#if you make *weird* jokes under my drawings I will delete your comments thank you

[carus26]

i did a (questionable) thing Sulley explains to Mike why Boo can't stay in the `men's locker room`

[vitanes]

say it’s okay when it’s not

chapter 14: just friends?

Everything is very messy and needs plenty of patience, Lucas has an epiphany and certain truths come out.

Everything happens so quickly that Lucas is barely aware of his surroundings. He goes through the motions in a daze. It takes so much effort to keep Eliott with them until his parents arrive. Once they do, Arthur steps out to explain the situation but only gets a word in before Eliott’s mom shushes him and looks over them.

Scared, stoned teenagers. Anxiously fidgeting in place.

She clicks her tongue as her husband tries to convince Eliott to go with him. Lucas’ keeps his eyes on the woman, not sure he can handle watching Eliott. He’s worried Eliott won’t go with them, will run off. So if he doesn’t see it, Lucas can pretend nothing bad is happening.

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” she asks, her tone stern. They don’t know what she’s talking about, but all of them shake their heads nonetheless. After all, Eliott has never told either of them anything that could have prepared them for this. “What were you doing before this started?”

Arthur opens his mouth. “Um… just relax–“

“We smoke,” Basile cuts in with a serious expression on his face. “Pot,” he adds and Eliott’s mom sighs deeply.

“I told you, we should have come after he stopped answering,” she says to her husband.

“It’s my fault. Like always,” the man mutters under his nose. “He’s probably been off medication for too long.”

Being here feels wrong. Eliott deserves privacy and as much as Lucas hates to admit it, he definitely isn’t fit for this situation. He’s helpless, like all those times with his mom. All he can do is stand and stare.

“You boys should go,” Eliott’s mom says, smiling tiredly at them. “It’s getting dark, go home.  We’ll take care of him now.”

They all retreat slowly and the next thing Lucas knows, he’s standing in the doorway of his flat on shaking legs. He doesn’t remember parting with the boys or getting a tram to get home. His mind is full of white noise and he isn’t sure he can feel his body.

Lucas failed. He should have known. Eliott and he are friends, Eliott likes him, but Lucas didn’t make him trust him enough. He should have tried harder to be there for him so now this wouldn’t have caught them off guard. And even in his helpless state, Lucas should’ve been able to do something. He’s got experience after years of seeing his mom being ill. But all he did was observe from the sides while the others were trying to console Eliott as much as possible.

And the worst of it all, Lucas was scared. Selfishly scared when Eliott kept getting worse and worse. Lucas could feel his heartbeat speed up every time Eliott said more and more concerning things when they were waiting for his parents. Sure, he was worried about Eliott, but he was also terrified. It’s something he’s ashamed of.

Lucas is a useless coward and he thinks that Eliott could do so much better than him. Fuck, he deserves so much better than someone being scared of approaching him when he’s at his lowest.

“Hey, bud, everything alright?” someone says and Lucas’ head shoots up. Mika is watching him carefully and only then does Lucas realise how badly he’s trembling.

“Something bad happened with Eliott and I couldn’t be there for him,” Lucas says, his voice breaking halfway through.

“Oh, Lucas… come here,” Mika lets out, frowning and opens his arms wide for him. Normally Lucas isn’t a big fan of that kind of affection, but this time, he crosses the distance between them in two steps and buries his face in Mika’s neck, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle. Soon enough he’s comfortingly engulfed by Mika and can let a shuddering breath out.

“I couldn’t do anything for my mom and I couldn’t do anything for Eliott. People keep on giving me so much, but I can’t even do one single thing for them,” Lucas mumbles.

“Don’t say that. You make it sound like you’re so selfish,” Mika whispers.  “What happened with Eliott?” he asks, rubbing soothing circles over Lucas’ back.

“His parents didn’t say what exactly it is, but I think he’s ill,” Lucas says and then launches into retelling the events of the evening. As embarrassed as it makes him feel, he doesn’t skip the part when he was lying next to Eliott and they held hands. At this moment he puts his own feelings aside and says how it was. Mentions how unnerving Eliott talking about dying was.

Mika keeps holding onto him, listening. Lucas stumbles over his words the further he goes into the story, realising how much he tuned out by the end. There are so many gaps he can’t fill in so he pathetically finishes with, “Then his mom told us to leave,” and waits for a response.

“That’s a lot, huh?” Mika asks after a minute or two of complete silence. “Shit, poor Eliott. I know you’re blaming yourself for not doing anything, but you had no idea, right? Nothing could have prepared you for this. What matters is that you were all with him and that he’s safe,” Mika says and something about his words slaps Lucas across the face.

God, hasn’t he said something similar to Arthur when he was blaming himself for what’s happened to Lucas?

They didn’t know because Eliott didn’t want them to know. He hid it from them on purpose and like with Lucas, it backfired, but as Mika has said, nothing could have made them ready for that.

Although, Lucas can’t help but think that if he had tried harder, then Eliott would have had more trust in him.

“Once all of this is over, just talk with Eliott,” Mika adds, patting Lucas on the back. “You must be tired. Take a shower, lie down,” he suggests.

Lucas pulls away and sends Mika a weak, strained smile. “Thanks. You always know what to say.”

Mika wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m older. Life experience and all that jazz,” he jokes. “Okay, go. Get some rest,” he adds, his voice gentle. He reaches his hand out and ruffles Lucas’ hair before pushing him forward.

Lucas feels so much calmer now.

 ***

 By the time it’s morning, Lucas has barely slept, there are over thirty unanswered messages from Eliott on his phone and a whole gallery full of drawings Eliott has sent him. He’s not sure how he feels once his phone stops buzzing.

 ***

 “Any news from Eliott?” Arthur asks no one in particular when they’re waiting for the bell to ring.

Lucas threads his fingers through his hair. The weekend has been hard. He was bombarded with Eliott’s texts, which has relieved him at first before it got too overwhelming, but once Eliott went quiet, a new kind of dread has appeared and Lucas hasn’t been able to shake it off ever since. He tried calling Eliott but to no avail.

“He sent me some stuff before going MIA again. But it was mostly incoherent,” he says, not looking up at them and shrugs.

“Well, at least he contacted you in some way,” Arthur replies and sighs.

“If he has what my mom does, he must be coming down from a manic episode now. Could be out of reach for some time,” Basile chimes in and all eyes land on him. Lucas remembers how Basile made a comment back then as if he knew.

“What do you mean?” Yann asks before Lucan can.

“I mean that he could be like my mom. She’s bipolar. He’s got pretty similar symptoms, that’s all. I could be wrong, though. We need to give him time, whatever it is and then let him talk with us,” Basile says and for the first time, he’s making sense. And he doesn’t even look stupid, that’s an achievement.

“So, we should be patient?” Arthur asks to which Basile only hums in agreement.

Easier said than done.

 ***

 Lucas didn’t plan on asking Imane about anything, especially since to approach her, he’d probably have to come closer to the girls – don’t get him wrong, he likes them, but the thing with Daphne is still the elephant in the room. He’s not very keen on pretending to be nice to her nor is he going to be the one to expose her. He’s not going to make it easier for her. Anyway, the point is, he wasn’t going to say anything to Imane, no matter how tempting it could be. Because even if she’s an old friend of Eliott, Lucas can’t just butt in and ask her about that stuff, can he?

But it’s like Imane has the sixth sense and it’s her doing when she drags him away from the guys and they end up in the library.

“Something happened with Eliott,” she states, not asks, right after they’ve both sat down.

The first thing that comes to Lucas’ mind is, “How do you know?”

“He’s been posting weird thing on Insta,” she says as if that explained everything. “I thought I could have been wrong, but your response literally confirms it. Do you know how he is?” There’s concern painted all over her face and Lucas feels bad because he doesn’t have anything reliable to offer to her.

“Not really. I haven’t heard from him since Saturday. But wait, you have his Insta?” Lucas asks, because he’s young, sometimes stupid and focuses on things that may not be important, but catch his attention nevertheless. Eliott has told him about his account, but Lucas had no idea someone else knew about it, let alone followed him.

Imane looks confused for a second before she says, “Yeah? He doesn’t post much, though, that’s how I knew something was up. He posted so many confusing things over the weekend and then deleted the posts.”

“Oh,” Lucas breathes out. He shifts in his place and looks to the side. “I was actually wondering if you knew something. Since you are old friends,” Lucas murmurs and looks back towards Imane. She seems conflicted as she processes his words. There is something bugging her. It’s obvious that she knows the truth, but the longer she stays quiet, the more Lucas understands that she may not tell him anything. She came to him thinking that he’s already been aware and could provide her with information.

At least that’s the conclusion Lucas reaches after Imane doesn’t say anything for a few moments and keeps avoiding his eyes.

“It’s… private,” she finally says. “I don’t want to tell you something that’s Eliott’s to tell, you know? I’m not the gossiping type when it comes to matters like that,” she adds apologetically and Lucas nods. Imane is loyal as fuck and she’s not about to betray Eliott’s trust, no matter how their relationship looks like now.

And Lucas is already suspecting what it’s all about, but at the same time, Eliott hasn’t had a chance to speak for himself and Lucas knows how much it sucks when someone takes that away from you.

He could get all his answers if only he pushed harder, but he decides that it wouldn’t be fair. Most importantly, he wants to find out from Eliott. Not have Basile guessing or from pestering Imane. He can wait a little longer, the same way Eliott was patient with him. Though, there is something that makes him curious.

“How long have you two known each other?” he asks and Imane looks stopped in her tracks for a hot second. She clears her throat.

“A few years. But he was mostly friends with my brother. I was just always around.” She smiles to herself and going by the look on her face, Lucas figures out that she’s sorting through the memories in her head.

“Was he different from now?”

Imane snorts. “He was hanging out with my stupid brother. Obviously, it rubbed off on him when they were together,” she jokes, making Lucas chuckle. “He was more open and carefree. I think it all has changed after…” she hesitates to continue.

“After all that happened at his old school? He told me about it,” Lucas says. At least he isn’t completely in the dark. Imane seems relieved upon hearing that. One less secret she has to keep to herself.

“Yeah. It has really affected him, but… he’s been opening up more recently. I think it’s you and the boys. Your friendship. I’m glad you took him under your wings,” Imane admits. She doesn’t mention anything about how Lucas acted like an asshole towards Eliott for the first few weeks and at the moment, he gladly appreciates this. He likes to think that perhaps, he’s been a good influence in Eliott’s life, even if only slightly so.

“I just hope that what happened won’t make him pull away,” Lucas says. He’s got so many worries surrounding this situation and they just keep on coming.

Imane reaches her hand out and puts it over Lucas’. She squeezes his palm and sends him an encouraging grin. “Then make sure he doesn’t.”

 ***

 Lucas has decided to give Eliott time and that’s what he’s going to do, okay, but he’s also sixteen and worried about his friend that he hasn’t heard from since Saturday. And it’s Wednesday now. So one has to understand why he’s anxiously fidgeting by Eliott’s building with a bag full of bananas.

He knows he shouldn’t be here but he couldn’t stop himself.

Lucas just wants to see Eliott and make sure everything is okay. He hasn’t told anyone about coming here because he’s aware that he isn’t acting reasonably. He should wait a few more days, but at the same time, he misses Eliott.

It’s okay if they don’t talk just yet. They could simply be together, no words spoken. That would be enough for Lucas. They could even hold hands if Eliott wanted to.

(Because Lucas definitely doesn’t want to do that himself.)

After all, Eliott may not even open the door for him. That’s exactly what Lucas is expecting once he summons up some courage and reaches Eliott’s flat. He knocks and waits, thinking that he will leave after a couple of minutes pass.

He doesn’t wait long until the door opens, but much to his surprise it’s not Eliott or even his parents, but a young girl.

Lucas almost drops the bananas and forgets how to speak for a moment.

“Um, hello?” she says, frowning at him.

Instead of saying something civil and appropriate, Lucas blurts out, “Who are you?” making the wrinkles on the girl’s face deepen.

“I think I should be asking you this question,” she replies and Lucas ignores her in favour of checking the number of the door.

It is the one he remembers.

“You aren’t Eliott,” he says, glancing back at her.

“Oh,” she gasps and realisation passes over her face. “I’m Lucille. Eliott’s ex,” she says, reaching her hand out.

Lucas shakes it, scowling. He should ask her why she’s there. They are exes and from what Lucas remembers, their relationship didn’t end well.

Lucille gazes at him sheepishly, probably thinking something similar as he is. “Come in,” she ushers him in.

Lucas follows her inside, unsure whether it’s a good idea. He came to see Eliott. If he’s not here he doesn’t really have any reason to stay.

“Are those for Eliott?” She points towards the bananas.

“Yeah,” Lucas replies and gives her the bag.

“He’s sleeping. Probably won’t talk with you. He doesn’t like being bothered when he’s like that,” Lucille tells Lucas while she’s putting the fruit away. Lucas squints at her. He’s not sure who Eliott would consider a bother in this situation. “I can tell him you visited, though,” she offers, sending his way a grin.

“I want to see him,” Lucas says, knowing he sounds like a petulant five-year-old and frankly not giving a fuck.

She has a more serious look on her face now. “I’m really not sure it’s a good idea.”

“The last time I saw him, he wasn’t present and I don’t know what happened to him. It freaked us all out. My friends and I are worried. All I want is to take a look at him,” Lucas says, not being able to stop desperation from slipping into his tone.

Lucile looks uncertain, her lips pursed into a tight line.

In the end, Lucas is just tired. It’s been days since the shit hit the fan, his head has been a mess, he can’t sleep again and simply having a proof that Eliott is okay in front of him would improve things drastically. Logically, he knows Eliott must be okay, if not mentally, then physically, but sometimes Lucas doesn’t listen to logic.

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Lucille mutters, waving him off.

Lucas doesn’t say anything to her. He turns around and takes his steps towards Eliott’s bedroom. The doorknob makes a quiet sound when he pulls it down. He opens the door ever so slightly and steps in despite his hammering heart and anxiety filling his body up.

Lucas gulps as he closes the door behind himself. His eyes scan the room quickly, too scared to settle on the visible silhouette on the bed.

It’s not messy like he expected. Quite the contrary, it feels like something is missing. No clothes draped over the furniture, no drawings scattered over the floor or empty beer bottles in the corner. A bit anticlimactic if you ask him.

The curtains are drawn so the colours are muted, soft. And when Lucas eventually rests his eyes on Eliott’s form, he breathes out slowly. Eliott’s curled up on one side of the bed, his blankets covering him up to his eyes, with only his hair visible from where Lucas is standing. One of his feet is peeking out from under the blanket and Lucas is tempted to step closer and throw another cover at Eliott.

There’s something about Eliott that makes Lucas want to hold him. He dismisses the thought.

Lucille said that he was sleeping and Lucas should have only come here to see he was okay, but once he’s stepped inside, he isn’t sure he wants to leave. Eliott feels safe for him even when everything is not like it’s supposed to be. So Lucas stands near the foot of the bed, unmoving.

“Have you come here to stare at me?” Lucas is startled by Eliott’s raspy voice, muffled by the sheets. He doesn’t say anything for a good minute, surprised and it’s a mistake when Eliott adds, “If so, just leave. I don’t need another babysitter.”

He sounds irritated, so unlike his usual self and Lucas is hesitant to speak out. What if he makes it worse?

“I don’t need your pity,” Eliott finally lets out and that’s what does it for Lucas.

“I don’t pity you,” he says. Sure, he is worried about Eliott, but it’s far from pity. He wants to be there for him, that’s all.

“Yeah, sure. Bipolar Eliott has gone off the rails. I’m the crazy guy again,” Eliott spits out. “You think it’s fun, having you find out like that?”

Lucas isn’t even seeing Eliott’s face right now, but he can only imagine how pained his expression must be. He wants to say something, but he has no idea if there are any words in the world that would make the situation better. He takes a step forward, desperate to do something.

“Just leave me alone. I don’t want anyone here,” Eliott says sharply and buries his face deeper into his pillow.

Lucas wishes he could smack himself in the back of his head. He knew he should have waited longer, he was so aware and willing to give Eliott time, but some fucked up part of him came to Eliott anyway. Lucas should use his brain sometimes, it’d do him some good.

“Alright. But just so you know, I’m here for you. We all are,” Lucas says, hoping it will get through Eliott, if only a bit.

He leaves the room and before he can school his expression, he runs into Lucille on his way out. He doesn’t want to talk with her, he doesn’t want her I-know-Eliott-better-than-you vibe she’s giving off. Why is she even here?

Lucille sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I told you so,” she says. “But it’s not your fault, okay? Just remember that.”

Well, it’s reassuring, but doesn’t make him feel any less like crap.

Lucas leaves the flat defeated and a bit angry at himself because he should have considered that outcome. He also realises how little he knows about acting in such a situation. That’s why as soon as he’s outside, he dials his mom.

 ***

 They’re walking side by side around the park that’s next to the facility Lucas’ mom is staying at. She’s been having her bad days so she didn’t want to meet too far away and Lucas respected that. He just hopes it’ll pass soon, for her own sake.

He thought that maybe calling his mom up about this matter was a slightly rushed decision. After all, he knows someone who lives with a bipolar person and probably has plenty of experience, but something told him that his mom will have what he’s looking for. In one way or another.

“So, tell me what it’s about,” Lucas’ mom says, linking arms with him. Lucas figures out it’s partly affectionate and partly seeking out support. He brings her closer before saying anything.

“Eliott is bipolar and had an episode. I don’t really know what to do.” Lucas has spent most of the last night looking up Eliott’s disorder online, but he’s still pretty clueless, no matter how much information he processed.

“What do you mean, dear?” his mom asks, a tint of confusion in her voice.

“Like how to help him? How to be there for him? I want to make sure he knows he isn’t alone,” Lucas says quietly. He hates not being able to do a single thing. He never wants a repetition of how everything went down with his family.

His mom takes a deep breath. He can see her watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m not an expert, obviously, but you have to remember everyone goes through their illness differently. No amount of articles on the Internet is going to be one hundred percent correct. Be patient, don’t overwhelm him. Let him know you’re there but in small ways. Baby steps, you know? When everything is difficult, you have to focus on the now and try to get through this with this person. That’s what your father forgot about. He tried to handle me, do everything quickly. It’s never the way because sometimes even hours make it hard to breathe.” The raw honesty in her voice breaks Lucas’ heart. He’s been made aware to wait, give time, but no one has explained it to him like this.

Rushing things – that’s what Lucas tried to do, despite knowing better. He went to Eliott before he was ready. When he was, and probably still is, hurting. And like his mom said, it should be an individual approach. Lucas read that some people want to be alone, some don’t. And as much as he hates to admit it, Lucille does know which group Eliott belongs to. She had the time to learn, Lucas hasn’t. But he will, as long as Eliott will let him.

“You really care about that boy, don’t you?” Lucas’ mom asks, snapping him out of his thoughts. Lucas looks towards her and nods.

“Yes, I do. He’s my friend.”

His mom tilts her head to the side and says, “I don’t want to pry, but are you sure it’s only friendship?”

They stop walking. Lucas opens his mouth, ready to reply but no sound comes out. For the first time, he can’t give a definite answer. For the first time, his mind is filled with doubts as to how he really feels about Eliott.

When exactly does a friendship become something more?

There are fingers tilting his chin up. “Don’t overthink it, okay?” his mom tells him with a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Whatever it is, he’s lucky to have you.”

In the evening, Lucas sends Eliott a text.

 No matter what, you’re not alone.

 ***

 Lucas is in Yann’s house, supposed to be studying, but he is sprawled out on Yann’s bed with his textbooks opened next to him and left untouched. His best friend is doing homework, not paying a lot of attention to Lucas’ present(one of many) crisis.

When Lucas is told not to overthink, he does the opposite. He hasn’t been able to stop his mind from going right back to his mom’s question. It’s like he’s seeing the world through new lenses. Thinking back to his whole relationship with Eliott, going through all he’s felt from the very first moment he saw him.

They have a connection. A deep one. Not quite like the one he shares with his other friends. It’s not the same as with Yann. There has always been something that drew Lucas in, even back when he was convinced he hated Eliott. Their eyes would find each other and for one moment, the rest of the world didn’t exist. Lucas has never questioned why. He has never stopped to think what’s it about Eliott that makes him so special.

What is Eliott to Lucas?

Eliott is warmth, solace, and peace. Eliott is held hands and whispered secrets. Shared joints, bad music taste, and drawings of the two of them. He’s staying up late and eating pizza for a whole day while playing stupid games together. Comfortable silences and feeling safe to come to.

But Lucas has only thought of him as a friend. Not even Eliott’s sudden confession or Arthur’s comment changed the way he looked at him. Or, maybe he simply wasn’t aware of it? After all, Lucas has a great talent to internalising and repressing things and as he looks back on everything that happened with Eliott, there have been so many moments that made his heart race. Way too many.

How did he know that he liked Yann? Oh, right, he kept thinking about kissing him.

Kissing Eliott, what would it entail? Does he want it?

Lucas thinks about how it’d be to thread his fingers through Eliott’s hair and pull him closer, so close they’d be breathing the same air. He imagines moving his other hand over Eliott’s heart and letting it rest there as he’d look up into Eliott’s eyes and see the stars. They would be smiling softly at each other and Lucas would be the one to close the gap between them, his lips parted. The kiss would be tentative at first, but they’d be already blushing furiously with their sweaty palms holding onto one another. It’d be messy before they’d find their rhythm. Slow and lazy because they’d have no need to hurry. And then Eliott would bite down on Lucas’ lower lip and Lucas would feel him smirking into the kiss–

Lucas sits up, placing his hands over his burning cheeks and looks in panic at Yann who jumps in his place, startled by Lucas.

“Dude, what?” Yann asks, staring at Lucas quizzically and holding his pen up in a funny way. Like he was ready to attack him.

Lucas gazes back at him in horror and in the grimmest voice possible says, “I think I like Eliott.” His heart is beating so fast it may as well kill him any minute. He’s not sure it’s because of what he’s just vividly imagined or the epiphany. Maybe both.

Yann deflates and makes a sceptic face at Lucas. He throws the pen at him, hitting Lucas in the forehead. “Fuck you, you scared me,” he mutters and clicks his tongue.

“Listen, it’s serious. It’s a game-changer,” Lucas proclaims and realises his hands are shaking. If that isn’t one drastic way to act when one learns they’ve got a crush on someone.

Yann stares at him doubtfully. “Alright. It’s not like you can do much about it now, though. So calm down,” he reasons, patting Lucas on the back.

“You don’t understand. It’s so sudden.” Lucas hides his face in his hands and exhales loudly.

“Honestly?” Yann asks as he starts rubbing Lucas’ back comfortingly. “I could see that coming.”

Lucas looks up at him, surprised. “What?”

“I know you, Lucas. You guys have gotten so close together, which is fine. But I know you. It’s not because you both like guys or something, I’m not that shallow. I could just see this happening on your face,” Yann admits sheepishly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me if I had said anything before you realised it yourself? Because I doubt it,” Yann says, taking his hand away. He shrugs. “I prefer to let people do things at their own pace.”

Well, he isn’t wrong given how Lucas denied everything when Arthur thought there was something between him and Eliott.

“I think that all that happened with Eliott recently must have pushed you,” Yann adds as an afterthought.

“Yeah, maybe,” Lucas says tiredly. “What now?”

“I have no idea. You know how things went with Emma,” Yann replies, apologetic. Yeah, Lucas knows because it was partly his doing. “You don’t even know if he likes you back.”

Okay, so Lucas guesses Yann is only perceptive when it comes to how Lucas is feeling. Or, Eliott is really fucking good at keeping his feelings to himself.

“He does,” Lucas says. “He confessed to me some time ago.”

The surprise on Yann’s face is priceless. His jaw goes slack and eyes open comically wide.

“And that didn’t make you realise your feelings?”

“Shockingly enough, but no.” It did trigger something in him, though, because the level of staring at Eliott grew unhealthily ever since then. God, Lucas has been so fucking gay.

“You’re hopeless,” Yann states simply, his face scrunched up. Then he gasps. “That mural. It was for you.” Lucas nods even though Yann doesn’t really need confirmation. “Wow. That’s great. You both like each other. Best case scenario, right?” He’s smiling encouragingly at Lucas.

Lucas sighs, lacking Yann’s enthusiasm. “In theory, yeah.”

“But?” Yann asks, confused.

Lucas can’t say that he’s gay and among many things, he has intimacy issues. So he says something else, that’s just as true. “Liking you was safe because I knew you were straight and I wouldn’t fuck up anything. I’ve never had a mutual crush or been in a relationship. I don’t want to lose what we have because of that,” Lucas confesses, wrapping his arms around himself. “It’s scary.”

Yann looks at him with understanding in his eyes and nudges him in the side. “I know it’s scary. That shit is terrifying as fuck, but you know what? Some risks are worth taking,” he says quietly, throwing his arm over Lucas’ shoulders.

 ***

 It’s Friday afternoon and Lucas is in the tram, on his way back home when he feels his phone buzz. He pulls it out and his heart skips a beat when he sees he’s got a message from Eliott. He hasn’t heard from him ever since he texted him two days ago.

What he reads is a simple thank you, but it’s still more than he expected. He smiles to himself and tucks his phone back into his pocket.

He’s shaken by the epiphany he had the day before but he’s trying to work around it and not freak out. Especially since he knows Eliott is nowhere near to being in the state when they could be talking about such things.

This time Lucas pushes his feelings aside on purpose because it’s not the time yet. Everything that’s happened in the last week has been a lesson on patience and slowly but surely, Lucas is learning the basics. There are still so many other things he needs to take care of, stuff that he wishes he could already move past on. But well, he can’t rush the universe.

“Have you already run out of money?” Lucas hears someone exclaiming loudly.

It’s not aimed at him, but he glances briefly towards the people behind him anyway. There are three boys, talking amongst each other. He recognises one of them as Tom, the guy Yann and him were hanging out with last year. He was their weed-provider for a while and also a total asshole. Lucas scrunches his nose up and looks away.

“No, I still have some saved up. But I can’t go wild anymore, you know.” It’s Tom.

“Why?” the third guy asks.

“The guy you’ve been leeching off stopped paying you?”

“Yeah, it was fun while it lasted, though. I thought he was loaded because I was in his house once. I guess he just didn’t care,” Tom says, sounding bored.

“But it’s a good way to get some free money.”

Tom hums. “It was so easy I didn’t even have to try hard. The amount of money I got because of two blurry pictures some drunk chick took. Fuck,” he snorts.

Lucas freezes.

“It was fifty euros every week, right?” Tom lets out an affirming noise. “Shit, better than going to work.”

“I heard he was beaten up, though. Tough luck, I guess. He could have tried harder,” Tom complains and it’s not a coincidence. Everything that they’ve said so far is too fucking familiar. It’s fucking Tom who called Lucas gay every single time they hung out. There’s no fucking way in hell it’s not about him.

Lucas stops listening to them.

He turns around, shaking, buzzing with anger. All he can see is red as he approaches the boys, who are laughing at something right now. Not having noticed him yet.

“It was you,” Lucas grits out, catching their attention. Tom looks towards him and curses under his breath.

The tram stops.

Lucas drags Tom out of it, ignoring Tom’s protests and his friends following them out. They can do whatever they want to him, but he isn’t letting Tom off the hook.

He pushes Tom and he lands on the ground. “Why the fuck did you do it?!” he cries out, ignoring everyone around.

Tom gulps. “I needed some cash for drugs?” he offers, smiling nervously.

Drugs. Lucas’ life has been ruined because of fucking drugs. That’s how much he is worth. He stands there, baffled, his fingers curled up into fists.

“You fucked me over to smoke some weed?” Lucas asks, his voice cracking.

“Paid rent with your money, too,” Tom blabbers as if it made the situation better.

“What have I ever done to you?” Lucas won’t cry. He won’t fucking cry and give that asshole more satisfaction.

Tom backs away a few centimetres when he notices Lucas stepping closer. “It’s nothing personal! I just saw the opportunity and took it,” he explains.

Lucas shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re sick,” he spits out. His vision becomes blurry, but he isn’t going to show more weakness. He blinks the tears away and when he sees Tom trying to get up, he waits until they are on the same level.

“No hard feelings,” Tom says, dusting himself off and looking over himself. Like all was good. As if Lucas wasn’t close to exploding.

Too engrossed in himself, Tom doesn’t see Lucas’ fist coming.

(a/n:ill understand if some of you are disappointed by who the blackmailer is but by this story i wanted to show that sometimes something so grand happens in our life when for someone else it means nothing, they are just a random person. tom just wanted money and have fun, he didn’t care abt the rest. anyways, one more chapter to go!)

[artificialqueens]

your body as a museum of careless gestures (biadore) - dylann

A/N:

Adore’s impulsive, sure.

But she’s more “don’t sober up at all for 36 hours because you’re sad you can’t randomly drop your own responsibilities and fly out to Europe” impulsive than “actually fly out to Europe” impulsive.

(or

Bianca is vulnerable, homesickness is a real bitch, Europe is very far away and plane tickets are unreasonably priced. Also, old patterns are hard to break, especially when you don’t even want to break them.

A reunion fic, everyone. That’s what this is.

Drag names and she/her pronouns for both throughout most of this. Shoutout to Dare for some solid constructive criticism and noticing my missing paragraph breaks.

Content warnings for mentions of weed and alcohol; sex; minor breathplay)

They FaceTime once, in early August, while Bianca’s at an airport somewhere in Europe, and Adore’s shitfaced in Seattle.

She’s home after a local show, still in full makeup, but she’s pulled her wig off and her own hair is piled up at the top of her head in a messy approximation of a bun. Her phone keeps flashing on every couple of minutes, lighting up with various notifications.

Bianca liking a recent Instagram post, or the occasional tweet, or commenting on pictures they’re both tagged in. It’s the clear signs of someone who’s bored and in some sort of situation where they can’t do much besides fuck about on their phone.

Adore knows she shouldn’t text because— well, because she isn’t having the best night anyway, and while talking to Bianca might help at first, it’d probably fuck her up worse in the long run.

She’s stripped down to her underwear and the remnants of a practically destroyed Sex Pistols tank top when her phone buzzes again. It’s another Facebook comment, and she caves.

To Bea 🍹 (3:27:02am) how the fuck bored are you??

Bianca fires back a 😂 almost immediately, and then types a response. The three dots that indicate her thinking pop up a few times, until she settles on

To Adore 🔞 Delano (3:30:03am) Airport. Plane’s delayed.

(3:30:12am) cafe’s not even open, I hate Europe.

Adore mutters “No, you don’t,” to herself as she situates herself in the middle of her bed. Last night’s bowl is still half-packed at the sill of her open window, and she thanks past-Adore for being so considerate as she picks it up and takes a hit. 

And then she remembers Bianca can’t actually hear her.

To Bea 🍹 (3:31:45am) no you dont

(3:31:57am) can i call you???

To Adore 🔞 Delano (3:32:05am) 🙃👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼

Adore props her phone on her nightstand, and tilts the small reading lamp so it hits her face from the right angle. She’s wearing very light sea green contacts, and she knows for a fact her eyes look stunning.

The connection takes a moment and then the black screen lights up to reveal Roy who looks like a parody of an airplane traveller. He’s clearly exhausted and bleary-eyed under the rim of his baseball cap, and he’s wearing a plush fuchsia pink travel pillow around his neck like a goddamn statement piece.

Adore lets out a delighted laugh, and then goes,

“You look horrible.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Roy laughs, giving his camera a long look. “Isn’t it, like, way past your bedtime?”

“Has anyone ever told you you use emoji like a thirteen year old girl with a secret Instagram account?” Adore fires back.

“Are you calling me old?” Roy asks, feigning offense well enough that it makes Adore break and she shoots the camera a shit-eating grin as she nods and lights up her bowl again.

“Call me old one more time and I’ll buy a house somewhere in central Europe, take up farming, and never fucking come back,” Roy threatens lightly.

“No one would miss you here,” Adore says, perhaps a second too late to be funny.

Roy doesn’t answer, which is fine. Adore is usually obsessed with filling silences, like it’s her personal responsibility to make sure everyone’s constantly entertained. Roy’s an exception.

They’ve been silent around each other enough that it hasn’t felt awkward in years. 

“How’s Europe?” she asks eventually.

“Fun. Loud. Really fucking hot,“ Roy shrugs. He reaches up and presses his thumb against the bridge of his nose before rubbing along the outline of his eye socket. It’s rare and unsettling to see him that quiet and clearly drained.

Adore smokes and watches him as she contemplates how okay it’d be to say what’s actually on her mind.

“Hey, Bea?” she says quietly, as she shifts to lie down on her stomach.

“Yeah?”

“You look really tired. But um— I hope you’re just tired? Europe’s not making you, like, sad, is it?” Adore trails off for a second and presses her eyes shut as she refocuses. “That’s dumb. I mean. A continent can’t make you sad, right? I don’t know—“

“I’m fine,” Roy says and his face lights up with a small, fond smile which makes him look more like himself. “How are you doing? You look—“

“Fucking wasted?” Adore supplies. She aims for a joke but it just kind of comes out tired and flat. Plus, selling Roy the whole act is kind of pointless. “Yeah. I had a weird night, I don’t know. The whole album thing is fucking stressing me out.”

“People are gonna love it,” Roy says quickly, earnestly. He seems more awake. “They’re gonna eat that shit up.”

“You’re supposed to say that ‘cause you love me,” Adore whines jokingly, but then he just shrugs and nods in agreement, which makes her soften. “Thanks. Honestly. It’s just so— people wanna hear the old shit, you know? And the new stuff’s so different, I just— what if they don’t wanna hear it?”

“They keep asking for the old stuff ‘cause they haven’t heard your new stuff,” Roy reasons. He’s holding his headphones’ microphone close to his lips and it sort of feels like he’s in the room and talking directly to her if she closes her eyes.

“You’re right. Thanks, Bea,” she sighs, and then bites her lip as she adds softly, “I miss you.”

“Come to Europe,” Roy laughs a little. He can always recognize when she’s on the brink of some sad spiral and can usually pull her right back out. Adore opens her eyes to watch him laugh at the camera.

It’s impossible not to smile back.

“Right, are you gonna fly me out?” she laughs, making a show of pursing her lips at the camera.

“You wish,” Roy grins, and then his eyes drift over to something out of frame. Some sort of airport announcement comes through the speaker of Adore’s phone, entirely too far away and jumbled to be understandable.

“Hey, listen, I gotta go,” Roy says. “I might finally get to make it to a plane.”

“Awesome, fly safe,” Adore nods, scrunching up her nose as she fights off a yawn.

“You get some rest,” Roy adds. “This was fun, let’s—“

“More often. Yeah. I’ll call you.”

Adore smiles, and they say their goodbyes and hang up.

And then they don’t talk again for weeks.

***

The morning after the last FaceTime call, Adore had woken up with a screenshot of her own bank account, and a bunch of screenshots of various potential flights on her phone. Looking at them (and maybe the hangover) had made her sick, and she’d deleted them with her eyes half closed.

Adore’s impulsive, sure.

But she’s more “don’t sober up at all for 36 hours because you’re sad you can’t randomly drop your own responsibilities and fly out to Europe” impulsive than “actually fly out to Europe” impulsive.

It’d been days, maybe weeks, after the call when an ad had popped up on her Instagram feed, quite aggressively advertising Bianca’s upcoming gig on Fire Island.

New York is, in comparison to central Europe, closer.

Closer, easier to get to, slightly more reasonable.

So Adore had called her manager and said she’d do that one interview she had scheduled over the phone, and that she was going to be out of town for a few days. Her manager wasn’t impressed, but it was just a weekend, and she’d already made up her mind.

She doesn’t really call or let anyone else know she’s going.

When she walks into the club, the security guard gives her and her ID a long, curious look, but other than that, it’s dark enough that no one really notices or pays attention to her.

She’s wearing a Bianca t-shirt she’s mercilessly cut up into a douchey tank top tucked into a short, faux leather mini skirt with an unnecessarily chunky zipper in the front. Underneath the tank top, she’s in a lacy black bandeau that only draws attention to the boy chest, which is the exact effect she’s aiming for. The tight fishnet covering her legs culminates in heeled combat boots. Her hair is long and black and just messy enough that from afar, she looks like she could be just another girl here for the show.

It’s great, and she feels kind of incognito, even though she’s not necessarily trying to hide. She’s just not here to put on a show, either.

When she gets a drink, the bartender shoots her a knowing grin and says this one’s on the house, she only smiles back and thanks him and doesn’t argue. There’s being lowkey, and then there’s just being plain stupid.

The club is already pretty full, and it’s crowded by the time Bianca takes the stage to host.

Adore doesn’t quite care for the actual event and she lets herself be distracted watching her even when she’s off to the side, and clearly not supposed to be pulling the focus.

It’s impossible for Bianca not to pull focus. In a bodycon dress that somehow manages to be both leopard and floral and still be incredible, she looks like every wet dream Adore’s ever had. Bianca’s focused and attentive, she watches each performance and laughs along, and her lips are so shiny, and her eyes are so bright, and Adore is so tempted to make her way over to the stage and pull her off now, like she can’t wait another minute.

But the reality is, she’s waited this long and now that she’s here, Adore wants to do this right. So she sits back, accepts a couple more drinks from the bartender, and lives out her groupie fantasy, screaming and howling with laugher as if she’s just there to prove she can be louder than everyone else in the club.

At the end of the show, Bianca performs a number and the crowd goes wild, and Adore wants to be cheering with them, except she’s transfixed, breathless as she watches Bianca in her element.

“It never fucking gets old,” Adore yells at the bartender once Bianca’s left the stage. Her ears are ringing.

“She’s great,” he agrees, sliding another refill across the bar for her.

“She’s the best,” Adore corrects. “Can you send her a large gin backstage? Tell her it’s from a fan who claims to know her.

The bartender laughs and fixes a drink, and Adore, who’s only human, watches the sway of his hips as he walks through an unmarked door behind the bar which presumably leads backstage.

When Bianca comes out (from a different door, off to the side), she scans the club past the faces of people who notice her and either try to flock to her, or take a few steps back in some sort of classical awe. She glances around with a look Adore has come to realize means she’s expecting to see an acquaintance who’s dropped her name in hopes for a drink and a catchup.

Then, Bianca notices her and her entire face shifts.

Adore watches her face go from a public, performative smile through shock, through defeat, all the way to blossoming into a genuine smile within a split second. Bianca mouths something in her direction and heads over, and Adore’s heart is pounding so hard in her chest that it makes her cough.

Then, Bianca’s in front of her and pulling her into a hug, and saying into her ear,

“You motherfucker.”

Adore laughs loudly, pulling back just enough to catch Bianca’s eyes and grin at her.

“You absolute motherfucker,” Bianca repeats. “You could’ve called—“

“I wanted to surprise you,” Adore shrugs, as if it’s that simple, and Bianca softens.

“Well, I am surprised,” she laughs. Her hands are still around Adore’s waist and she’s becoming more aware of that by the second. “But I left my drink in the dressing room so we’re gonna have to continue being surprised there.”

Adore just nods. She picks up her glass and follows Bianca through the crowd. When Bianca reaches back, she slips her hand in hers, and hopes the club is just dark and confusing enough that no one would see.

***

“I can’t believe you just pulled this shit,” Bianca says as they walk into the dressing room, which is cool and only illuminated by the lightbulbs that line the mirror.

She closes her eyes for a split second and Adore watches her stage poise and energy leave her body like air from a recently popped balloon.

“I wanted to see your face,” Adore shrugs, and squeezes her hand as she brings herself closer. “Plus, it’s been a while since I’ve watched you—“

“Tonight wasn’t that good,” Bianca says quietly. “It’s not even technically my show…“

Adore bites her lip, and takes a sip of her drink as she says,

“I wasn’t gonna push but— are you okay? I mean, you seem—“

“I’m okay,”

Bianca pulls her hand away from Adore’s and walks around to sit down on the makeup chair, her back turned to the room. Adore just kind of stands there, swallowing uneasily once they break contact. Bianca is never like this, and witnessing it is terrifying, and Adore’s chest is tight as she attempts to figure out how she’d help the most.

“I just feel like I’ve been away for so long, you know?” Bianca says suddenly. Her voice is barely audible over the dull, unrecognizable bass that filters through the walls. “I’m not even sure if I’m away from— This summer’s just going by so fast. I feel like I’m always catching up with people. Like, tonight, when I stepped out—“

“You looked fucking terrified,” Adore supplies. She’s taken one cautious step towards Bianca’s chair and is hovering there.

“‘cause I was,” Bianca agrees, and it comes out in a shaky laugh. “Fuck, Adore, I was so worried I was gonna have to sit down and have a chat with some local queen I haven’t seen in years and make it look like I’m having the time of my life, you know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

Years of sharing dressing rooms have taught Adore that usually, Bianca would be out of all of her drag by this point. Now, she’s just sitting there, her eyes distant as she looks into the mirror but not really at herself.

Adore sighs and walks the rest of the distance to the makeup table, planting herself directly behind the chair. She drapes her arms over Bianca’s shoulders and crosses her wrists at her chest. Bianca’s hand comes up to cover her wrist, pressing down just a little, as if she’s afraid Adore might pull back.

Bianca’s nails are a dark shade of greenish gold and they glitter as they catch the mirror light. Adore wants to tell her she’s never looked more beautiful.

“It just gets kinda lonely,” Bianca says, quiet enough that Adore isn’t sure if it’s for her at all. She doesn’t answer.

Instead, she moves her hand just a little underneath Bianca’s, so she can run her thumb along the side of Bianca’s hand. Bianca sighs and closes her eyes again. Her eyelashes cast long shadows down her cheeks.

Adore doesn’t move, just lets Bianca breathe and take in the physical weight of her presence, lets her be quiet until she seems a little bit more grounded. Adore can feel it under her arms when Bianca exhales a long breath and her shoulders relax.

“Well, I’m here now,” Adore says finally, quiet and intimate, and it feels like dipping one toe in cool water.

She hasn’t planned this far in advance, never knows quite where they stand when they’ve been away from each other for so long, only knows that she’s here, and she’s here for Bianca, in whatever capacity Bianca needs her to be.

“Yeah��� motherfucker,” Bianca repeats softly, in an almost-laugh. “You’re here.”

Then, she makes the choice for Adore.

Bianca pushes the chair back and stands up, turning around to face Adore in one swift, decisive motion. Adore catches her eyes and when Bianca tilts her chin down in the slightest of nods, it’s enough.

Adore launches herself forward, resting a gentle hand at the curve of Bianca’s neck as she kisses her with all the intent of an innocent death row inmate who’s been granted one last wish. Bianca responds almost immediately, her hands coming to rest at the small of Adore’s back. Adore (who, again, is only human) rolls her hips into the touch, which gets a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh from Bianca. It sounds more like her than anything Adore’s heard from her so far tonight.

“Missed you,” Bianca whispers once she pulls back. Up close, her eyes are so incredibly bright.

“I’m here.”

“You are.”

They exchange reassurances in a terribly familiar rhythm, and something in Adore’s chest twists a little. It must show on her face because Bianca says “Shhh” even though she’s silent, and is then she’s kissing her again.

This one lasts longer. Bianca licks her way past Adore’s dark plum lips and all Adore can do is respond in small, breathless sounds as she drops one hand down to grip the table behind Bianca, essentially trapping Bianca between herself and the tabletop.

A bunch of lipsticks fall down and maybe something rolls off the table, and Adore lets out a careless laugh into Bianca’s mouth. Her world feels lighter than it has in months. She doesn’t want to think about it at all.

Bianca distracts her, luckily, as she drops her hands past her ass to brush her fingers under Adore’s skirt. Underneath the thin layer of fishnet, Adore’s — unsurprisingly — untucked and wearing the tiniest briefs which leave most of her ass bare. Upon making that discovery for herself, Bianca lets out a laugh which is both appreciation and utter defeat.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Adore Delano,” she hums, pulling back to draw in a very deep breath.

It’s overdramatic but earnest and Adore feels so fucking wanted.

“I dress to impress,” she says sweetly.

“Jesus,” Bianca whispers, and her exasperated smile reaches all the way to her eyes. “Shut up.”

Adore laughs loudly, and it comes from deep in her chest. This is easier than anything else she’s done in so long. She knows Bianca feels the exact same way because she’s still laughing as she kisses her again.

By the time Bianca pulls back again, Adore’s hard and dizzy and the only coherent thought in her head is a vague curiosity about whether the door to the dressing room locks.

“Where are you staying?” Bianca is asking quietly. The outline of her lipliner has blurred and her eyes are dark and bearing so much promise it makes Adore’s head spin.

She grins in response.

She has one bag — a way too expensive designer carryon — that she’d dropped at a friend’s apartment before explaining that no, she didn’t need a place to crash, just storage room, thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.

She hadn’t bothered with a plan B.

“You bitch,” Bianca laughs fondly. “Yeah. Come on.”

***

Bianca’s hotel room is tiny and taken over almost entirely by the bed in the center. There’s a suitcase half-open in one corner. The lights are off, and the room is instead illuminated by the pale orange glow of street lamps filtering through the (truly hideous) cream tulle curtains.

Adore’s head is swimming. She lets herself fall back onto the mattress, laughing breathlessly as she props herself up on her elbows to look at Bianca who pauses a few steps away to kick off her heels.

“Hold on—“ Bianca starts, heading over to the small table in front of the mirror.

“No, no, no,” Adore says quickly. “No time. Come here—“

Bianca laughs as she stretches to pull the zipper of her own dress down.

“Fine. Just this, then,” she negotiates and Adore nods, and falls silent as she watches her strip and unclip her wig to pull it off.

It’s rare for Bianca to stay in drag when they hook up, but de-dragging takes too long, and Adore is too turned on to survive waiting for her any longer than she absolutely has to.

Plus,

“You look so fucking beautiful,” Adore whispers, lowering herself onto her back as Bianca crawls on top of her. She’s completely naked now and it’s purely instinct when Adore reaches for her cock. Bianca catches her wrist and pulls her hand away, her lips curving in an amused smirk.

“You’re so fucking impatient,” she says quietly and Adore responds with a low groan because Yeah, no shit, aren’t you?

“You’re right,” Bianca agrees, still smirking like some wicked demon of temptation from the depths of Hell when she comes down to catch Adore’s lips in a messy kiss. Adore’s all about hyperbole when it comes to Bianca.

And then Bianca’s grinding her hips down as she licks a hot stripe down the side of Adore’s neck, and literally nothing in Adore’s entire life has ever felt nearly as good.

“That’s cute,” Bianca comments, her lips almost brushing the thin strip of leather. Adore’s wearing a simple one-ring choker, and her face turns a deep shade of pink the second Bianca decides to acknowledge it.

“Told you,” she smirks, and manages to school her voice into an almost challenging singsong. “I dress to impress.”

“Stop talking,” Bianca replies lowly, hooking a finger through the ring to tug Adore up as she kisses her again. Adore’s eyes fall shut and she gasps helplessly into the kiss, and then all she can do is part her lips for Bianca’s tongue.

Adore’s tank top and the lacy bandeau are long gone. She’s still wearing the skirt, and tights, and briefs, and that’s three layers too many, and she’s so uncomfortably hard, and Bianca knows and is ignoring her because apparently, Bianca likes to torture people.

(Which is, on occasion, actually true. And welcomed. Just—)

“Bea,” Adore whines, actually whines, because this is unbearable. “Not right now, Jesus, please.”

“No?”

“No. Come on, I’m done waiting, fuck me now, please,” the last word comes out indignant, as if she’s only saying it to be polite but she doesn’t really want to. It works for Bianca, apparently, because she lets go of the choker and refocuses both of her hands’ attention to unzipping Adore’s skirt.

The zipper goes all the way down and the skirt comes undone.

“You thought this through,” Bianca hums, audibly entertained, and Adore drives her hips up in response because Hurry up, yeah I have, I want this, I’m ready, hurry up.

Bianca peels her tights and her underwear down her legs at the same time and brings them all the way down to her ankles but doesn’t take them off.

“I like the boots,” she explains, breath heavy and hot against the inside of Adore’s thigh. “We’re keeping them on.”

Adore feels filthy, like this part of it is somehow taboo, and her dick is already slick with precome against her stomach. She crosses her ankles and lets her knees fall open to the sides, and Bianca responds with an appreciative groan which makes her twitch.

Adore keeps her eyes closed as she listens to the distant sound of a plastic cap popping open, and then two lubed up fingers are pressing against her and she’s gone.

Bianca preps her quickly, efficiently, because any attempt she makes at slowing down is met by Adore with disjointed sounds of protest and helpless jerks of her hips.

“Now,” she moans eventually as she hovers with her hips pushed off the mattress, desperately trying to get more of Bianca. “Now, I’m ready, come on, fuck me now.”

A moment passes in which Bianca considers making her beg, just to get a rise out of her, but Adore is a picture of uncensored want with her messy hair spilling across the pillows, and her flushed dick, and the small crease in her forehead, and frankly, Bianca’s growing too impatient to tease.

Adore cries out loudly when Bianca pushes into her, sending stars flying behind her closed eyelids. Bianca’s propped a pillow under her hips and the angle is torturous and absolutely fucking perfect. Adore’s thighs shake with tension as Bianca thrusts all the way in, almost too slowly, letting Adore adjust to the sensation. It’s already so much, and yet not nearly enough.

Bianca moves experimentally and it draws a soft whimper from Adore. “Yeah— I’m ready, come on.”

And then, Bianca’s off. She grips Adore’s hips to tilt her up and picks up the pace as her nails dig half-moons into Adore’s ass. Adore is incoherent, meeting each thrust with small moans and broken, disconnected swearwords. Her lips are parted and swollen and glossy with spit, and Bianca stares in admiration for a moment before arching down to kiss her.

Bianca kisses like Adore’s darkest secret is hiding at the back of her mouth and there’s never going to be another way to get to it. It’s disorienting, like walking through darkness. Adore’s ears are ringing. Bianca pulls one hand away from her hips and a second later she’s tugging on Adore’s choker again. This time, she hooks her index finger under the strap and pinches it between the knuckle of her middle finger and her thumb. The leather digs into Adore’s throat and she feels it like fireworks at the back of her skull.

Bianca keeps her lips just out of reach as she tightens her grip on the choker, and it drives Adore to  crane her neck, desperately chasing after a kiss she can’t quite reach. The leather digs into her neck and she coughs right as Bianca thrusts her cock deeper inside of her, at a slightly different angle which makes Adore want to scream.

The sound that comes out is closer to a strangled whine, and Bianca meets it with a low laugh which makes Adore blush. Her chest is so tight she feels like she’s one second, one stray touch, one jerk of Bianca’s hips away from bursting wide open.

“Bea—“ she starts, and it’s barely sound. She gasps, dragging in more air. Bianca’s grip doesn’t falter. “Bea. I’m—“

Adore’s voice breaks a loud moan as Bianca drops her hand to her cock. Bianca laughs quietly, breathlessly, as she tightens her grip and gives her a few experimental strokes. Adore accompanies each stroke with a whimper as Bianca picks up her pace so her hand can match the rhythm of her hips. Adore’s brow is beaded with sweat and her hair is sticking to her face and she looks absolutely gone as she drives her hips up, over and over, in an endless race to meet Bianca halfway.

She comes first, with Bianca’s name in a sharp moan on her lips, cum streaking through Bianca’s fingers and onto her stomach.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Bianca groans quietly, arching down to trace kisses along the red mark lining Adore’s neck as she keeps fucking into her in deep, quick thrusts, chasing her own release.

Adore is shaking, spent and oversensitive and unabashedly loud as each move sends a new wave of aftershocks through her body.

When Bianca comes, she goes perfectly still, perfectly silent, her eyes pressed tightly shut and her lips parted in a soundless scream. Adore, who’s watching her through heavy, hooded eyelids, chokes out a moan instead of her.

Then, the only sound Adore can focus on is her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as Bianca lowers herself down, burrowing her face against Adore’s neck. She doesn’t quite kiss this time, just rests there, her breath warm against the cooling sweat on Adore’s skin.

Adore drifts. It takes a minute, or maybe an hour, she’d never know for sure, and Bianca’s growing soft inside of her but neither of them moves. Adore’s limbs feel heavy, inoperable, and she thinks distractedly that maybe that’s not too big of a deal, maybe she can just be there for the rest of her natural existence and she would be okay with that.

Then Bianca moves. She pulls herself away slowly, carefully, like she doesn’t mean to disturb, and Adore still winces at the loss.

“Gotta get you cleaned up,” Bianca says softly. Her voice sounds raw, spent, and Adore finds herself hoping it’s still like that tomorrow. She wants people to talk to Bianca and know.

The sound of the bathroom sink running and Bianca’s footsteps sound so far away and Adore closes her eyes, lets them lull her into a half-sleep as her body cools down and stops shaking.

Minutes later, perhaps, Bianca returns with a warm, damp towel, and Adore breathes steadily as she cleans her up, too tired and too gone to do much but accept it. Then it’s more footsteps, to the bathroom and back.

Then, Bianca’s hands are working her boots open and pulling them off, along with the mess of fabric tangled around her ankles. It feels private in a new sort of way, as if this is where the moment would usually have to break but Bianca’s not letting that happen. Adore’s chest tightens and she lets out the smallest noise as she swallows dryly.

“You okay?” Bianca asks, all gentle attentiveness, as she climbs up and rests behind her, one arm coming to drape over Adore’s hips, her hand angled up to rest at her sternum.

“Yeah.” Adore’s throat scratches, and she knows she’ll wake up needing water. Bianca makes a sound like she doesn’t quite believe her, so Adore amends, “I’m here.”

Bianca laughs. It’s almost inaudible but Adore feels it against her back.

“Yeah,” Bianca whispers. She presses her lips against Adore’s shoulder and holds them there for a long time. “You are.”

***

A/N: the title is from this poem which you should definitely read, it’s beautiful.

[elizabethrobertajones]

SAD TIMES! so when dean says that the boys home with sonny wasn't so bad because nobody bad touched him, burned him or beat him with a metal hanger? does that mean he's comparing his time there to all the other times he did get bad touched or burned etc? i bet that's it. like he could actually enjoy hid freedom from his father and freedom from responsibility in general and he was finally free of all the bad things that happened to him?

I’d read it as going under Dean’s pop culture knowledge of what’s “supposed” to happen in prisons or foster homes - the kind of abuse and violence that depictions of these often focus on, or of course sometimes are actually happening and you get horrible news reports about… (Honestly the fact they trawl the news for weird stories all the time means they must read some truly hideous news stories about regular people doing awful shit >.>)

I sort of file it under the same thing as what I was talking about in this recent post:

http://elizabethrobertajones.tumblr.com/post/155634477583/i-wonder-why-this-harmonica-thing-is-never-a-part

about Dean’s jokes about being in prison. Basically, he’s always projecting that defensive mechanism, and in these cases, trying to fit into the pop culture prisoner persona in a very genre-savvy way. In the end of season 2 you get those two episodes very close to each other (back to back?) where Dean is a PA on the movie set and in prison, and both times Sam calls him out for getting way too in character, but that’s sort of how Dean operates :P He’s very good at shedding personality skins and trying on a new one, possibly because 90% of Dean’s on screen time is Dean under one personality or another that’s not really who he is, whether because he’s acting as a persona obviously on the job, or because he’s deflecting and acting up a version of himself for emotional reasons… 

That conversation was Sam challenging him about what it was like at Sonny’s and how Dean liked it, so he had a reflexive response to continue protecting Sam under the old rules of “the story became the story” from however John originally told Sam what happened (and Dean went along with it willingly or not) but obviously with the rules changed now that Dean’s in charge of the story and Sam’s found out it even happened… Dean doesn’t really want to share the truth of it, probably because it took a huge emotional toll on him to leave so the fact he was happy there and sacrificed that for family would get a really bad response from Sam (who Dean’s watching closely the whole time protective of John’s part in this and knowing Sam is liable to go off on one about how terrible John was - thanks Sam :P), and we get to see a lot more than he ever tells Sam through Dean’s POV and the flashbacks to understand WHY he is defending his time there so carefully and weaving this non-committal story about it to Sam, as if nothing there mattered.

So he gets flippant and makes references to stuff he knows can be connected to the situation to remind Sam how awful it could have been, and come at it from the negative perspective which is a good way to sort of establish that it was at a bare minimum not, like, literal Hell. Which changes the way some one thinking about it from that would imagine the experience, because Dean’s setting up “not beaten or molested” as the baseline, rather than selling something like that it was peaceful and quiet and boring but he didn’t enjoy it, because that would still be too fishy for Dean to risk it, never mind trying to pass off, it was great and I had a girlfriend and was learning to play guitar but don’t worry, it was actually totally crap here and I couldn’t wait to leave. 

(He kind of fucks that up that their next scene is Sam finding out about Robin existing, but patching over the issue for that one conversation, at least :P)

But I guess because it’s Dean and if you like angst, there’s no reason that you can’t assume he’s drawing on other traumatic childhood memories, whether that’s an exaggeration or not of what he describes, because he does just comment this out of the blue, and it’s sort of… the fact he associates it with himself? Actually, this reminds me of the other moment in this episode that’s really close to the surface text, talking about Dean going through abuse, and it’s the same point I made in my rewatch notes about the ambiguity of that moment so I’m just going to copy and paste that >.> 

okay whoever did this superwiki transcript is actually fascinating me half as much as the episode… I normally delete the stage directions but:

Sitting in front of YOUNG DEAN, SONNY takes his cuffed hands to open up the cuffs. YOUNG DEAN’s forearms are bruised and red, as if bruised or abraded by bindings or ligature marks.

SONNY (noting the marks with concern)Deputy do that? (YOUNG DEAN scoffs and shakes his head.) What, your old man? (YOUNG DEAN shakes his head no.) Well, then, how’d you get it?

YOUNG DEAN (turning back to SONNY, somewhat defiantly)Werewolf.

SONNY looks at YOUNG DEAN for a long moment, realizing he’s not going to get a different answer from the kid.

SONNYOkay.

There’s a whole ton of discussion on this moment already out there - the “did John hurt his kids physically” argument is long and old and no stone left unturned etc (well, I have found relatively un-turned stones on this rewatch but shh) but I’m amused by the way the transcript takes pains to describe how the marks look, suggesting specifically that Dean was tied up e.g. making it much more likely this was something that happened on the job.

[Note from present!me realising I never quite finished this thought: which isn’t to say that this interpretation automatically decides definitely what the marks looked like and how they were made, just that this is how that fan read them… Writing it that way in the transcript removes any ambiguity from what the surface text is telling us despite the fact it’s just presented as an ambiguous visual clue that the fandom’s been arguing about for ages about how those marks could have been made, and the fact of this lack of ambiguity is what amused me…]

The actual dialogue is an interesting example of the season 9 storytelling theme - and of course “the story became the story” coming from this episode we know it’s hard at work. In this case though I’m looking ahead to 9x18 and Metatron asking what makes the story work and citing subtext. This moment is intentionally given as an ambiguous moment. Sonny thinks Dean was hurt by John (or the deputy) and has no reason to believe “werewolf” because that’s blatant fiction because to him monsters aren’t real. Dean is being this much snarky and deflective enough that even for us, knowing damn well that werewolves exist in their universe and that Dean was already hunting them at this tender age, Sonny’s speculation on it changes the flippant rely and can offer a crack through which to wonder for ourselves how else Dean might have got the marks, and just to weigh the possibility.

And then of course from there you can make your opinion whichever way takes your fancy, like writing stage directions to imply it was the monster, or assuming at the very least having Sonny suggest it might be a call to think about how John treated them, in an episode that’s already repeatedly underlined his emotional neglect/harsh emotional punishment to Dean - if not to assume he did hurt him, then to take it as a prompt to consider it emotional abuse being depicted in the episode. And then some John fans will take Dean’s line as total exoneration of John from ever hurting Dean, and probably go with all his surface level comments telling Sam not to get all weird about John and Dean saying that he deserved it…

http://elizabethrobertajones.tumblr.com/post/148015532758/9x07-rewatch-or-i-love-this-kid-but-i-find-deans

Of course however Dean got the bruises, John at the very least comes out of this episode with another mark against his name for child endangerment and deliberate neglect, but the point I’m looking at here is that thought about Sonny thinking it was just run of the mill no supernatural stuff involved physical parental abuse. That creates an association in the story LINKING John to said abuse, whether the show is implying he did or not, his actions are equated to physical harm coming to Dean. I guess in the same way, this comment from Dean might not be directly implying that that ever happened to him, but it also makes an association between Dean and that kind of abuse happening to him as a kid, which again leaves you at least that avenue of thought to wonder how deep that implication goes… 

(I think from Dean’s comments in that scene, he’s definitely more trying to guide how Sam thinks about what Sonny’s was like for Dean, and not getting alarmingly real about that sort of thing, as it was a fairly flippant comment even if for a rather grim emotional purpose… I’ve never thought about it inverting that he wasn’t talking about that sort of thing happening TO him there but instead being about it NOT happening to him specifically there, but it’s an interesting thought when it comes to interpreting it… 

idk, I’d like to think that that didn’t happen to Dean, ever, and that he was mostly just run of the mill supernaturally neglected and endangered. :P)