can’t do it. Killing for them, seeing you killed. They’re looking forward to getting to melt the Earth down to a slag heap. I can’t even comprehend it. I’ve seen the world they’re so keen to duplicate down here, and it’s awful, Crowley. Seventy-eight years of Singalong Sound of Music, you have no idea. I can’t take an eternity of that. I thought I had no choice, I thought I had to stick it out, but it got to today and it was all too much and I just had to come and find you. I’ve been an idiot. We should have done this from the start, when Zadkiel wanted to. He was right all along, and I was wrong. We have to escape. This world is going to end, no matter what, but it doesn’t have to be the end for us.”

Nothing could have prepared Crowley for Aziraphale bursting up to him and suggesting they go on the lam.

He managed a croaky, “You what?”

Aziraphale took a step towards him. His eyes held a feverish glow.

“We can do it. I’ve thought it all through, and it’s possible. If we act now. Flee into space, live as a fusion. Heaven and Hell won’t be able to track us. Besides, they’re going to be busy with everything down here. We can have our pick of where to settle down. Er, where’s nice… Alpha Centauri, say? I’m sure I’ve heard you talking about it.”

Crowley said, “Nnng.” It was all he had left.

Aziraphale came closer. He took Crowley’s hand. Crowley stared down at it as if it wasn’t attached to him.

“Will you please come with me?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley forgot what breathing felt like.

Aziraphale noticed something. He glanced down at their joined hands.

“Crowley, why are you wearing one glove?”

Crowley remembered what breathing was. He sucked in a lungful of air. Aziraphale’s face dropped at his expression.

Crowley made a strained hissing sound. Tears leaked out of his eyes and streaked down his face, under his sunglasses. Shit. Shit.

He scrubbed his face. Aziraphale made a soft noise and reached for him.

“Get back. Don’t you dare.”

Aziraphale turned white and backed away.

Crowley shook, face hidden in his hand. Everything was upside down. He didn’t know how to even voice everything he’d felt over the past seventy-eight years. What it was like to cram all the love he had into a box and bury it and go back to work, and keep going back to work, every single day.

“How fucking dare you pull this. I never thought I’d see you again. You abandoned me. You got scared, and you fled and you left me alone. Ran right back to that supercilious lot without a word. I’m sorry you haven’t been enjoying their company these last few years, that must have been really hard for you. I’ve been down here with Hastur and Ligur and half of Hell. I’ll tell you something, I’d rather see them right now than you.”

“Oh, goodness. Crowley.” Aziraphale’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought I was saving your life.”

“Saving my -?” Crowley barked a laugh. More tears came. “What kind of -”

He had to pull his sunglasses off and wipe his face. What was the point in dignity when Aziraphale looked at him like that?

“What happened to your arm, Crowley?”

It hurt. Crowley didn’t know why, but his arm was in more pain than it had ever been since it first happened. He clutched it, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Can I see? Please?”

Why not. The glove felt as though it were compressing the wound, making it swell with pain. Crowley fumbled with it, forgetting he could just miracle it away. Maybe he didn’t want the dramatic reveal of baring it all at once. He peeled the glove down, ignoring the way Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

It looked appalling, he knew. His arm was withered from the elbow down, drained of colour and white as a corpse. Cracks in his skin ran all the way along his forearm; unnatural gaps, as though his arm was pieced together from shards of pottery. Gold shone through them, a strange effect that was not quite liquid and not quite light. It was the colour of angels.

Crowley didn’t understand why the pain had spiked. The injury was old. His jacket covered most of it, luckily. Aziraphale’s face was bad enough as it was.

“My poor Crowley.” Aziraphale reached for his other hand. Crowley let him. He let himself feel the warmth of Aziraphale’s thumb stroking the back of his hand.

“Turns out fusing had some extra perks,” he said, attempting levity.

“What do you mean?”

He might as well tell him. He cleared his throat.

“I was in SoHo. It was… I dunno, nineteen-sixty something. I planned a heist. Got a whole crew together. I knew it was dangerous, but I wanted insurance. Even with you gone, I was afraid Hell might poke around and find the last thousand years’ lunch receipts or something. Figure out I’d got a bit too chummy with an angel. So I hired a team, and we did the job. It was in a church. It went wrong.”

“What were you stealing?”

“Holy water.”

Aziraphale’s thumb stopped moving. His breath trembled out of him. Then he resumed stroking Crowley’s hand.

“Oh, Crowley. If I’d been there. I’m so sorry.”

Crowley had to look away. “Didn’t kill me though,” he said. “I think all the fusing must have made me immune. Slightly. It just… burned.” He winced. It was still burning. His arm and heart hurt in equal measures. “I went home and licked my wounds - figuratively, I don’t want a withered tongue - and I’ve been trying to hide it from the rest of my side ever since. Don’t have a very non-treasonous explanation for it.”

“That must have been so hard. All those years.”

“Well.” Crowley shrugged one shoulder. “What was one more secret?”

He felt exhausted. Whoever said confession was good for the soul hadn’t talked to demons.

“You’re probably immune to hellfire, too, a bit,” he said. “Don’t go testing it, obviously.”

Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley fiddled with his sleeve. He hoped he could cover up soon. Looking at the gold seeping through the cracks in his skin for too long made his eyes go funny.

“I wish I could take all this back,” Aziraphale said.

The pain was subsiding a little. Rather than constant agony, it came and went in waves. Crowley still didn’t know why it had spiked. Looking at Aziraphale made it worse, a fact that hurt almost as much as the physical pain.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, dreading the answer.

Aziraphale’s movements stilled. He sighed.

“I thought I needed to. It was the only way to keep us safe. We couldn’t trust ourselves around each other. Someone had to separate us, and I thought it should be me. I thought I was being noble. It was cruel. I’m sorry.”

Crowley was right. Hearing that didn’t make him feel any better. He didn’t feel worse, either. He’d settled on slightly numb. He wished he could say the same for his arm. It throbbed like poison.

The pain must have shown, because Aziraphale looked concerned. “Is it still bad?”

“Fnn.” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut.

“What’s causing it? It’s not…” Aziraphale sounded suddenly alarmed. “Is it reacting to me? Because I’m an angel? If the wound was inflicted by Heavenly means - oh dear -”

Crowley gritted his teeth. He forced himself to look at Aziraphale. The angel’s wretched expression stung his heart. Some mean, hurt part of him wanted to make Aziraphale feel worse.

“It’s not because you’re an angel, Aziraphale. It’s because I’m angry. At you. I haven’t forgiven you. Seeing you just. Hurts.”

Aziraphale flinched. Crowley felt a wave of vindication. Then he just felt sick.

For a while, no-one spoke.

Aziraphale muttered, “Psychosomatic.”

“Bless you,” Crowley said irritably, ignoring the burst of foul taste in his mouth.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Rolled his eyes -! Crowley was so outraged he temporarily forgot all the other things he was outraged about.

“It’s not just a physical injury. It’s emotional. You associate it with me… abandoning you. Well, I’ll tell you what, you old serpent. I will never abandon you, never. If you’ll let me, I will stay by your side, from now until the end of everything. Which I’m hoping won’t be today. I love you.”

Aziraphale moved closer. There was a determined, blazing look in his eye.

Crowley tried to splutter about demon and feelings and don’t pull faces at me, you bastard, but lost every word in his head the moment Aziraphale pressed closer and kissed him.

They never. Quite got around to doing that before.

A turbulent ocean fell suddenly calm.

Crowley’s arms had fallen to his sides (useless lumps, if they were house-plants, he’d put the fear of him in them). He realised, through the haze that had settled around him, that the pain in the right arm had soothed to a dull sting.

Aziraphale’s hands were on his face, holding him like something precious. Crowley whined. Then he blushed so hotly his head was in danger of melting. He rallied his mutinous arms and wound them around Aziraphale’s plump shoulders.

Time swum, deliciously.

Aziraphale shifted. He broke the kiss, but still leaned his cheek to Crowley’s. Crowley felt as if he lacked any say over his feet or tongue, but did his best to stay upright and form sentences.

“You - ah. Hn.” Going well. “You said you had a plan?”

The unangelic gleam in Aziraphale’s eye was mesmerising this close up. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Crowley wetted his lips and got distracted utterly by recent memory. “Alpha Centauri… ‘s pretty nice this time of year…”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. Crowley took in the love and joy beaming from it and tried to keep a lid on his emotions for both their sakes. He failed.

“Crowley… are you saying you’ll come with me?”

Crowley didn’t trust himself with words. He nodded.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Why not? I like space.”

His happiness was such that he didn’t even kick himself over that line. He suspected he was grinning like an idiot. Might as well commit to the madness fully. He bent down and kissed Aziraphale first this time.

An unknowable amount of time passed.

From the doorway, someone coughed.

Crowley and Aziraphale froze. Their lips unstuck, with a noise that rather burst the bubble of romantic frenzy from moments ago.

Crowley’s eyes flicked past Aziraphale’s shoulder.

An unimpressed eleven-year-old Antichrist was watching them.

There were probably a few ways this could be a bigger fiasco. Probably. Crowley took a half-step back and tried to straighten his clothes out.

“You’re not dead,” Adam said, flatly.

Aziraphale turned and tried to smile. “Erm -”

“And you -”

Adam looked Crowley up and down. Crowley felt that he was being seen right through to his very demonic core. He resisted a panicked urge to fling himself out of the window.

“You’re normally a snake,” Adam declared.

Crowley cringed.

“And imaginary,” Adam added, accusatory.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Crowley said, pointlessly, because he wasn’t entirely sure what it did look like.

Adam gave them both a shrewd look. “It looks like you’re my imaginary friend and you’re a magician I murdered, and you’re planning on running away together into space.”

It was hard to dispute any of that. Crowley opened his mouth to try.

“Can I come?” Adam said.

“What? No.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Are you aliens?”

Crowley glared at Adam, trying to calculate a response. “Why…?”

“Space.” Adam gave him a look, as if it were self-evident. “Plus, you can shape-shift.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, insistently.

Crowley turned to him, hoping he had a brilliant suggestion.

“Is that the Antichrist?” Aziraphale stage-whispered.

Crowley rolled his eyes so hard they sprained. “Yes, that is the Antichrist,” he hissed back.

Adam scowled. “You sound like my mum.”

“Look, er.” Aziraphale tried another smile. “I’m terribly sorry about earlier, but this really isn’t… anything. We were just joking around, you know, and…”

“I know everything’s messed up,” said Adam.

There was a pause.

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked.

Adam shrugged. “Everything. I know… I know stuff isn’t normal. The stuff that goes on in this house isn’t… how things are supposed to be. I’ve had enough of it. I want to go with you. I’d rather live in space.”

Aziraphale shared an uncomfortable look with Crowley. Crowley decided this had gone on long enough.

“Go to your room,” he said, and snapped his fingers.

Adam stayed where he was. He folded his arms, implacable. He was a five-foot barricade, as impassable as a steel door.

“That won’t work, he’s immune to occult persuasion,” Aziraphale murmured to him.

“Oh, now you’re the expert?”

Adam took a step towards them. They leaned back.

“I want to see space.”

Crowley wanted to see space, too, and he could feel it slip from his grasp the more time they wasted arguing with an eleven-year-old.

“Fine, you can come,” he snapped.

A grin split Adam’s face in two. “Really?”

Aziraphale’s head snapped around. “Really?”

“We’ve got between here and Alpha Centauri to ditch him,” Crowley muttered to him.

“I am not kidnapping a child, Crowley!”

“How are you kidnapping him? He’s kidnapping us! Besides,” Crowley lowered his voice further. “Armageddon can’t happen without him. If the Antichrist isn’t on Earth…”

Aziraphale caught on. “Maybe it never happens.”

Crowley still had it. Temptation accomplished.

Aziraphale bustled up to Adam. “Welcome aboard, young man.” He shook Adam’s hand.

“Thanks,” Adam said. He’d forgotten about the whole manslaughter debacle already, by the look of things.

“Now, stay close.”

Aziraphale peered along the corridor. He beckoned Adam and Crowley to follow him. Crowley brought up the rear, wondering how all this had happened to him.

On the way out, they ran into the American cultural attaché. He waved vaguely to Adam as he passed.

“Merry Christmas, son,” he said, sounding a bit uncertain.

“Bye, dad,” Adam said, distractedly.

They left him behind and went out the front door, all three acting as though they were in very different spy films.

As they snuck across the lawn, with maximum drama and minimum stealth, Crowley remembered something.

“Hey,” he said to Adam. “Did a giant dog ever show up?”

Adam looked at him as if he was talking nonsense. “No. I haven’t wanted a dog in years.”

“Cool, cool. Just wondering.”

~*~

In the shrubbery, the enormous and poorly concealed Hellhound put its tail between its legs.

It didn’t understand. It was made for one purpose. If its master didn’t want it, why was it here?

It crept from the shrubbery, far less conspicuous than the three beings it was following, and stalked across the lawn towards the street. It would stay in its master’s shadow, out of sight, until he decided he wanted a dog after all.

---

Musical interlude x2! This chapter has a soundtrack. For Aziraphale’s perspective of the last seventy eight years, go here!

Then, the boys duet about their feelings here!

---

(Link to next part)

[medeafive]

Blood and Stone -03

Masterpost

Inhuman scream.

She's covered in vampire blood already but this guy just won't go down, his eyes very dark red, she slashes at his chest again, using his dodge to wrap her legs around his neck, her momentum knocking him down. She's up faster, tangling with his friend, claws scratching over her already dented armor, she kicks the woman in the stomach with both feet, dropping onto her back but bouncing right back up. The guy tries to grab her from behind so she elbows him in the face and steps on his foot, ramming her shoulder into him and twisting so he rolls right over, crashing into his female friend. Takes the second to retrieve her knife, gun's too far out. They're already scrambling up again. She flashes her teeth and they return it with their fangs, plunging towards her.

Rolling out from under the bigger guy, the woman lands right on top of her, sinking her fangs into the bite guard that makes a pitiful noise. She flips them over and socks her on the jaw. The guy grabs her by her hair, yanking her back which hurts like a bitch but she's not one to cry, kicking his knee out, satisfying crack , slashing the silver knife through his ribcage, howl , splattering blood, trades blows with the vampiress while he falls to his knees. The woman tries to bite her arm again but she whips the creature around, breaking her arm behind her back, inhuman cry, slashes precisely through the guy's neck, blood spluttering, and then she snaps the woman's neck, tossing her onto the asphalt like a rag doll.

Something drops from a lamp post and she spins, ready to fight, already covered in blood and gore, but it's just the black cloak who strides towards her confidently. She snorts, walking away to retrieve the gun.

He nods towards the three vampires, the one she shot straight through the heart, the one with the bleeding neck and the one with the twisted spine who still tries to crawl away. "Tell me you didn't enjoy that."

She doesn't say anything, just checking the ammunition left. It's obvious. Well, she should clean up.

"Do you mind if I drink her?" he asks. "Since you didn't hit her with silver."

She stops, tilting her head, then shrugs. The woman howls but can't get anywhere before he crouches over her, black cloak covering, and then it's deadly quiet. She walks over and hacks the bleeding vampire's head off.

He feeds in complete silence. When he straightens, the woman's body is crumpled, dry but there's only little blood around his mouth. Not like a young vampire in a blood frenzy. "So you hunt vampires," she states. "And you feed on vampires."

"Young vampires," he specifies, licking his lips. "With human blood left. Vampire blood smells and tastes foul."

"Has other advantages, though," she remarks.

He grins. His fangs are streaked with both gold and dark blood. "You could have it. Just say yes."

"I'm not loyal," she counters. "I don't follow orders. Schmidt wouldn't like that."

"You would," he returns. "It's not a choice."

She snorts. "Not even for you?"

"No," he replies. "He turned me. I have to obey him."

"I've never heard of that," she states.

"It's not that common," he admits. "But for him, always. How else do you think the large nests like in the castle work?"

"Mind control," she repeats. "No, wait, you're dead, you don't have a mind. And you want to get me into that ?"

"It's not my choice," he admits again. "But I would prefer to have you around rather than having to kill all your friends."

"But you're not remotely controlled," she argues. "There has to be a way around this. He can't have given you super specific orders without loopholes."

"You ask too many questions, dollface," he returns. "I should get going before day strikes."

"The fuck did you just call me?" she asks with amusement, wiping dark blood off her face. "How fucking old are you?"

"Don't you know that?" he asks back. "Think about it. It's really not the worst thing in the world."

  "I was fucking worried!" Clint exclaims. "What the fuck even happened, you look like you took a blood bath, where were you, are you hurt, just, what the fuck ?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she hurries to say. "Just, we need to talk. Before we get back."

Clint looks her up and down pointedly. "Like that? On the street?"

Fair. She ducks away into a side passage, hoping nobody comes by at this time. "I'm fine. Really. Just vampire blood."

"What the fuck happened," Clint repeats. "Did you- did he bite you?"

"Absolutely not, I promise," she assures him. "I'm clean."

"You don't look clean," Clint points out. "But- oh. He wants to bite you."

"Kinda," she admits. "It's complicated. But I'm definitely clean. I'm not sure whether he's telling the truth but- Schmidt might want to recruit me into his charges."

Clint snorts. "Oh yeah. He's definitely lying."

"That's what I thought too," she agrees. "But what else could he want?"

"You're a hunter," Clint points out. "You kill vampires, you'd rather walk into the sun than help one."

She's not so sure of that anymore. "No, you're right. I just don't see- nothing else makes sense either."

"He's playing you," Clint says softly. "Don't think too much about it, it will never make sense to you. It's just a game for bored monsters. Just make sure you don't get hurt, okay?"

"Yeah," she agrees. "Sure. Just- yeah. Okay."

  "Again?!" Fury asks. "This guy's definitely fake. There's only so many times you can get not killed by a real black cloak."

"Definitely real," Clints counters. "I saw him. He was flying around like a giant fucking bat."

Natasha massages her right side, wincing. It was hard enough to get out of the dented armor, even without all the bruises. "Raise your arm," Bruce demands. "Ouch, that looks painful."

"He's playing some stupid mind games with her," Clint explains. "God knows why. But she should really stay in before he snatches her up again."

Feels wrong under her skin. "He could snatch anyone up," Fury states. "Should we all just tuck in nicely when the sun goes down?"

"He hasn't killed anyone yet, as far as we know," Clint points out. "Except the baby vampires. And he only ever abducted Tasha, right, Tasha?"

"Far as I know," she mutters while Bruce inspects the mark from her bite guard. "He said he was stalking me."

Fury looks very displeased. "She'll have to stay in anyway, with those bruises. Let's see what he does in the meantime."

"Yeah," Clint agrees. "Let's do that. I'll jump under the shower now."

Fury steps up to her while Bruce moves to feel her ribs, making her wince again. "Sure you're fine?"

"No bite, though the armor bruised her bad," Bruce replies before blushing. "Sorry."

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replies as well. "Just a little scuffle with some vampires."

"You killed the wrong ones," Fury remarks with amusement. "Not the big one."

"Tried, but he's a tough motherfucker," she admits. "Never seen anything like it."

"I know." Fury shakes his head. "Get some rest. We'll work something out."

He leaves and she's left with Bruce who's still awkwardly feeling around her ribs. She stretches her neck one way and the other, the dented bite guard having taken a toll. "Nothing broken, right? It doesn't feel broken."

"Doesn't seem so," Bruce mutters, not looking up. "You're really lucky."

There's a black cloak stalking her, for whatever twisted reason. "Not really, trust me."

Bruce pulls back, staring at her. Oh boy, here they go. "Could you promise me something?"

He looks so honest , so simple. Kind like she never was. "Like what?"

"I don't wanna have to say that ever again," he states determinedly. "That you didn't get killed just because you're insanely lucky."

Lump in her throat. "I don't actively try to get killed, you know."

He huffs, turning away, and she knows she fucked up again. She twists, painfully, and pulls a shirt on. Her right side's really bad. Yeah, she's never gonna jump through a window again, but it's not like it was her decision this time either. "I'll try. I promise."

That's not the same thing and they both know it. And now she'll extract herself from this uncomfortable situation, like she always does, leaving a foul taste in her mouth, and neither of them will be happy. That's the way it always goes.

"Thanks," she states, pulling on sweatpants and picking up the dented armor. "I'll take a shower and go to bed. I'll… I'll see you around. Dinner or something."

  She sleeps through dinner and misses it, as always. Tony and Pepper are already out, Clint is downstairs training, Bruce and Sam are playing checkers in the living area. It still smells of eggs and bacon, which is ideal when some people are just getting up and others are heading to bed already. "Hey," Sam remarks, staring at the board in concentration. "We left you some, don't worry."

"Appreciate it," she replies, scratching the egg out of the pan. "Who's winning?"

Sam huffs. "Bruce insists there's a guaranteed draw but so far, no."

"With perfect play," Bruce specifies quietly. "Tony and I worked out a computer model that solves- well, should solve- nevermind."

Great, it's awkward. She checks the plan on the wall. "Mhm. Someone might have to take my Wednesday shift."

"Yeah, talked about that at dinner," Sam agrees. "Just wait until Fury changes it."

"So what are you going to do now?" Bruce asks. "When you're not on patrol?"

"I was thinking about going to the Archive," she suggests. "Do some research on the black cloaks. Maybe I can figure out who that one is."

"Might be useful," Sam agrees, stopping in his movement. "Wait. You're looking at me like I'm about to make a horrible mistake."

Bruce blushes. "No, no, it's, just- yes. That one. Over there."

Sam groans, dropping the piece. "Oh man, I always miss something. Okay. Give me a minute."

"Sure," Bruce agrees. "So you… saw him? You know what he looks like?"

She puts her plate in the microwave. "There are probably no pictures. But if he was turned during the first Uprising, judging by the color of his eyes… well, Schmidt wouldn't have turned just anyone, right?"

"Oh yeah," Sam mutters sourly. "He was very racist about that."

"I mean, the fang thing changes the sound of the voice and pronunciation and all," she admits, crossing her arms. "But I think he might have been American. Vocabulary-wise. Before he turned into an inhuman monster, of course."

"Natasha," Bruce suggests softly, which she hates. "Does that really matter?"

"Maybe," she returns defiantly. "And what else am I supposed to do? All those booby traps won't help, let's be real."

"I mean," Sam adds, finally placing the piece. "He hasn't murdered us all yet, so that's definitely in their favor."

  Prague's a good place to research this. There's still files from the Protectorate Bohemia-Moravia. She heads out in the morning, the sun itchy on her skin. Tony's right, she wasn't out in a while, at least in daylight.

She knows the basic story, that Johann Schmidt, ardent Nazi, was the first to become infected with the vampire disease or whatever you want to call it, secret research facility in Northern Italy, tucked away inside the Alps, and then he started turning other people. The Nazis were intrigued at first, another potential weapon in the raging war, but the more Schmidt started insisting on the superiority of vampires, the more they became spooked. And they already had a Führer, no need for another megalomaniac messiah. So they made plans and when Schmidt's Uprising came, they squashed it with the same thoroughness they used to kill six million Jews. Never got Schmidt, though, and a couple of others who allegedly spread out over the continent, hiding. Waiting. Until a few years ago. God, it's really just a few years, it feels like centuries.

It was mostly German history, since the vampires were never used in the war, and hence the German files are the best place to look for her black cloak. This archive is never particularly busy, though the Government removed some files for their own research. She checks in, locks her stuff away and proceeds to the registry.

Nobody really knows how many vampires there actually were. The Nazis document 24 killings, with at least ten escaping, including Schmidt. Who knows how many more they never even saw. Who knows what other seeds Schmidt planted, so to speak. It doesn't take many vampires to spark a global outbreak, though, if you are well organized.

The 24 are easier to identify. Especially the former German soldiers. Some were friends, allies of Schmidt who seemed to really have believed in the whole new better human thing. Then again, as far as she's concerned, every Nazi is a monster already. Her family had plenty of stories about the war and the suffering, about Leningrad, Moscow and Stalingrad.

There's not much on the 24 either, though. Allied uniforms were found in Schmidt's abandoned facility, suggesting either some cooperation with a Western power, their killing of allied soldiers or, most interesting, that potentially there were prisoners of war among the turned. She doesn't really understand the description of machines in the facility but it certainly looks like there was research in many directions.

She learns about Zola, too. Arnim Zola, Swiss scientist, eugenicist, racist, but brilliant. Must have had an absolute meeting of the minds with Schmidt. He's believed to have developed the vampire virus or disease or whatever it is, though it is not clear whether he actually took it himself. Schmidt commonly described himself as the first of a new kind of humans, after all. However, Zola's body was never found.

She moves to a clunky computer to request American military data on which units they had in the area during Schmidt's activities and who went missing. Though they probably won't answer her, because why would they bother. Same thing for the French resistance. She tries to figure out what other forces might have been there. Maybe the British.

"Oh my," a startling voice remarks. "You actually left the house, in broad daylight."

She turns around and Tony's already dragging up a chair. He looks a little ruffled but it appears to have been a calm patrol. "You even know how to use a computer?"

"Excuse me," she throws back. "We put the first man in space. Don't forget that."

"Yeah, hurrah," Tony remarks sarcastically. "Doing research, I see?"

She flips the folders open again. "There's pictures from Schmidt's facility. Does that mean anything to you?"

Tony studies the picture with interest but frowns. "From a corny black-and-white picture? No. Also, never judge a machine from the outside."

"They found allied uniforms," Natasha adds, flipping a few pages. "Though it is not specified which. What if some of the turned were actually prisoners of war?"

"What if they just sucked them dry? What if they did infiltration?" Tony asks back, crossing an ankle over his knee and leaning back. "But okay, let's go with it for now."

"How likely is it that a Frenchman, American, British soldier, whatever, how likely is it that a captured enemy soldier decides to follow Schmidt?" she asks. "By their own wishes?"

"By their own volition," Tony corrects. "I don't know. Nobody said they chose to be turned. But yeah, that raises questions about after."

"There must be something," Natasha insists. "Think of freshly turned vampires, a whole bunch of them. It would have been absolute mayhem. Schmidt must have had some way to control them."

"You mean, other than being the most powerful vampire ever?" Tony remarks. "Well, whatever. But I hear you got kidnapped by the black cloak."

She snorts, turning back to the screen. "Yeah. God knows why."

"Look, I don't like asking this," Tony says. "But maybe… did he try to flirt with you?"

She spins around. "What?! "

The library lady shushes them angrily in passing. As if anyone else cares. Tony fiddles with his hands, uncomfortably. "You know vampires sometimes have children with human women. Vampire women can't, but males do. There's a couple of cases. So maybe-"

"Tony," she tries.

"It's just that he seems really focussed on you, for no reason," Tony continues. "And he let you go an unbelievable number of times. So I think it makes the most sense if-"

"Tony," she tries again.

"I know that's not something you want to talk about," Tony says. "But you should consider what he actually wants is a vampire monster ba-"

"Tony!" She almost hisses. "I can't have kids."

Tony blinks, dumbfounded. "Oh. Sorry."

"Not a big deal," she says, though it is. "But I'm definitely not going to give birth to some weird abomination."

"Maybe tell him that," Tony suggests. "Casually. See how he reacts. Maybe he leaves you alone then. Or he murders you."

She snorts. "Yeah, that knowledge will be super useful when I'm dead."

"Still the best theory," Tony insists. "I mean, he doesn't know you can't- yeah. Just keep it in mind."

"That's fucked up, though," she remarks. "So, you're just gonna sit there and talk or are you gonna help me research?"

  She sleeps through a few more days and nights until the bruises feel better. Fury is awake when she goes downstairs.

She always says their stronghold is in the powder tower, because she likes that ghastly piece of stone, but that's actually just the smallest part. Mostly, they took over the Opera house and the former national bank. There's even a cool tunnel in between. The national bank relocated outside the city, together with the whole government, and the opera just had to close when nobody left the house at night anymore. Some of the singers were reportedly bitten, too.

Fury is reading a newspaper, frowning. The sun is still up outside. "I moved your shift. Don't even think about it."

Neither of them is known for their friendliness. "So I'm just going to stay inside until he comes here to kill us all."

"This place is safe, Romanoff," Fury insists. "Remember that. In every way."

She huffs. "I would prefer if you had an actual plan ."

"We're getting a transfer," Fury announces. "From Munich. Very capable. Stark's working on something, too. I can't do more than that."

"So one more person is going to die?" she asks coldly. "You know what, I'm going to spend the night in town."

Fury's one eye scrutinizes her. "You're not going on patrol, are you?"

"I'll stay indoors," she promises, grabbing her jacket. "But not here."

  She has a number of apartments around town, empty, abandoned rooms. Some people are superstitious about it or believe vampires come back to where they last found prey, but not her. Well, she hunts vampires, so maybe her risk assessment is not that solid.

It's an old building in Vinohrady today. Used to be a pretty neighborhood, as far as she heard. She opens the window when night falls, breathing in, then sits down by the door, silver gun right in front of her.

She really doesn't know what to do. Killing him isn't realistic, she could never be a vampire monster but sentencing everyone to death… She always liked the moral clarity about being a hunter. She just kills bad monsters to protect good people. Of course, Alexei already had made that more complicated. This time, there's just no good option.

There's a whiff of air and then he's crouching on the window sill, perfectly balanced, nods towards her gun lying there on the floor. "You're gonna shoot me?"

"No," she replies, which is exactly what she would say if she was going to shoot him. "But you never know what comes through an open window."

He drops to the floor silently, walking through the room. "Seems like you wanted to meet."

Wanting is greatly exaggerated. "What if I can't decide?"

"It's not that hard," he insists, studying a broken cupboard. God, he almost has his back to her. "But I have a full moon. 30 days. Then you have to decide."

"So ten more days," she states. "And then you're going to kill all my friends."

He sighs. "As I said, not my preferred option."

"But what if I'm really just undecided?" she asks. "Schmidt never sent a black cloak to wipe us all out, but now he sends one to recruit me. That clearly has more value to him. Maybe he would be willing to wait a little longer. After all, he's old as fuck, what's another moon or two."

He looks amused, turning back to her. "You want an extension? For what?"

Hell, if she knew. "Could you get one?"

"I don't know," he replies, turning on his heel and wandering towards the window again. "Probably. If I really believe you'll still agree."

"So I have to convince you of that," she states. "Or figure out how to circumvent your mind control thing."

He doesn't say anything, just stares out into the darkness. She gets up and steps a little closer. "No, really. You keep saying that you don't want to do that. What's keeping you from not doing it?"

"He turned me," he mutters. "I have to. I just have to. If he says- I have to."

"But you didn't grab me and abduct me," she argues. "So there's a margin."

He turns, baring his fangs, making her shudder. "What do you want ?"

"I wanna get you out of this," she blurts out. "Just tell me how ."

He closes his white eyes, breathes. He doesn't always breathe. "No."

"Why?" she prompts, because she's reckless as fuck.

"It hurts ," he hisses. "Just thinking- No. God, just- why can't you just agree , I promise it's not that bad, that would be so much easier ."

"But I won't," she repeats.

He breathes again. "Yeah. You really remind me of myself."

"You didn't want to be turned either, did you?" she asks, leaning against the wall.

"My memory is fuzzy at best," he replies. "You know, I- if it's about the mind control thing, I could bite you. Instead of Schmidt. He wouldn't be happy about it but I guess it wouldn't be too bad."

She snorts. "So I can be your slave instead? No thanks. Also, then he gives you the order to give me an order, that just makes the chain a little longer."

"I might not even have control over you," he remarks. "I never tried. Maybe it doesn't work for me at all."

"Then he'd definitely murder me." She groans, head dropping back. Wait. She just bared her neck. Tucks her chin into her chest again. "No, really. Who were you, before all of this?"

"I'm not sure," he replies hesitantly. "But I remember how I was. Stubborn. Self-righteous. Like you."

"I'm not- I know I did bad shit." She hesitates. "You said you- know."

"I know you beheaded him," he says weirdly gently. "Before any vampire came even close."

However the fuck he knows that. She controls her breathing. "He was- experimenting. With vampire blood. He turned people, just as a source of- But the worst was, with dead people, he put vampire blood in dead people, and they would get up again and follow every command they heard, like- like- golems or something, and I- he was just turning into a monster, more and more every day, way worse than the monsters I hunted, and- yeah. Everyone else thinks the vampires ripped him to pieces, and they did, but I really killed him and made sure he wouldn't come back either."

"But you learned from him," he points out. "How long have you been injecting vampire blood?"

She doesn't answer, doesn't want to. "You smell better now," he remarks. "I didn't figure it out at first but… do the others know?"

She shakes her head. "It- it does make you stronger. And heal faster. I just wanted- And it's barely detectable, at the right dosis."

"I understand," he says.

She huffs angrily. "No, you don't."

He sweeps the black cloak back and rolls up his left sleeve. It's- between the white skin, there are metal bits, crude fillers, more on the outside, interrupting the pale skin that still looks human by comparison to the metal . He turns the arm casually, revealing the angry red bite mark on his forearm, seems to never ever go away. "After he bit me, there were issues. I don't know why, but parts of my arm turned grey and foul. So they cut them out and put metal in instead. It- it helps."

"It hurts ," she whispers.

"Yes," he admits. "It hurts. But it's stronger now."

"For what ?" she asks angrily. "So you can do better what he says? So it hurts when you obey him and it hurts when you think about disobeying him and- don't you see that?"

He steps back. "I really don't know what you want from me."

"Yes, you do," she hisses. "Come on. We can figure this out. Together."

"No," he replies. "We can't." And then he drops out of the window and is gone.

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

hey uhhh idk if you write this kind of thing, but i have an alcohol problem. in the past i’ve found your writing about depression really validating bc i’m a big Queen fan and it kind of... normalises my issues? idk, i just wondered if you’d ever write about alcoholism? maybe the band coming to terms with the fact that the affected member isn’t just a “party animal” and actually has an addiction, then getting them help? yh sorry if this is a weird ask 😅

Content Warning for Alcoholism/Alcohol Abuse

♚

John’s eyes fluttered open, the room still spinning, the bathroom lights looking like the spotlights on stage. His cheek was cold and flush against the rim of the toilet seat, his body hunched over it. He spit the foul taste from his mouth into the bowl, lifting his heavy head up, to look over at Roger who was standing by the door.

“At least you made it this time,” Roger said with a chuckle. John smiled at him, nodding slowly in agreement. Throwing up in anything but a toilet or trash can was a definite way to end a party and ruin the mood. And the both of them still had a lot more dancing and drinking to do.

Roger helped him up, John flushing the toilet before washing his hands and rinsing his mouth. The nausea was already fading. A good puke was all it took to get back in the game. It worked nearly every time.

Roger pat John’s back as they walked back out into the party, John intent on keeping up his antics. One instance of vomiting was not going to keep him from participating in this rager.

The music blasted, the bass rattling the windows of Freddie’s house. Colored lights spun all around the room, illuminating the party goers smiles and laughs. The dance floor, which was once Freddie’s living room was packed with hot bodies all pressed against each other, writhing and swinging to the beat that was almost too loud to be heard. Hands groped and pushed, feet shuffling. Heads were thrown back, liquid courage streaming into open mouths.

John lost Roger in the crowd, the blond probably craving another fix of the white stuff going around like candy. John needed his own fix, so he headed for the makeshift bar. One plastic cup, a dash of orange juice and a helping of vodka. His heart sped up as it slithered down his throat, nestling into his irritated and hot stomach. Immediately, the warmth spread through his core, his limbs beginning to feel like lead again, his mind beginning to fog.

He made himself another, forgoing the orange juice in favor of plain vodka. He let out a fiery sigh, now ready to join the others on the floor.

He floated over to a familiar puff of curly hair, a loopy smile on his face.

“Enjoying yourself, John?” Brian yelled over the music.

John began to sway side to side, the music dictating his every move. “Yes,” he said with a bubbly giggle.

Brian couldn’t hear him but figured he was. He continued on with his awkward dancing, his hands in the air, unknowingly moving away from John.

John didn’t care. He let himself get carried away by the funk, his knees bending, shoulders rolling, head bopping. He felt careless and free. He danced up women and men alike, accepting every drink that was pushed into his hands. He was rained with cigarettes and even found his way back to Roger, his nose red and white.

The room was ill-lit, but Roger’s eyes looked black, consumed by the pupil. “Want some?” he asked, holding up a plate. John held up his cup, graciously filled with brandy. He shimmied away, working his way over to Freddie, half naked and drenched in sweat from nonstop dancing.

John wrapped his arm around Freddie’s waist, startling the singer. Freddie playfully slapped John’s shoulder, saying, “You scared me! How’re you holding up, Deaks?” John just hummed the lyrics in response, too far gone to make any sensical words. Freddie found the answer sufficient, letting the two of them bop together to the music for a bit before scampering off to make out with Jim again.

John downed the last of his brandy, the world beginning to spin again. He laughed, unsteadily walking back to the bar for a refill. He could barely coordinate himself, but he got there in one piece. More vodka, his preferred vice. One swig, two swigs, three. A stranger, whooping and hollering, added more to his cup. He couldn’t say no. Down it went.

He unbuttoned his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. It was hot and he was roasting.

Everything became too woozy. He sipped more. The music sounded like blurs. The lights looked like smudges. He sipped. He felt nausea tickling the back of his throat. Another sip.

His conscience told him to stop.

Something deep in his heart told him to not listen.

Bottoms up.

He fell back onto his ass, his cup spilling all over him. He licked at his arms, trying to salvage what he could. And then he laid down.

He was 10 and on a merry go round, laying flat on the middle, being spun over and over, faster and faster by someone he didn’t know. Faster and faster until the sky white and he was soaring.

A torrent of vomit came out of John and all over himself. He rolled over and continued heaving and retching until he was pure again, the floor defiled with his filth.

I didn’t make it this time, Roger, he thought.

♚

“You went real hard last night, John. Just came to see if you woke up this morning,” Brian said as he hung his coat on the coat rack, walking into John’s house.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Got too excited is all,” John said, shuffling to the kitchen in his bathroom, trailed by the guitarist.

Brian chuckled, rubbing his neck. “I think we all did. Roger called me this morning, not knowing how he got home. I was the one who got him the bloody taxi!”

John snorted, walking up to his coffee machine. “He looked manic last night. His eyes were all wild. Sounds about right,” he said, pouring himself a cup, offering one to Brian who declined.

He rummaged through his medicine cabinet, pulling out some over the counter pain killers. This time, Brian accepted the offer.

“Even the virtuous Brian went hard last night, hmm?” John teased, popping 4 tablets into his mouth, swallowing it with the black coffee. Brian waved him off, taking his tablets with water.

“It was Fred’s birthday. Kinda hard to resist the devil when Freddie’s the one throwing the party.”

True that.

Brian sat by the kitchen table, sipping his water and wincing at the sunlight that poured through the window. He became so quite that in John’s hung-over brain, he forgot he was even there.

He poured himself some more coffee, throwing in a dash of sugar, a splash of creamer and a hearty glug of vodka from the flask he had in his robe pocket.

“John, you’ve got to be shitting me,” Brian said, making John jump in surprise.

“Jesus Christ. Sorry. Sorry. Bad habit,” he said softly, his face reddening as he dumped his concoction down the sink.

“Habit? You’re telling me you not only do this daily, in the morning none the less, but you walk around with a flask in your bloody dressing gown?” Brian asked incredulously, the tendons in his hands popping out.

John was faced away from Brian, holding onto the edge of the sink. He squeezed it tight, letting out a sharp puff of air. “I’m hung over. I- it was a mistake is all. Sorry.”

Brian wasn’t so sure about that but left anyways, his welcome clearly overstayed.

Once the door was closed, John ditched the coffee and cream, going straight to his flask.

He wondered if Brian would bring this up again.

♚

John felt a firm slap to the back of his head, flinching as he woke up, looking around for the perpetrator, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Why’d you even come over if you didn’t want to help?” Roger asked, throwing an oil stained towel at John’s face. John was too slow to catch it. He set the towel down on Roger’s work bench, lazily getting up and toddling over to Roger who was crouched by an old car.

“Sorry. Tired, you know,” John offered, a weak excuse but the only one his hazy brain could make up.

Roger recoiled at his presence, nose scrunching up. “Jeez, John. Were you partying last night?”

John shook his head. He was home all night, watching TV.

“You fucking reek like a pub, mate. What’s up with that?” Roger said, his perfectly blue eyes looking him up and down.

John should’ve probably been scared from the interrogation, but he felt too loose in the joints to care.

“Oh. I had a few drinks,” He admitted easily.

“A few?” Roger spluttered out.

“Maybe more.” John shrugged.

Roger’s lips pressed into a tight line, taking in John. Dirty clothes, disheveled hair. Bloodshot eyes and a 5 o’clock shadow. He didn’t look put together.

Roger looked at the asphalt at his feet and then up to John’s eyes.

“You know...Brian told me he caught you putting vodka into your coffee one morning…is that true?” His head was tilted, eyebrows furrowed.

John thought for a moment. “Probably.”

Roger cleared his throat, not prepared for that answer.

“Are you drunk now?”

“A bit.”

“And you drove here?”

“Mh-hmm.”

Roger got up, dusting his jeans, his head shaking. They all knew John had an affinity for drinking. It was obvious during parties and after shows. The man liked a stiff drink. Who were they to think any worse of it?

But lately, John hadn’t been himself. Sloppier and lax. Always dozing off, always up in his head. They thought he was going through a down period. None of them would’ve guessed he was a functional drunk. Not until right now.

“You need help, John.” Roger said, his voice a mixture of confusion, fear and sternness.

John leaned back to look up at Roger, frowning. “What? No, I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m way passed that mate. You need help and I’m gonna get you it.”

John huffed, standing up, wobbling some. He walked past Roger, back into Roger’s house, saying, “I did not come here to be lectured. I don’t need help. I’m fine. I’m going.”

There was a tight grip to his arm, tugging him backwards. He was now in front of a red-faced Roger.

“And I’m not letting you drive home,” he said, teeth grit.

“You don’t have any right to do that! Let me go, Roger. I’m fine! I’m fine! Let me go!” John hissed, struggling against Roger’s unwavering hold on him.

“Fine,” Roger said, his eyes big as he let John go. John crashed to the floor, his flask and keys flying out of his pocket. He scrambled to pick it up, but swiftly and with sober ease, Roger snatched both of them up. He walked away after that, without so much as a word to John.

“Where are you going?” John yelled, fighting a losing battle with gravity as he tried to get up.

“Gonna make some phone calls. Meet me in the kitchen whenever you can,” Roger replied with a bitter sting.

John gave up, laying down on the cold tile. He shivered, his stomach churning.

I didn’t make it this time, Roger.

♚

Dear John,

I’m terribly sorry I never noticed you were suffering. I should have been a better friend. I took you under my wing after all. I should have noticed.

I hope that here, you can begin to find peace again. I’m still not sure what’s ailing you, but when you get out, we can work on it together, alright? I need you to know that you’re not alone. That you aren’t bad. That you’ve done nothing wrong. The human condition can be treacherous at times. The need to numb it isn’t a sign of failure. It’s a sign of a fight to continue in any capacity possible.

I love you so much, Deacy. I can’t wait to see you again. I want to go shopping with you and maybe you can stay with me and Jim sometime, if you’d want.

Take care of yourself. Heal. Breathe.

Love, Freddie.

♚

John,

I apologize for my lack of initiative to figure things out. I’m sorry I chose my own comfort in ignoring this rather than reaching out. I promise I won’t ever do that again. You are one of my greatest friends. I’ll never do anything to jeopardize that. I need you here with me ‘till I’m old and grey and I’ll make sure that you never go through something like this again.

I pray that once you’re out, we can talk together and do some soul searching. I know what it’s like to be so down that only a substance feels like the right medication. I understand more than I’ve let on to you guys before. You can always come to me to talk. I guarantee you, I probably was there too at one point or another.

Until then, I hope this place does you well. A break from the stress of life is always a good thing. Don’t rush it. Take your time here. Let yourself unravel. Be truthful with the psychologists. Don’t be afraid to sound silly or obnoxious or rude. You won’t be any of those. The mind is a weird place. Let yourself be vulnerable.

I’ll be seeing you soon, Deacy. Keep your head up and you might just see the stars!

Bri.

♚

I’m so sorry.

RMT

♚

John sniffled, putting away the letters his best friends had written for him. He got out of his bed, walking towards the window. He leaned against the windowsill, the morning sun heating up his skin, lighting up his face.

This was the first day he felt completely detoxed. No shakes, no anxiety, no nausea. He finally felt free of the chain around his ankle. He could move better, think clearer, breathe deeper. He felt like this whole recovery thing might work. He might be a human again. No need for liquid crutches. Just a man. A free man.

He cracked open the window, sticking his head out to smell the spring air. His cheeks felt an invigorating cool breeze and not the frigid porcelain for once. A smile tugged at his lips, his hands running through his hair. He was ready for today.

He had group therapy in an hour. He had time to bang out some letters before then. He rushed to his desk, pulling out some pen and paper.

Rog,

Don’t be sorry. It should be me who’s sorry. Without you, without the other guys, I would’ve kept spiraling.

I wouldn’t have made it.

But I’m here and alive and I think I’ll soon start to thrive.

So, I want to thank you. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for still loving me as a brother even after I yelled and cursed at you. Thank you for taking my life into your own hands. I’ll never be able to repay you. But I’ll try.

I want to tell you about my time here. I don’t know, maybe you’d be interested.

Every morning, we wake up at 8. We get to….

[vigilante-cafe]

Vigilante cafe

Chapter 1: Why me

Warning: Cannibalism, character death, and kind of gore.

Reader discretion is advised

Izuku wasn’t ok. He was far from it even though he got discharged from the hospital earlier that day. Something went wrong; something went seriously wrong. “I’m a monster.” the terrified greenette gasped out between sobs.

~Earlier that day~

Izuku was finally allowed to go home. It was nice to finally be able to get back to having a normal life after the attack. He was going to see his mom in his own house. It put a smile on the greenettes face knowing when he gets home he will be greeted by a warm smile from his mother. Though when he enters his house he is only greeted by darkness. The greenettes smile falls off his face. How could he forget? His mother is at work. She stopped being a stay at home mom a year ago. With a sigh, Izuku shuts the door and makes his way to the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten much at the hospital so he was starving. Opening the fridge he spotted a bowl of his favorite dish katsudon with a note attached to it. Smiling he takes the bowl out popping it into the microwave, and started to read the note from his mother and said “sorry I couldn’t meet you when you got home. I’ll see you at 7. Love you!” with a heart at the bottom of the note. 

When the katsudon is finally done Izuku makes his way to the table and starts to eat. But as soon as he takes a bite he spits it out. 

“Ugh, when did mom even make this?” The greenette gags out and sticks out his tongue. “It tastes rancid.” Izuku quickly throws out the katsudon and goes for something else to eat. He grabs an apple but it tastes rotten. He gets some pasta but its rancid. Somethings not right. Even though Izuku's mother works 11 hours a day she still makes sure their house is clean and the food isn’t spoiled. The greenette stands in the kitchen shocked before practically diving into the fridge. He frantically grabs for food gaging at each bite he takes. Tears start to stream down his face as he takes a bite of string cheese and spits it out. The cheese was the last thing left in the fridge. Everything tasted so foul his body wouldn't let him swallow even a bit of what he put in his mouth. All the contents that were once in the fridge was now displayed all over the kitchen floor. Loud distraught sobs racked Izukus small frame as he punches the floor. 

“Why? Why does everything taste so- so disgusting!?” Izuku screams out. He sobs on the kitchen floor for what felt like a lifetime. 

Eventually, the front door opens stopping Izukus dry sobs for he cried so much he was too dehydrated to cry properly. Wide eyes stared at the direction of the door.

“Izuku I'm home!” his mother Inko chirps out. Izuku can hear Inko take her shoes off and walk down a hall leading to the kitchen. “Izuku? Are you there?” his mother asks. She walks down the hall. As soon as she sees her only son on the floor surrounded by scraps of food she freezes. Wide puffy emerald eyes stare at back at her own. Inko can’t think of what to say to her son that has been crying for who knows how long. 

Izuku brakes down again crying tearlessly. “M-mom I-I’m scared,” the greenette barely rasps out from dry lips. “E-everything… I-I can’t e-eat.”

“Oh, Izuku!” Inkos wobbly voice lets out as she brings her terrified son into a tight hug. “It’s ok. Whatever it is it’s ok.” Inko whispers as she strokes Izuku's messy hair. “You’re strong. You’re so so strong. You can get through this.” 

Hours later Izuku finally stopped crying. But now he’s hungry. He needs to eat something, anything. His stomach growled telling both of them he was hungry. But everything in the house was inedible now. Suddenly something clicks in the greenettes brain. His mother was edible right? If he can’t eat normal food then what else was left besides human flesh? She did smell good. Just thinking about sinking his teeth into Inkos flesh made his mouth somehow water even though he was extremely dehydrated. Licking his lips the greenette bites into his mother's shoulder. He was right it tasted oh so good. He keeps on eating ignoring his mother's screams. He couldn’t stop eating it tasted so good. It tasted so much better than katsudon. Eventually, his mothers screams die down to whimpers as she chokes out “Izuku… why?” before she breathes out one last shaky breath as her eyes grow dull. Izuku finally finishes feasting on his mother but only when there is nothing left of her to feast on. Izuku freezes eyes wide in realization of what he had just done.

“W-what the fuck did I just fucking do?!” the greenette screams out with a shaky voice. “I-I couldn’t h-have actually done something as horrible as t-that! NO I-I WOULD NEVER DO THAT! HEROES DON’T EAT PEOPLE A-And i-i’m gonna be… a… hero” Izuku breaks down yet again. “W-who am I kidding I'm a monster. I ate my own fucking mother. Only a villain would do something like that though I doubt most of them could even do that… I’m… sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m the worst son ever.” more tears fall from Izukus bloody cheeks. “I deserve to die. Yeah, I should just kill myself. I deserve it and it’s not like anyone would even miss me… I don’t want to die. I’m gonna go to jail for life if anyone finds out. I deserve it. I deserve to rot in a prison cell for the rest of my disgusting life. No, I can’t go to jail. I want to save more people. It can’t end with just Kacchan.” The shaking greenette sobs so hard all the blood that was once covered his cheeks have washed off. “Maybe i-if I clean up all the blood a-and burn my the clothes n-no one will ever find out… N-no that won’t work s-someone probably saw her around here… I could go for a bit and act like someone t-took her. Y-yeah that could work. Everything w-will be ok. I-I can get through this.” A small smile forms on Izuku's face as he gets up. His plan could actually work. No one suspects the quirkless wanna be that saved someone a while ago to murder his own mother.

Yes, that just happened. Izuku just ate his own mother and im not sorry.

[kiruuuuu]

Oh definitely Smoke and Kapkan, anon 💙 If this wasn’t what you had in mind, I’m sorry for turning it partly smutty - but to me, those two together radiate pure sexual energy. I hope you like it! (Rating M/E, humour/not super explicit, ~1.7k words)

Please note that requests are closed!

.

Kapkan is smoking in peace. It’s partly why he still gives in to the harmful addiction now and then, especially when they’re all out drinking: it gives him a break, allows him to breathe some fresh air (leaving the smoke aside, of course) and get away from the bustling atmosphere he usually enjoys but which can get a bit much sometimes. He’s tried kicking the habit yet so far has been unsuccessful, not because he’s lacking discipline but because the pay-off is worth it after all. The only other ones who regularly smoke are Bandit and Tachanka, and while the former is usually too preoccupied with other things (like getting shitfaced together with Jäger or causing mischief together with Rook), the latter is pleasant company during their rare smoke breaks. He ultimately doesn’t see the need in stopping, not as long as he still has it under control.

“Hey, mate”, a thick British accent slurs in his general direction and causes the immediate urge to facepalm. This is probably the most significant disadvantage of giving in to the cancer sticks: him being alone means he’s easy pickings.

“I don’t have any more money”, he informs Smoke who seems to be drawn to him like a dumb moth to a street light, fluttering around him on shaky legs and sporting a wide, wolfish grin.

“Seamus took my wallet, so I wanted to ask – wait, what did you say?”

“No more money. I can’t give you any. You look like you’ve had enough to drink anyway.” Kapkan studies the other man with a raised eyebrow, watches him sway closer as he hums pensively until he eventually latches on to the Russian, wrapping his arms around his waist and mouthing at his jaw. Speaking of bad habits, Smoke is another he tried to kick. And while he manages to physically kick him quite a bit during training, he can’t deny a certain attraction to the man despite his careless attitude, foul mouth and opportunistic behaviour. It’s strongest after a few drinks since Kapkan, unfortunately, is a horny drunk, so they’ve ended up exchanging certain favours a few times – and while he found out that Smoke sadly has a very strong gag reflex, it was a troubling realisation that anything sounding roughly like gagging has since turned him on considerably.

“I think you’re lying”, Smoke murmurs into his ear and Kapkan can’t help himself, has to put an arm around him and grab a handful of his ass. “So what if we make a few bets? If I win, you give me a tenner per, and if you win, I wank you off.”

Teeth are pulling at his earlobe now and making it hard to say no. The prospect is intriguing, he knows what Smoke’s hands can do even if his mouth is full of empty promises. “Sounds like a terrible idea. Besides, I don’t want to fuck you. Don’t you remember? Last time I said -”

“You say the same thing every time.” He’s… not wrong, worryingly enough. “Okay, I bet I can turn whisky into water and the other way round.”

Kapkan frowns. There’s going to be a trick to it, he knows as much, and in doubting Smoke he’ll only make a fool of himself in the end. Everyone knows better than to bet against him even if it’s as harmless as this, but he’s bored and actually does have more than enough pounds in his pocket still and besides, he can always demand the money back the next time he gets to beat Smoke up under the guise of practising hand to hand. It’s not like can refuse when Kapkan has him in an iron tight hold. With a small sigh, he takes a last drag of his cigarette, stubs it out in the ashtray provided in front of the pub and shoves his tongue down Smoke’s throat. He doesn’t make it last long, just enough to lick the residual taste of whisky out of his mouth and feels his hunger grow. “Fuck it”, he announces afterwards and turns towards the door. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Smoke follows him gladly and he can basically sense the Brit’s smirk.

.

Unsurprising to no one, Smoke wins the bet. He fills one shot glass with water, one with whisky, places a card on the water one and puts it upside down on its counterpart before carefully sliding the playing card out enough to create a small crack. As a result, the two liquids slowly trade places and Kapkan is left to not only pay for the shot of whisky but also for Smoke’s next two drinks. Usually, he’s insufferable every time he wins anything which only serves as yet another reason not to engage with him but Kapkan has to admit his glee is actually kind of cute. It’s as if he hasn’t caught on Kapkan is (so far) willingly playing along.

Next, Smoke bets that if he places down a stack of coins and they each take turns removing 1, 2 or 3 from the stack, he can always make Kapkan take the last one. Here, he actually consults Mute (who’s supposed to be a genius, right?) whether it’s possible for Kapkan to win regardless and the young man ends up scribbling madly onto a napkin all the while Smoke wins their little game literally every time.

“I figured out how many combinations are possible with the given parameters”, Mute announces at some point and looks up to Smoke’s amused cackling and Kapkan’s fierce scowl. “What? Was that not what you wanted? What was the question again?”

“He keeps winning”, Kapkan complains and demonstrates a game, after which Mute nods as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course. He makes you go first and ensures that the total number of coins removed every turn is 4. Since there are 17 coins, after four turns, there’ll always be one left over.”

“And you couldn’t tell me this beforehand?”

“Are you telling me you were unable to figure this out on your own?”, Mute shoots back.

“My job is to fucking kill people and that’s what I’m good at, I don’t need to count how many limbs I’ve blown off, I just gotta make sure they -”

“So you’re a potato at maths, got it”, Smoke mumbles to himself and merely giggles when Kapkan, noticeably upset now, directs his murderous attention away from the backstabbing prodigy to the cheerful drunkard. “Next one. I bet you can’t take your shirt off by yourself.”

“That’s my cue to go, see ya!”, Mute announces hastily and flees.

“Are you serious? Where’s the hook?”, Kapkan demands to know, by now highly suspicious of anything coming out of Smoke’s mouth.

“No hook. I just bet you can’t. For a tenner or a hand job. Your call.”

There’s absolutely no way Smoke can stop him, Kapkan is superior to him in almost every aspect of close combat except maybe according to strict boxing rules, so this actually sounds like one he might win. Fixing Smoke with a narrow gaze, he takes a step back from the table at which they’ve been standing, grabs one of his own sleeves and begin pulling his shirt over his head. He sees movement and braces for some kind of attack, but the only thing that happens is that Smoke follows suit, oddly enough. Kapkan stares at him for a second while they stand in the middle of the pub, both of them shirtless.

“You failed”, says Smoke. “You were meant to do it by yourself.”

“I’m gonna fucking break every single one of your fingers.”

A mischievous grin lights up Smoke’s face and reminds Kapkan once again why he even still talks to this person. All his exposed pale skin makes Kapkan want to mark it, only adding to the low thrum in his body. “Last one. I bet I’ll come three times if you fuck me.”

“You’re serious.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and still Smoke simply nods, the usual airy confidence noticeable in his attitude which strengthens the urge to knock him down a peg. “I don’t believe it. That’s not possible.”

“I can show you. Double or nothing? If I win, I get another forty, if you win, I’ll let you come into my mouth next time.”

“There won’t be a next time”, Kapkan grumbles and absent-mindedly realises his words imply that there’ll be at the very least a this time and honestly, there’s just no winning against this asshole. Smoke’s smirk shows that he’s come to the same conclusion, and it only widens when Kapkan drags him to the men’s. “Alright, I wanna see this. Tell me what to do.”

“For now it’s enough if you just fuck me like an animal”, Smoke informs him helpfully. And so Kapkan does. After mostly undressing them both, he sets Smoke down on the counter next to the washbasins and gives him exactly what he asked for and what he, if he’s honest, needed himself. Smoke is wonderfully responsive and dizzyingly tight, not to mention the fact that he’s audibly enjoying himself while his nails drag over Kapkan’s back, and so he really can’t complain despite all. He tries his best to last longer yet the verbal encouragement and orgasmic facial expressions from Smoke sabotage him maliciously which is why he reaches his climax only a few minutes later, groaning against Smoke’s collarbone and feeling the other contract around him when Smoke is pushed over the edge as well, accompanied by a series of blissful moans.

Smoke looks absolutely debauched and while Kapkan assumes he’s not looking any better, at least he isn’t filled and spattered with semen. Still. There’s an obvious problem. “You only came once”, he points out.

“I did, didn’t I”, Smoke replies with a content smile. “Well, I guess I owe you then. Looking forward to next time, mate.”

Kapkan’s gaze merely darkens. There really is no winning with this guy, is there?

[wolvesandfoxes25]

What we want Chp 12:

Mature content below!          

Sakura zipped up her daughters duffle bag, shoving it over to the teenager.

"I made sure you have adequate food. You and your father." Sakura mumbled, smiling stiffly.

Sarada nodded, smiling at her mother, moving around the bed to stand beside her.

Sighing soundly, she caught the Haruno symbol on her mothers shirt, and blanched lightly.

It was official two days ago.

Sakura Uchiha had gone back to Sakura Haruno.

Sarada knew it hurt her mother. But, she also knew that things would be better this way, and that her mom, who worried so much about everyone other than herself, deserved to be happy.

But, something else was bothering her.

Something Sarada couldn’t quite name or pinpoint.

Something..her mother was hiding from.

And that left Sarada in a foul mood sometimes. Feeling as if her mom couldn’t trust her.

So…she decided now was probably the best time to confront her.

“Mom?” She started, levelling her frown to the floor..

Sakura turned to her, looking extremely tired.

“Yes, Sarada?”

The Uchiha sat in the chair in the corner of her bedroom, sighing softly.

“Well, I leave for a week tomorrow. I just wanted to know…if…everything was alright?” She asked, slowly, but her last word sounding almost pleading.

Sakura closed her eyes, wanting to rub her belly, but stopped herself from doing so.

“Yes. I’m fine, Sarada. Why do you ask?” She questioned her paranoid daughter.

“W-Well, you’re tired all the time, and you eat a lot more. You don’t drink anymore of your tea, you just… I don’t know. You seem so down. Has something happened at the hospital?”

Sakura smiled, but shook her head.

Maybe she could tell her?

Taking a deep breath, she beckoned her daughter over, patting the space on the bed.

Sarada raised a brow, but did as she was told, sitting beside her mother.

“Listen, I’m going to tell you something. But, it’s kind of a secret. Only you, I and Naruto can know right now. Okay?”

Sarada felt her belly drop with worry, but she managed to nod stiffly without conveying her fear.

Sakura grasped her daughters knee, “I’m going to have a baby.”

Silence.

Sarada then squealed, flinging her arms around her mothers torso, mindful of he belly.

“Oh gosh. Mom! This is great! I’m gonna be an older sister!”

Sakura was taken slightly aback, she wasn’t really expecting this kind of reaction from her daughter. Smiling gently, she patted Sarada’s back, feeling tears start to fill her eyes.

“When did you find out?” Sarada pulled back, her onyx eyes alight with happiness.

“Oh…uh, a couple of weeks ago.” Sakura blushed, twiddling her thumbs.

“Did you tell Naruto, er, Lord Seventh?”

Sakura smiled, stroking a little bit of her belly, nodding.

“Yes. Of course. I would have told you sooner, but, I wasn’t sure how you would take it. I’m sorry.” The pinkette mumbled, feeling shame unfurl in her chest.

Sarada smiled sweetly, reaching out to grip her mothers fingers.

“It’s okay. Have you gotten an appointment to see if the baby is alright?”

Sakura nodded, sighing gently.

“Two days ago Ino did a little pelvic examination, and she said everything was looking good. She said I’m about two months a long. The heartbeat is stable and my levels are good.”

Sarada wasn’t entirely sure what her mother meant by levels, but she was thrilled none the less, hugging her mother once again.

“I’m so excited!”

Sakura smiled and nodded, taking a deep breath of relief.

Leading Sarada to the gates, Sakura looked a head and saw a black figure coming their way.

Anxiety curled in her belly, but Sakura shoved it away, wanting to make this a cheerful goodbye to her child.

“Okay, Sarada! You know to listen to your father. Remember, he doesn't really converse all that much. Just…have fun. Get to know him a little bit.”

Sarada shouldered her bag, reaching up to brush the bangs out of her eyes.

“I know, mom.” She murmured, looking a little nervous herself.

Sakura smiled, gripping the teenagers shoulder, seeing Sasuke stop short of them out of her peripherials.

“Hello.” She said, nudging Sarada foreward, patting her back as she did so.

“Hey dad.” Sarada said, smiling up at the taller man, watching as he smirked down at her, his onyx eyes gentle.

“We should be going. I have a lot of things to show you.” He mumbled, looking up to Sakura now, his half smile leaving, replaced by a small frown.

Silence.

Sakura shuffled her feet, knowing she kind of deserved his iciness.

“I’ll have her back in one weeks time. Is that alright?”

The Kuniochi nodded.

“Okay. Well, Sarada. I love you.” Sakura exclaimed, reaching out, folding her daughter into her arms, squeezing.

“M-Mom. Too tight.”

Sakura pulled back after a couple of seconds, feeling her eyes well up with tears.

“Have fun, okay?” She said, wiping her eyes.

Later that night, Sakura undressed, her thoughts on Sarada and on her clinical trial in two days. They had scheduled the date for Sunday, and she was nervous.

Oh Kami. What if something went wrong?

What if…

No. She wouldn’t think on it.

She was going to enjoy her shower, then climb into bed.

Sakura was washing her hair when she heard a sound behind her. Stopping abruptly, she covered her private parts, barely managing to cover her pubic mound, when the shower curtain opened.

Naruto.

Gritting her teeth, Sakura glared at him, annoyed at his playful expression.

“Good evening, Sakura.” He said, leaning forward to leave a little peck on her nose.

“Remember that threat I made in the woods? It still stands.” Sakura hissed at him.

Naruto blanched lightly, covering his testicles, chuckling.

“Hey. I didn’t mean to scare you. I told you I was coming by a couple days ago, after we met to talk about the appointment. Not my fault you didn’t remember.” He said huskily, stepping forward to wrap his arms around her, pulling her against his chest, the water hitting his bronzed skin.

Squeaking, Sakura felt every inch of him press her into the tiled wall, lips descending down her temple, to brush at her ear, his teeth nipping at the cartilage.

“You smell phenomenal. What is that body wash?” He asked, mouth now kissing a path down her throat.

Sakura tilted her head back, groaning, feeling her knees start to tremble, her blood humming with need.

“It’s some kind of passionfruit.” She answered him, breathlessly.

Naruto pulled back from her, reaching low to grab at her buttocks, squeezing, smiling at the way Sakura wiggled about in his grasp.

“You know…I love every inch of your body, Sakura. Kami…I always have.”

Sakura felt her womanhood throb, wanting to rub her thighs together to alleviate some of the pressure.

“Ever since we were teenagers, and I got back from training with Jiraiya. I remember it…very well. I was running through town, and I bumped into you and granny Tsunade. I was…astounded by the ass that greeted me.” He said, smirking at the furious blush that covered both of her cheeks.

Sakura felt her heart hammer against her ribcage, wanting him to touch her, to stroke the fire he had set alight between her thighs.

“N-Naruto.” She whimpered, moving her hand down to her nether lips to thumb at her throbbing clit.

The blonde man groaned, reaching beside him to turn off the water.

“Hm…not yet. I’m not done with what I was saying.” He grit out to her, feeling his cock throb almost painfully.

Leaning into Sakura, Naruto grabbed her dainty hands and laid them on his chest, her thumbs stroking the firmness of his muscles, her body trembling at the heat that poured from him like a waterfall.

“After that day, I thought about you often.” He mumbled, planting a hot kiss onto her clavicle, licking a warm trail to her shoulders, leaving little pecs in his wake, moving downwards.

Sakura was panting, feeling the moisture from her drenched sex start to pulsate, making her want to cry out for him to take her.

“There were times in the woods, where you would take your shirt off, and nothing but your bindings were on. The wind would hit you just right…and show off areas of you that made me so hard.” Naruto whispered, his lips now on her cleavage, tongue trailing to the right, mouth now enclosing around a puckered nipple.

This time, Sakura did cry out, bucking upwards towards him, forcing more of her breast into his mouth.

“Hmmm. Your nipples. Kami, they’re so beautiful. The perfect size. I’ll never tire of tasting them.”

Whimper.

Naruto continued this game of torture for awhile, the sheer intensity of Sakura’s need almost making her come without him even having to touch her womanhood at all.

Which had never happened before.

Finally, finally, he got to the area where she most needed him, and Sakura was a whimpering, groaning mess. Her hips bucked up to his mouth, pleading for him to latch his mouth onto her.

Release.

Release is what she desperately needed.

“N-Naruto.” Sakura almost begged, tugging at his wet tresses.

“What is it Sakura? What is it that you want?” The young Hokage asked up at her, smirking.

The pinkette glared, pushing her hips up again.

“You know what I need. Please. Please.”

Naruto hummed, leaning his lips forward to trace her sex, relishing in the pants and the fingers that tangled in his hair, pulling lightly.

Reaching out, Naruto gripped Sakura’s thigh, pushing it against the tiled wall, eyes latching on to the fullness of his pinkettes sex, his mouth watering.

“Please.” Sakura whimpered, licking dry lips.

Naruto moaned, middle finger dancing a long the entrance to Sakura, gritting his teeth, feeling Sakura’s wetness fall over his finger.

“You’re so fucking wet, Sakura.” He mumbled, leaning up to enclose her clit into his warm mouth.

The Kuniochi tried to hold in the moan that flew from her mouth, but couldn’t. His mouth was so warm, his tongue lashing against the bundle of nerves that left her a quivering, shaky mess.

Naruto laved at her clit like he laved at her mouth with his tongue, slowly, delicately. He was stroking her higher into her final crescendo, moving his middle finger to delve into her slickness, curling the digit to assist her by pressing on her g spot.

“Ah..” The pinkette cried out, thrusting her hips against his mouth, hand wound tightly in his blonde strands, his blue eyes feasting upon her expressions.

Naruto groaned, reaching the hand he wasn’t using low to grab his arousal, stroking it in time with his tongue.

Sakura watched as he touched himself, his hand moving furiously down his length, and it was enough to send her barreling over the edge with a sharp jerk of her hips.

Arching her back, Sakura gasped, clit throbbing almost painfully, her fluids rushing down to greet his tongue as she came.

“N-Naruto.” She grit out, hearing him moan, the sound of his hand moving up and down his cock making her whimper.

“S-Sakura.” He groaned, his voice husky, breath rushing from his throat in a gasp as he came as well.

After they both pulled themselves together, and finished their shower, the couple laid in bed.

Sakura had her head on Naruto’s chest, his hand on her belly, stroking the delicate skin, feeling the little bulge.

“You know…we can’t hide your pregnancy from everybody for much longer. People are going to start to notice.” Naruto whispered.

Sakura sighed lightly, shoving her nose in the crook of his neck.

“I know. I just…want to keep it between us for now. I’ll start to show more after my third month.”

The blonde nodded, kissing her forehead.

“Sarada left today didn’t she? To go with Sasuke?” He asked her, feeling her tense up a little bit.

Sakura nodded, and Naruto kicked himself mentally.

Why did he have the knack for saying the wrong thing?

“I’m sorry if I upset you with that question.” He said to her, sighing himself.

“You didn't, don’t worry. I just-I feel bad that Sasuke and I couldn’t work out for Sarada.”

Oh.

“Well, if you had a do over, would you try with him again?” Naruto asked her, feeling a little…hesitant to know the answer.

Would it upset him?

Silence.

“I-I’m not sure.” She responded finally.

And that…well, that wasn’t really the answer Naruto wanted to hear.

Pulling his head away from hers, he looked down at her.

“You would still marry him, knowing what you know now? Is that what you’re saying?” He bit out, annoyance taking over his tone.

Sakura raised an eyebrow.

“Well, no. Would you remarry Hinata, knowing what you know now?”

Naruto just stared at her.

“I would marry her again, knowing it would give me Bolt and Himawari.”

Sakura sat up now too.

“Yes, and I would repeat my relationship with Sasuke, knowing it would give me Sarada.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t married to Sasuke when you became pregnant with Sarada. You got pregnant on your travels, had Sarada and came back to the village.”

Sakura glared at him, feeling aggravation course through her.

Silence.

“Sakura. It isn’t your job to save Sasuke. The only person who could do that is himself.”

Gritting her teeth, she glowered at the blonde man.

“I know that! I just-I don’t know. I-I know I couldn’t have you! You would be with Hinata for your children!”

Naruto sat in silence, watching her war with herself.

“Even so, Sakura. You have always deserved better than Sasuke. It isn’t and wasn’t your responsibility to love him. Or to make him feel as if he belonged. Falling out of love with a person, is not a crime.”

Glaring, Sakura felt the tears burn her eyes.

“You fell out of love with me for awhile, while you were with Hinata.”

Growling, Naruto reached across the way, gripping Sakura’s hand.

“I have never spent a moment not loving you, Sakura.”

The pinkette smiled sadly, looking up to say something else before Naruto’s mouth slanted upon hers, pulling her into his chest and laying down with her on top of him.

He attacked her mouth as if he were a dehydrated man who had found water after years and years of searching for it. Nipping her bottom lip, Naruto felt Sakura pull away, moving her hands down to jerk at the hem of the long shirt she wore, pulling it off.

Watching her with rosy cheeks, Naruto pulled her back to him, feeling her nipples scrape against his chest.

“Sakura.” He said, moving his lips to a nipple.

“Mmm?” She answered, arching towards him.

“Ride me.”

The statement shot a bolt of arousal straight through Sakura’s belly, and she felt her womanhood throb with the answer.

Nodding shakily, she grabbed her underwear, pulling them off, tossing them to the side.

Naruto shimmied his boxers down, his arousal springing forth, precum dripping from the head of his manhood.

Sakura felt her mouth water at the intoxicating sight in front of her, and leaned forward to place a light kiss on his head, licking a hot trail from base back to the tip.

Groaning, Naruto sucked a breath in through his nostrils, trying not to thrust his hips up into her mouth.

She couldn’t pull away though…

The sandalwood smell infiltrated her nostrils again, and she was suddenly feasting on his aching arousal, engulfing the entire shaft into her mouth, rolling her tongue around the flesh.

“S-Sakura.” Naruto moaned, panting to her movements, hearing her moan as well.

Finally, after a few more minutes of driving him insane, Sakura pulled away, the appendage making a popping noise after leaving her mouth.

Shifting upwards, Sakura placed herself over him, and sank down, engulfing him in her wet heat, hearing him hiss loudly.

“Damnit.” He said, frantically trying to keep himself from coming like an inexperienced teenager.

Sakura was having none of it though, setting a pace, arching her heels up and down as she took his length deep into her body, watching as his blue eyes grew as dark as the midnight sky.

“Naruto.” She moaned, leaning back to grind her hips in a circle, watching as he flinched, writhing beneath her.

“Kami. You look so beautiful. So…regal. Like a queen on her throne.” He said, gripping her hips, watching as her head tilted back, nipples kissing the air that flowed around them.

“I’d mount my throne everyday, if this is what I would sit on.” Sakura ground out, relishing in the gasp that accompanied what she had said.

Leaning forward, she moved her chest over him, inviting him to suck on his nipples, feeling his mouth latch onto one.

“N-Naruto. Rub my clit. Please. Please rub my clit.” She begged him, fire shooting through her blood, her end coming closer and closer.

The blonde did just that, his middle digit diving beneath the folds to caress her most intimate area, his phalange slipping against the wet nub, stealing jerks and groans from Sakura as she rode him into the mattress.

“Yesssss. There. Kami, right there.” She squeaked, grinding into his pelvis, tucking her feet through his legs, as she literally started bouncing on his manhood.

That was enough.

“Sakura. I’m coming. Oh…Kami…I-I’m c-coming.” Naruto said, in what sounded like pain as he gripped her hips so hard, Sakura winced slightly, feeling her own end crash into her as he bucked into her, lifting her body off the bed with his ferocious jerks.

The two of them collapsed, Sakura feeling the aftershocks of her orgasm as she closed her thighs and fell to the side of him, watching as his chest pumped rapidly with the blood that flowed through his body.

His head turned to her, a tired grin on his features.

“I’ll get a rag.”

Sakura was cuddled to Naruto’s chest, the both of them fully sated, clean, and exhausted.

“Naruto.” Sakura said as she was drifting off, hearing him grunt, informing her to continue.

“For the past fifteen years, I have never spent a moment not loving you.” She murmured, hearing silence, but feeling him shove her closer to him as she drifted off.

His lips touched her forehead gently.

[owlish-peacock36]

Dates and Deal Breakers- Coffee Shop AU

So, I promised @takemeawaytocamelot that this would be finished by the end of the week, and I always keep my promises!

This is a continuation of “Two Sugars, Extra Cream” which you can find here under Coffee Shop AU . Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Dates and Deal Breakers

           It was 6:30, and I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror contemplating what in God’s name I should do with my hair. Steaming milk for 6 hours did wonders for curls, and not in the good way. The only way to fix this was to shower, and I simply did not have time for that.

           “What do you think Adso?” I turned to the small pile of gray fur in the doorway. “Is it acceptable? Oh, gross!” He was licking his nether-parts. I wasn’t sure if he did that for business or pleasure, but it was disgusting either way.

           Adso turned at my exclamation, green eyes bright in his charcoal face. He stared unwaveringly, making me super uncomfortable after his previous activity.

           “I’m going to take that awkward stare as a yes, and assume I look all right,” I told him. He meowed happily, and rubbed himself in a figure-eight around my legs. “Okay, don’t trip me Addy. It’s one thing to have messy hair on a first date. It’s another to have a broken arm.”

           He continued his rubbing, anyway. Obviously, he didn’t care about my feelings whatsoever. But, what cat ever did?

           I pivoted to face the full length mirror on the door, and surveyed “The Outfit,” bottom to top. Black boots, black tights, black dress. Black on black on black.

           Classy, Beauchamp.

           My eyes made their way to my hair. Wild as ever, dark curls springing in every direction. There was no hope for it.

           Maybe I should put a headband or something in it…

           A headband? What are you, Beauchamp? Eight?

           I ran my hands through it, zooshing it up a bit.

           Shit, that made it worse.

           Before I could destroy my hair further, Adso startled me by yowling at the door.  

Shit. Is that him?

And then the doorbell rang.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           Jamie drove an obnoxiously large, obnoxiously red truck.

“Compensating for something, my lad?” Jamie had my hand in his, carefully assisting me into his monstrosity vehicle. He gave me a pointed look and slammed the door, but otherwise did not acknowledge my hilarious joke. I watched the top of his red mane float across the windshield before he appeared fully on the other side.

“Nay, ‘twas my godfather’s. He sold it to me fer a guid price.” Jamie heaved into the truck using his grab handles. He wiggled a bit in his seat, before buckling up.

“And what did your godfather need a truck this large for?”

“I dinna ken. Tae hold his big balls, most like.”

“That’s foul.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jamie whipped his truck into the parking lot of a place called Iggy’s Steakhouse.

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not a vegetarian…” I said, wrestling with the seatbelt. Jamie had already unbuckled and magically appeared at my side, opening the door for me. He held out his hand, and I used that as leverage to hop out of the truck.

“Aye… Perhaps I shoulda asked…”

“Perhaps. But you’re lucky. I eat meat like nobody’s business.”

“Good.” He placed a hand gently on the small of my back (!!!) and started leading me to the entrance. His hand was large, and probably took up half the space on my back. But it was warm, and his thumb was make tiny, almost imperceptible motions against my dress. I could melt, and would happily be the small English puddle in his life.

Despite the name (Seriously, what kind of name is Iggy? Is it short for something?), the inside was lovely and proper. Small tabled were arranged in rows, each with a candle and a white tablecloth. Small chandeliers littered the ceiling, creating a charming, dim ambiance. I heard, amongst the chattering of patrons, quiet orchestral music. This had to be the fanciest first date I’ve ever been on, and I told Jamie just as much.

“Wow. This place is wonderful! I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Well, it’s not a huge place, ken. My mate Angus owns the place. That’s how I knew about it,” Jamie responded, as we stepped to the hostess. “Two under Fraser, please.”

The woman guided us to our table. A table with a card on it that read “Reservation” in calligraphy. I suppose it pays to know the owner. Speaking of the owner…

“So,” I began, as I shimmied out of my coat. “Your friend’s name is Angus. And he owns a steak restaurant… I can taste the irony, and it tastes like cow.” Jamie chuckled, teeth sparkling in the candlelight.

“Aye. I dinna ken if he did that purposely.” He took a small sip of water. “But, he’s the type that would, so…”  He took another sip, this time including an ice cube. He bit down on the ice with a crunch, and munched on it happily, very much like a cow we were preparing to eat.

“Wow, Fraser. Hungry?”

“Bad habit. I’ve done it since I was a lad. Anytime I would get hot or nervous, I’d eat ice. Deal breaker?”

“No, my bad habits are much worse, just you wait,” I grinned. Jamie mirrored my grin.

“Nay, I doubt that. Ice crunching is probably the worst habit anyone could have. It’s irritatin’ and it’s bad for yer teeth.”

“You know what else is bad for your teeth? Smoking.”

“I dinna know you smoked.” I could hear the trepidation in his voice. Obviously, that was a deal breaker for him.

“I don’t. I’m just giving you a fun fact.” With that, he let out a breath.

“Yer always messin’ wi’ me, Sassenach.”

“I know. I think that’s just how I flirt.”

“Yer flirting wi’ me?”

“I’ve been flirting with you since we first met. Thanks for noticing.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Our dinners came out perfectly arranged on silvery plates. A medium rare steak took up one half, a small salad took up the other. It looked simply mouth-watering. And I, feeling more than a bit peckish, started cutting into it immediately. Jamie, I noticed, did not.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, aye. Everything’s fine.” He waved over the server; a blond boy no more than 17. “Excuse me, sir? Could I maybe have a bottle of ketchup?”

“Umm, aye?” The boy answered, perplexed, before scampering off. I was confused as well.

“What in God’s name do you need ketchup for?”

“My steak, o’ course.” I stared at him blankly. Surely he was joking…

“I’m sorry?”

“What? Have ye no seen a man put ketchup on his steak before?” He seemed slightly miffed by my attitude.

“No! Never!” It was the truth. I had heard of such blasphemies, but never experienced them first-hand. “You mean to tell me that you took me this nice place, all to drown your delicious steak in ketchup. And your friend owns the place, no less!”

“Are ye mocking my food choice?” Was he truly hurt by this?

“No!” I assured. “I’m just…concerned. Donald Trump eats his steak with ketchup, and I just don’t want you to end up like that…” He rolled his eyes at me. At this time, the young server popped in to drop off Jamie’s desecration, before leaving again. Jamie squeezed the ketchup in his plate, cut into his meal, dipped it in said ketchup, and took an enormous bite. Even more disturbing was him staring at me with wide blue eyes the entire time.

“You’re killing me; you know that?”

“Aye. It’s why I’m doing it. Hope this isn’t a deal breaker either.” I thought for a second, eyes to the ceiling.

“No, but you’re pushing it.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dinner tasted as good as it looked, and I, thankfully, didn’t vomit while watching Jamie eat ketchup drenched steak.

“We’re ready fer the check, please,” Jamie told the boy-server.

“Aye, sir,” he responded.

“It was delicious Jamie,” I said once the boy was gone. “You’ll have to tell your friend that he has a wonderful restaurant.”

“Aye, I will, Sassenach,” Jamie replied as he took the check-holder from the server, and deftly slid his card into the designated pocket before handing it back to him. “He’ll be pleased.”

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           Jamie wrapped his arm around me as we left the restaurant, which left me feeling all safe and warm. He carefully maneuvered me back into his firetruck, before floating over to his side.

           “Claire,” he said seriously. This caught my attention. Usually we were playful, and banter-y. This was different. He reached over, and tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “I forgot tae tell ye how lovely ye looked tonight. I should have when I picked ye up, but I was too busy staring, ken? Truly, ye are the loveliest woman, inside and out.”

           I blushed. No one had ever spoken to me like that, with such sweetness and sincerity. I wasn’t used to it, and I didn’t know how to respond.

           “Thank you, Jamie. You look very handsome yourself this evening.” It was the truth. He wore a green and blue plaid shirt that simultaneously brought out the red in his hair and the blue in his eyes. His jeans were dark, and hugged his hips lovingly. But it was more than that. It was the twinkle in his eyes. The deep laugh. The small bump in his nose. The ears that stuck out just a bit. The kindness and humour that came so effortlessly to him. I was infatuated. He smiled brightly, pulling at the dimple in his chin.

           “Thank ye, Claire. Not just for the compliment, but fer spending the evening wi’ me.”

           “It was my pleasure.”

           “Mine, as well.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           “Shit.” I wasn’t sure if I had ever heard Jamie curse, but I suppose there was a first time for everything.

           “What? What’s wrong?” But I could already feel it. The truck was slowing down, with no assistance from Jamie. He veered over to the shoulder of the road. “Did your truck just die?”

           “Nay. Ran out of gas.” I also don’t think I’ve ever seen Jamie angry, but tonight was a night of firsts, I suppose. His eyes narrowed, and I saw him clenching and unclenching his jaw. He jumped out of the truck, and slammed the door, hard. I know he was trying to keep his voice down for me, but I still heard the muffled profanities. Some I wasn’t even sure were real words. He circled the truck a couple times, before opening the door again.

           “There’s a station, up over the hill. I’ll have to push it. You scoot over and make sure I dinna push it into traffic.”

           “Jamie…” But he had already closed the door again, and positioned himself at the back. I felt the truck start to move forward, so I moved over to the driver’s side, and steered.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           And that was how we spent the next hour: trying to get the truck up the hill. I offered to push while he steered for a bit, but he was having none of it. So, I sat there steering when I needed to, pushing the brakes when I needed to, but altogether feeling quite useless.

           When we made it to the station, Jamie was red-faced with hair sticking to his forehead and neck. I wouldn’t tell him this, but it was kind of sexy.

           “Thank the Lord!” He exclaimed after filling his truck up. I could tell he was worn. He was breathing harder than usual. Gone was the alive twinkle in his eyes. It was replaced by glassy exhaustion.

           “Do you need me to drive? You’re about to pass out.”

           “Nay, I’ll be fine.”

           “Just let me help, Jamie.”

           “That’s verra kind, but I’m completely awake. My muscles just ache.”

           “Jamie…”

           “Claire…”

           I could be as stubborn as any Scot, and he could see it too. I had my jaw set and my eyes narrowed, ready to be a mule.

           We ended up performing an odd sort of dance across the bench seat, so that we switched places. If this vehicle seemed big as a passenger, it was completely enormous as the driver. I carefully backed out of the space, and sped to a racing crawl all the way back to my flat.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           To Jamie’s credit, he did not fall asleep as a drove. He was, however, staring unseeingly at the street lamps passing by. When I parked at my flat, his reverie broke.

           “Can you make it back okay?” I asked as he walked me to my door.

           “Aye, I dinna live too far. Besides, I told ye, my body’s jus’ tired, no my brain.”

           “Well, if you’re sure…”

           “I am. Dinna worry. I’ll text ye when I get home, okay?”

           “Okay, that’ll make me feel better.” Now here came the awkward part. The part I was never good at: the goodbye after the first date. Do we kiss? Do we hug? Do we shake hands? High five? Fist bump? Jamie placed a hand on my shoulder.

“I had a wonderful time, Sassenach. Shall we do it again sometime?”

“You have my number.” I winked at him. He blinked owlishly back. And then wrapped me in his arms in a crushing hug.

No, that won’t do.

I pulled away from him, and pecked him lightly on the corner of his mouth.

“Be safe, Jamie.”

Iggy’s Restaurant is a fake restaurant. Any resemblance to other restaurants past or present is complete coincidental. 

Also, I did have the steakhouse written before today, but I just had to put the ketchup part in after ECCC panel. :) 

[ffsfics]

Robert is barely out of his last exam when something blond and shouting plows into his side and tackles him to the ground. It's not the first time it's happened, so his bag is thankfully zipped and his things don't spill out everywhere, but it still knocks the wind out of him and he lies on his back in the grass, gasping fish-like for air.

"Robert!" Pete says, unnecessarily loud. He's straddling Robert's legs and grinning down at him hugely. Robert blinks at him.

"Hi Pete."

"Sorry Rob." Robert turns his head to see Ross and Finn walking toward them, hands linked casually between them. Pete gets off him and helps him up, and Robert stands up and dusts grass off his clothes. Ross's smiling ruefully. "He took off before we could stop him."

"To be fair, you should've seen it coming," Finn offers with a smirk. Robert offers him two fingers right back but he's grinning and he slings a companionable arm across Pete's shoulders.

"We're done!" Pete yells, wrapping Robert up in a tight hug. "First year of uni done, lads! Let's celebrate!"

"I've been in a library for three days. All I'm doing is sleeping."

"Sleep when you're dead," Pete says.

"That might be soon," says Robert.

Pete looks at him blankly.

Robert tilts his head at him. "If I don't get some sleep."

Pete sticks his tongue out at him and Robert catches it between his index finger and thumb and pinches until Pete makes a choking noise and bats him away. Ross is too polite to point and laugh, but Finn isn't, and he does just that as Pete pets at his tongue like that'll make it stop hurting and glares balefully at Robert.

"We should celebrate," Ross says, trying and failing to hide a smile. "Go out tonight or something? You can have a nap, first."

"I'm in," Robert agrees. "S'long as I get to sleep first. Where should we go?"

"Li and I've been wanting to check out this place called Ruby's Welcome. 'S a club."

"Never heard of it."

"I have," Pete says. "Supposed to be good. Hear the drinks are rubbish, though. Dancing's supposed to be fun. And the girls."

"That's why Ross and I wanna go," Finn adds, rolling his eyes. "The girls."

"It's true." Ross nods seriously and squeezes Finn's hand, lifts it to his mouth and kisses it like Finn's a princess. Robert makes gagging noises and Pete laughs and Finn makes like he's going to pull away with a disgusted sound in his throat but he's got a small, soft smile on his face and he's blushing. Ross and Finn have been together for years. They're absolutely foul with how sweet they are together. Robert can't imagine either of them with anyone but each other, let alone girls.

"All right, you two are sickening. I'm going home. Pete?"

"Yup?"

Robert waves an imperious hand toward the car park. They'd splurged on paying to park for their last day of term. "Take me home."

All it does is make Pete jump onto his back and refuse to get down, so Robert ends up carrying him to his car, Finn and Ross on either side, Robert's school bag clutched in Ross's hand.

  The girl he's with is gorgeous, curvy and blonde and she smells nice and has something shiny and sparkly in her hair. She's nearly as tall as he is with a pair of truly fantastic legs. He's got his arms around her, teasing his fingers over the skin of her back where her dress bares a big tear-drop of skin just above the waist. She's got one of her hands on his chest and the other arm around his neck and they're kissing lazily, swaying together under the pound of dim light and throbbing bass and God-awful music. Robert's sweaty from dancing, his hair damp at the nape of his neck and her fingers are smooth out the blonde hair.

"You're really very good at this," she says, breathing heavy. She has pretty brown eyes and she tastes like the bubble gum she was chewing earlier. Her name is Ella and she was quiet and shy at first but she's bold with her body and unapologetic with her mouth and Robert likes that. Over her head he can see Pete with Ella's friend, and Ross and Finn are dancing together, all wound together like usual, Finn's lips moving around words Robert can't read and Ross's head tilted back as he laughs.

"Only as good as you make me, love," Robert tells her, and she laughs, smacks a hand against his chest lightly.

"That was a horrible line."

He grins, kisses her again. She's lovely and fun and it's the perfect first night of the summer holiday. He licks his way into her mouth and she makes a quiet sound in her throat and squeezes the back of his neck, leans in closer so her breasts are squished into his chest.

"Ella!" her friend says all of the sudden, shouting to be heard over the music. Robert reluctantly breaks the kiss to let her turn around, but she stays pressed close to him, her arse right against his groin as she leans down to hear more easily. Pete is there too, still attached to Ella's friend, wearing a pleased, mellow grin. His face is sheened in sweat and his hair is a mess like the girl's been running her hand through it. Robert offers him a wan smile and Pete winks theatrically.

"He's here again!" Ella's friend—Brittany or Bethany or something—shouts, and points at someone over Robert's shoulder. Robert turns around when Ella does and follows Brittany-or-Bethany's finger to a boy by the bar, and every single checkbox in Robert's mental list of everything good in a body is marked on sight.

He's not really a boy, probably at least Robert's age, but he's at least a head shorter and small, like Robert could wrap around him and hide him from everyone else's view. He's wearing tight, bright blue trousers and a white t-shirt with braces that've fallen down off his shoulders. He has a mess of dark, wind-blown looking hair and bright, piercing blue eyes and a crooked, sun-bright smile. As they watch he turns to face away, yelling to someone over the crowd, and Robert zeroes in on his perfect, perfect arse and feels his blood throb in his veins.

Ella must see the look on his face, because Robert's ever been an open book, and he can feel the smirk in her voice when she whispers in his ear. "He's prettier than every girl in here, isn't he?" He opens his mouth to answer but doesn't know what to say, can't answer honestly when she's on his arm, but she just laughs and pats his cheek. "It's all right. I already know he is. This is your first time here, yeah? He's a bit famous. His name's Aaron."

Aaron, Robert thinks. "Aaron," he says aloud.

"Mm-hm," she sing-songs. Robert's just about to turn back to her when the boy—Aaron—when he turns around. It's a coincidence, the crowd having parted a bit around Robert as someone pushed through to get to the bar, and Aaron's blue eyes settle on Robert and Robert doesn't look away. He's not self-conscious, and Aaron is beautiful to look at, especially when he smiles like that, one elegant eyebrow quirking. When the crowd closes in again Robert looks back to Ella. Ross and Finn have wandered off, and Pete is laughing with Brittany-or-Bethany a few feet away.

"What's he famous for?" Robert asks her curiously, pulling her back in, their hips swaying together again.

"The company he keeps," she says vaguely. "Or, rather, the company that keeps him."

"Pardon?"

Ella laughs, a sweet, tinkling sound. "Well, the rumor is that he has a bit of a thing for wealthy older men."

Huh. Robert looks back through the crowd toward the bar, but Aaron isn't there anymore and he shrugs, turns back to Ella and smiles at her, leans in and kisses her again. 

The club is crowded and the beat heady and sexy. The DJ is very good and Robert's pleasantly buzzed and has a beautiful girl on his arm, against his chest, grinding back into him with her hair brushing his neck and the underside of his chin, her curvy hips in his hands.

He catches sight of Aaron a few more times, see him jumping around with his friends, and dancing up on the bar with one of the bartenders a little later. His voice is everywhere, loud and forceful and everyone seems to know him. Robert pays only Roby attention until later, when a guy at least in his early thirties leads Aaron past he and Ella on the dance floor. Aaron's all lit up in strobe lights, his smile a flash of white teeth and his eyes on Robert. The guy pulls Aaron in close, whispers something in his ear that makes Aaron laugh and Robert wets his lips, closes his eyes, wonders what it would feel like to be the other guy. When he looks again Aaron's dancing, lost in the music and for a second their eyes meet again. 

Robert feels himself flush, tightens his arms around Ella and opens his mouth when she kisses him. She smells amazing, whatever perfume she's wearing and clean sweat and her shampoo. He cups the side of her neck and nudges his nose against her cheek, his mouth at her ear. "You want to go back to mine?" he asks her.

She pulls back and grins at him. "Thought you'd never ask. Just let me tell Brit and pop into the ladies room, hm?"

"Sure. I'm gonna go out back, have a fag. Meet you at the entrance?"

She nods, kisses his cheek and slips through the mass of dancing bodies and out of sight. Robert heads the other way. Finn and Ross aren't far off the dance floor, in a little alcove by the side wall. Finn has a drink, but Ross's hands are free and Robert gets a running start before launching himself onto Ross's unsuspecting back.

"What the—Robert!" And only Ross can sound so disapproving and fond at the same time. He gets his arms under Robert's legs to make sure he doesn't fall off. Robert smacks a loud kiss to the side of Ross's head before he lets his feet drop back to the floor. Ross cuts a look at Finn. "You saw him coming."

Finn shrugs lethargically. "Wouldn't have stopped him if you'd known."

"S'true," Robert says. "I'm leaving with Ella. You two let Pete know as well?"

"Sure," Ross says warmly, while Finn smirks and calls Robert a slut, ruffling his hair.

"You're parked the other way, mate."

"Going out back," Robert tells them. "Fancy a fag?"

Ross doesn't smoke, and Finn shakes his head, so Robert shrugs, hugs them both and makes his way out the back door.

The sudden lack of noise is startling, makes his ears ring. He shoves his fingers back through his hair, ignores it when it all falls right back into place. He digs his cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one up as he walks further away from the door. His eyes are on the sky, though it's not like he can see stars or anything, but the clouds are hanging over the moon and it's kind of pretty.

"Hey," a voice says next to him and he jumps, turning swiftly and coming face to face with Aaron. He's even smaller up close in comparison to Robert, slight shoulders and a narrow waist. His hair is a wreck, and he's smiling wide and so sweet. "Scare you?"

A laugh is surprised out of Robert, and he takes a quick drag on his fag, lets the smoke curl out of his mouth before he answers. "Maybe a bit."

"I'm Aaron," Aaron says, unprompted. He rolls up onto the balls of his feet and reaches for Robert. Robert's not sure what he's doing, tries not to move when Aaron's hand digs into the pocket of his trousers, hand warm through denim, and pulls Robert's cigarettes out. "Bum a smoke?"

"Sure."

"Cheers." Aaron's already got one in his mouth, the butt pushing prettily against his bottom lip. He leans in closer than necessary for Robert to light it, his breath hot on Robert's neck. Robert wants to put his hands on Aaron's hips, wants to slide his hand down his back and grip Aaron's bum and squeeze. "So who're you then?"

"Ah, " Robert replies, somewhat caught off guard by the question. He'd forgot for a moment that he's talking to someone he doesn't actually know. "Robert.".

"Ah, Robert," Aaron repeats, amused smile pulling at his lips. He's beautiful. "Had enough of the party?"

"No," Robert says. He can never have enough of the party, really. He thrives off that sort of scene, all those people and all those bodies, the endorphins and the sweat and the sex. "What about you?"

Aaron tilts his head, exhales into the wind. He's cold, goose bumps on his skin and little shivers running through him, an arm wrapped around his middle. Robert's feeling overly warm himself, so he shrugs out of his jumper and drapes it over Aaron's shoulders. He's immediately glad he thought to, because the smile Aaron gives him makes his knees weak.

"Such a gentleman," Aaron teases, but he shifts his fag from hand to hand so he can pull it over his head and get his arms in the sleeves. It's huge on him, the sleeves too long and the neckline nearly falling off his shoulder and Robert has no idea why he finds it so attractive but he does.

"I try to be," Robert says honestly. He doesn't really feel like smoking anymore, drops his fag to the ground and toes it out. Aaron raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. "You never answered my question."

"Right," Aaron says, smiling again. "I think I'm about sick of the party. Drinks are shit."

"We could go back to mine." Robert has no idea what makes him say it, but he's glad for once that his mouth moves without permission from his brain. Aaron looks a little shocked at the invitation and Robert likes to him taken by surprise like that. "I'm very good at mixing drinks. Good drinks, even."

"Yeah?" Aaron asks.

"Yeah," Robert shrugs and thumbs at his nose like he tough, no big deal, looks at Aaron through his eyelashes. The wind is blowing and Aaron's hair isn't moving an inch. "'ve got a degree in it. Bartending. Drink mixing."

Aaron laughs around his fag, coughs lightly. "I bet it's a doctorate," he says. "I bet you're a doctor of bartending and drink mixing. Dr. Robert…"

"Sugden."

"Dr. Robert Sugden. Ph.D."

"M.D.," Robert correct.

"Oh right, of course," Aaron says knowledgably. "Because fine alcohol is a medical necessity."

"Ten CCs of vodka, stat."

And Aaron is grinning, dropping his unfinished fag on the ground too. He swaggers a little bit closer, until there's nearly no space between them.

"How old are you, Robert Sugden?"

"Nineteen," Robert answers, thinking about what Ella told him inside, but Aaron doesn't look disappointed.

"Nineteen and already a doctor. Impressive."

"I'm very advanced. How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"You don't look it."

Aaron snorts. "I know." He pushes his fingers back through his hair and looks up at Robert through his eyelashes. He's lovely, all of him, wrapped in Robert's jumper. "I'm going to kiss you now."

Robert wets his lips nervously, nods. "Okay."

And Aaron does, puts both hands on Robert's cheeks and slants their mouths together. It's slow and sweet and exploratory, like Aaron is testing him, and Robert is nothing if not good at tests. He grips Aaron by the hips and pulls him in until they're a long line pressed together belly to knees. He licks across the seam of Aaron's mouth, presses his tongue in when Aaron parts his lips and Aaron inhales sharply, threads his fingers into Robert's hair and tilts his head so the angle is better. He tastes like alcohol and sugar and heat and even though Aaron is pressing him back into the wall, is sliding his thigh between Robert's knees and sucking on Robert's tongue like he can't get enough of it, there's something naturally submissive about him. Robert guides him through touch, his big hand on Aaron's slender back, his fingers tugging at Aaron's hair until Aaron tilts his head back and Robert laps one last time at the roof of Aaron's mouth, retracts his tongue but just so he can sink his teeth into Aaron's bottom lip until Aaron moans for him.

When Aaron pulls his head back, it's not by much, and he's looking up at Robert with a heavy-lidded, pleased gaze. He trails his fingers over the shells of Robert's ears and Robert's mouth feels bruised and raw. He palms over Aaron's stomach, back around to his hip. He's breathing heavy.

"You're leaving with someone else tonight."

Ella. Of course, Robert'd forgotten. He looks back around at the door. She's probably waiting on him, wondering if he ditched her and he feels guilty. "Right."

"I'd offer to join in, but I only swing one way, mate."

Robert swallows. All he really wants to do is go in, tell Ella that something's come up, pack Aaron into his car and take him home. But he's not that kind of guy, no matter how much he wishes right now that he was.

"Right," he repeats. "I should..."

Aaron is smiling as he steps back. His hair is even more of a mess than before. He plucks Robert's phone out of his pocket and flicks it on, taps at the screen for a minute and then hands it back. "Go on, Dr. Sugden," he says, already turning like he's going to walk away. "Enjoy your night."

"My jumper," Robert says stupidly. Aaron looks back at him.

"I'll keep this for now. Keep an eye on it. Feels nice on me."

"Looks nice on you," Robert agrees. Aaron smiles like Robert just gave him a few million pounds and Robert wants to fuck him right up against the wall.

"Ring me tomorrow. I believe you owe me drinks."

Robert can't keep the grin off his face. He clutches his mobile close to his chest like a security blanket. "Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow," Aaron agrees. "G'night, Robert."

"Night, Aaron."

He watches Aaron walk around the building until he turns the corner out of sight. Safely alone, Robert lifts his fingers to his tingling lips.

Back inside, Ella is waiting for him at the entrance, looking gorgeous and smiling quite prettily at him, and he's already flushed with heat and want. She holds out her hand and he takes it, smiling, and leads her to his car.

  When Robert wakes up the next morning, Ella is gone and there's a sticky note stuck to his forehead that says Thx for a great night. – Ella. Robert grins, tosses the note into the trash can under his nightstand and stretches hugely, yawning. His head is still pleasantly buzzy with sleep and he's sore and sated. Ella was good, a lot of fun and enthusiasm and Robert feels relaxed and comfortably zen with the world.

He tugs on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, grabs his mobile off the bedside table and pads into the living room, utterly unsurprised to find Pete, Ross and Finn sitting around his dining table eating breakfast.

"Did you wait until she was gone, at least?" Robert asks them. It smells wonderful, and he drops into the chair between Pete and Finn to pile his own plate high with eggs and sausages. It's one of Pete's latent talents, cooking, and Robert's almost all right with him using Robert's food if it means he gets breakfast cooked for him.

"Of course," Pete answers, mock-offended. "What d'you think we are, perverts?"

"Yes," Robert says. Pete lobs a piece of bacon at him and Robert catches it, adds it to the growing stack on his plate. Finn's plate is already nearly empty, and Ross's is, so he sits sipping at his coffee and reading the paper, because he's really an old man. Pete, of course, is on his second helping. Robert steals the butter from him and slathers his own plate in it. He's starving.

Naturally, Finn waits until Robert's mouth is full to bursting before he says, overly-casual, "Stepped outside to find you last night, tell you your date was about to leave without you. Saw you'd found another."

Robert gawps at him, feels his ears redden. He tries to chew as fast as he can before the others can start in, but his mouth is too full. It's a losing battle.

"What?" Pete asks, looking oddly proud. "Double dipping? Robert!"

"S'not like that!" Robert tries to say, but it comes out 'Saw hoh ah" and they ignore him.

"Who was it?" Pete presses on. "The first girl...the one he was dancing with when we got there? Or that big bloke?"

"No, was a smaller guy. I couldn't see his face since it was sucking on Robert's."

Ross makes a face and Pete whips his head around to look at Robert. Pete is possibly the nosiest person in the world. Robert swallows so much food at once that it actually hurts. "Face-sucking?" Pete says. "Really?"

"You're a class act," Robert tells Finn, pretending he's not choking a little. He takes a few gulps of Finn's water.

"S'what it looked like from where I was standing," Finn says, shrugging. "Like he was trying to crawl inside your mouth."

"Who?" Pete demands, laughing. Robert sends a desperate look at Ross, who simply smiles benignly and takes another sip of coffee. Traitor.

"Just a bloke," Robert answers finally. "That guy Ella's friend pointed out."

"The pretty one?" Pete asks. "Looked a bit like River Phoenix?"

"Yeah, him. He's called Aaron."

"Hm," says Pete, and it sounds so uncharacteristically judgmental that Robert frowns at him.

"What?"

"Brittany told me some stuff about him is all. But it's probably just people talking, yeah?"

"What'd she tell you?" Finn asks.

"Finn," Ross says disapprovingly, but Finn just levels a look at him and Ross sighs helplessly.

"Just that he's always hanging around these older men that kind of, like, parade him around. Like an escort or something."

"An escort?" Robert repeats, and even Finn snorts derisively. Ross sighs loudly again and starts to clean up their plates. Robert would normally help, but just thinking about Aaron is making him want to call him up and have him come round right now. He wants to hear what else Brittany told Pete.

"It's just a shoddy part of town and he's there a lot with older men. It's just people talking."

"So she thinks he's a prostitute?"

"That was the implication, yeah," Pete says, and shrugs again.

Robert frowns thoughtfully. Aaron certainly hadn't come across that way to him at all.

"I wouldn't look too much into it mate," Ross says from the kitchen, where he's loading their sticky plates into the dishwasher. He looks at them over the counter sagely. "When I was sixteen I worked at a country club and there were these old men who were a bit…well, flirty, I suppose."

"Really?" Robert asks, mildly surprised. Ross's such a good boy, Robert can't quite imagine it.

"S'true," Finn says, frowning.

"Yeah, it was harmless, y'know. They were just…But anyway, I was the youngest and gay and the other staff gave me a hard time about it, started rumors that I was getting tips with my mouth and that sort of thing."

"Jesus, Li," Robert murmurs, feeling horrified.

"People just like to talk, is my point," Ross says, rolling his eyes and smiling sweetly at Robert's concern. "Nothing happened to me, Rob. It was just a summer job and I got to go home to Finn every day. I'm just telling you not to believe everything you hear. And you either," he points at Pete sternly.

"I didn't believe her!" says Pete.

"Well, whatever the case," Robert says, decision already made, "I'm going to call him. I liked him and I want to see him. He didn't tell me what he cost when we were snogging, so until he does I'm going to assume he's not a hooker, all right?"

Pete claps him on the back. "Right on, Robza."

"You should bring him by the pub," Finn offers. He's leaning back in his chair, looking very sleepy. "I'm working all week, an' Li's playing tonight and the day after tomorrow. We need to meet your new beau."

"He's not my new—"

"We have to make sure if he's good enough for you," Ross adds, as though Robert hadn't spoken.

"You are a bit of a slut. It wouldn't be bad idea to run them through a filter before you sleep with them," says Pete.

"I hate you all," says Robert, and he gets up to go and take a shower while the three of them laugh, thinking that he might just change the locks on his door.

  'Hi, you've reached Aaron Dingle. Leave a message and I might call back.'

"Hey Aaron," Robert starts after the beep, inexplicably nervous. "It's Robert...ah, Robert Sugden, from the club last night. You told me to ring you. Ring me back at this number when you can. Erm, if you want, I mean. Yeah. See you."

He hangs up quickly before he can ramble anymore and stares hopelessly at his mobile, wondering if he always sounds like such an idiot. It's not something he wants to dwell on though, so he cuts that train of thought off quickly and makes his way into his kitchen, chugging water from the bottle in his hand. He shot up like a weed between the age of sixteen and eighteen and he only in the last year started to fill out, and he tries to work out a few times a week. He's just been to the gym for a couple hours and he's sweaty and hot and painfully hungry. He chomps his way through a protein bar and is digging around in the freezer for something sweet when his mobile rings where he left it on the dining table.

Grinning, he crosses the distance in two graceless leaps, ignores the irritable pounding on the floor from his downstairs neighbor, and feels his chest go tight and pleased at the sight of Aaron's name on the screen.

"Hullo?"

"Ah, Robert Sugden," Aaron answers, and Robert grins wide, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Aaron," he says. "You got my message."

"Well, yes, obviously."

Robert rolls his eyes at himself. "Obviously."

"To what do I owe this pleasure? Not spending the day with your girl?"

"She's not my girl," Robert says. "And mostly my day's been spent thinking about you."

"Charmer."

"Not to mention I owe you drinks."

"That you do."

"And you've still got my jumper."

"It's very nice. Quite warm. I'm wearing it now. I think I'd rather keep it."

Robert's smiling, so wide that his face hurts a bit. "Are you busy tonight?"

"That depends," Aaron's voice is casual, teasing. Robert wonders what he's doing, where he is, if maybe he's curled up on a sofa or in a chair nearly swimming in Robert's jumper. "Why do you ask?"

"I'd like to take you out."

Aaron's quiet for a several seconds. "Out? Like on a date?"

"Exactly like that. On a proper date. And then, if things go well, possibly back to mine for those drinks I owe you."

"I'm going to call you Dr. Sugden all the way through the shag."

"Kinky."

Aaron laughs, and it's a beautiful sound. Robert wishes he could see him. "All right. You can take me on a proper date."

"Excellent! Where should I pick you up?" Robert fistpumps into the air, but he'll keep that to himself.

"Such a gentleman."

"Not really," Robert says. "After all, I do plan on feeding you drink and then taking you to bed."

"But you're buying me dinner first," says Aaron. "That makes all the difference."

"A man with low standards. I like it."

Robert can hear Aaron shifting around, the sound of fabric moving on fabric, and when he speaks Robert can tell that he's smiling.. "I'll text you my address. Pick me up at seven."

"On the dot," Robert promises.

"Mm-hm."

Aaron hangs up without another word and Robert lowers his mobile from his ear, grinning giddily.

  Aaron's flat is very nice, small but cozy. He answers the door wearing tight red trousers and a t-shirt, a matching red beanie on his head. He smiles as soon as he sees Robert and Robert can't even help himself, lifts a hand to cup Aaron's face and dips his head to kiss him. Aaron makes a soft, surprised sound but opens his mouth easily for Robert's tongue and curls his fingers into the front of Robert's shirt.

"Hi," Robert breathes when the kiss breaks, head spinning. Aaron blinks at him, quirks his lips into a small smile and hooks his fingers into the gaps between two of the buttons of Robert's shirt to rub at the t-shirt he has on underneath.

"I thought the kiss came at the end of the date."

Robert strokes his thumb over the ridiculous cut of Aaron's cheekbone and reluctantly steps back. "I'm spontaneous. It's very attractive."

"It's the blonde hair, really," Aaron tells him, sighing as though it's a hardship. "The seductive power of the blonde hair."

Robert shakes them like he's in a shampoo commercial, bites his lip on a grin when Aaron laughs. It's even better with the visual.

"You look beautiful—"

"I always look beautiful. I've already agreed to let you take me to your bed. The flattery is quite unnecessary."

"S'not flattery," Robert says, still smiling. He leans in to press a chaste, sweet kiss to Aaron's lips again. "S'truth. You ready to go?"

Aaron looks like he wants to say something, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but then must think better of it because he simply shakes his head and takes Robert's hand when Robert offers it. Robert threads their fingers together, folds Aaron's smaller hand into his own and tugs him out the door.

"Caveman," says Aaron.

"Me Robert," Robert agrees.

Aaron locks the door to his flat one-handed and shoves his keys into his pocket, where Robert can almost make out the bulge of his phone and wallet. Robert squeezes his hand and they start down the hallway toward the stairs and the entrance, their hands linked between them.

In the car, Aaron touches everything, the dash and the console between the seats, both cup holders. He opens the compartment in the passenger door and digs around a bit in the glove box.

"Awfully nosy, aren't you?" Robert asks him.

"Mm. Did you know you've got a fiver in here?"

"Yeah, it's for luck."

Aaron looks at him, curling the note around his fingers idly. Robert can feel his gaze on the side of his face. "For luck?"

"My mum. When I first got the car she put it in there. Said her mum put a fiver in her car when she learned to drive and she never once got in a crash. When she got a new car she forgot to move it over, and got run off the road into a tree because of ice the same day."

"So you're superstitious, then."

Robert grins, shakes his head. "I believe in the power of the human mind, is all."

Aaron hums thoughtfully, and after a few seconds puts the fiver back into the glove box and closes the door with a quiet click. "You're very strange."

"Intriguingly weird," Robert corrects. Traffic is slow, but not horrible, and Robert doesn't mind the slow ride. It gives him a chance to study Aaron, who's busy looking through the receipts strewn across the floorboards. His hair is falling into his face and the seatbelt has locked up to keep him from bending forward any further. The strap across his chest and stomach, digging in just a little, is oddly appealing. He's twirling one of the drawstrings attached to the hood of striped t-shirt around one finger, his legs splayed wide so he can reach the floor between them.

"You buy a lot of books," says Aaron. "Are these for school?"

"Yeah. I just finished my first year of uni. That's why my mates and I were out last night celebrating."

"N'aww," Aaron says and Robert shoves at his shoulder, smiling despite himself when Aaron laughs. "So you're off for the summer?"

"From school, yes. I start work next week."

"A car and a job? Be still my heart."

"A part-time job," Robert says. "And nothing glamorous. Honestly. I'll be cleaning bedpans and taking care of trouble patients at the hospital."

"That sounds…awful, honestly, mate, sorry. You're a medical student then?"

"Yeah," Robert admits sheepishly. "I'm not sure what I want to specialize in, but probably neurosurgery."

Aaron's smiling at him when he looks over, blue eyes crinkled at the corners. "Then you really will be Dr. Sugden."

"Not for a long time. But someday, hopefully. What about you? Do you work?"

"Of course I work."

"Well, where?"

Aaron grins at him mysteriously, flicks a few strands of hair out of his eyes. "Maybe I'll tell you, if tonight goes well."

"Oh?"

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh. "Whatever you're thinking, I promise it's less exciting."

The restaurant isn't far from Aaron's flat, and he pulls into the first parking spot he finds and turns the car off. Aaron is hunched over again, looking out the windshield to see where they are. Robert hopes he's never been here before. "Welcome to Alfredo's."

"What is this place?" Aaron asks.

"Italian," Robert replies.

"Thanks," Aaron says dryly. Robert wiggles his eyebrows at him, leans in to kiss him and Aaron laughs into his mouth, cups his cheek and kisses him back. "Spontaneous."

"See? It is very attractive."

He doesn't wait for Aaron to respond, just unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car and walks around to open Aaron's door for him after Aaron sends him a pleading look through the window, tugging at the door handle uselessly. He looks up at Robert with a frown. "You child safety locked me into your car."

"I know, I'm sorry," Robert says, offering him a hand to help him out. Aaron takes it, gracefully unfolds himself. Robert doesn't want to stop touching him, likes the way he feels up close, likes how soft his skin is. "My mate Ross…his sister and nieces were in town a few weekends back and we took them to get ice cream. The littlest one's started opening doors whenever she can."

"That's precious. What nice boys you must be."

"Wholesome, virtuous lads. We are."

"Right. I have a feeling you left your virtue behind you a long time ago."

"Oi! Not that long ago," Robert laughs, knocking his shoulder into Aaron's as they walk toward the restaurant entrance, fingers linked. "I was sixteen."

"That's still quite young."

"How old were you, then?"

Aaron just smirks and keeps his mouth closed, and Robert wants to crowd him against the wall and lick the answers out of him. "You have to tell me some things about yourself."

"I'm a Capricorn," Aaron says.

Robert sighs like he hears Ross sometimes do with Finn, and the thought makes something warm unravel nervous and intense in his chest. He herds Aaron into the restaurant and the hostess smiles at them. "Two?"

"Hi," Robert says, smiling his most charming smile at her. "Reservation is for Sugden?"

She looks at her appointment book and Aaron elbows Robert in the stomach lightly, muttering, "Overachiever" under his breath. Robert just winks at him, which makes Aaron actually laugh in a rather unflattering manner.

"I hear you don't put out without dinner first," Robert says once they're seated. "I had to make sure you'd get fed."

"I am both classy and proper, you blonde-haired slag."

"Straight for the solar plexus!" Robert groans, petting a hand over his hair lovingly.

"Glad to see your priorities are straight."

"Well, I am a bit of a manwhore," Robert says, shrugging. Pete teases him for it a lot, but Robert's young and adventurous and it's not as though he's stupid about it. Sex is nothing Robert's ever felt ashamed about. "My eyes are lovely though."

Aaron bats his eyelashes at him, leans across the table to push his hand through Robert's hair. There are other people staring at them, but Robert doesn't care. Aaron hooks his forefingers into one tightly-spun hair near Robert's forehead and pulls gently, lets it bounce back.

"They really are," he agrees, and Robert smiles at him dopily.

They share an appetizer of something deep fried and delicious, and Robert orders lasagna and Aaron chicken parmesan and they eat and talk and Robert hopes that the hearts in his eyes aren't too visible.. Aaron is funny and bright and loud and shameless, ungodly attractive and very sweet. Robert tells him a little about uni and his plans when asked, and he manages to dig out a few more details about Aaron. He has four half-sisters that he doesn't see very much and they're all much younger. He likes to watch comedy and romance films. He loves music and wishes he could play the guitar better than he currently can. It's little things, but Robert likes knowing them about him.

Robert pays for their meal and Aaron pays the tip despite Robert's protests, and on the way out it's Aaron that slots his hand into Robert's and intertwines their fingers.

"I like your hole in the wall Italian restaurant," he tells Robert once they're outside. It's drizzling a little bit. Aaron's high cheekbones are immediately a little damp with it. "And I like that you keep a fiver from your mum in your glove box for luck."

Robert doesn't know what to say, but he's smiling. He squeezes Aaron's hand and opens the door for him again when they get to the car. When he gets in on the other side, Aaron's leaned the seat back a bit and has an arm slung on the headrest above his head, his fingertips brushing his cheekbone. He parts his legs, just enough to make Robert notice, and hums contently.

"What're you doing?" Robert asks.

Aaron looks at him through heavy-lidded, lust-darkened blue eyes. "Resting. I've got a feeling it's going to be a very exhausting night."

  "This is nice."

Robert grins, shutting the door behind him and twisting the lock into place. Aaron's already poking around the living room with a curious expression on his pretty face. Robert wants to strip him down and fuck him 'til he cries from how good it is. He drops his keys and wallet onto the small table just inside the door and steps into the kitchen to pour some wine. Aaron follows, leaning in the doorway. His eyes are heavy-lidded and his mouth is pink and lovely. His hand is small when it curls around the glass Robert hands him. 

"My parents are paying for most of it," he admits. "All dependent on how well I do in school. I've been threatened with having to live in student housing if I don't do well."

"That would be tragic," Aaron sighs. Robert watches hi Adam's apple rise and fall as he takes a drink of wine, and rather classlessly drinks his own down in one go. Aaron quirks an eyebrow and Robert sets his glass down, takes Aaron's from him, and tugs him in by his belt loops, which makes Aaron complain noisily.

"Hauling me around all the time, Sugden."

"Hadn't we already decided that I'm a caveman? I like that you're smaller than me."

Aaron blinks, and then laughs, startled. "What?"

Robert takes both of Aaron's little hands, folds them into his own and brings them both up to graze his lips over the knuckles. "I like that you're smaller," he repeats, and kisses Aaron chastely before he can interrupt. "You fit just right against me. Can do this." And he picks Aaron up, grins at the little cry of surprise that Aaron makes and gets his arms under Aaron's bum to hold him, Aaron's knees gripping tightly at his waist, feet knocking against the side of Robert's knees. His lips are parted and his cheeks red.

"All right," he says weakly. "All right, I suppose there is something a bit hot about it."

Robert wets his lips, grins, walks Aaron backward to set him down on the counter next to the wine glasses. Aaron immediately wraps his legs around Robert's waist and Robert cups his neck in both hands, thumbs at the hinges of Aaron's jaw. Aaron curls his hands into Robert's shirt and tilts his head back and Robert's heart hurts at the sight of it, of how intrinsically submissive Aaron is, his body reacting beautifully to Robert's every touch. Robert trails his fingers up the side of Aaron's face, thumbs at his full bottom lip and brushes across the sweep of Aaron's long eyelashes.

"You look like you're going to eat me," Aaron drawls, and Robert kisses him, bites at his lip and sucks Aaron's tongue into his mouth, drags his fingers back through Aaron's hair, down his back and to his spectacular round arse.

"Want to do so many things to you," he whispers, lips at Aaron's ear, heart pounding and Aaron's knuckles digging into his sides.

Aaron tightens his legs. "We've got time."

And then they're kissing again, Aaron's mouth open and sweet with wine when Robert licks his way inside. He steps out of his own shoes, kicks them away across the kitchen floor and gropes around behind his back to get at Aaron's Toms and tug them off too. They hit the hardwood with a loud clunk. Aaron slides the tip of his tongue up the vein on the underside of Robert's and Robert groans picks Aaron up again.

"Fuck," Aaron breathes, breaking the kiss and clutching at Robert's shoulders and Robert wants to tell him that he won't drop him but Aaron's teeth sink into the side of his neck and he moans brokenly instead. "So fucking hot, Robert."

"See? I like that you're smaller than me, you like to be manhandled, it all works out."

"Our kinks align."

"Mm, like the stars."

"Jesus." Aaron is laughing at him, but Robert catches his mouth and shuts him up quite effectively, so it's all right. Aaron is squirmy and demanding, his hands on Robert's back and his tongue in Robert's mouth and his heels digging into Robert's arse. He clenches his fingers in Robert's hair, breaks the kiss to catch his breath and breathes hot and open-mouthed against Robert's cheek.

Robert nuzzles at Aaron's neck, pushes him back against the wall next to the kitchen light switch. Aaron drops his legs and Robert reluctantly lets him down, breath catching in his throat when Aaron smirks up at him and sinks to his knees, sitting back on his heels. He hooks two fingers into one of Robert's belt loops and palms the hard line of Robert's cock through his trousers with the other. Robert's so hard already and Aaron's hand is burning hot through the fabric. He tips his hips into it and Aaron's digs the heel of his hand into the base, slides his palm down and squeezes. 

"Nn," Robert offers helpfully, carding his fingers through Aaron's hair.

"You're big," Aaron says, voice smooth and hot and the smirk on his face one of the filthiest things Robert's ever seen in his life. "You're really, really big."

"I am reasonably well-endowed, yes, can you—?"

He cuts off with a loud curse as Aaron leans forward and latches on his with his mouth, his kiss-bruised, swollen mouth open and painfully scorching through the layers of Robert's trousers and pants. When the flat of his tongue laps a long line over denim Robert pulls on Aaron's hair harshly and feels his eyes roll back at the sound Aaron makes, this desperate, guttural moan like nothing has ever felt better.

"Like to be manhandled and a bit of a masochist, too, are we?"

"I want you to fuck my mouth," Aaron replies. "Can we do that?"

Robert drops to his knees and pulls his hair again, forces Aaron's head back and crushes their mouths together. He gets his hand between Aaron's legs and rubs him roughly through his trousers, feels him thick and hot against his palm and Aaron's whole body shudders with it. Robert wants to see his face screwed up in ecstasy, wants to hear Aaron cry out for him in a voice rough from choking on Robert's cock.

"We can do that," Robert mumbles into his mouth and shoves one of his hands down the back of Aaron's trousers, squeezes his firm, round bum. "Take your clothes off."

But even as he orders it, Robert's tugging at Aaron's shirt before Aaron gets a chance to. Aaron stretches his arms up and Robert peels it off him, overwhelmingly endeared and aroused by the way Aaron's hair comes out all tousled. He stands up and hauls Aaron up too, shoves at his trousers as soon as Aaron gets them undone and grips Aaron's hand to steady him as he steps out of them. His briefs are wet with precome and obscenely tented and they stretch so nicely over the curve of Aaron's arse but he only has a second to appreciate it as Aaron shimmies out of those too.

Robert doesn't let himself look yet, gets an arm around Aaron's waist and hauls him in to kiss him again. It's wet and sloppy and violent, Aaron's teeth tugging at his lip, his hands clawed in Robert's hair. Robert palms his bare ass, dips his fingers into the cleft. Aaron is even smaller like this, completely bare in Robert's kitchen, against Robert's clothes. Aaron's stepping on his feet and Robert can feel his toes curl in, can feel Aaron grunt softly against his mouth when Robert's finger prods dry at the rim of his hole, just feeling, just pressure.

They make their way slowly through the living room, stumbling together. Aaron laughing when they knock into the bookshelf against the wall right by the bedroom doorway. Robert grins against his neck, a dark bruise already forming over Aaron's pulse point.

"Want you so bad," Robert growls, walking Aaron backwards through the threshold. It's dark, too dark to see and Robert wants to see everything. He picks Aaron up again and carries him the last few feet to the bed, more gentle as he eases him down onto his back and climbs up over him. Aaron's undoing Robert trousers and sucking a mark onto Robert's collarbone while Robert stretches past him to turn on the bedside lamp. He cradles the back of Aaron's head in his hand, fingers his soft hair as his eyes adjust.

"Tell me what you like, Dr. Sugden," Aaron says against his chest, smearing his lips back up, over Robert's throat where he nips at his Adam's apple and then to his chin. "Tell me what to do."

Robert's braced with his arm by Aaron's head on the mattress and Aaron's hand is in his trousers, under his boxer-briefs and on his cock. Robert's so turned on he feels like he might burst into flame at any minute. He looks down at Aaron's pink-flushed face and feels a thick pearl of pre-come blurt over Aaron's fingers. Aaron tilts his head back to see him better, tongue swiping across his lips.

"You're awfully mouthy."

"I have a beautiful voice."

Robert laughs, kisses Aaron's once before he sits up to get his trousers and pants off. Aaron is watching him hungrily, blue eyes Roby with want and breath coming in little pants, his gaze locked on Robert's cock as it's freed, bouncing up to slap wetly against Robert's belly. Robert wiggles around to get his legs free. When he turns back around Aaron is propped up against the pillows and his dick is pink and thick and hard, pooling precome on his stomach

"I like the idea you had earlier," Robert finally answers, crawling forward to straddle Aaron's chest. He hisses when Aaron grips his hips and nuzzles at his cock, his cheekbone getting wet. He strokes Aaron's hair, digs his fingers into the hinge of his jaw until Aaron's mouth opens. "About fucking your mouth."

Aaron groans hotly, laps at the head of Robert's cock. "You're so big, fucking huge."

"The eyes aren't my only selling point, love," Robert offers weakly. Aaron grins up at him so sweetly, eyes big and wide and Robert's pretty sure it's done on purpose but he's just so fucking pretty, Aaron is.

"Pull my hair," Aaron commands, his lips right at the head of Robert's dick, small hand wrapping around the base. "Pull my hair and let me taste you."

He asked so nicely. Robert bites his lip and rolls his hips a bit, nudges his cock against Aaron's lips and watches them part for it. Aaron opens right up, tongue lapping at the underside. Robert tries to go slow, teeth digging harder into his lip as he shoves in further, inch by inch, but Aaron is having none of it. His mouth is relaxed and tight and wet and he's so good at this, the way his tongue digs into the slit when he pulls up, the mouths his way back down, and he takes Robert in deeper than anyone ever has before, until his throat is fluttering around the head of Robert's cock and Robert can feel him swallow, feel the exhale from his nose in the curls at the base.

"Oh God, Aaron, look at you." He's just aware enough to be mildly shocked at how deep and rough his voice is. Aaron's eyes are barely open and his mouth is stretched so wide. Robert grips his hair and pull lightly and Aaron moans, the vibration shuddering up Robert's spine, his balls throbbing, heavy and full and nearly touching Aaron's chin. Aaron pulls back again, almost all the way off, sinks back down and up again and Robert can't bear it anymore. He grips Aaron's hair tight, pulls hard and fucks his hips forward, forces his cock into Aaron's throat, feels Aaron swallow and his throat go tight and he leans in to get his free hand around Aaron's neck, his grip loose, just want to feel.

Everything is blurry and intense and Robert's slowly losing his mind, driving into Aaron's throat again and again, pulling at Aaron's hair long enough that his own scalp stings in sympathy but all Aaron does is moan like a slut for it, pulling against the hold, cheeks hollowing as he sucks Robert. Robert's head is spinning, his chest aching and orgasm curling low and demanding in his belly. His thighs are aching with the strain and forces Aaron's head further back, leans over him to brace his arm on the wall above the headboard. Aaron's cups his balls, squeezes and that's it. Robert pulls back just far enough to keep Aaron from choking and comes with a shout, hips jerking and shuddering, pleasure overwhelming and so painfully hot and he can feel Aaron swallowing against his hand.

He collapses backwards after, breathing hard and barely able to see past the daze of how good it feels. Aaron climbs over top him, looking decidedly smug, and Robert pulls him down by the chin to kiss him and tastes himself in Aaron's mouth.

"I'm so glad I met you," Robert says. Aaron hums and straddles his lap and Robert pulls his knees up so Aaron can lean back against him. He has a scar on his chest, right over his sternum, long and sweeping up to one of his nipples. It looks old and Robert wonders where he got. He traces his fingers out it, then drops his hand down to Aaron's lap and the thick throb of his cock. Aaron makes a soft little ungh noise, rubs his arse back against Robert's cock and fucks into Robert's hand.

"Say something. Let me hear you."

"Robert," Aaron says, and his voice sounds like it's been fucked, sounds raw and hoarse. Robert surges up, wraps both arms tight around Aaron and kisses him stupid. He gets his hand around Aaron's cock and wanks him roughly, twisting at the tip, squeezing at the base. Aaron is babbling into his mouth, things like good and need and just like that. Robert kisses his way down Aaron's neck, tweaks his nipple with his free hand. Aaron buries his face in Robert's hair and ruts against him, rubbing into Robert's hand and against Robert's abs and when Robert lets go of his dick to reach two fingers back and rub them over his taint Aaron seizes up and spills hot and wet between them, cock jerking. Robert watches, his forehead against Aaron's shoulder. He watches Aaron's come spill out of his hand and groans into the feel of Aaron's blunt fingernails digging into his back.

He's nineteen, can feel arousal seeping in through his pores, his cock already fattening up again, Aaron's arse riding over it as he humps through the waves of his orgasm. Robert strokes his hands down Aaron's sweaty back, kisses his shoulder as he comes down. There's another scar on his inner thigh and it looks glossy under sweat and come. Robert thumbs over it, feels Aaron shiver. He smiles against Aaron's collarbone and only pulls back once Aaron lifts his head.

He's beautiful, expression serene and eyes still glazed. He fingers the hair at the back of Robert's neck and arches his back in a long, luxurious stretch. Robert wants to fuck him.

"On your belly," he tells Aaron, palming over Aaron's stomach. He lowers his knees so Aaron can slide off and Aaron is so warm and pliant and God, Robert doesn't know why he's so turned on by how much littler Aaron is but it's something breathtaking and hot, the way his hand can cover the entire expanse of Aaron's back, the way Aaron's shoulders fit into the frame of his own. Robert grips his arms, grinning when he tosses Aaron gracelessly onto his stomach and Aaron laughs breathily.

He digs around in his bedside table for a condom and lube, and it's not until he comes back that he notices the marks on Aaron's back and he feels something like dread threaten. Aaron's utterly boneless, head pillowed on his folded arms, blinking sleepily, his legs spread just a bit and his pelvis moving in tiny circles against the mattress, and Robert would tease him for it but his voice is stuck.

They're small and circular but nearly black, five of them all together, three between his shoulder blades, one right next to his spine further down and one on his side near his hip. There are others, too, scar tissue like paint strokes across his back, some jagged and oddly shaped, some just bright white lines on his tan skin, spread out over his entire back like confetti and this doesn't seem quite so much like Aaron might've been a clumsy kid anymore.

He wants to ask what they're from, but he's only known Aaron for a day, and it's really none of his business. They're old scars.

"Robert?" Aaron asks, lifting his head too look at Robert over his shoulder. Robert grins at him, leans over to kiss him.

"Just admiring the view," he rasps, and sits back to do just that, because Aaron's arse truly is something to appreciate. Possibly should be on display in the Louvre, the single most fantastic bum Robert has ever seen (and he's seen quite a lot). Suddenly all he wants is to get inside him. He cups each cheek in one hand, squeezes just to feel the give and Aaron moans and parts his thighs a bit more. Robert grabs the lube and slicks up his fingers and Aaron tucks his knees underneath him, presenting himself. Robert's mouth is unbearably dry.

"Can't wait to feel you in me," Aaron murmurs, half-blissed out and hard again. He tries to get a hand between his legs but Robert stops him, pins his wrists down on the pillow above his head. He's breathing hard and so fucking hot, cock aching. Aaron squirms against him, humping against thin air. "So fucking big, Rob, c'mon, c'mon."

Robert sinks one finger inside him without preamble, grins at Aaron's little cry, winces at how tight he is. He molds himself to Aaron's back and Aaron turns his head, opens his pretty swollen mouth and Robert presses his tongue inside. Aaron still tastes like his come and it makes something possessive and hungry rise up in Robert's chest. He hooks his finger, rubs the tip over Aaron's prostate and Aaron cries out, breaks the kiss and rocks back into Robert's hand. Robert presses against his rim with a second finger. Aaron mewls and Robert pushes two fingers of his other hand into Aaron's mouth, making soft, encouraging noises into Aaron ear.

Aaron's clenching around his fingers, riding them, moaning helplessly around Robert's fingers and driving his tongue up between them. Robert pulls them out and leaves a wet trail down Aaron's chest and to one of his nipples, which he pinches and tugs until Aaron is pressing into that, too. He pushes another finger inside, spreads them all out wide until Aaron's gasping for breath and then corkscrews them in, scraping his knuckles over Aaron's prostate again and again until Aaron is breathing in dry sobs and his hair is damp with sweat at the temples and fringe.

"Fuck me, Robert, Jesus you great bleeding tease just—" His voice dissolves when Robert adds a fourth finger and he turns his head and sinks his teeth into the meat of Robert's arm.

Robert withdraws his fingers and his hands are shaking with anticipation as he rolls the condom on. Aaron's looking over his shoulder again and he looks desperate and kind of wrecked and Robert wants to fuck him up some more, wants to rip him wide open so he's bare for Robert to see. Aaron's lying down with his arse in the air, his face red and the flush crawling all the way down his chest and back, his hole wet with lube and his cock hard between his legs and he's so fucking gorgeous.

When he lines up, Aaron goes tense and Robert plants a hand between his shoulder blades and uses his other to guide himself in. There's nothing but resistance at first as he pushes the head inside and the sight of Aaron's hole stretching around him wider and wider has him panting, grunting, teeth sunk into his lip. Once the head is all the way in though he just opens, pulling Robert's cock right in and it's so unbearably tight that it kind of hurts. He stops halfway, gasping, and folds down over Aaron's back again. Aaron's trembling, hands clenched in the sheets. Robert slots their fingers together, pins Aaron's hand down.

"Jesus," is all he can say. "Jesus, Aaron, so fucking—"

"Yes," Aaron groans tightly, voice all locked up and choked. "God, fuck, God."

"Poetic," Robert grins, and shoves in another inch, his eyes rolling back in his head as Aaron clenches so tight around him. Aaron turns his head and they get caught up in a sloppy, wet kiss. Once he's all the way in, balls pressed up tight to Aaron's ass, he stills, panting. Aaron nips at his chin and then lets his head drop, braced up on his elbows. Robert mouths at the dip of his neck and bites at the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck, pulls out a bit only to drive hard back in.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Fuck, yes, yes," Aaron gasps. "Just. Keep going."

Robert grinds his way back in, pulls out and does it again, Aaron's ass clutching at him, pulling him in, squeezing him. He covers Aaron's entire body like this. "Gonna make you come just like this," he growls into Aaron's ear, but his hand is gentle on Aaron's hip, thumb rubbing over smooth scar tissue at the base of his spine. "Gonna make you come on my cock just like this."

"Robert," is all Aaron says, a long, drawn-out moan of a sound that makes Robert thrust into him harder, so hard that Aaron cries out, clenches his hands in the sheets. Robert fucks him deep and Aaron's pushing back into every drive, filthy, hot noises ripped out of his throat, past his bitten lips. Robert licks the sweat from his neck, mouths at the hair just behind Aaron's ear. The clutch of Aaron's body almost hurts it's so good and he's not going to last much longer.

Aaron is chanting his name like a fucking prayer and Robert pulls almost all the way out and changes the angle when he thrust back in and Aaron cries out so loud it's startling and hot and Robert smirks. He keeps going like that, nailing Aaron's prostate each time until Aaron gulping for air and swearing into his hands, and then he works a hand between them, presses his fingers against Aaron's stretched hole and Aaron chokes and comes, sobbing with it, tightening like a vice around Robert's dick until Robert can't even move anymore. He can smell Aaron's come and feel it when he reaches down to jack him through it, licking Aaron's oversensitised cries out of his mouth as he pumps him. He lasts another thirty seconds of just grinding into Aaron as deep as he can before his orgasm catches him up in waves and throws him over the edge.

The world is kind of spinning by the time he opens his eyes, and Aaron is trembling under him. He kisses Aaron's back and pulls out carefully, smiles at the soft whine of protest. He gets rid of the condom and guides Aaron to roll back over. Aaron's shaky and smiley, breathing hard, hair a wreck. Robert kisses his mouth and his chest and his tummy, then grips his arse and buries his face between Aaron's legs, takes Aaron into his mouth and buries three fingers back inside him until Aaron writhing and begging and coming again, spilling down Robert's throat.

He has tears of exertion on his face, rolling back into his hair when Robert crawls back over him. Robert thumbs them away and kisses Aaron sweetly, pulls Aaron up into his arms and rolls onto his back, settling Aaron over him. He tucks Aaron's head into his neck and draws hapless shapes across his back, sleepy and sated and terribly pleased with himself.

After a while, Aaron lifts his head and looks down at Robert, a tired smile on his face.

"I think you'll be a very successful doctor," he says. His voice still sounds raw from Robert's cock in his throat. Robert feels the scars on his back, grins up at him.

"Stay here tonight."

Aaron makes a little smacking sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth and drops back down onto Robert's chest, smoothing his palms up and down Robert's sides. "Couldn't leave if I tried, mate. Gonna be walking funny for days. Your cock is obscene."

"I like the way you say 'cock'."

"You would."

Robert hugs Aaron in closer and buries his face in Aaron's messy hair, breathes him in, doesn't let him go.

  He's unceremoniously woken up by a loud crash and strangled yelp coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the ensuite. He bolts upright in bed, wide-eyed and confused. The digital clock says that it's only six-thirty and there's a notably empty spot next to him.

"Aaron?" he calls, worried, untangling himself from the blankets as quickly as possible.

"Yeah, shit, sorry," Aaron calls back from the bathroom. Robert lets out a relieved breath and tugs the comforter off the bed, wrapping it around his shoulders to stave off the cold. He's rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when he gets to the bathroom door. Aaron is wearing a pair of Robert's boxers that hang indecently low on his hips and the shirt Robert was wearing last night. It hangs off of his shoulder and all but swallows him, the sleeves nearly down to his fingertips. He's soaked with water from the tap. The small shelf that Robert uses to keep clean towels in is upturned on the floor and the air conditioning is coming out of the vent in the floor full blast. His fringe plastered to his face and his skin goose pimpled, his teeth chattering a little. Robert feels everything in him go soft and fond and he opens his arms.

"I'm wet," Aaron says.

"C'mere, you're freezing," says Robert, and he pulls Aaron in anyway, catching him when he stumbles over a rolled towel and wrapping the comforter around both of them. Aaron immediately wraps around him and Robert hears a squeak come out of his mouth before he can stop it. "Christ, you're cold!"

"Shut up! God, you're so warm, lovely Robert. I'm sorry I broke your tap."

Robert grins, feeling sleepy and content. He presses his mouth to Aaron's temple and cheek and then neck, wraps him up tighter in the comforter. "You didn't. That little cover thing snapped off day before yesterday. Did the same thing to me. They're supposed to come fix it tomorrow. I forgot to warn you."

"You did it on purpose." Aaron burrows in closer, damp but warmer now with their body heat. His arms are around Robert's waist, his chin hooked over Robert's shoulder. Robert takes hold of the ends of the comforter with one hand so he can sweep his palm down Aaron's side and push the boxers down off his waist.

"I like you wearing my clothes."

Aaron grins sharply, making a hot, pleased sound in his throat when Robert shoves the damp cloth off his bum and grips his arse and squeezes. Arousal sweeps low and intense through Robert's belly, and Aaron is half-hard against him by the time he steps out of the boxers and kicks them out of the way. They're still all pressed together, both bare but for Robert's shirt on Aaron, Aaron slick with water.

"Mostly seems like you like me taking your clothes off."

"That too," Robert says. "But I like—"

"That I'm smaller than you, I know. You have a fetish."

Robert can't deny it. "Come back to bed," he murmurs against his mouth. "'s so early."

"I can't," Aaron answers, breath hitching. "Things to do today. Plans. Must keep to my schedule. God, you're good at this."

"Just a little bit longer," Robert whispers. "Just a couple hours. Let me fuck you in the shower and I'll make you breakfast before you go."

Aaron rests his head on Robert's shoulder, smiling against his skin, and says, "Okay."

  "Robert's in loooooove," Pete sing-songs. Robert promptly sits on him, and Pete cackles and wraps around him octopus-like, pulling him further onto Ross and Finn's sofa. "Do I get to be the best man?"

"Shut up," Robert says primly. "I hardly know him."

"You are awfully smiley though, mate," Finn offers, settled into the armchair with a very superior look on his face. Robert tosses a bit of popcorn at him and frowns when it falls several feet short onto the coffee table.

"I had a good time, and I'm seeing him again tomorrow." Pete squeezes him tighter and Finn's lips pull into a soft smile and Robert rolls his eyes at them both. "I'm allowed to go on second dates!"

"Of course you are," Ross—sweet, wonderful Ross—says from his spot on the floor in front of the sofa. Robert reaches down and stokes his hair gratefully and Ross grins up at him. "So you like him, then?"

"Yeah, I do."

"And did you do more than fuck him senseless?" Pete asks.

"Yes," Robert pretends to sound scandalized. "So crude, Peteer."

"I'm looking out for your best interests. A relationship is built on more than a good shag."

"Great shag," Robert says. "Fucking phenomenal shag. And he's funny, too. And he can like…keep up, y'know? He has horrible taste in music and he refuses to give away too much about himself, but he's sweet and pretty and we had fun."

When he looks at his friends again, all three of them are staring at him with the same obnoxious smirk, and Robert untangles himself from Pete and crosses his arms over his chest. "Piss off, all of you."

Finn laughs and Pete pats Robert on the arm. "Anyway," he says loudly, looking at the three of them sternly. "He has to work tonight but I'm bringing him by the pub tomorrow, so you'll meet him then."

"Our little Robert," Ross says in a choked up voice. "Bringing someone to meet the family!"

Robert has several very foul responses to that, but at that moment his mobile vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out. 2 hrs free at 5. Early dinner at mine? Btw dinner = sex.

The others are making cooing sounds around him, but Robert can't keep the smile off his face to save his life. He types out a quick response—Yes. I expect dessert.—and sinks back into the cushy sofa, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"You're fuckin' adorable, Rob," says Finn.

  At five, he spends two delicious hours with Aaron and a bowl of ice cream before Aaron is shoving him out the door so he can get back to wherever it is that he works. Robert can't stop touching him.

"I'm going to be late," Aaron complains, but he's smiling so fucking sweetly and he pushes his hands into the pockets of Robert's trousers and kisses him breathless. "Really. I have to go."

"You couldn't wait to see me," Robert says smugly, wrapping his arms around him, kissing his cheek.

"Well, you're a good fuck, aren't you?" Aaron says. He pulls away reluctantly and turns to lock the door to his flat.

"You like me," Robert says. "You like my sense of humor and my winsome blonde hair."

Aaron snorts. "I like your massive dick and your o-face."

"You can't stop thinking about me. I'm always on your mind. We had a date set for tomorrow and it was too long for you to be without me."

"I like it better when your mouth is otherwise occupied."

"Aaron."

Aaron looks around, pocketing his keys. "Mm?"

"I like you. I think you're beautiful and wonderful to be around and I like the sounds you make when you come and the way you look in my clothes and everything I know about you."

"Of course you do," Aaron says. "I'm like Mary Poppins."

"What?"

"Practically perfect in every way."

Robert laughs outright, tugs on Aaron's hands and presses their palms together, steps in so their arms are stretched out like airplane wings and their chests and the tips of their noses are touching.

"Ring me tonight when you get home."

Aaron goes cross-eyed and Robert grins. "Might be very late."

"I don't care."

"All right," Aaron says, after a long stretch of considering silence. Robert kisses him and then reluctantly lets him go, settling for simply holding Aaron's hand on the walk out. When they get to Robert's car Aaron waits until Robert's already buckled in to lean into the window and press a kiss to Robert's forehead.

"I do, you know."

"What?" Robert asks.

"Like you."

Robert positively beams at him and Aaron's smile is shy, soft. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and Robert has to use every ounce of willpower he has to keep from pulling him into the car and having awkwardly positioned sex right there in the car park.

He watches Aaron walk away toward the tube station and leans his head back against his seat once Aaron's out of sight. He thinks he might have found something, here. Something real and right and wonderful. He can't stop smiling. His heart is pounding, and his mouth still tastes like strawberry ice cream.

  "How'd it go at the hospital?" Aaron asks Robert the next evening on the way to pub. They're walking, since it's just a few blocks away, and every other step their arms bump.

His first day of work went as smooth as it could be. His parents' old friend—an obstetrician who got Robert the internship in the first place—showed him around the hospital for a bit and then handed him off to woman named Amanda that will be his supervisor. She was nice, and she took him around to take a picture for his ID badge and then to fill out forms. The rest of his eight-hour shift was spent watching instruction films on what not to do and how not to act and general etiquette. Amanda let him go at six-thirty with a promise that the next shift will be actual work.

"It went well. A little boring orientation stuff, but I think it'll be good."

"Good," Aaron says, smiling at him. The wind is making him pink-cheeked. He's got a black beanie on to control his wild hair, though. "I'm sure you'll do well."

"Hopefully. I think I'll like it okay. It's a foot in the door, in any case. Take a right here."

He leads Aaron around the corner and then across the street, ignoring the car horn that blares angrily at them for jay walking. "Sorry, sorry. I always forget that there's a stoplight there now. Used to just be a sign so we always had the right of way."

Aaron waves a dismissive hand in the air and sidles in closer, winding his arm through Robert's. "So these friends of yours…"

"Ah, right. Well, Ross and Finn live across the hall from me and Pete is down the hall. We met on our way to the train our first day of Uni, turned out we all go to the same school. We kinda never looked back, you know? Best mates and whatnot."

"Are they all future doctors too?"

"No. Finn is engineering and Pete is law and Ross is music."

"Ross is the one who'll be singing tonight?"

"Yep!" Robert says proudly. It's hard not to be proud of Ross most of the time. "He's very good. Finn and our other friend Mary tend bar and Ross performs probably twice a week. We're all waiting for him to make it big."

Aaron looks thoughtful. "And Finn and Ross are a couple?"

Robert nods, squeezing in closer to Aaron when they pass by a huge group of girls walking too slow, also on their way to the pub. Ross tends to bring in a crowd. "Since they were sixteen or something like that. They're one of those destined in the stars, soulmate kind of couples. I used to find it very nauseating."

"Used to," Aaron repeats. Robert squeezes his hand and he blushes a bit and looks away, smiling. "You're a bit of a romantic."

"A bit," Robert agrees. "That bother you?"

"Not as much as it probably should," Aaron says, and Robert prods him sharply in the stomach where he knows Aaron is ticklish and Aaron steps on his foot.

"Why can't we all just get along?" Robert sobs, unlinking their arms to defend himself when Aaron tries to thwap him in the stomach.

They make it to the pub relatively unscathed, Aaron's beanie on Robert's head now and Aaron on his back, claiming terrible blisters from so much walking. There's already a crowd outside the pub, and Robert greets the few people he knows with a nod of his head as he sets Aaron back down on his feet and pulls him through the door. Ross's not on stage yet, but he sees Finn and Pete chatting at the bar.

"Robert!" Pete says as soon as he spots them. He's got a drink in his hand and there's a girl not too far away that's looking at him like she wants to eat him for breakfast. Robert just grins.

"Hey, Rob," Finn says without looking at him, his eyes locked to Robert's right. "You must be Aaron."

"Aaron, this is Finn," Robert says, pointing, "and that's Pete. Lads, this is Aaron."

Pete immediately wraps Aaron up in a hug, and Robert would kill him instantly except that Aaron laughs and pats him on the back. "Nice to meet you, mate!" Pete says enthusiastically. "We've heard so much about you."

"Ignore everything he ever says," Robert advises Aaron.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"How very dare you!" says Pete.

"Really," Finn tells Aaron, reaching out to shake his hand. Aaron accepts with a grin. "You should ignore everything he ever says. Crazy Irish bastard. Not to be trusted."

"I never," says Pete.

Aaron laughs, but then gets distracted by the footie jersey Pete's sporting and the two of them are off on a very passionate discussion about it. Robert quirks an eyebrow at Finn, who smiles lazily and shrugs. It feels a bit like approval. 

They spend the next twenty minutes talking and it's like Aaron's been a part of the group his whole life. He gives Pete shit when Pete spills his drink all over the bar in his enthusiasm to tell a story about this one time in Soho, and he and Finn bond over clothes and lightweights. Finn's referring to him as 'Aaron' within a few minutes and Pete's standing with his arm around Aaron's shoulders and Robert didn't know how much it meant to him that his friends like Aaron until now that it's happened and the relief is a weight he didn't know he had off his shoulders.

The crowd inside starts to make a lot of noise all the sudden and Robert and Aaron both turn to see, pushing his way through people to get to them, "Ross," Aaron says.

"Yeah, that's…." But Robert trails off, because that didn't sound like a question and Aaron looks like he's going into shock. Robert's just about to ask him if he's all right when Ross stops a few feet in front of them and stares at Aaron, open-mouthed.

"Oh my god," he says.

Robert looks at Finn, who has an eyebrow raised and an expression on his face that's just as confused as Robert feels. And then Ross and Aaron both break into huge grins and when Ross opens his arms Aaron rushes into them and they hug like they've known each other their whole lives.

"Aaron Dingle is your Aaron?" Ross asks Robert over Aaron's shoulder. 

"I. Yes?" Robert answers.

"I can't believe this!" Ross says, and it's as though he's read Robert's mind, though he sounds rather more happy than confused, which is what Robert is feeling in spades.

"I was thinking, when Robert was telling me about you," Aaron says once he and Ross have untangled, laughing a little. "I was thinking 'oh, hey, I used to know a Ross who liked to sing'." He turns and looks up at Robert and Robert's still completely nonplussed but he likes the way Aaron smiles and the ways Aaron tucks himself in against Robert's side. "Ross and I were in school together when we were lads."

"Aaron moved when I was fourteen, and I moved a year later."

"This feels like an episode of Friends," Pete says. "Long lost childhood friends meet-up at a pub."

Finn rolls his eyes and Ross laughs.

"We really only lived in the same neighborhood and had choir together at school," Aaron explains. "I was a year ahead of him, so we didn't have classes together or anything. He was the star, though. Robert said you're going to school for music. That's great!"

Ross grins and rubs at the back of his neck shyly, taking a seat at the bar and casually reaching out to swipe his thumb over the inside of Finn's wrist. Robert takes a seat himself and Aaron stays standing between his legs, gripping Robert's thigh. Robert likes to pretend that he's not a big believer in destiny, but he can't help feeling that all of this is a little strange. He wraps his arms around Aaron's waist, slots his thumbs into Aaron's belt loops, forearms crossed over his stomach. He hooks his chin on Aaron's shoulder and breathes in the scent of him, frilly soap and nice cologne.

"You met Finn then? Ross is saying. "And Pete?"

"Yeah, we've all been introduced."

"So you grew up in Wolverhampton?" Robert asks Aaron curiously. It feels strange that they haven't touched on this before.

"Until I was fifteen," Aaron says, and he and Ross look at each other carefully, and Ross can't hide anything to save his life, so the very real concern on his face almost makes Robert ask what's wrong, but Aaron looks up at him and is smiling. "When my parents split I moved to Doncaster. Moved to London not long after."

"I'd barely even traveled here before uni," Robert says. "This lot, too. Pete lived in Ireland his whole life and Ross and Finn met in Bradford. It was a bit overwhelming at first. And expensive."

"Robert your step-dad is like a trillionaire," Pete laughs, and Robert blushes faintly, especially when Aaron quirks a curious, slightly evil eyebrow.

"I still can appreciate how expensive something is!" he argues.

"it's all right love," Aaron says, reaching up to pat awkwardly at Robert's cheek. "You can't help it that you're young and rich and beautiful."

"Well," Robert flounders a little, buries his face in Aaron's hair and pretends that Ross and Pete aren't both laughing at him.

"Oi, look at that, will you?" Pete says suddenly, gesturing at the other end of the bar with the drink in his hand. Finn's over there filling orders and chatting with a couple of girls that are batting their eyes at him. "He gets the best tips," Pete says. "I'm too forward. So I get the best sex from this job, but Finn gets the best tips, because he's all mysterious and sexy."

"Sometimes Pete forgets that he's straight," Robert tells Aaron, who grins cheekily.

"He flirts without the follow-through," Pete goes on after a sharp tug on Robert's hair. "It's genius, really. I just don't have that kind of will power."

Robert smiles at that, and at the way Ross looks over at Finn with this expression on his face that's intense and soft and fond and so stupid in love that it would feel intrusive to look on if Robert didn't know them so well. Before Ross goes up on stage, Finn grips him by the collar of his jumper and tugs him close, kisses him rather possessively. Aaron tilts his head to watch, covering both of Robert's hands with his own at his waist, and Ross is panting a bit by the time Finn finally lets him go, but he looks pumped up and happy and they're really just absolutely disgusting, the two of them.

"Go make all these girls's knickers melt off," Finn says.

Ross grins bashfully and chuffs Finn gently under the chin with the side of his index finger, says a quick, "Be good," and then he's wading through the crowd again to take the stage. The noise is ridiculous, and Ross is adorable, rambling into the microphone. Robert's not really paying attention to him, though, is sliding off his stool to pull Aaron against him fully. Finn's got a crowd of people to make drinks for and Pete has faded into the corner with a group of girls. Aaron turns in Robert's arms, smiles slowly up at him.

"I like your friends."

"They like you too," says Robert. "S'weird that you already knew Ross though."

Aaron hums an agreement. "It's been ages since I've seen him. He looks just the same. Hotter, now, of course."

"Don't let Finn hear you say that. Possessive bastard."

"I noticed that."

"I'm not much better," Robert admits pointedly. Aaron quirks an eyebrow at him, smirking. "It's one of my few flaws."

"Your eyes make up for almost everything," Aaron says, ruffling them. "And what they can't cover your cock does."

Robert stifles a laugh, because Aaron said that quite loud and people are turning to look, but if nothing else in the last few days he's learned that Aaron is brash and loud and unapologetic and Robert finds it alarmingly attractive.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Robert asks him.

"Should I?"

"Mm. Doctor's orders."

"Ah," Aaron says, the sweet grin on his face at odds with the filthy look in his eyes. "I'm due for an examination, am I?"

"Very due," Robert agrees. "Overdue, in fact. You need extensive tests done. I'll be very thorough. It's all in your best interest."

"I suppose I can't skip out on that, can I?"

Ross sounds incredible, like he always does. Robert is pleasantly buzzed and Aaron slipping into drunk by the fifth song, and Aaron drags Robert closer to the stage so they're part of the crowd and Robert warps around him from behind, Aaron's back pressed all along his chest as they sway together. Ross's singing something a little too mainstream for Robert's tastes, something he hasn't heard before that's slow and pretty, Pete up on stage to accompany on guitar. Ross's gaze catches on them and he smiles as he sings and Robert presses his mouth to Aaron's ear.

"Why was he looking at you like that earlier? Like he was worried about you?"

Aaron doesn't ask what he means, just tilts his head up for a kiss before he answers. "My parents divorce was quite messy. Ross lived next door. I didn't get much of a chance to say goodbye before I moved. I'm a little shocked he still remembers me. It was a long time ago."

"You're very memorable," Robert tells him, and Aaron nods solemnly, biting his lip on a smile. Robert pushes his hair back, turns Aaron so they're facing each other. "I'm sorry your parents divorce was rough."

"You're sweet," says Aaron, cupping Robert's cheek. Robert turns his head to kiss his palm. He's happy. He's really, really very happy.

They help Finn close up at the end of the night, and the five of them plus Pete's on-again off-again girl Mary—another bartender at the pub—walk home together. Mary is the only one left sober, even Ross is stumbling more than he's walking and deteriorating into inexplicable fits of giggles. Robert has Aaron hitched on his back, and Aaron and Pete are singing the Canadian national anthem deafeningly, Aaron's legs squeezing at Robert's sides and his arms flailing above him. Finn and Ross are nearly in tears from laughing.

"The True North strong and freeeee!" Pete and Aaron shout. They both have quite lovely singing voices, Robert thinks.

"I can't believe I hang out with you lot," Mary says helplessly.

"I wish we didn't have to wear so many clothes all the time," Robert replies, which has nothing to do with what she said but he feels like someone should know, and he's frowning and feeling deeply affected by this. "I just. I would feel so much more without clothes on."

"The lot of us would, mate," Finn says, and then belches loudly. "Keep your kit on."

"O Canada! We stand on guard for thee!" Pete wails.

"Oh my God," Marry laughs. "Shut up! Robert, what have you brought into our ranks? This—" she points at Aaron, who is harmonizing with Pete, a hand on his chest, Robert thinks, because his elbow is kind of buried in Robert's hair. "This one is an instigator."

"I beg your pardon!" Aaron says, very offended.

She prods him in the side and he jerks and giggles, ticklish. "Look at him! Look at those cheekbones! He got Ross drunk!"

"I'm not drunk, surely," Ross says like it's a perfectly reasonable conclusion.

"You are, sweetheart," Finn nods, gripping Ross's arm tightly. "And don't call me Shirley."

Robert trips over a bump in the sidewalk, and yelps and he and Aaron go down flailing, which ends in both of them on the ground in a tangle of limbs and laughing so hard they can't breathe.

"Children. The lot of you." Mary says dryly. She's only a few years older than them. Robert wants to point that out but Aaron is squirming against him and kissing him and really, he'd rather do that anyway. "Hey, hey! You two wait until you're home, will you?"

And, just because Robert feels a bit bad for her, he complies.

It takes another twenty minutes to make it back to their flats, and Robert barely wishes the others a goodnight before he's closed the door and crowded Aaron up against it.

"Tell me what you want," Robert demands. He likes it when Aaron talks. He likes the sound of his voice.

"I want you to come on my face," Aaron answers immediately, like he's been thinking about it, and the few inhibitions he had before are out the window with the alcohol in his system. Robert moans out loud and ruts against the sharp wing of Aaron's hip. Aaron threads his fingers into his hair and bites at his earlobe. "Then I want you to fuck me. For the sake of my health. Dr. Sugden."

Robert bites at Aaron's neck and pulls him closer. "I'll give you all the doctoring you need, love."

He fucks Aaron on the living room floor until they've both got rug burn on their knees, and then again against the bedroom wall. They fall asleep tangled together, wake up in the middle of the night and Aaron is sleepy and soft and so, so sweet. Robert kisses him slow and deep and spreads him open. Aaron rolls another condom down over Robert's cock and Robert sinks into him easily and just stays buried there for a few, Aaron's legs around his waist, their chests together. They snog and fuck slow and lazy, all low-burning heat and intensity and Robert comes when Aaron does, trembling underneath him and gasping against his neck.

"Do you have to work tomorrow?" Robert asks him after they've both come down. Aaron still hasn't told him what he does. Every time Robert asks it's something new. Aaron doesn't give things up easily. Robert likes the challenge.

"No," Aaron answers. Robert goes to pull out but Aaron tightens his legs. "Stay in me a bit."

Robert's mouth goes dry. He bites his tongue and nods, easing back down, lacing their fingers together on the pillow next to Aaron's head.

"Stay over again. I only have to work a few hours in the morning. You can stay here, or hang with the lads. Be here when I get back, huh?"

"I s'pose I can do that, yeah," Aaron says. He kisses Robert very sweetly and Robert squeezes his hand. It's so late, nearly morning already. Robert has to be to work in four hours. After a bit he reluctantly disentangles himself from Aaron and gets rid of the condom. Aaron pulls him back into his arms and Robert goes willingly, eyes closing. Aaron hums quietly and plays with his hair, and Robert thinks he's never felt so content before. He thinks he might like Aaron quite a lot.

He thinks he might keep him.

  The next two months pass by in a blur of summer and sex and friends and all things Aaron, who is adopted into their group so fast it's like they weren't really complete without him. They go on dates and spend days together if Robert's not working and nights together if Aaron isn't. When Robert's sister and mum visit he introduces them, and Aaron has them charmed in moments, has Robert's mum fawning all over him and Gemma halfway in love. 

Robert works three to four days a week, and Aaron works a lot more than that since his job is full-time, but they don't go a day without seeing each other and Robert's having more sex than he's ever had in his life and it's hot and good and wonderful. They have clothes at each others' flats, and Robert has a head for Aaron's Sonicare toothbrush, and there's a Aaron-shaped imprint in Robert's mattress and Robert's pretty sure he's in love.

"I think things are going very well," Aaron says one morning, naked and sweaty and riding Robert's dick so fucking slow. Robert grips his hips, rocks up into him and Aaron makes a rough, punched-out noise and presses his hands harder into Robert's chest. Robert may very well kill him if he doesn't speed up, so he rolls them over, smirking at Aaron's startled yelp, and digs himself in as deep as he can, until Aaron's panting and his eyes are rolling back.

"Very well," Robert finally agrees, sucking bruises into Aaron's neck. Aaron's legs wrap around his waist and his abs contract as he rocks his hips to meet the thrust when Robert starts to drive in harder, faster.

"Fuck, babe, it's really hot when you throw me around like that."

Robert grins, nips at Aaron's swollen bottom lip and groans brokenly when Aaron clenches around him, moaning and needy. Robert lasts barely another few minutes, fucking Aaron hard enough for the headboard to bounce against the wall and Robert's neighbors probably hate it but he doesn't care. Aaron's loud and hot, voice all fucked out and filthy (fuck me Robert, harder, fill me up, so fucking big inside me feels so good gonna come on your cock gonna come make me come) and Robert's balls deep inside him and is only human. He flies over the edge, pleasure swallowing him up so sharp and sweet it makes his teeth hurt and his body throb and Aaron is spilling between them, into his own hand and all over their stomachs. Robert palms over Aaron's belly, fucking him through the waves, swallows Aaron's slurry, blissed words, licks them out of his mouth.

Later, after Robert can see straight again and he's sleepy and comfortable, head pillowed on Aaron's chest and Aaron's hands in his hair, Robert says, "It's going very well. I'm going to introduce you as my boyfriend from now on, mmkay?"

Aaron's hand stills in his hair and Robert holds his breath, exhales when it starts again, his hair twirling up around Aaron's fingers.

"Well all right then," says Aaron, and that's that.

  Robert's good mate Nick has a few people around for drinks and lunch one afternoon, and a few turns into twenty or thirty which Robert is grateful for. Aaron and Nick don't really get along well. They tend to press each other's buttons and get snipey at each other, so Robert doesn't force them to spend too much time together, but Nick is a really good friend. Aaron is willing to bear his presence if it'll make Robert happy, and Robert is more than willing to abuse that. Especially at something like this, when the rest of the lads are here and Aaron can walk away when he gets annoyed.

Afternoon is curtailing into evening and Robert's tipsy, sitting in a very comfortable chair in Nick's living room. He grins lazily when Nick walks over and squeezes into the seat with him. He was one of Robert's professors at Uni. Robert did very well in that class.

"Young Harold!" Nick says solemnly. "You look very content."

Robert giggles drunkenly. "I am very content, Professor Grimshaw."

Nick smiles at him, and then gestures to the doors to the balcony, beyond which Robert spots an unmistakable quiff. "Your young man there looks awfully serious."

Robert tilts his head to see past the door frame and through the glass. Aaron is outside with Ross. They're standing quite close together, and Ross has his hand on Aaron's shoulder and is biting his bottom lip, big dark eyes worried. Ross worries about everything, but it's not the first time Robert's seen him look at Aaron like that. Aaron's face is kind of shadowed, but he's talking with his hands and he doesn't look upset or anything.

"Oo, menage a trois," Nick says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively when Finn walks up on Aaron's other side and ruffles his hair.

"Don't be a prick," Robert tells Nick. He watches Ross's lips move around the words I'm sorry and then Aaron wraps him in a hug and Ross squeezes him tightly, his hand huge on Aaron's back. Robert frowns thoughtfully, oddly concerned. When they pull away from each other, Finn says something and Aaron laughs and Ross launches himself at Finn and the world starts spinning again. Robert looks away from them just in time to brace himself for Pete dropping into his lap like a rock. Robert laughs and squeezes his arms around him.

"You five are the handsiest group of boys I've ever heard of," sniffs Nick. Robert elbows him hard enough to make him choke a bit on his wine and calls it a win.

  One night near the end of August, Pete's brings Brittany to dinner, the girl he hooked up with the night Robert first met Aaron. She looks very pretty in her pale blue dress and she's very entertaining. They're at Pete's favorite restaurant, working their way through obscene amounts of Greek food, and Brittany is laughing at something Pete said and Finn is outside smoking. Ross's been at work all day long, unloading shipments of packages from other countries off of planes. It's apparently very trying manual labor, and he looks exhausted. Robert pats at his head consolingly when Ross yawns for the umpteenth time.

"There, there," he says, in a very comforting way.

Ross snorts and smiles, yawns again until his jaw cracks. "Where's Aaron tonight?"

"Working."

"Aaron?" Brittany asks curiously. She's hung out with them a few times over the last few months, though she and Pete are just friends. He doesn't think she's ever been around when Aaron's been with them, though.

"Aaron," Pete tells her, grinning. "Remember that bloke you and Ella pointed out that night? He's Rob's boyfriend now."

Brittany is the one who started the whole Aaron is a hooker rumor, but Robert's been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. She looks so puzzled for so long that Robert starts to get a bit nervous, a bit annoyed. "But, isn't he…?"

"No," Pete says sternly before Robert can, in a much nicer voice than Robert would've used. "I don't know where you got that idea, love, but he's most definitely not. He and Robert have been together for months now."

"But I saw him last night," Brittany says weakly, and something cold and tight worms its way into Robert's chest. "I saw him at a restaurant by the club."

It goes deathly silent very fast. Robert feels shockingly numb. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Brittany says, and her big brown eyes only look concerned. "I thought. I didn't realize that you two were so serious. I would've warned you before. Aaron isn't…I mean, I'm sure he's a perfectly wonderful person," she finishes lamely, all of them staring at her now.

"You saw him with someone?" Ross asks delicately. He's suddenly gripping Robert's hand quite tightly.

"Yes. An older man. They were holding hands on the table. Robert, I'm so sorry, really."

She's wrong, Robert thinks, even as he rises from the table and goes outside for some air. He almost knocks Finn over, apologizes hastily. He's breathing hard.

"Rob? You all right?" Finn asks.

"Robert." That's Ross, outside now too, and Finn is looking between them worriedly and Robert just wants Ross to tell him that Brittany is an awful human being who is lying. Ross grips him by the shoulders. "It might not be what you think. You need to talk to him first."

"She's making it up," Robert says at once, determined. "She's just. She's wanted to believe it from the beginning."

But he's thinking of all the times he's asked Aaron what he does for a living and all the damn cryptic smirks he gets as a response. He thinking about how Aaron works so many nights, and how even after all this time and how well he thinks that he knows Aaron, he still doesn't really know anything about him.

"You need to talk to him," Ross repeats. "Tomorrow, all right? Or he usually calls after work. Have him come by. Tell him you need to talk to him and it can't wait."

"I can't wait," Robert agrees. He's already digging his keys out of his pockets. "I'm going to. I'm going to his flat. I'm going to wait there for him. They all know me there. It'll be fine. I'll talk to him tonight."

Ross makes a face like he's going to say something Robert doesn't want to hear, so Robert shakes him off and crosses the car park to his car at a jog. Once he's inside he can see Ross and Finn talking, Ross's lips moving and Finn's eyes getting steadily wider until his brow furrows. As he pulls out onto the road, he calls Aaron twice, but both times go straight to voicemail. It's almost eleven o'clock at night. He's not sure what song is on, something Nick let him borrow, but it's screaming and raw and Robert shuts it off harshly. His palms are sweating.

He parks illegally in front of Aaron's building, and takes the stairs because the elevator is too slow. He'll feel better once he's there, even just sitting outside Aaron's door waiting for him. But Aaron's door isn't all the way closed when Robert gets there. Robert swallows hard, walks silently down the hallway and pushes it open, takes a single step in with Aaron's name on the tip of his tongue and stops dead.

There's a handsome man at least twice Aaron's age, and he's got Aaron wrapped up in his arms and he speaking into Aaron's ear in a whisper. It's an intimate hold, possessive, his hand on Aaron's back, and Robert feels like someone just reached into him and pulled all of his insides out, laid them bare on the floor. His foot slips on the tile, squeaks, and both Aaron and the man look around at him. Aaron's eyes widen and the color drains from his face, and Robert inexplicably wants to laugh. His eyes are burning.

"Robert," Aaron breathes. He steps away from the man but Robert takes a step back.

"This is why you wouldn't tell me," Robert says, his voice more broken than he wants it to come out. "This job of yours, the acrobat and the court jester and the pastry chef and the professional milkshake taster. And all this time it was this?"

"Robert," Aaron says again. He sounds horrified, his eyes still so wide. He's so fucking gorgeous and Robert can't stand to look at him.

"I have to go."

"No, Rob, wait—"

But Robert doesn't, is already slamming the door closed behind him. He knows Aaron's going to follow him, but he can't make himself look back, make himself stop. He can barely hear the pound of his own footsteps over the roar of blood in his ears. He's got tears on his cheeks and everything hurts.

Aaron catches up to him in the car park. He's barefoot and looks panicked. Robert jerks his arm out of his grip and whirls around and finds himself momentarily frozen at the look on Aaron's face. Aaron is livid.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demands. "I told you I have to work tonight! Why are you here?!"

Robert is caught somewhere between rage and all-encompassing grief. It takes full seconds of staring at Aaron with his mouth partially open before he's able to find his voice again. "Are you. Are you actually upset with me for this?"

"You can't just waltz into my flat whenever you bloody well feel like it!"

"The door was open!" Robert shouts. His insides are tight and crumbling and it hurts. "You were too busy humping that guy to close it!"

Aaron shakes his head firmly, mouth pressed into a tight line. His eyes are hard but his hands are shaking. "Jesus Christ, Robert. You can't just—"

"I came to see you!" Robert growls, because anger is so much safer right now, so much easier to deal with than the pain that's threatening to knock him down. "Because Pete's friend said she saw you last night with someone else and I wanted to talk to you about it. Your door was open!"

"I told you I was working!" Aaron yells, but he sounds more panicked than angry now.

"They told me," Robert spits. "They told me at that club, Pete's friend, she told me that you're famous there. A famous fucking whore that picks up business there!"

Aaron rakes his fingers through his hair, hands curled into claws that tug viciously. He's very pale. "It's not what you think," he chokes. "Robert, it's not. It's not—"

"So what was that then?!" Robert shouts. "Either you're cheating on me, which is…" Robert shakes his head, wipes his hand over his mouth. "Or you've been lying to me this whole time. Has it all just been made up? What the fuck were you—Why were you—" God, he can't even finish a sentence. "I thought you were just playing! I thought you just wanted to drive me crazy with the guessing! I didn't think you were hiding something! I didn't think you were hiding this."

"Robert…"

"What?! Is he related to you? Is he your uncle? Father? Because his hand on your arse makes me doubt that!"

"He's…He's a friend. He's just an old friend."

Robert laughs deliriously, choking on tears. It hurts to breathe. "Jesus Christ, Aaron. Where did you meet him? Where did he come from?"

Aaron looks away, looks down at his feet and Robert feels his heart crumble in his chest. He feels foolish and young and naïve. "You made me trust you. You made me believe you. I'm so fucking in love you with you that I can't even see straight and you're…"

Aaron head snaps up when Robert says it, and he looks ill under the streetlight. His eyes are wet too, but he doesn't say anything.

"You still can't even answer me," Robert groans. "You can't even explain. You'd rather keep your secrets than—" He cuts himself off again, gnawing on his bottom lip. Finally, hurt and scared and wrapping anger around him like a cloak of armor, he shakes his head and opens his car door.

"Robert…"

"Go back inside, Aaron. You have a client."

For a second, Robert sees something like anger flash in Aaron's eyes. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Aaron snaps.

"I really, really don't," Robert agrees brokenly. "That's sort of the problem."

"Robert, God, please, just…just wait, okay? Come back upstairs and we'll talk, all right?"

Robert shakes his head against that temptation, but he doesn't want to hear anything Aaron has to say right now. He wants to snap at him, to say Sorry, Aaron, I clearly can't afford you, but he can't. He's not that person. He doesn't want to be that person.

"I have to go," is all he says, and gets into his car. Aaron doesn't try to stop him again, and Robert leave him there hunched in on himself in the middle of the car park. Ahead of him, all Robert can see are bright lights and a beautiful London skyscape, blurred by the tears streaming down his cheeks, and all he can think is that he's nineteen years old. He supposes that it's about time he had his heart broken.

  He spends that night sobbing into Finn's chest while Finn and Ross both wrap around him in their bed, unable to even tell them what happened he's such a wreck of snot and tears and hurt. Their home is lovely and their life is lovely and they're so in love and Robert lets it wrap around him, tucked between them, Ross's hand on his belly and Finn's fingers stroking his hair and being a part of it just for a minute makes it a bit easier to breathe.

The next two days after that, he calls into work and locks himself in his flat except to go to the gym, where he works himself into exhaustion and stumbles home and falls asleep, wakes up long enough to drink copious amounts of alcohol and then go back to sleep.

By the third day, he has over fifty missed calls from Aaron, over one hundred text messages. He hasn't looked at any of them. He feels sick and wrong and horrible, and all he wants to do is forget.

On the fourth day, he wakes up from an impromptu nap around seven in the evening to find Ross stretched out next to him on his bed, stroking his hair gently. He looks worried and warm and Robert's aching to be touched, so when Ross pulls him in he goes willingly. Ross hugs him close, rolls onto his back to settle Robert against his side and Robert rests his head over the steady beat of Ross's heart. He misses Aaron so much he feels sick with it.

For a long time, Ross just holds him, strokes his hair and the back of his neck, rubs his back and hums very quietly and it's so soothing that Robert is very nearly asleep when Ross starts talking.

"Rob, I didn't tell you this before because it really isn't my story to tell."

That sounds ominous. Robert sits up slowly, winds his blanket around his shoulders. Ross sits up too so they're facing each other. "What d'you mean?" Robert asks, his voice a rough croak of sound.

"I grew up next door to Aaron, you know that."

"Yeah. He said you were there to see how ugly his parents divorce got."

"Which is true," Ross says. "But he wouldn't have told you exactly how ugly it was."

"Christ, Ross, stop with the build up. I'm so fucking tired of talking in circles, just—"

"Aaron didn't move because his parents got divorced. He and his sisters were taken away from them."

"I don't understand," says Robert, dread like a rock in his stomach.

Ross sighs sadly. "You know. By the police. For their own safety."

Robert blinks, lips parting. "Oh." It's all he can think of to say. And then he thinks of Aaron's scars. He's seen them a million times since they first met. He's never asked. "He has. He has cigarette burns on his back."

Ross winces. "That's. That's not so surprising, really. I don't know many details. My parents kept me out of it as much as possible, but there were a lot of incidents. Aaron's been loud and a bit defiant and mischievous his whole life, so it was easy to write off some of the injuries as just accidents. But his parents fought all the time. His mother was addicted to pills and I don't know about his dad but at the least he was a very angry man. The night they came and took him and his sisters from them Aaron hadn't been to school in almost a week. We..." 

He breaks off, scrubbing at his mouth. The guilt on his face is almost tangible. "Ross."

Ross shakes his head slowly. "He was. He was screaming. We could hear it from my house. My dad broke in and Aaron and his dad were in the living room and his dad was going at him with the buckle end of his belt. Dad and I had to haul him off him. There was. There was so much blood. I sat with Aaron while we waited for the police and ambulance and stuff. He was in a lot of pain, not all there. He just kept apologizing for interrupting our dinner. I don't know. It was horrible. There was so much blood."

Robert's covering his mouth with his hand, thinking of the mess of scars on Aaron's back. He can feel tears rolling down his cheeks and doesn't remember when he started crying. He feels like he might be sick. Ross is staring unseeing at the wall, haunted.

"Li," he croaks. It's all he can say. Ross takes his hand and squeezes it, composes himself, and Robert's breath hitches painfully. The looks Ross kept giving Aaron at the beginning make sense now. Robert almost wishes he didn't know.

"He didn't have it easy growing up, and he didn't exactly have anyone teaching him that keeping secrets isn't the way to go. He's been by every day looking for you, and he's a wreck, Rob. I know you love him. You should cut him some slack."

It's not fair, Robert thinks, that Ross came in here and told him these things and now there's guilt and horror and soul-deep concern wilting his insides. He doesn't know what to say.

"You have every right to be mad," Ross says sternly, forcing Robert to look at him and not his hands wringing in his lap. "Keeping this from you—at the very least that he was sleeping with other people—was wrong. Don't feel guilty for how you reacted when you saw what you did. But maybe don't cut him off so quickly. Maybe let him explain."

  After Ross leaves, Robert takes a shower and spends a full thirty minutes pacing his living room before he finally picks up his mobile, chooses Aaron's number from his contacts and listens to it ring.

It barely gets to the second one before Aaron answers, and his voice sounds weak and wretched when he says Robert's name and Robert misses him so much.

"Yeah," he says. His voice is shaking. His hands are shaking. "Hi, Aaron."

Aaron makes a little choked noise. "I'm. Hi. How. How are you?"

Robert chokes out a quiet laugh. "I'm a bit shit, to be honest."

"Oh," says Aaron. "Me too."

Robert bites his lip. He's afraid and he's tired and he just…if nothing else he needs closure. "Can I come over?"

"Yes," Aaron says immediately. "God, yes. Of course. Please. I'm. I miss you."

Robert scrubs a hand over his face, feels himself smile, just a bit. "I miss you, too."

The drive to Aaron's is all of twenty minutes, twenty long, long minutes. The longest twenty minutes in the history of the universe. But when Robert gets there, it takes him another ten minutes to get the courage to get out of his car, and another five after that to work up the nerve to knock on Aaron's door.

And then it opens and Aaron is right there, looking impossibly small in the jumper he stole from Robert months ago. His eyes are red and he's got dark circles underneath them. His hair looks like he's been raking his fingers through it and he looks like he hasn't slept in days and he's so completely stunning that Robert has to stop himself from reaching for him.

"Hey," Aaron murmurs. He's holding a mug of tea in his hand, and Robert can see another one steaming on the coffee table. "Come in."

Robert tries to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace, and he follows Aaron inside, sitting down on the sofa while Aaron curls himself into the chair opposite. It's awkward for the first time it's ever been between them and Robert can't stand it. He opens his mouth to tell Aaron in a very mature and soothing way that he'd like to hear Aaron's side of the story, please, so that he can figure out how he's supposed to feel because right now he doesn't know.

What comes out instead is, "Ross told me about your parents."

Aaron blinks over his tea at him, startled, and Robert fights the urge to smack himself on the face. "Oh."

"Sorry," Robert says, waving a hand at him somewhat desperately. Aaron probably thinks he's lost his mind. "He seemed to think it was relevant."

"It is," Aaron says slowly, looking down at his tea for a few moments and then back at Robert. He just looks so tired. "What did he tell you?"

"Just that you and your sisters were taken from your parents for your own safety."

Aaron nods distractedly. His hands are shaking a bit when he sets his mug onto the coffee table and tugs the sleeves of Robert's jumper down over them so just his fingertips peek out. "Yes."

"Aaron you don't have to tell me anything. You really don't, and I don't want you to feel obligated to. You don't owe me anything." Aaron flinches like Robert's hit him and Robert bites his lip, desperate and hurting and uncertain. "I just…I just need to know who that man was. Why he was here. I don't know if that will help but I can't…I just want to understand."

Aaron takes a very deep breath and exhales it slowly. He looks away, out the window, a million miles away and Robert gives him all the time he needs, his heart throbbing.

"I'm afraid if I tell you that you'll hate me," Aaron finally says, very straightforward, and it should sound melodramatic but Aaron is looking at him so seriously, legitimately afraid. Robert makes a soft sound in his throat and shakes his head furiously, dread coiling in his guts.

"No," he says, helpless. "God, Aaron, no. Nothing you could tell me could make me hate you. Nothing. I'm so in love with you. I'm just scared, and I'm angry and I'm worried, and I miss you."

Aaron's looking at him, lips slightly parted, and he looks terrified and Robert doesn't know what to say or how to help him or how to help himself. He hates feeling this way. "Rob…"

"Just tell me that he was nothing and that he doesn't matter. Just tell me something."

It takes Aaron a long time to start talking. "Pete's friend wasn't wrong. About the. About the whoring," he rolls his eyes like that makes it less serious and Robert breath catches in his throat. Aaron looks ill, shoulders hunching a bit. "My sisters were able to stay together. They were adopted and live in Doncaster with a couple who couldn't have children of their own. It was kind of a fairy tale ending for them. They're happier than they ever would've been with my parents. I get to see them every once in a while. Their parents are good people."

"What about you?" Robert asks, shocked that his voice still works, rough as it is.

"I went through a couple of foster homes. I'm really…I'm sure you've noticed I'm rather a handful sometimes." He forces his lips to pull into a self-deprecating smile. He won't meet Robert's eyes for more than a few seconds. "The last one was….bad. I ran away to London within a couple of months. My mum had been sent to a rehab facility there, and I thought I might... When I found her she couldn't remember who I was, and it had only been half a year. She'd taken pills as long as I can remember, even back when I was quite little. I think her mind just kind of broke the night my dad kind of lost it."

"Aaron," Robert says weakly, feeling utterly useless. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," Aaron says, smiling again, small but more sincere. "It's. I don't know. Shit happens, yeah? Anyway, I was here and alone and had nothing. After a few weeks on the streets I was getting desperate. One night a bloke in a bar offered me a hundred quid for a blow job. I was starving. I. I said yes."

"You were fifteen," is all that Robert can think of to say, and the visual is too clear in his mind, of Aaron six years younger and on his knees in some seedy alleyway. He has to swallow back the bile that rises to his throat.

"But the other night," Aaron goes on like Robert hasn't spoken and his eyes are so intense. "It wasn't like that. It hasn't been in almost a year, Robert, I promise."

Robert wants to reach across the table, take Aaron's hand, but Aaron's all tucked into himself now, arms around his middle, so Robert settles for tightening his grip on the warm mug in his hands.

"The man I was out to dinner with the other night, the one you saw me with. He's a doctor at the hospital where you've been working."

Robert blinks, lips parting and eyes going wide. "What?"

Aaron untangles one arm so he can tug nervously on his hair, watching Robert anxiously. "About ten months ago I was…hurt. A couple of blokes. I mean, they didn't seem like anything to worry about, but they injected me with something the second I was in the car and just. Things weren't consensual even by paying for it standards and they didn't use protection and just, y'know." He shrugs it off, like it's nothing, and Robert really doesn't know. Robert really doesn't want to know. "I'm the one that got in the car with them. I'm surprised it hadn't happened sooner, really. They left me in the motel room and I ended up in the hospital. I met Dr. Evans there. He and his wife took me in, helped me finish school and got me a job.

"I work at an emergency veterinary clinic, so a lot of my shifts are overnight. I only lied about it those two nights, because Dr. Evans came to visit and I didn't know how to explain. It was just a hug. He was hugging me goodbye, and you walked in. Fuck," Aaron laughs but it's dreadful and hurt. He scrubs his hand over his eyes and looks miserable. "I'd been trying so hard to keep all of it from you. When you walked in that night it was like the end of the world, you know? You were going to find out and you were going to leave as soon as you did and I was so mad at you for ruining it."

Robert's mind is spinning, his heart aching.

"I knew I wasn't going to be able to hide it forever," Aaron says, his voice very soft now. "I just…This has all been a bit like a dream. You're gorgeous and sweet and funny and I'm quite deeply in love with you. I didn't want it to end."

"But why did you think it would end?" Robert asks, shocked that his voice is still working.

Aaron grimaces, presses the pads of two fingers to his lips for a moment. "Because. Because you're future neurosurgeon Robert Sugden with this gorgeous life and these gorgeous friends and this gorgeous heart and your whole life ahead of you. And I'm this mess who's better at lying than telling the truth and who used to sell his arse for a living."

Robert wants to cry. His eyes are burning. Aaron looks so tiny. So tired. Robert thinks about the scars on his body and the way he smiles and of their first night together, wrapped in a comforter and soaking wet in the middle of Robert's bathroom. He wonders how much time Aaron's spent hating himself.

"Ross…"he starts, pauses to wet his dry lips and keeps his gaze locked on Aaron, whose blue eyes are wet. "Ross said that you didn't ever have anyone to teach you that keeping secrets is a bad thing."

Aaron swallows hard. "He was there, that night. He and his parents. I remember him sitting next to me when I was on the floor. It was really good to see him again. It's been good spending time together again. We were never like, close exacty, but he lived next door. We kind of grew up together. Small world, yeah?"

"Aaron, I don't. Why didn't you just tell me?" Because this is the part that Robert's having trouble getting past. "Not about all this, but about the job?"

"I don't really know," Aaron answers helplessly, like he's been expecting the question. "It's kind of the one question I avoided for so many years, the one thing I lied about more than anything else. I just. I don't know. I was afraid it would lead to more questions that I didn't want to answer. And this job with the clinic still feels new and real and it's mine, even if I didn't really earn my own way in. It's the first legitimate thing I've ever done. I think I just wanted to keep it mine for a while."

Robert's quiet for a long time, long enough that Aaron starts chewing on one of his fingernails and bouncing his leg nervously. Robert's mind is whirling. He feels like he's been pulled inside out. He needs to think.

"Can I stay here tonight?" he asks.

Aaron looks up at him, shocked. "Yes. God, yes, of course. I'm. You can have my room, if you want? Or I could make up the sofa?"

Robert gets up and walks around the coffee table, drops to his knees in front of Aaron's chair so he can see him better. Aaron looks terrified and hopeful and damaged. Robert takes his hands. "Wherever you're sleeping. If that's all right with you."

Aaron's smile is frail, watery. Robert stands up again and pulls him up too. They take care of their cold tea and get ready for bed in silence. Aaron takes a quick shower while Robert cleans his teeth and washes his face. He puts on a pair of his own scrubs that Aaron's stolen and taken to wearing around at home on lazy days. By the time Aaron emerges from the bathroom, Robert's lying on his usual side of Aaron's bed, waiting for him.

It's awkward for a couple of minutes. Aaron's dressed in pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt but he's never been more bare. Robert strokes his cheek and his heart hurts at the sight of tears in Aaron's eyes. He pulls him into his arms just seconds before Aaron loses it, whatever careful control he had breaking. Robert gathers him in close and squeezes his eyes shut. Aaron's crying, his shoulders shaking, and Robert can't stop the pictures running through his head, imagining the things that Aaron told him, that Ross told him.

He cradles the back of Aaron's head in his hand protectively, feels Aaron's tears on his neck and Aaron's trying to be quiet and stop crying but he's so tired. Robert wonders how long it's been since he's told anyone all of this. Robert's face is wet too, and when he slips his hand under Aaron's t-shirt and touches the pads of his fingers to one of the scars from his father's belt that Aaron has on his back, Aaron rambles in an almost manic, desperate whisper, "I deserved it, I deserved it. It felt like I deserved it."

Robert turns his face into Aaron's hair. "No, Aaron," he whispers back. "You didn't deserve it. You could never, ever deserve it."

Aaron cries himself out eventually, and in the wake he's lax and still against his Robert's chest, his mouth pressed against Robert's shoulder. Robert can feel him blinking sleepily, his eyelashes light on Robert's skin. He rubs slow circles up and down Aaron's arm until his breathing goes deep and even. Robert's hand shakes when he threads his fingers into the soft tangle of Aaron's hair. He stays awake for a long time, thinking about everything that's happened in the last few months, about what Aaron told him tonight, about how he feels and what he wants quite outside from that. 

Aaron. He wants Aaron.

  When Aaron wakes up the next morning, Robert's already sitting up, watching him with a fond expression on his face. Aaron blinks Robily, his eyes swollen from crying, his lips chapped. Robert coaxes him to sit up, kisses his forehead and eyelids and mouth. Aaron already looks wounded, bruised, shoulders hunching like he's waiting to be rejected. Robert cups Aaron's face in both hands. 

"Robert?"

Robert strokes his thumbs under Aaron's eyes. He never knew anything could hurt like seeing Aaron in pain does. 

"You can't lie to me. I can take anything but that, Aaron."

"I'm sorry," Aaron says brokenly. Robert shakes his head, kisses him.

"I love you. I love you and I think you're beautiful and brilliant and you mean everything to me."

"I'm not. I'm. I'm weird and too loud and-and used and—"

"You're lovely. You're not fucking used. You were abused and you were desperate and you were fifteen," Robert says. "Not a bit of it was ever your fault."

"I—"

Robert holds the pad of his thumb over Aaron's lips. "Don't lie to me and don't hide things from me because keeping it inside just makes it hurt more and there's nothing you could tell me that would make me any less utterly, ridiculously, stupidly in love with you."

"Robert."

"I don't care, Aaron," he says earnestly. "I mean, I care that it happened and I hate that you've been hurt and that you had to go through all that, but the only thing that matters to me is how you are now. I'm sorry I went mad at you. I just. The idea of losing you is. It's hard."

"Robert."

"It'll be okay. If you want it to be. If you still want me. I think it'll be okay. We'll be okay," Robert whispers. "Trust me. I'm going to be a doctor."

Aaron hiccups a little laugh. "I love you too," is all he says. Robert tugs on his hair until he lifts his head, and Aaron cups his cheek and leans in and they're kissing again. He can taste the salt from both their tears. Aaron says, "I love you so much. I just want to be with you all the time and I've been so happy it's a bit scary and I'm so, so sorry for everything and I—" 

Robert kisses him again to shut him up. They have time to sort it out later, to talk through Aaron's abandonment issues and Robert's trust issues and maybe to research some, because Aaron clearly has a terribly unhealthy attitude about the shit he's been through and probably needs some kind of counseling and Robert's pretty sure he might too and they still have a lot to talk about. But the basics are covered. They're in love, and they're stronger together, and Robert thinks it's a pretty good Step One.

"I've got you," he breathes, their foreheads touching, Aaron's hands clutching at his back. "No matter what. I've got you."

And Aaron smiles a weak, sincere smile and says, "I know. I got you too."

  Two weeks after the start of the summer hols between Robert's second and third year of Uni, the veterinary clinic where Aaron works hosts an adoption fair. It's a gorgeous Saturday morning. Robert's walking with Ross and Finn and Pete and Mary, who are currently on-again. They're still a block away and can already hear the barking.

"We're not getting a dog," Ross tells Finn, who looks mutinous. Finn opens his mouth and Ross points a finger at him before he can get a word out. "Or a cat."

"You two are precious," Mary says, as though it's disgusting. Robert likes Mary. He thinks that Pete probably loves her.

The tents come into view first, the majority of the car park taken up with white tents to help block out the sun and booths with dinky little games and pins and crates where the animals are frolicking about. There are a ton of volunteers and a few of them Robert recognizes as Aaron's co-workers, Matt and Aiden and Hannah and Stan. Aaron is crouched down in front of a little boy and his father, a fluffy ginger kitten in his arms.

"Shit," Robert sighs, and doesn't even care how much the hearts in his eyes show. He's so used to the sight of Aaron wearing his scrubs that the sight of him in ones that actually fit is always a bit strange. They're bright turquoise with cupcakes on them though, which makes the whole thing a bit more Aaron. He's also holding a fluffy ginger kitten. He's perfect.

Finn spots a pin of dogs for adoption within seconds and wanders casually that way. Ross watches with an unamused look on his face. Pete and Mary wander off to look at another pin of Border Collie puppies, and Robert makes his way to his other half, who looks up at him with bright blue eyes and a blinding smile as soon as he gets close. He carefully hands the ginger kitten off to the little boy and stands up to accept the hello kiss Robert gives him.

"'lo, love."

"I like you in my clothes better," Robert whispers in his ear, at which Aaron snorts and bats at him so that he can go back to getting poor fluffy animals adopted.

Robert watches him hand papers over to the boy's father and tell the boy very sternly about how important it is to take proper care of the kitten. The boy names the cat Andrew, and it fights against the boy's chubby arms until it slumps in defeat and look up at Aaron unhappily. Robert can sympathize with it. He'd hate to leave Aaron, too.

After the little family toddles off, Aaron sets his clipboard down on top of the crate full of more fluffy ginger kittens, and wastes no time in launching himself at Robert. Robert catches him with a quiet oof, getting his arms under Aaron's bum to hold him up when he wraps his legs around Robert's waist.

"Finn and Ross are going to get a dog," Robert whispers conspiratorially. 

Aaron looks over Robert's shoulder for a second. "Does Ross know that?"

"Somewhere deep down, I think he knows he'll cave." Robert turns them around to find his friends. Finn is holding a small hound puppy and looking at it with adoring Bambi eyes. Ross looks both helplessly in love and highly disapproving.

"I think you should move in with me," Robert says abruptly.

Aaron blinks at him. Robert sets him back on his feet. "What?" says Aaron.

"I think it should be our flat, and our home, and I think we should split the rent and the bills and an address." Robert can't stop himself from smiling (which happens quite a lot around Aaron). It's been just over a year since they met. It's time.

"And you decide to come here, to my work place, and make a scene in front of all these people with this preposterous question?"

Robert looks around. No one is paying them any mind at all. Pete and Mary are watching Finn, who appears to have turned into a metaphorical pile of goo at the sight of Ross being licked in the face by the hound puppy. He looks at Aaron expectantly, and Aaron rolls his eyes. The smile that spreads over his face is like sunshine.

"Yeah, all right," he shrugs, like it's no big deal, and then squawks loudly when Robert picks him up and twirls him around, crying out in triumph and deliriously happy. People are looking at them now. Robert rather likes it. He sets Aaron down but just to waltz him into a dip so he can kiss him. Aaron is pliant and light, letting Robert take most of his weight so he can kick him in the ankle. He's used to being manhandled. Robert kisses the tip of his nose.

"I like that you're smaller than me," he murmurs, like it's a secret, when Robert tells him at least three times a week and usually twice on Sundays.

"I like that you carry me around when I don't want to walk anymore," Aaron shrugs, still hovering a few feet off the ground with Robert's hand on his back. "It all works out."

Robert beams at him, and Aaron smiles right back at him, and they don't move until Pete pelts Robert in the head with a plush dog toy.

They spend the rest of the day at the fair, and then the six of them walk back toward their flats side by side, Robert with his arm around Aaron's shoulders and Pete with his arm around Mary's and Ross and Finn's fingers linked between them, their new puppy leading the way home.