#it is repulsive and alluring. made me think of the devourer

[wizard-eater]

Brushing your teeth because I caught a wiff of your breath with my nonexistent nose so it's toothbrush and mouthwash time eater

Do you truly hate the scent of roses that much? Rotted, yes, a smell thick and sweet enough to choke on. But roses nonetheless.

[livefreeordie13]

sfw "just close your eyes and kiss me" for the prompt if u like!! (dont worry abt it if ur overflowed with asks!)

i took so long to respond to this ask that your blog moved to archive, @yosukeh. i deserve to be blocked. 

but in case you are interested in the resulting fic, here it is below! adorable boys kissing adorably. thank you. 

and here is the chapter on AO3, in case you want to be kinder to yourself.

(Easy)

Crap, not again. 

Yosuke’s eyes worriedly scanned Yu’s face for clues, even as his expression remained tense and anticipatory and his pulse continued to race. Yu’s mouth was so close to his — so close that Yosuke could feel his own breath beat light and hot against his partner’s lips — yet Yu was sitting still, wide-eyed and completely frozen in place, like a sentence someone couldn’t quite get themselves to finish. 

Yosuke didn’t get it. So far, the day had been perfect. They’d made plans for a Sunday picnic and were sitting sprawled over a large blanket in the park. The weather forecast cleared its plans for a chance of spotty storms and had gifted the duo the most pristine sunny skies of early summer to indulge in together. The park wasn’t crowded, since the busiest Tokyo weekend events happened to be taking place elsewhere. They’d spent the time laughing and eating snacks and the boxed lunches Yu had prepared. Yu had worn a light and bright t-shirt, something that showed off his remarkable arms, and there had even been a breeze around to catch his bangs and expose even more of his devastating eyes to Yosuke’s poor, captivated heart. 

Yosuke didn’t think there would have been a single thing stopping a kiss now, certainly not like last time. Yosuke had chalked that up to sheer first-date nerves on Yu’s part, maybe on both their parts. But this was their second date. A day-date in the middle of a beautiful park beneath a lonely tree. 

What could be stopping Yu now, he thought, forcing down the swell of insecure thoughts that would have plagued him just short of a year ago. 

“What’s wrong?” Yosuke whispered into the stillness, staring longingly at Yu’s mouth. If Yu had been any farther away from him, he may not have heard Yosuke at all. 

Yu blinked, finally, and eased back some. Only then, did Yosuke catch the faint trembling in his chin as he swallowed. “S-sorry.” 

The words, “for what,” slipped out of Yosuke’s mouth, as he continued to search Yu’s face for answers. 

Despite everything, the bundle of horrible thoughts continued to expand inside of Yosuke’s chest, clenching his heart painfully. And because he couldn’t stop them, a series of unwelcome and repressed fears began surging through his mind, unrelenting in their cruelty and in total disregard of Yosuke’s usual logic. The vast majority of his thoughts in this surging river were cluttered bundles of debris — objects that would bruise and scrape upon impact, but would pass as quickly as they came: we’re out in public; my breath stinks; I said something stupid; he’s not attracted to me; my face looks weird; I’m repulsive; my lips are chapped; I’m making him uncomfortable; he doesn’t think I’m ready.

The most damaging thought, however, was like the water itself, and the brutal force driving its path: this thing between us is all a mistake, and Yu has no idea how to tell me.

“You’re . . .” Yu mumbled, his mouth small and nervous. 

Yosuke swallowed, and waited for the pit inside of his stomach to open up and devour the rest of him. 

“. . . cute.”

Yosuke blinked.

Yu had furrowed his eyes as he said it. “Cute.” As if the word itself was strange to say. 

“I’m what,” Yosuke said, meaning to ask it but failing to. 

“Sorry . . . that’s weird to say, huh?” Yu leaned away from Yosuke, directing his gaze down to a section of lush grass their blanket didn’t cover, off to the right. 

“No,” Yosuke said, a bit confused but considerably less afraid. “I mean, yeah, because it’s me, but . . . I don’t mind. That you feel that way. And that you say it. L-like just now.” Yosuke could feel his face heat up as he finally put a lid on his rambling.

Yu glanced up into Yosuke’s eyes, the corner of his mouth tipped up into a cautious little smile. Yosuke had rarely seen Yu look so . . . vulnerable before. For once, Yosuke didn’t mind it.

With the river of negative thoughts finally starting to run dry, Yosuke felt his courage begin to return. “What I do mind, though, is why you keep looking like you’re about to kiss me and then not going through with it.” 

Yu grumbled a bit and brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. They were in the shade, so the dusty pink color rising into Yu’s cheeks couldn’t be because of the sun. 

“Um . . . that’s why,” Yu answered, quietly. 

Yosuke raised his eyebrows. “Come again?” 

“Because you’re cute,” Yu pressed, meeting Yosuke’s eyes. Yu was fiddling with a piece of grass. Yu never fiddled. “I try to kiss you, but I get caught up in the way you look at me, and then I start noticing your eyes and how nice they are, and then I realize that I’ve just been staring at you and . . . and then I . . . I chicken out.” 

Yosuke stared at him in awe. 

“That’s weird, too, huh?” 

Yu’s plaintive smile looked so defeated, so heartbreaking, that Yosuke, as stunned as he was, leapt into action. 

“N-no, no it’s not weird.” He sat up from where he was leaning back on his hands and turned his body to face Yu. “That’s not weird, that’s . . .” 

But Yu’s worried eyes looked so fair in the bright, dappled lighting above them, looked so imploring and sincere, that Yosuke forgot entirely what he was about to say. The small flush on Yu’s cheeks was the same flush he’d sported the night they’d confessed to each other, and the sight touched a place inside Yosuke’s heart that he hadn’t realized was so parched. That sort of described all of Yosuke’s feelings for his partner, though, when he thought about it. He hadn’t known that he needed Yu until he met him. 

“I . . . can kinda see what you mean, actually.”

Yu looked comforted by that, although his blush still stained his cheeks.

Yosuke looked down and bit his lips before he opened his mouth again, already embarrassed about what he was going to say. “I still want you to kiss me, though,” he mumbled, glancing shyly into Yu’s eyes. 

Yu broke out into a real smile after that, even though it looked downright bashful. “Alright, I promise I won’t chicken out next time.” 

“Next time,” Yosuke huffed. “What about now?” 

Yu blinked, glancing around them confusedly. “But the moment passed.” 

“No it hasn’t!” he argued, incredulous.

Somehow, that didn’t seem to convince Yu. 

Yosuke sighed and laughed nervously. “Look,” he started, adjusting his angle on the blanket so that his back was straighter and his face was properly presented to that of his partner’s — and Yu, still looking a bit stunned, rushed to mirror him. “See? I’m ready. Just close your eyes and kiss me.”

Yu stared at Yosuke’s face and rubbed his palms over his bent knees, his fingers catching Yosuke’s since they were practically touching. He then looked down and threaded one of their hands together. Yosuke could see his chest rise and fall heavily. He wondered how fast his partner’s heart was going right now, thinking briefly of placing a hand over it so that he could count the beats. 

“Y-you sur-”

“Yu.” 

Yu nodded and took a deep breath. 

“Don’t be nervous,” Yosuke said, gently, with a smile. “It’s just us. You want to . . . right?” 

Yu’s face smoothed into a confident smile. “Yeah,” he said, and Yosuke could tell that he meant it. 

“Okay, then.” Yosuke took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Close your eyes.” 

Yu obeyed. His face was so open and trusting that Yosuke didn’t know how he refrained from rushing forward and kissing him on the spot. 

“Kiss me,” Yosuke whispered. The wind rustling the tree branches above them nearly drowned out his voice, but Yu heard him. He gave a tiny nod and began leaning forward. Yosuke, viewing his partner finally leaning in towards him, took the chance to study his pale eyelashes and smooth skin, his straight nose and small, pink mouth. Yosuke could smell his cologne, rich and intoxicating, pulling him in as their noses brushed until finally, their lips met. 

Neither one of them moved much, at first. Yu’s lips felt incredibly soft and pleasantly warm against his, and the only thought Yosuke had was how much he wanted to keep them there forever. He pressed in a little more a few seconds later, just so that he could expand the sensation of their connecting skin, so that he could feel the give in Yu’s lips and how they pulled against his. 

It was extremely chaste, the equivalent of taste-testing something new and strange. Still, a distinct tingle and warmth raced up Yosuke’s spine and washed over his skin. Yu’s fingers entwined within his own tightened. 

When they finally broke apart, Yosuke attempted another kiss right away, bumping their noses and trying to find Yu’s mouth again. Yu beat him to it, and they continued for a long while, softly pulling their mouths apart and tasting, feeling, until the once innocent warmth grew and threatened to overwhelm them. 

“See,” Yosuke panted, as they separated for the last time. He rested their foreheads together. Yu’s blush had darkened and his lips were deep red and alluring. “That was easy.” 

“Yeah,” Yu agreed, smiling. 

“Good job, partner.” 

Yu laughed and squeezed Yosuke’s hand. “Thanks.”

[firesofdainix]

and then you pray and say everything is all right

Henry dreams of six women in a different universe.

or; i make a sequel to that one fic i wrote when i was hella high

They first come to him in dreams, faceless yet familiar at the same time in Henry’s mind, like the water running through his veins and giving him the life he has preserved for many years to come until his death. He’d look at all of these women, in his dreams, frowning at him or sharing the hatred they have stored against him like a locked vault of their darkest memories.

(Some even hit him- he doesn’t fight back as he lets all these women vent their anger towards him.)

It was not his life that had flashed before his eyes when his breaths had become shallow, but the peculiar yet recalling dreams of these young women, and he remembers when they had come to his life like glass panes or portraits wishing to become something different.

-

A short elderly woman comes to his dreams first- after his wedding night with Catalina. She was crying, perched on an invisible ledge that Henry cannot see; it was as dark as the night, the moon’s light only giving light to the sobbing woman’s head-covered hands.

(He does not know if it really is the moon giving him a chance to see the woman, or his mind is showing him great illusions.)

Henry kneels beside her, her cries almost reminding him of Catalina’s during her mourning the death of Arthur; it was melancholic and desperate, desperate that Arthur is gone and is now buried six feet underground.

(He tells her his memory still lives on inside of their minds, and that comforts Catalina, for a short while.)

“Henry”, the woman snarls from underneath her hood and hands, and the man kneeling beside her perks up of his name being mentioned. “I have been loyal... I have been patient... I have been forgiving to you. And this is how thou repay me? By completely abandoning God’s will and I for that wench? My sweet daughter Mary...”

Henry did not have time to open his mouth, to ask her who this ‘Henry’ was (he’s dreading if she says it is he who has forsaken her), he opens his eyes - with a gasp for breath - to find himself in his bed, with Catalina, back turned, sleeping peacefully and blissfully while he is asking himself what in God’s name was that dream all about.

-

He meets another woman- she was wearing the same hood but it promptly doesn’t cover all of her dark brown hair, her eyes full of anger, anguish, and loathing. She sees him first; her simple yet elegant dress drags on with her as she marches over and grabs Henry by the collar, lips forming a snarl, beautiful almond-shaped eyes glaring at his bug-eyed ones.

(He cannot lie, he is confused yet terrified of this young woman in this dream. He had slept soundly in a stranger woman’s bed during a drunken night, and now he is in the darkest recesses of his mind. Perhaps they were warping his guilt into one woman.)

His eyes hover towards her neck; a shade of red and purple, still bleeding with a huge amount of crimson dripping down her neck and into her dress. The wound was a thin line, like it was made by the sharpest and thinnest blade, and he could not help but cringe and think who had done this to this beautiful and alluring woman.

“You murdered me”, she says through gritted teeth, her hands enclosing in on his clothes. “You murdered your wife. The one who made you do the impossible, yet you murdered me under the guise of your own crimes.”

He tries to find his words, to find appropriate messages to create a speech and tell the woman he is not who she seeks, but only two words come out of his mouth-

“I’m sorry.”

Then he wakes up, Anne Boleyn not under the covers, the clothes in his room all gone like she was just a whisper in the winds.

-

The blonde woman approaches him with a sad smile, small steps being carried by her feet, looking so dainty and simple and so well-mannered that he wonders if she has any qualms with he.

“My love, you are here”, she says with a small sigh, curtsying in front of him with a dazed and forced smile, as if she did not enjoy his company but practised to the point she had become just a doll.

(She doesn’t look familiar unlike the other two women; but oh Lord, her voice was quite praising.)

“I am... here.” He looks around to find nothingness, numbing him on the inside. “But where is here.”

She giggles in a maternal manner, like one cradling a child with delicacy and caution but with love and intimacy. She - slowly - points her fragile finger towards his chest, her sky blue eyes blinking back at Henry.

“You are here. In your mind, where you belong.”

Henry nods slowly. “...Alright, then. Can you tell me your name?”

She looks at him with an inquisitive manner, before laughing once again, “My goodness, Henry! You have forgotten your wife’s name? It is Jane S-”

He wakes, realising he was in a seating position while he is sleeping, his laptop glows obnoxiously in front of him and with a sigh, he turns it off, wanting to know what in the blazes was going on with his dreams and who that woman who told him she was his wife is.

(He receives an invite to the funeral of one Jane Seymour- his care taker when he was a child, it seems, having given birth to an Edward Seymour a few days earlier but yet she succumbs to death. Her long time friend Joan adopts Edward.)

-

He dances with the woman in German clothing all night, her dresses embedded with jewels and her hair in a hood just like all others. She was tall yet slim, her face seemingly enjoying her dance with Henry as he laughs too; he has never felt this alive in all his dreams. They stop dancing after spinning many a times, and his world becomes a little more dizzier than it had been a while ago. The woman was giggling and laughing pleasantly, as she curtsies in front of Henry.

“Many say I am ugly”, she says in a thick German accent, eyes twinkling a little. “But I say I am the most beautiful woman in the England entirely; next to your daughters Elizabeth and Mary, of course. None can compete with their beauty- even I, even Katherine Howard.”

Henry smiles awkwardly- how did this woman know of his daughters? Judging by her era of clothing she does not belong in the world of modernity. “Thank you for your compliments, madame.”

She laughs a little, her beautiful voice lighting up the dark skies with flares of stars blinkering and multiplying as she speaks. “I know who has scattered the rumours that I am ugly, disgusting to look at.” She sighs as she looks back at her hands, as if not meeting Henry’s eyes.

Henry’s curiosity peaks, “Who has told you that you are repulsive; you are the most beautiful woman I have met. In my dreams, of course.”

Her eyes level with his, but there is a tinge of darkness. “You.”

And then she dissolves into darkness, the stars that have been created by her voice and laughter dying and being absorbed into the darkness as it devours him whole, urging him to scream-

He wakes up to find Anna, on the bedroom doorway, face full of concern and a glass of water in her hands.

(He wakes up a few days later to get her to the airport so she can be with her art tutor Hans Holbein; she kisses him in the cheek for goodbye and he smiles slightly, not feeling romantic intimacy but a close friendship with her.)

-

The teenager screams as Henry approaches her, and he stops for a moment, contemplating whether he should comfort her or leave her be- she seems to be scared of him, like he was a predator wanting to eat her up like it was its last meal.

“Don’t hurt me Your Majesty!”, she screams as she trembles ever so slightly, her face stained with tears. “I am sorry that my infidelity has struck you with terrible heartbreak, good King, and I know my punishment is truly right and just.”

His eyes linger on her neck; a mangled mess of bruises, tangled together with her bones and muscles as it crackles and spews out more crimson into the clean and pure skin that has not been decayed nor touched by whatever the hell hurt her.

Henry wakes up to find himself in a park bench, the young girl whom he had given blankets to have a good night’s rest gone.

-

“Interesting”, the last one looks at him with cold and calculating eyes, sizing him up and down like he was nothing but an ant in her eyes. “We have only met and interacted once, and it is because of you dying; what a pleasure.”

Henry nods slowly, “What is your name, then?”

Her eyes twinkle ever so slightly, “Kateryn Parr.”

Just like that, she scatters to the winds.

[scriptura-adrepticius]

A Heart of Ice - Zhu Xingjie

Uncalled for and unrequested, but inspired by Beauty and the Beast, some beautiful fanart I CANNOT FIND, and because Xingjie looks like a prince.

Pairing: Zhu Xingjie x OC/reader

Genre: fluff, angst, royalty!au

Word Count: 7.2k

Zhu Xingjie has a heart of ice, and unbeknownst to you, you’ve been tasked with melting it.

Masterlist

if he looked at me like that i’d melt

Deep in the forest lies a forgotten palace, a forgotten land, a forgotten king. Cursed, he wanders the stone walls, unable to even glimpse the outside world.

The king used to be vain, you see. He was pristine, perfect, his skin pale and smooth, his eyes sharp but charming, his voice sweet and alluring.

He had everything. And that was his trouble.

The king grew up a spoiled child, used to flattery and gifts, unaccustomed to want. Whatever he wanted, he had or would get by whatever means possible. And when his father died and he ascended the throne, his requests only became more and more impossible.

It was a wintry day when the fairy came, disguised as an old woman seeking shelter, to see just how horrid this king truly was.

“Please, just one night, my good king… Please…”

She found out when he ordered her away.

In return, she cursed him. He stared in horror as she began to glow, a brilliant white light rendering him blind.

All the nobles and ladies around him vanished into thin air.

The candles flickered once and went out.

The drapes blew shut and when he ran to open them, the fairy simply laughed. “Young king,” she chuckled, “you would not want to see the sunlight.”

Frozen, the king could only stare at the now-beautiful fairy, who appraised him with a cold smile. “You will live forever as the king with a heart of ice, cursed to never see sunlight until you have learned to love once more. If exposed to the sun, your heart will melt too fast, and your time on earth will be gone.”

The king felt a stabbing in his heart, bringing him to his knees, and he clutched his chest in pain. He felt himself grow colder, saw his skin turn paler, felt the color drain from his face and his lips.

A cruel laugh echoed in the ballroom.

“Farewell, young king, and may we meet again soon.”

. . . . .

It’s cold.

Stupidly, that’s the only thing you can think at the moment. A snowstorm is brewing, and all you can think is that you’re cold.

“Well, I’m not wrong,” you mumble.

The wind is howling in your ears, the snow obscuring your vision. You clutch the reins on Xing harder, huddling down into your cloak as you urge him on. Xing obediently tries, but he can’t see either, and the snow on the ground is impossible.

The sun is nearly down, and the sky is darkening fast. If you stay outside longer, there is no guarantee on how long you can survive. Survival instinct spurs you on, and you doggedly continue with Xing.

It seems like a blessing when you finally see what seems to be a wall through the whirling snow. As you get closer, the wall grows larger, until you can just barely make it out to be a sort of very large house. Xing perks up, as though recognizing the house as a safe haven, and he speeds up slightly, slogging through the deep snow.

“Just a little more,” you encourage, patting his neck, before squinting through the snow to take a good look at the place.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

It’s not a house.

It’s a palace.

A large, imposing gate - the wall that you saw - rings the grounds in which a tall, stone castle stands. You swallow, looking around nervously. It’s getting dark, and though you aren’t in a blizzard yet, the snowstorm very well might develop into one. So you steel your nerves, jump off of Xing, and lead him forward.

Once at the gate, you pause, unsure of how to get in, as the gate is made of heavy stone and metal. However, it seems you need not worry, because the gates suddenly swing open though not a single person is in sight. You look around suspiciously, but worry for Xing and the strengthening wind push you forward through the gates.

The gates are almost taller than you. Xing could probably just jump over them if he tried. There’d be no way for you to get out.

You shudder, not because of the cold this time, but because of how ominous this all feels.

You wonder if it’s too late to turn back.

A loud neigh jerks you around, the reins ripped from your grasp. Xing suddenly spooks and you shout, trying to calm him down, but he turns, rearing his neck, before running through the gate.

“Xing!” you yell, racing after him, but the gates clang shut right in your face, the loud noise ringing in your ears and rendering you frozen, unable to move.

You gape, stepping forward, but an invisible force repels you, sending you stumbling backwards.

Cold terror settles over you, but you force yourself to breathe deeply and turn around.

“Well, that settles it,” you mumble. With Xing gone, you have no way of going anywhere else. So you continue, hurrying to the doors of the palace as the wind continues to pick up speed.

The large, stone doors open surprisingly easily when you push, looking around for any sign of something living. “Hello?” you call, allowing the doors to close behind you.

There is no reply.

You shiver in the darkness, glancing back at the door. Again, you wonder if it’s too late to leave.

“Hello?” you try again.

Silence.

“Hello.”

A shriek builds up in your throat but you swallow it down, whipping around to see a lantern in the darkness, illuminating the side of someone’s face. A wave of relief and anxiety washes over you, and you bow slightly in their direction.

“I’m sorry for intruding, it’s just the storm outside was getting worse and my horse spooked and left and this was the closest place…” Your words die away when the person - well, the man - gets close enough for you to see his face.

He is striking, handsome, but inhumanly so. Perhaps the right word to describe him is otherworldly.

His skin is pale, so pale it’s nearly white, but not sickly. He stands with an elegant, cool grace you associate with nobles. His coal black hair contrasts sharply with his skin, and on anyone else, the combination would repulse you. However, it just makes him seem more aloof, even further away from you, a mere mortal.

His nose is tilted perfectly, his mouth unsmiling. A severe, wintry coldness seems to emanate from him, making you shiver even more.

But it’s his eyes that truly captivate you. And yet at the same time, they repel you.

They are dark. So dark.

And so, so cold.

“What brings you here, traveler?” he asks, gazing idly as though you are just a bug waiting to be crushed. You swallow, shrinking under his cold gaze, but you make an effort to hold yourself tall.

Your voice is steady when you speak. “I was trying to reach the next town, but I got lost when the snowstorm picked up. This place was the only place I saw, so I… I tried to come here. My horse spooked and ran away, and I have no other place to stay. I ask for your permission, please, to stay for the night. I will leave tomorrow morning.”

That disdainful gaze, that aura of cold, that wintry anger- is it anger? You’re not quite sure- makes you want to run away, but you swallow and stand your ground. “Please,” you plead again. “Just for tonight.”

The cold laugh that the man lets out sends chills up your spine.

“Traveler,” he says, staring directly at you. “I don’t think you understand.”

You take a step back involuntarily. “W-what...” You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “What don’t I understand?”

There’s a long silence, and you’re about to bolt, blizzard or no, when he speaks.

“Once you enter this palace,” he says slowly, “you cannot leave.”

. . . . .

You jolt awake, panicking when you see that this is not your room. It takes a good thirty seconds for you to remember the events of yesterday, and when you do, you burrow under the thin blanket again.

“Please tell me this is all a dream,” you mumble, poking your head out of the covers once again, holding on to that stupid, vain hope.

Alas, the stone walls of the room shatter that dream. You sigh, kicking the covers away, before padding over to the small closet where you’d stuffed your things last night.

“I hope I brought that extra shirt,” you mutter, swinging the door open.

“What the fuck?!”

The closet is not empty, or even close to empty. Clothing of all types and designs fill the space with a rainbow of color, a stark contrast to the dark stone walls that surround you.

You blink.

You blink again.

You close the door and reopen it.

The clothes are still there.

You close it and open it again.

Everything is still there.

“Is this magic?” you murmur, hesitantly tugging on one of the shirts. To your surprise, it feels solid beneath your fingers, and you pull it out.

Dark blue, with intricate white designs bordering the collar and sleeves. You look between it and the rest of the fabric in the wardrobe.

“Why not?” you finally say, switching your rumpled, scratchy shirt for the new one. The cloth is comfortable and warm against your skin, and you pluck at it in curiosity as your stomach rumbles in hunger.

Food. Right.

You exit the room nervously, peeking around for any signs of the cold man from yesterday. There are none, so you venture out, stepping quietly on the stone floors. After wandering around for a long time, you finally locate what seems to be the dining room. There on a table lies a small assortment of fruits, breads, and other foods.

“Where does this all come from?” you ask yourself, eyeing the food uncertainly. You cautiously pick up an apple and examine it before biting into it.

Well, it tastes fine. You shrug before devouring the rest of the fruit.

“Magic, perhaps,” you murmur. You can’t think of any answer.

Once you finish, you take to wandering again, as there’s nothing better to do. You walk through the halls, taking random turns and opening random doors. You find a lounge, what seems to be a study, a lot of bedrooms, and then you find a library.

The room is large, filled with shelves that are in turn filled top to bottom with books. Mesmerized, you step inside, gazing in wonder at the book-laden shelves.

“Am I in heaven?” you squeak, breathing in the welcoming scent of old books. You pull one book off a shelf, scanning the title eagerly before sitting down to read.

The day passes in this manner, devouring one book and then pulling down another. It’s only when the clock strikes seven that you finally pull yourself from the fictional world to come back to reality.

You carefully mark your place with a scrap of paper, taking the book with you as you attempt to find the dining room again. It takes a good fifteen minutes, but that’s better than the thirty it took you this morning.

Still locked in a slightly dreamy haze, you step inside the room, ready to eat. However, you snap out of it quickly when you see the man from yesterday standing by the table.

Cold.

You shudder.

“You’re late,” he says simply.

You don’t sit down. “I wasn’t aware that there was a set time for dinner,” you reply, eyes flitting back and forth between the table and the door, wondering if you could just skip dinner like you skipped lunch.

“Well, now you are,” he replies indifferently. “Sit.”

You don’t particularly want to, but something tells you that you can’t disobey. So you sit down gingerly, placing the book down next to you. You notice the man’s gaze travel to it, but you ignore it, instead filling your plate.

The meal is uncomfortably silent. You want to talk, but at the same time, you don’t. There is no noise at all save for the sound of chewing and silverware clanking on plates.

“Where does the food come from?” you ask impulsively.

Then you want to throw yourself out the window because Xinyi, what the hell kind of conversation starter is that?

“Magic,” the man replies without even looking up.

You blink slowly.

Okay… so I was actually right.

“You don’t believe me?” he says, raising an eyebrow. You nod vehemently. “I believe you,” you say with conviction.

Well, how else could you explain the clothing and the food? You’re pretty sure he didn’t cook it all himself, at least.

He just raises one eyebrow. You kind of feel like he doesn’t believe you, but what does it matter? So you busy yourself with your food again.

You finish your food in silence, standing up awkwardly. “Uh, where should I put my plate?” You shift your weight from one foot to the other nervously.

“Just leave it,” he replies, standing up as well.

“Magic, huh,” you mumble to yourself, placing the plate down. You pick up your book, ready to leave.

“Xinyi.”

You freeze.

How does he know my name?

“The magic only keeps you from leaving the grounds,” the man continues, looking at you boredly. “You can still go outside.” He begins to walk away.

“How do you know my name?” you demand.

He turns back, a ghost of a smirk tilting his pale lips. “Magic.”

What an annoying jerk-

“And if you must know…” He pushes a lock of hair back, the simple motion rendering you speechless.

“My name is Zhu Xingjie.”

He walks away, leaving you to wonder just how he knew your unspoken question.

. . . . .

“Zhu Xingjie,” you mumble to yourself, wandering through the library. It’s a name that fits him, for some weird reason. You shrug, plucking a few books off the shelves. You’ll read those today.

A peek outside the heavy curtains tells you it’s sunny outside. You remember what Xingjie told you, that you could leave the castle, just not the grounds. You haven’t gone out in some time, so you think why not? and head out.

It’s cold, as expected, and you shiver even with the warm coat wrapped around you. You walk around for a bit, exploring the massive grounds, poking at a few strange statues here and there. They’re creepy, almost gargoyle-like, but interesting.

You find a large tree, and after climbing up the branches, you settle yourself in and continue reading.

Evening comes and you start to get hungry again, even after snacking the whole afternoon, so you reluctantly climb down the tree, shuffling inside the castle with rosy cheeks. You’re not sure if you’ll see Xingjie again, and you don’t really want to, but hunger wins over and you enter the dining room.

Xingjie is there. You don’t particularly care to sit with him for another meal, after they’ve been so awkward this whole week, so when you’re done filling up your plate, you start to walk away.

“You went outside?” he suddenly asks, a strange wistfulness in his tone.

Startled, you nod slightly. “Yes.”

He nods silently, turning back to his own food. You notice his expression turn from a blank face to a frown, but you stay no longer.

That strange display of emotion stays with you. You can’t help wondering why he seemed to have felt the way he did.

Still, what is there you can do about it? It’s hard enough to be in the same room as him- how can you get him to open up to you?

It’s a difficult question, one that you don’t have the answer to.

. . . . .

You decide to start by initiating conversation at meals. But wow, it’s hard.

First of all, you have no idea what to ask.

Second of all, it’s really hard to talk in Xingjie’s chilly presence.

Third of all, he doesn’t want to talk.

A few months drag on this cold manner.

“So what do you do during the day?” you ask one day, forcing yourself to keep the words flowing. It’s hard, and you’re running out of ideas, but you forge on anyway.

If you’re going to spend the rest of your life in this godforsaken place, you might as well get along with the only other person being held captive.

Xingjie looks up uninterestedly. You fight to keep your eyes steady, staring at him, though you want nothing more than to back away into the wall.

It’s not just that he looks scary. He certainly does, in a stupidly handsome way. However, it’s that unreadable expression in his eyes that makes you want to flee.

“Why do you want to know?” he responds, raising a single eyebrow.

Oh my god.

He’s been like this the whole past few months, and you now want to punch the stone wall, despite the fact that you’d probably break your hand.

Scratch that. You want to punch him.

He’s not making this easy at all.

“No particular reason,” you say evenly. “I’m trying to maintain a conversation, and I’m curious.”

He looks at you impassively. “Why do you want to maintain a conversation?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing your anger to go away before you throw food in his face. If you threw food, he could probably freeze you right then and there with that apathetic gaze of his.

“Because if I’m supposed to stay here for eternity, I might as well attempt to get along with the only other person being held captive in this godforsaken place,” you snap.

A cold expression passes over his face, and you involuntarily shiver, chills running down your spine.

“You will never know what it feels like to stay here for an eternity,” he says lowly, standing up.

You stare, shrinking slightly under his cold eyes. He walks over slowly, and you scramble to stand. You want to get away, because he’s seriously scaring you, but it’s as though his cold gaze has you frozen in place, unable to move.

He stops in front of you, his face only a foot from yours. You shiver, his cold aura hitting your skin.

Perhaps he really is the embodiment of winter.

“You will never know,” he whispers, his eyes angry and… is that helplessness you see?

His hand comes up, almost as though to grasp your chin, but just as he’s about to touch your skin, he drops it to his side quickly as though he’s just remembered something. Without another word, he stalks out the room.

Your hand comes up, touching the skin where he almost touched you. You shiver when you feel just how cold it is.

. . . . .

The events of last night come back with full force when you wake up the next morning. You groan, shoving your face back into the pillow.

You really don’t want to face Xingjie today.

It’s strange. In that moment where he nearly touched you, you saw so much emotion in his eyes, so much emotion that you’d never seen before.

Perhaps you’re so shocked because you couldn’t even think of him as a human with feelings.

The thought makes you feel really guilty.

Your thoughts turn back to that moment, your hand coming up to touch your chin as you gaze into the mirror. It’s bright red and prickles, though it doesn’t seem to be any worse than that.

“Oh god,” you whisper.

He nearly gave you frostbite from touching you.

Actually, he didn’t even touch you, which makes things even worse.

Is he even human? You feel guilty for thinking that, but it isn’t natural, his ice cold touch. His wintry aura isn’t normal either, as is the pallor of his skin.

You swallow, swinging your legs out of bed to get a closer look in the mirror. The frostbite is mild, alright, but you can already see the blister that’s supposed to form afterwards. You prod at it, wincing in pain.

“He may as well be the embodiment of winter,” you mutter.

You stay in your room the whole day, save for sneaking a couple plates of food out of the kitchen. But by late afternoon, you’re getting antsy, so you set off to the library to find a new book.

You push the door open, only to see him browsing the shelves. He looks over and you stop short, nervous and a little scared.

Xingjie’s eyes narrow, and he walks over, staring at your chin. His hand comes up and you jerk away reflexively before realizing he has gloves on.

“Relax,” he says quietly, though a bit haltingly, as though he isn’t used to speaking with such gentleness. “The gloves will prevent what happened yesterday.”

You relax slightly, allowing him to touch your chin gently. You look anywhere but at him, unsettled yet transfixed by his sudden kindness.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice serious. “I lost control of myself. I shouldn’t have done so.”

You swallow, forcing yourself to untense despite your proximity to him. “I have to apologize as well,” you say. “I didn’t know that what I said would affect you so much. I’m sorry.”

“It’s… not your fault,” he says, taking a slight step back. “You didn’t know.”

You want to ask why what you said hurt him so much, why it made him so angry, but the look in his eyes tells you that that is a question for another time. So you swallow your curiosities in favor of nodding.

“It’s not your fault either,” you say. “If someone had said something to anger me, I can assure you that my reaction would have been much more than touching their chin.”

It’s unexpected, what happens next, but Xingjie smiles slightly. Not a smirk. A real smile.

You gape.

“Perhaps,” he replies, “but I also must apologize for being so rude to you over the past few months.”

You make a face. “Let’s put that behind us. It’s fine.”

Xingjie raises an eyebrow, moving over to let you inside. “You certainly let go of things quickly.”

You shrug a little. “I don’t like holding grudges. I forgive, but don’t forget.”

Xingjie nods, looking thoughtful. “Well, I’ll leave you now,” he says. The look in his eyes softens the smallest bit as he bows slightly, about to walk away.

“Wait,” you say, before you even realize you’re speaking. He looks at you, surprised, but you swallow and forge on.

“Please don’t leave on my account,” you say softly. “You don’t need to go.”

Xingjie opens his mouth, staring at you in mild shock. You don’t hear the thoughts echoing through his head, but if you could, you would have heard Why would she want to be in the same room as a monster?

And yet something possesses him to stay.

You smile as he nods slightly and a little awkwardly, then steps back into the room.

. . . . .

Your friendship with Xingjie is tentative at first. The blister on your chin stays for a while, reminding you of just what he can do. It’s hard to relax yourself around him, though you make an effort to do so.

It’s also a little difficult to maintain a friendly relationship with someone whose beauty is so utterly cold and ethereal.

But it happens, bit by bit. Though you don’t see him around much, the castle doesn’t feel so uninviting anymore, and when you do see him, conversation flows. Not very smoothly, but it’s a start, and you find yourself more comfortable around him.

You still have a couple of questions, though. For one thing, besides when he apologized, you’ve never seen Xingjie outside of dinner.

What does he do during the day?

It’s a simple question, one that you should have no problem asking. However, something stops you. It feels like you’re invading his privacy, somehow, like it’s something private for Xingjie and Xingjie only.

And yet you ask anyway, because the scholar within you won’t rest until she gets her answers.

To your surprise, when you ask, Xingjie just kind of looks down. He looks… almost embarrassed.

Embarrassed.

Who knew the almighty ice prince Zhu Xingjie could look embarrassed?

You look at his expression. It’s… cute. You almost coo in amusement.

“I… make music,” he says quietly, barely able to look at you.

You tilt your head, unable to see the reason behind his reaction to his statement. “Music?” you echo.

He nods.

“So you play an instrument?” you ask, leaning forward.

Xingjie hesitates, then nods. “Piano, guitar… basically all of the instruments in the music room.”

You’re too excited to notice his slightly confused expression. “Can I hear you play?” you ask, gazing at him eagerly.

It seems to take a moment before your question registers in his mind, and even then, Xingjie is still a little out of it when he answers. “After dinner,” he promises, and you have to fight to keep the wild grin off of your face.

. . . . .

Xingjie is confused.

Very, very confused.

First of all, why weren’t you… fazed… at all… by the fact that he liked to make music in his free time?

His parents had devoted their entire lives to telling him that his passion for music would take him nowhere, that it was useless, that he had to devote his life to running the kingdom and not to such stupid trivial pursuits. As such, the nobles of the court devoted their lives to telling him the same thing.

Even after his parents died and he became the cold shell he is today, he hesitated to go to music even though nobody could stop him.

All because of that stupid stigma against the arts that he was brought up to believe in.

So when you expressed enthusiasm in his interest, in his music-making, he was shocked. And what shocked him even more so was the genuine delight in your eyes.

In all his years in the court, he’d never seen anyone look at him as genuinely as you did.

When you continued to ask him about playing instruments, he was so lost. He couldn’t believe that anyone was speaking to him like this. Especially a monster like him.

Really, did you just not realize the pure coldness that he emanated? The fact that he was literally a frozen, animated… semi-human?

And then when you asked him if he could play for you… well, Xingjie really can’t explain the slight feeling bumping around his chest. It’s been so long since he really felt something for anything other than his music that he really just doesn’t know how to explain it.

Whatever the feeling is, it isn’t unpleasant.

It’s then that he learns you can play the instrument too, not as well as he but granted, he’s had decades of practice compared to your mere eighteen. It’s then that the feeling grows, filling his chest as he watches you play with your simple grace and charm.

You confuse him so, so much.

And yet… this confusion… it isn’t unwelcome.

Xingjie sighs, getting up abruptly.

He’s never felt like this before, and he’s not sure what to make of it at all.

. . . . .

You lie in bed, still on cloud nine because of the beautiful music this night had given you. Or, more accurately, that Xingjie had given you.

His fingers danced on the instruments, making sounds that were almost too beautiful for your ears. He was talented, sure, but you could see just how much dedication he had to music and how hardworking he had to have been to reach that level.

You turn over, humming one of his melodies quietly. It had been a wonder to watch him play, to watch how he transformed from a cold, awkward being to someone with so much passion.

A smile crosses your lips involuntarily.

It’s like you’re seeing Xingjie in a whole new light now. First he was the cold, unwelcoming prince of the castle. Then he became more like an awkward, shy transfer student from another school.

And now he’s more like the dreamy musician with a passion that’s infectious, that inspires you to do better, to do more.

Your heart thumps, thinking of his bashful smile when you complimented his playing, and you feel yourself reddening slightly.

Who knew such a cold person could make you blush like this?

Really, if there wasn’t so much… mystery… behind Xingjie, and if you knew more about him, you wouldn’t hesitate to say that you could definitely fall in love with him.

But there’s those other questions that continue to prod the back of your brain and force you to stay vigilant and guarded against these feelings in your heart.

Just why is Xingjie here? Why is the castle always so dark, and why are the windows never open? And why is Xingjie so… cold?

. . . . .

Now that you know where Xingjie is during the day, you don’t hesitate to enter the music room quietly, sit in a corner with a book, and read as he fashions new melodies and harmonies that bless your ears with their beauty.

Xingjie doesn’t hesitate to join you in the library either, with him giving you recommendations every now and then. He doesn’t say it, but you have a suspicion that he’s read everything in the library.

Which brings another question to your mind: how long has he been here?

“You look like you’re thinking hard about something.” You start a little, not having noticed that Xingjie’s stopped playing and is now looking at you with slight concern. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You really want to ask the questions you have in mind. But for some reason, you also don’t. It feels like… taboo. You don’t know why, but it’s like you just can’t ask.

So you opt for something else. “What’s the extent of the magic of this place?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” you trail off, trying to put your question into words. “Does everything necessary just… appear? Or is it like if you wish for something, it appears? Or what?”

“If you wish for something within reason, it will appear, I think,” Xingjie confirms. “I haven’t fully tested this magic either, despite-” He stops suddenly, then shakes his head. “Never mind. I just know that after I learned the guitar, I wished for more instruments, and the next day they were here.”

You notice his sudden hesitation and you want to pry further, but you don’t. Silence falls, and unlike other silences you’ve had before, this one is awkward.

Xingjie seems to know that wasn’t the question you wanted to ask.

“So what did you really want to ask?” he says quietly.

Damn, you were right.

You swallow. The air suddenly seems colder, and you shiver involuntarily, scared to verbalize your thoughts.

Fuck it, you think. And you open your mouth to talk.

“What is your connection to this place?”

Xingjie immediately clams up. You can see it. And you feel really bad for making him so uncomfortable, but you also really want answers.

“I…” He starts, then stops.

You’ve never seen this look in his eyes. To you, Xingjie has always been confident, cold, shy, embarrassed, sweet, and so many other things, but never… nervous.

And this expression makes you scared. What could be so bad about your question that the ice prince is now nervous?

“I can’t tell you that,” Xingjie finally says. “I’m bound by the magic of this place. I can’t tell you. At least… not yet.”

You nod slowly, putting down your book. “Then can you tell me why it’s always so dark?” You think for a moment, coming to a sudden realization. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you go outside either.”

Xingjie looks even more helpless. “I can’t tell you that either.”

“Okay.” You nod again, feeling awkward. The atmosphere is tense and uncomfortable, and you quickly stand up to leave. “See you, Xingjie.”

“Alright, Xinyi.”

You leave the room hurriedly, eager to escape the tense silence.

. . . . .

A week passes. Then another. And another. And another.

And, slowly but surely, the friendship you’ve built with Xingjie begins to crumble.

It’s your fault, you suppose. If you hadn’t asked those stupid questions, things wouldn’t be this way.

You’re miserable. You never realized just how much you enjoyed your time with Xingjie, how much you enjoyed talking to him.

You never thought you’d feel this empty without him.

It was your decision to stop going to the music room after that tense conversation. You stay in your room or outside for the most part, knowing that you won’t see Xingjie there. Dinner is awful - you’d forgotten how bad the silences used to be.

Without Xingjie, you feel empty and desolate. It’s like he’s become an essential part of your being over the past months, and you’re incomplete without him.

But if you’re miserable, Xingjie feels worse. He doesn’t blame your curiosity - he mostly blames himself for not being able to tell you what you want to know.

If only he could explain why he was so cold, why he couldn’t go outside, why the castle was always dark and how he was bound to this castle.

He sighs, his head in his hands. He’s sitting at the piano, but today, inspiration won’t come to him.

It’s strange. Whenever you were with him, lying quietly in the corner with your book, ideas came naturally to him. Seeing your smile inspired him. You made him feel that strange feeling in his heart, that strange feeling that he couldn’t figure out before… but now he’s pretty sure he knows that it is.

Love. That’s what it is.

Love.

But Xingjie’s afraid. He’s never loved before, for one thing. The only people he’d ever cared about were his three friends, all of whom disappeared when he was eternally bound to suffer here. He’s never felt this raw emotion for another human, this longing for someone that makes him almost physically ache for want of you to be near him.

For another thing, Xingjie has only one shot at getting this right. If you aren’t the one, and Xingjie only mistakenly thinks he’s in love, then things could go very, very wrong. For you and for him.

And the last thing, the scariest thought of all.

What if you don’t love him back?

Xingjie finds it difficult to believe that you could ever care for him in the same way he cares for you. He’s literally subhuman - his heart of ice confirms that.

How could you ever love someone who’s barely human?

The days drag on, with you slipping through his fingers with each passing moment. Xingjie becomes desperate to see you, but even when he does, it’s like there’s a wall between you two. An invisible wall that makes communication more difficult than ever.

It’s killing him. Well, probably not really, since he’s literally immortal and bound to this fucking place until he learns to love. But it really feels like it’s killing him.

And so he makes a decision.

. . . . .

You’re standing, ready to leave the dining room. You cast a glance at Xingjie, who looks conflicted about something.

You turn, but Xingjie’s voice calling your name has you stopping in your tracks. “Xinyi.”

“Yes?” You look back to see Xingjie walking up to you.

“I… um…” Xingjie looks down, then back at you, a slight blush on his face. “Would you dance with me?”

It takes a few seconds for the question to register in your mind.

Dance?

“Here?” you ask, perplexed.

Xingjie quickly shakes his head. “No. In the ballroom.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to tell you something, but in a livelier situation.” Xingjie smiles slightly. “And from my past experience, dancing is livelier than me sitting you down at a table to tell you.”

“But I have nothing to wear,” you say, looking down at your trousers and shirt. They’re undoubtedly nice clothes, but for a dance, you need a dress. Unless Xingjie plans on being unorthodox.

Xingjie laughs a little, a sound you’re glad to hear after so many weeks of silence. “Xinyi, remember that this place is magic?”

You blush. “Right.”

“Go check your closet,” Xingjie says helpfully. “I’ll meet you there.”

With that, he walks around you out the door.

. . . . .

Icy blue silk, white satin gloves, a rose pin in your hair, light blue shoes. You watch your step, doing your best not to trip on the stairs.

It’s with nervousness and anticipation that you walk to the ballroom, hoping that you don’t look a total mess, but all those thoughts fly out of your mind when you see Xingjie.

He looks so, so handsome.

His blue silk shirt matches your dress, as do his white gloves, contrasting with his black pants. His eyes are still as dark and deep as you remembered, but it seems that they’re… twinkling. An expression you’ve never seen before.

“You look very handsome,” you say shyly, taking his outstretched hand.

“And you look very beautiful,” he says back, unable to take his eyes off of your face.

You blush under his gaze, allowing him to lead you inside. “Are we dancing without music?” you ask, looking around at the various instruments leaning against the wall.

“Magic, Xinyi,” Xingjie says, whirling you into position. You attempt to recall the dances you were taught back home, hoping that this won’t be too different.

You look around, startled, as music begins to play. You catch a glimpse of a violin floating in the air before Xingjie is moving, placing his hand on your waist and yours on his shoulder, and clasping the other in his.

“Let’s dance,” he whispers, his cold breath hitting your face. You shiver slightly, but in delight, before following his lead.

It’s strange, awkward almost, to be the only two dancing in this enormous ballroom. But after the first dance, your surroundings melt away, your attention focused only on the man in front of you. And you become comfortable enough to ask the first question.

“So,” you say, “what did you want to tell me?”

Xingjie twirls you under his arm slowly, looking suddenly serious. “You had questions before that I could not answer.”

You nod.

“I’ll answer them now,” he promises, “but don’t interrupt me until I’m done, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply.

There’s a short silence as the music dies, signaling a new song. The opening bars are soft, eerie, and haunting, and you shiver in Xingjie’s grasp.

“I was once a king,” he says, looking into your eyes. “I was vain, selfish, and horrible. I had everything. I wanted for nothing. And if I wanted for something, I would get it. No matter what. In short, I did not love.”

You remain silent, unable to look away.

“One day a fairy came, disguised as an old woman seeking shelter. I refused her.” Horrible pain twists Xingjie’s face and he looks away for a moment to compose himself. “It sounds terrible, but that was the person I was back then.”

You find it a little hard to believe, but seeing the pain in his eyes, you know that he’s telling the truth.

“In return, she cursed me.” Xingjie swallows. “Everyone around me vanished. The lights flickered out. And when I tried to open the drapes… Well, in short, the fairy had cursed my heart. I did not know how to love - my heart was proof of that. So it literally became a heart of ice.” A bitter smile crosses his face. “So I’m not even human. I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” you say staunchly. “Get that idea out of your head.”

Xingjie laughs a little sadly, adjusting his grip. “Alright, if you say so.

“Anyway, if I went outside,” he continues, “if I saw the sunlight, that ice would melt, and I would live no longer. As long as I remained in the dark, I would live, eternally bound to this castle until I learned to love.”

You nod slowly. Then, unable to restrain yourself, you ask, “But why couldn’t you tell me earlier? Why tell me now?”

A slight smile twists his pale lips. “If I told my story to anyone I did not love, I would die. Immediately, painfully, I don’t know.”

Your heart pounds painfully in your chest as Xingjie stops dancing, the music coming to a rest. It’s so silent in the huge room that you can hear your breathing, shallow and quick.

“You love me?” you finally ask, voice barely a whisper.

“I think I do,” Xingjie replies, his voice equally soft. “Do you love me as well?”

You nod once, twice, three times. “I think I do,” you whisper.

Xingjie’s gloved hand finds its way to your cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb. His touch is cold but dulled by the cloth of his glove, and you revel in the way his hand brushes against your skin, gently pushing away a fallen strand of hair.

You lean closer, cupping his face in your hands. You stare into his eyes, those dark eyes you fell in love with, those dark eyes that hold you captive in place. You are spellbound, feeling his breath ghost across your lips.

“Are you sure you love me? A monster?” he whispers.

“I said, get that idea out of your head.” You glare at him teasingly. “And yes. I am sure.”

And you press your lips to his in a gentle, sweet kiss.

. . . . .

It’s cold.

Xingjie’s lips are so cold.

It repels you and you almost pull away, but you force yourself to come closer, allowing Xingjie’s hands to rest around your waist as you cup his face in your hands. You force yourself to stay pressed against him, against the man you are sure you love.

And then, gradually, his lips become warmer. And warmer. And warmer.

You open your eyes, staring into his, before breaking away.

Where pale, white skin used to be, there is now a hint of pink and color in his cheeks. Your eyes roam his face, seeing pink lips and twinkling eyes.

Is that a tear you see? You reach up, brushing it away with your thumb.

“Xingjie,” you breathe. A tear wells in your eye, threatening to spill down your cheek. “Xingjie.”

“Xinyi,” he whispers, brushing it away.

And then he kisses you again.

Around you, the drapes blow open, the music begins to play again, and chattering begins to fill the room. But you don’t notice, focused only on the man whose heart you have melted.

“I love you,” you sigh against his lips.

He breaks away for just a second, just enough to say, “I love you too.”

[anoldwound]

Feel the Weapon’s Sensation - Mohinder/Thompson [Heroes]

Title: Feel the Weapon's Sensation Characters/Pairings: Mohinder/Thompson Rating: NC-17 Warnings: Why do you think the 'net was born? Porn, porn, porn. MorallyGrey!Mohinder runs rampant and naked. Word Count: 2904 Spoiler alert: S1 Summary: Obviously some sort of attempt at a seduction was planned. The thought repulsed him, yet a tiny shiver of...interest passed through him as well.   A/N: *rubs hands together* Here it is! Hopefully it doesn't suck. Thanks to herverylowness for the beta. If you wind up enjoying this, I command encourage you to join mopson_love. >;) The florescent lights flickered faintly above, and Mohinder twiddled his thumbs anxiously as he sat on the cold, steel stool. Molly was sleeping—he had just given her the first transfusion, and she was going to need rest in order for the cure to take effect. In the meantime, all he had to do was wait. ...And wait. His feet started tapping the floor at a rather alarming speed, and he felt slightly light-headed. Dear God, the suspense was going to kill him. Would the antibodies work or not? If they didn’t... Fortunately, he did not have time to ponder this, as the door creaked open to reveal Thompson standing at the threshold. He was smirking with wry amusement, as he always did. Mohinder was starting to wonder if that expression was permanently fixed onto his face. “Have you found the cure yet, Dr. Suresh?” Thompson asked, closing the door behind him with a flick of his wrist. “Yes. Turns out it was my antibodies. I just administered the first dose...hopefully she’ll show signs of improvement soon.” “Your antibodies?” Thompson asked, raising an eyebrow. He stepped closer, and Mohinder bit his lip. “Yours specifically?” “Yes, I believe so.” “And what, exactly, is so special about your blood, Dr. Suresh?” Thompson leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, surveying Mohinder’s face with a curiosity that was certainly not of the scientific kind. “I...I’m not sure.” “Hmm.” Thompson stared at him long and hard, his eyes sweeping up and down Mohinder’s body hungrily. Mohinder shifted uncomfortably in his seat and crossed his legs. Thompson brought his eyes back up to Mohinder’s. He smiled. “Excellent job, Professor. I believe this calls for some celebration. How about a toast in my office?” “A toast?” “Mmm, yes. A toast. It's what one would normally do in situations where good cheer is in order.” He straightened up and smoothed down his shirt. “The wine is a very good year. I highly suggest that you join me.” And he abruptly turned and left, his shoes clacking against the marble floor. Mohinder gripped onto the edges of his chair and let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. He would be lying to himself if he said he did not know Thompson’s true intentions. One didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out—or a scientist, period. Obviously some sort of attempt at a seduction was planned. The thought repulsed him, yet a tiny shiver of...interest passed through him as well.   He uncrossed his legs and bent his head between his knees. He shouldn’t go, he really shouldn’t—but something in him was crying out, wondering what it would be like...he cringed in disgust as he remembered Thompson’s face leering at him lecherously, but nevertheless the idea of it all still intrigued him in a way that he couldn’t make sense of. Licking his lips, Mohinder slowly brought his head back up and sighed heavily. Before he knew what he was doing, he was out the door and heading down the hall towards Thompson’s office, his perverse fascination increasing with every step. He supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised. It wasn’t as though he had never been in this sort of situation before. There had been his second year genetics professor—tall and imposing, with a head of nappy gray hair and the stench of pipe smoke on his breath. He had felt then, too, the same allure towards the powerful middle-aged man, sexually confused and frustrated as he was, and before long they had fumbled in the professor’s office, panting and thrusting and collapsing in a heap on the mahogany desk. He received the highest marks in the class that term. His fingers touched the smooth metal handle, and he cautiously opened the door and peeked inside. Thompson was already drinking the wine—straight from the bottle, in fact. Mohinder hesitated, and then stepped into the office. Thompson almost choked. “S-Suresh!” He swallowed and set the wine bottle down. “I can’t stay long,” said Mohinder, and the door closed with a quiet click. “I need to give Molly another transfusion in an hour.” “Of course,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up.” “Yes, well. I suppose a toast is in order,” he said, and sat down on a chair facing the desk. His heart was beating rather quickly, and his senses were on high alert. He could see—smell—hear—everything. The world was sharpened. “I’m glad you think so.” Thompson’s voice was laced with salaciousness, and a smirk curled up his cheek. “You know...we make a good team, you and I.” “Do we now?” “Yes...we understand each other. In your line of work, it’s natural to be cold, unfeeling. Impersonal, even. It’s the same thing with what I do. You become detached, sort of...like the world can’t touch you. But it can.” His eyes became dark with lust as he stared at Mohinder. “It most definitely can.” “I assume you mean ‘touch’ in a rather different sort of way,” Mohinder said coolly, intertwining his fingers. Thompson blinked and raised his eyebrows. “My,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “So you’re not just a pretty face.” “I’m a scientist, Mr. Thompson. Not an idiot.” “Believe me...an idiot is the very last thing I would accuse you of being.” His mouth quivered as though he was trying not to laugh. “So. You knew what I would be proposing...and yet you still came here?” Mohinder’s features hardened. “Yes.” “Hmm. Intriguing.” He twirled a pen between his fingers. “Should I take this to mean that you’re interested?” “It means whatever you wish it to mean.” Thompson’s eyes lit up, but he didn’t say anything. He continued twirling the pen, and swung side-to-side lazily in his swivel chair, scrutinizing Mohinder. Mohinder sucked in his cheeks and gazed steadily back at him. “Are we going to get this over with anytime soon, or shall we continue our staring contest?” “I rather like this side of you, Suresh,” Thompson said. “I was so sure that you wouldn’t be...receptive. Not as naive and innocent as I’ve been led to think...” Mohinder raised an eyebrow. Naive and innocent? “I find it very appealing.” “We have less than an hour left,” he said flatly. “I would like to get a move on, if you don’t mind.” “Suresh...do you really think this will take an hour?” “This is you we’re talking about.” Thompson gave a low, guttural laugh, and stood up. He tossed the pen onto his desk. “You flatter me, Professor.” Mohinder felt an escalating sense of apprehension as Thompson came closer, a predatory look on his face. His hands clenched onto the armrests. “I wonder what sort of things you could teach me, Professor...” He bent down to Mohinder’s side and started stroking the stubble on his chin. Mohinder stared decidedly straight ahead, not daring to look at Thompson. A part of his mind was screaming at him to run very, very far away, and fast, but the other part—the part that was winning—wanted this, and was making him stay put in his chair, letting Thompson touch him. “So exquisite,” Thompson murmured to himself, and gently grazed his finger down Mohinder’s cheek. Mohinder bit back a shiver. “I almost don’t feel worthy.” He placed two fingers under Mohinder’s chin to tilt his head up. He continued to study him quietly while Mohinder felt about to explode with impatience. Finally, after what seemed like eons, Thompson turned Mohinder’s face towards his. He leaned forward, and then paused. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, as though doubtful of Mohinder’s sanity. For the love of GOD yes, he thought, but just nodded. Mohinder squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think as Thompson’s lips met his. The kiss was slow, hesitant at first—then, it was like a switch flipped on in Thompson’s head, and his mouth devoured Mohinder’s, and he could feel Thompson’s desire in his throat. His hands cupped Mohinder’s head, smoothing back his curls. The kisses grew deeper, much deeper, and Mohinder almost fell off of his chair as Thompson got a little over-zealous and pushed him forward a tad too much. This was insane, madness, it made absolutely no sense whatsoever, it was wrong and dirty and disgusting and more words that Mohinder just could not come up with because his brain had shut down and Thompson was pushing him against the desk, hands everywhere. He had to stifle odd noises that were threatening to slip out of his mouth as Thompson ran his finger-tip down Mohinder’s spine, stopping just at the small of his back. His finger hooked teasingly onto the top of his pants, his thumb rubbing Mohinder’s skin in a circular motion, and Mohinder did not know what to do except run his tongue along the inside of Thompson’s mouth. Thompson groaned and pressed into him; his hand suddenly found its way to Mohinder’s fly and quickly his pants became unbuttoned and unzipped. Mohinder suddenly had a flash of painful scrapings against mahogany desks and uncomfortable, hard corners poking into him, and he grabbed Thompson’s hands and pulled away. Thompson’s brows furrowed. “Change your mind?” he asked with not a little disappointment. In fact, “disappointment” would’ve been the understatement of the century. “No...it’s just that... here, this wouldn’t exactly be comfortable...” “Ah.” A mischievous smirk. “I do believe there are bedrooms in this building, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Mohinder zipped up his pants. “Oh, really? And where might they be?” “Up. If you’ll pardon the pun.” He rolled his eyes, and slid his pants button back through the buttonhole. “Well. Let’s go.” “Hold on a second.” Thompson went behind his desk and grabbed something out of one of his drawers that Mohinder didn’t see; he stuffed whatever it was into his pocket and smiled. “After you, Professor.” Mohinder headed out the door, Thompson right behind him, touching his arm for no apparent reason...or a very apparent reason, as it were. They walked towards the elevators, Mohinder stuffing his hands into his pockets. He kept his eyes away from the medical center where Molly was sleeping, and Thompson took out his cell phone. He pressed a few numbers and waited, then said, “Yes, Leonard. This is Thompson. I’m going to need you to not give anyone Room 1569...because I need it, is why. Don’t ask questions; just do it.” He snapped his phone closed and gave Mohinder an apologetic look. “Sorry. Personnel here tend to be a little nosy.” “It’s fine.” In seemingly no time at all, they were in the elevator, miraculously by themselves. The muzak played faintly in the background, and Thompson squeezed Mohinder’s shoulder, sending a jolt down below. God. If he was getting turned on by that, he must be desperate. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open; Mohinder’s feet moved faster than he would have thought possible, but his heart was hammering and he needed this, wanted it, he didn’t know why but he did, and he supposed he could chalk it up to chemistry and biology or such and such a thing, but he was unable to think straight at the present time and was just so utterly relieved when Thompson slid a card through the slot and the door opened and they were finally inside. Apparently, Thompson was relieved as well, for the second they entered the room he pinned Mohinder to the wall and slammed his lips against his, teeth clashing and Mohinder wrapping his arms around Thompson’s waist. He felt himself sliding upwards, and wrapped his legs around Thompson’s torso, taking off his shirt and throwing it violently onto the ground. “God—” Thompson breathed, setting Mohinder down to the floor and staring in disbelief at his chest. He seemed to have been rendered completely speechless. “What?” He crossed his arms, self-conscious all of a sudden. “I just...really didn’t think this was going to happen,” Thompson laughed, scratching his head. “I...” He shook his head. “Never mind.” He began kissing Mohinder again, his hands running up and down Mohinder stomach. Thompson shoved Mohinder onto the bed; he bounced gently up and down as Thompson whipped off his belt and tie with ease. There was more removing of the clothes, until finally they were both stark naked, and Mohinder was looking everywhere but at Thompson, sure that the...well, the not young man  probably didn’t have that good of a body, and the last thing he wanted right now was to be turned off...but he accidentally glanced over as Thompson was taking something out of the pants he had left on the floor, and was surprised to note that he actually wasn’t that bad...before flicking his gaze back to the ceiling again. “My, my,” he heard Thompson’s voice drawl. “You’re even more magnificent than I imagined...” Although Mohinder’s attention was fixed elsewhere, he could definitely sense Thompson’s gaze on him, drinking him in. He could not help but feel, sprawled out on the bed as he was, like some sort of God being worshiped on an altar. The next part happened so quickly he didn’t even realize anything had occurred until it was too late—Thompson had deftly handcuffed him to the bedposts while he hadn’t been looking.   “What—?” But Mohinder didn’t get to finish his sentence, as Thompson was wrapping his mouth around his cock. Mohinder let out a choked gasp, and went hard, and he could feel Thompson’s satisfied smirk against him. No, no. This would not do. He could not allow himself to be handcuffed to the bed. He couldn’t let Thompson have that much control over him. He had to— Thompson slowly began licking and stroking, and an electric shudder shot through his body, making him twist and moan. Well...perhaps he could relinquish control for the time being. He gripped onto the handcuff chains and lost himself completely to the sensations that Thompson was giving him; he could hear Thompson’s groans of pleasure, and he groaned in return. He rocked himself forward rhythmically, Thompson’s lips and tongue doing things, and he didn’t even know what the things were, because he couldn’t bring himself to look at him. His chest heaved up and down in ragged breaths as Thompson’s nails dug into his thighs. His tongue flicked expertly across and up and down his cock, and every inch of Mohinder was throbbing and he just couldn’t stop moaning. Thompson brought his mouth up to Mohinder’s ear and whispered, “I want to see you squirm.” Mohinder made a strange noise and shoved Thompson’s head back where it belonged, causing Thompson to laugh and continue what he had started. Mohinder rolled his hips upward, whimpering, pushing his cock in deeper. Thompson’s hand groped up his chest and brushed his fingers against his nipple; unable to take it anymore, Mohinder’s eyes rolled back into his head and he came roughly into Thompson’s mouth. “God...” Mohinder was panting heavily, and finally let his gaze fall on Thompson, who had taken Mohinder’s cock in his hand and was tickling the base gently. “Oh, no,” he said, after he swallowed Mohinder’s come. “I’m not done with you yet.” He was suddenly incredibly uneasy, although he couldn’t quite place why, but soon this feeling was replaced with one of intense pleasure as Thompson began sucking again, more fiercely this time, and Mohinder let out a strangled cry. “More,” Mohinder growled through his clenched teeth. “Yes...” He bent his head backward and gripped onto the chains harder, muttering nonsense under his breath. He hitched his legs over Thompson’s shoulders and felt his dick slide across the roof of Thompson’s mouth. It was just too much, too fucking much, and yet he wanted more. Mohinder felt Thompson humming and moaning, and he writhed and shuddered, and he was forced to acknowledge that Thompson was very good at this. “You’re mine,” Thompson hissed, and Mohinder was on the brink of something, something that might’ve been Nirvana, although it couldn’t have been, it was just a guise, just a... He arched and came again, more powerfully than last time. He sank into the pillows, so out-of-breath that he felt as though he would never breathe properly again. “You...you...” He couldn’t say anything, and he didn’t even know what it was that he would’ve said anyway. Thompson lifted his head up and collapsed next to Mohinder, panting as well. “I’m going to fuck you so hard,” Thompson said breathlessly, his eyes sliding over to Mohinder’s face, “you won’t remember your name.” Having recovered slightly, Mohinder mentally shook his head. No. He had played the submissive one long enough... “Can you...get me out of these?” He indicated the handcuffs by jerking his head towards them. “My wrists are chafed.” “Hmm...only for a minute,” Thompson said, and Mohinder couldn’t believe he was actually falling for it as Thompson un-locked the handcuffs. Mohinder, as soon as he was free, pounced on Thompson and quickly cuffed him to the bed before he had time to react. He looked utterly stunned. Mohinder gave a wicked smile. “You didn’t think I’d let you stay in control, did you?” Thompson raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Mohinder bent in close on Thompson’s ear and purred: “Tell me, Mr. Thompson...are you familiar with the Kama Sutra?”