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drustvar · 2 years ago

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Ch. 6: Fracture

Broken things come to pass at the docks.

WC: 3,497 A/N: A lot of how Rosie acts in this chapter was inspired by 'Pearl', and tbh I kind of wish I had pushed that a little further but oh well. She'll get more unhinged as the story progresses, don't worry :) Ao3 Link in reblog|| Full text available under read more.

Julian walked a few steps ahead of Rosie, a tall, black silhouette against the pale sand. Rosie watched him, the tension in his shoulders had been building all day, and seemed ready to crash over both of them. He stopped at the rotting wood of the pier, hands in his pockets as the moon reflected brightly off his boots. The only thing that broke the silence was the constant sound of waves crashing against the shore. He stared out at the sea for a while, and she followed his gaze. The water was as black as the sky above, infinite and unknowable. Julian took a deep breath before he finally spoke.

“Feel that breeze. A nice night for sailing, don’t you think?”

“Never sailed before.”

He shook his head and his gaze dropped, staring down the end of the dock. “Rosie, listen…we, uh. We really need to talk.” “You’ve been saying that all day,” she shifted the bag on her shoulder. Even though it was mostly empty, it felt like a prisoner’s weight.

“Ah, I have, haven’t I? I suppose I was enjoying myself too much to take the plunge.”

“What’s wrong? Please, just tell me.”

“Oh, lots of things,” he grimaced. “Too many to count. Give me a number, and I’ll tell you it’s too low.”

She crossed her arms. “Julian.”

He sighed and looked away. “I’ve done the calculations. Thought of every possibility. Run through the scenario over and over in my head…Rosie,” he reached for her hand, but couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. “There’s only one way I can see this whole thing playing out. And it’s not a happy ending, trust me.”

“I dunnae understand what you mean,” she said. She did understand, but she didn’t want to.

“Isn’t it better to cut things off at the pass? To spare you the trouble of a tragic ending?” He still wouldn’t look at her, just stared out at the sea, as if debating on jumping in and sinking.

Rosie thought back to that morning, how waking up without Julian beside her had filled her chest with an empty ache, how worried she’d been about him. How she had felt so sure that the very worst had happened to him, and that she hadn't been there to prevent it. “When you left this morning, you weren’t going to come back, were you?” She spoke quietly; as if not asking could stop it from being true. “I, ah, no… Well, I wasn’t thinking clearly," his words were clumsy and rushed. "But I would never, I could never have just left you. Even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. Want to leave, that is.” He finally met her eyes. She’d never seen someone look more sorry. “But, I just don’t see how else this can go.” He dropped down to sit on the edge of the pier, his long legs dangling over the water. His boots skimmed the surface, sending tiny ripples through the dark. “What do you mean by that?” She sank down next to him. Their shoulders brushed, and her heart ached at how eagerly he leaned against her. He just shook his head before he pointed to an island in the distance, a small shadow on the horizon. “See that island? It’s called the Lazaret. It’s where the city sent their infected, during the height of the plague. A perfect monument to my failures. Always visible from the shore, always reminding the city of how much it suffered.”

She had heard stories of the Lazaret. How when the city had run out of space to quarantine the sick, the doctors were ordered to send them to the island’s crematoriums. The sick and the dying disposed of by their city like trash. “Every death, every body burnt in those pits is another mark against me. More than I could ever count…” he trailed off, his eyes never leaving the island. “I don’t want to drag this out, Rosie. This, whatever it was. Whatever it could have been. It has to end.” “But I don’t understand. I thought you liked me.” The lump in her throat made her voice come out harsher than she'd meant. “I do like you. That’s why it has to be this way. That’s why this has to end now before it's too late and I wind up hurting you.” “That’s stupid. You aren’t like that, you wouldn’t hurt me-” He laughed, sharp and pained. “Oh, Rosie. Dear Rosie, you’re too kind. I will absolutely hurt you. It’s only a matter of time. It’s what I do, you know. It’s what I’ve always done. I’ll be the first to admit my faults, and of that there are many. I end up losing myself,” he sighed again, trying to maintain some form of composure. “Or maybe this is the real me. Someone who hurts. A failure. I don’t know if I killed the Count, but I know I could have. I know I have that kind of darkness inside me. Even if you say that it would have done the world a favor, it was still a life. Someone must have loved him, it must have destroyed somebody. And isn’t that enough to damn me?” “No.” She wanted to scream, he was talking too fast for her to keep up. ‘I don’t care what you’ve done!’ She thought. ‘All I care about is us. What makes him think he’ll hurt me? If all of this is connected to his past, then where do I come in? All I want…all I need is to know is how he feels about me.’ She leaned back and sighed heavily. “So that’s it? We just go our separate ways? You don’t want me enough to try to keep from self-destructing?” “Dear, please don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” his voice was much quieter. “I’m breaking us up. Plain and simple.” “Breaking up?” Rosie laughed sharply, trying to sound unbothered. “Since when were we together?” ‘Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it’s me who hurts you,’ she thought as she tried to ignore the faint stinging at the corner of her eyes. ‘I could say that you’re nothing to me, even if that would be the biggest lie I’d ever told.’ “Ah, yes you have a point. Not really a breakup, is it? We never—we never really had anything to start with. Just a night or two stolen from time.” He swallowed hard, visibly tense. “But, do I want you…do I want you? God, that’s a hard question to answer. I want you to be safe. I want you to stay out of this whole mess, I want…” he shook his head and stared down at the water below them. “ Well, it doesn’t matter what I want.” “That isn’t an answer,” she said as her nails dug into her palms.

“Tenacious, aren’t you? It’s one of the things I like about you. No matter what happens, you keep forging on. You’re like this great, bright light, drawing me towards you. I just can’t help myself. If I was a stronger man…if I wasn’t so weak. But I just can’t stay away from you.” ‘Then let me be strong for you. I can be strong for both of us ,’ she thought.

Julian bit his bottom lip, looking defeated. He barely looked at her as he spoke again. “ I'm torn in two between what I wish could be and what I know will be; of course I want you. I know it’s only been a short time, but I feel like I’ve known you for years. Is it because you put me at ease? That’s hard to do, you know. I want to be around you. I-I can’t stop thinking about you, even when you’re right beside me. That’s the problem.” He slowly met her eyes as she put a hand over his. “I wish I was strong enough to break the cycle, like you said...but I'm just not. It doesn't matter what my heart wants, I've learned that by now.” He tried to give her a smile before he craned his neck to stare up at the moon. “If I think about it, I can see the path our story would take. So why,” he slumped over, trying to hide himself in the hunch of his shoulders. “If I walk away from you now, will I stay away? If I drop my guard, will I find myself walking right back to you? That’s what makes me selfish. Because whatever we could have, whatever possibilities…They’ll only lead to ruin. That’s the kind of man I am.” “We have but one life,” she said. “Why not be a little selfish?” “I can’t,” he shook his head. “There’s just no future for us that doesn’t end in pain for you.” “How can you be so sure? What future do you want, then?” She wished she had told him how much she hated riddles. “I’ve told you. It doesn’t matter what I want.” “Have you given thought to what I might want?” She hissed. “Can’t you see anything else? Can’t you think of anything else? Is everything a miserable tragedy to you?”

“Tragedy’s what I’m best at, Rosie. I’m the star of my own one-man play.” She wanted to slap him. “It’s what will happen. In this world, we don’t get what we want. Why waste time imagining something you can’t ever have? I don’t dare hope. It just makes it hurt more when you don’t get it.”

“Couldn’t you try? For me?” Julian laughed, but there was no mirth to it. He just stared at the dark horizon. “What do you want to hear from me, Rosie? That I want a future? That I—that I want to live? That I want something with you?” “It sounds nice, doesn’t it?” He got to his feet and started to pace, the old pier creaking underneath his boots. She brushed her thumb over the face of her amulet as she watched him. “Oh, I can see it when I close my eyes,” he said. “Warm laughter, light hearts. Never a dull night. Days spent with friends. Pasha never having a reason to cry again…Things we’ll never have. So it goes.” He stared out at the sea, his back to her. “But you’ll survive, Rosie. You were fine before I got here. You’ll be fine after I’ve left. You’re strong like that. Stronger than I am, that’s for sure.” Rosie sighed, feeling as though she had swallowed gravel as she got to her feet. “Right. Well, I can see you’ve made your decision.” She brushed her skirt off, and tried to avoid looking at him. “Be a gentleman and walk me home.” ||

Everything was dark and quiet when they stopped on the porch. The quiet rustling of the garden in the night breeze was the only thing breaking up the awkward, tense silence between them. “Well, here we are,” Julian said, a note of finality in his voice. “At your shop. Uh, end of the line.” Rosie just stared at him. She didn’t want to speak, she knew if she did her voice would break after the first word. “When I came to Vesuvia, I was seeking answers. Finding you, that was a rare treat,” he reached out, his hand hovered over her shoulder, as if he was unsure if he was still allowed to touch her. She grabbed his hand and squeezed, trying to commit the feeling of his grip to memory.

“Regardless of what we are to each other, regardless of…whatever this was,” she said. “I’ve still got your back. If you need something, anything , find me.”

He leaned forward to press a kiss on each side of her face, lips lingering just a second longer against her skin.

“Thank you, my dear. The time we spent together, however brief, mattered to me. I won’t forget it.”

“Stay safe. If not for me, for Pasha.” She turned away, pressing her hand to the door. “As you wish,” he murmured. With a whirl of his cape he was gone, footsteps fading away into a faint echo. Rosie slammed her fist into the door. The tears that had remained hidden started to roll down her cheeks as she stomped inside, the door slamming shut behind her. She swore as she threw her bag onto the counter. It was then that she noticed the shop smelled of cinnamon, and all the lanterns were lit, giving off a warm glow. She wiped hurriedly at her eyes as soft footsteps approached.

“Rosie?” Asra smiled warmly as he slid over the railing of the stairs. “When did you get home?” She tried to steady her breathing, and hoped that her mascara hadn’t run too much. “This morning. I was going to go up to the Palace to check on you, but Faust said you weren’t there.” “Oh she did, did she?” Rosie tried to smile, but her grin more closely resembled a snarl. Faust ducked back under the folds of her master’s sash.

“What’s wrong?” She winced. Of course Asra immediately knew. But she had never been a subtle person.

“It’s nothing. Everything’s fine,” picked up her bag and hung it up, trying to avoid his eyes. “Did you have fun on your little trip? Doing whatever it is you do?” She hadn’t meant for the last of her words to sound so bitter.

“Rosie?” Asra rested his hand over hers. She finally met his eyes. The color purple had never felt so comforting.

“It’s nothing, really. Oh, where would I even begin?” She started straightening the disturbed items on the counter, desperate to keep her hands busy. “It’s nothing. I find a river full of poison, I fall in the canal, and Julian breaks up with me. Which is silly, foolish even, to think we had somethin’ goin’-”

“Woah, slow down!” Asra grabbed her arm. His hand on her arm was warm, and she found she could breathe again. “What…what was that last part?”

“Which ‘last’ part?” She laughed. “The part where I’m a fool of a woman or the part where Julian left me?”

“I…he did? You two were…?”

“Yes, no, oh…I dunnae even know.” She shook her head as Asra offered her his mug of tea. “I mean, we slept together -oh!” Asra had started to choke on his drink. “I didn’t mean like that! I meant how you and I share a bed, that’s all!”

Asra coughed and wiped his mouth. “Let’s go upstairs and talk. I made that tea you like, you look like you could use it.” He took her hand and led the way, thumb brushing absentmindedly over her knuckles. Rosie leaned against him, grateful for his support. “I dunnae know what’s going on with him,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I dunnae want him to face this mess alone.” She sighed and flopped down on the oversized floor cushions. Faust curled around the hot mug Asra set down in front of her, the snake’s tongue flicking out curiously.

“No, I’m not mad at you, little lady.” Rosie said as she patted the snake’s coils. “Even if you did snitch on me.”

“So, what happened? From the beginning.” Asra settled next to her, putting his arm around her as she leaned against him again. She hadn’t expected the story to spill out as easily as it did. Granted there were moments she omitted, but Asra had no reason to know about those. He sighed quietly after she had finished, his thumb running absentmindedly over the rim of his mug.

“That sure sounds like Ilya. And he took all day to end it? And you say you don’t even know if you were really together?”

She shrugged, twisting the hem of her skirt. “It’s all foolishness, I suppose. Just a stupid little fling I got too into.” “Ilya,” Asra’s tone was one she’d seldom heard before. “The only thing he loves more than drama is his own suffering, and he’s determined to chase both.”

“What am I to do?”

He squeezed her hand gently. “What do you want to do?"

“I want to protect him,” she said quietly. “I want to show him that he’s not as terrible as he thinks.” “I can’t stop you,” he said as he scooped up their empty mugs. “I just want you to be careful. Who knows, maybe you can shake him from his ouroboros of self flagellation.” Rosie said nothing, just listened to the sound of water and ceramic clinking as Asra washed up. “Who knows? Stranger things have happened. Just please, don’t hurt yourself in the process.”

Again she said nothing, just slowly pulled a folded piece of cloth out of her pocket. She opened it and stared down at its contents: a small lock of auburn hair, cut when Julian had slept. “Have you eaten? I’ll make dinner,” Asra fell silent as he saw what she held in her hands. “You’re not planning on cursing him, are you? Remember the last one…”

She laughed and shook her head. ‘ You already took care of that, didn’t you ?’ She thought, remembering what Julian had said about the glowing mark on his throat. She wasn’t convinced it was Asra’s handiwork, but she couldn’t help but wonder. “I did not curse the last one,” she said as she started to rummage through a nearby chest. “There’s no magic involved in dumping a bag of termites outside of someone’s house. Can you get me our jar of black salt?”

“Of course. I’ll get candles, too.”

‘ Let’s see, myrrh for protection. Clover for luck, borage for spell power… ’ Rosie ran through a list of reagents as she dug through the chest and cabinets. ‘ Rose quartz for… ’ she shook her head and slammed the box that held the small pink crystals shut. ‘ Citrine for hope. Bloodstone for courage. ’

“So,” Asra sat across from her, the candles lit and the reagents laid out on the coffee table. “What do you have in mind?” “Taglock,” she said as she poured a layer of black salt into a bottle. “If he doesn’t want me around to physically protect him, the least I can do is offer my magic.” “Taglocks are…they can be difficult. They take a lot of energy and a lot of focus. Are you sure?”

She nodded as she added the crushed herbs. He watched her while she worked, never saying a word, though his eyes were full of concern. The soft glow of the candles gave her pale hair an ethereal halo as she sealed the vessel shut with wax. “Here goes,” she murmured as she tightly gripped the bottle. Magic started to crackle over her fingers, and the ring of gold in her eyes started to glow. As worried as he was, Asra couldn’t help but feel proud of how far her magic had come. But his pride turned to horror as glowing, teal colored cracks began to appear in her hands, the spell bottle rattling violently. She wasn’t just extending her energy, she was pouring out all of it. “Rosie?” She didn’t hear him. The glowing cracks in her hands started to widen. “Rosie, stop!” Asra knocked the bottle out of her hands. It smashed on the floor, sending broken glass and smoke everywhere. She stared open mouthed at the smoldering remains, the taglock destroyed.

“I’m sorry, I-” “What the hell, Asra?!” She rounded on him. “I’m sorry! But you were using so much power, you were going to hurt yourself,” he tried to take her hand and show her the still-glowing welts, but she shook him off. She swore and kicked the coffee table out of the way. Asra followed close behind her as she stomped back downstairs. “Rosie,” he said in a quiet voice. She ignored him as she pulled a hefty moonshine jug out of a cabinet and drank deeply. “I really didn’t mean to. I was scared you were going to be hurt.” She glared at him as she took another swig and leaned against the sink.

“We could try again, some other form of protective-” “Wouldn’t much matter now. The link to him is destroyed. Doubt I’ll be able to get another.” “But-” “Doesn’t even like magic. Makes him all antsy. Cannae just give him a sachet and say ‘please hang onto these magic plants so you dunnae get drawn an’ quartered’, can I?” “You could,” he said gently. She snorted and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I should have known… I’m sleeping on the couch. Goodnight.”

Asra sighed, hurt and guilt in his eyes as he turned away and retreated upstairs. Rosie finished the last of her drink before curling up into a tight ball on the couch. She grabbed a pillow and screamed into it until her voice was hoarse, staring at the wall until she fell into a fitful sleep. She had a sinking feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better.

#kismet #rosie #julian #julian devorak #arcana #the arcana #ive posted previews of this chapter before but its so fun to finally see it all together #also fun to see how rosie :“) tends to lash out at the people she loves when shes upset :”)#and by fun i mean very sad #also RIP to her ex that ended up w a termite infestation. She really said im playing the long game. gonna fuck up your houses foundation

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sansajonquil · 1 year ago

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might talk to Dean Winchester more ;; can relate to his mark of cain && general personality.

it is quite interesting with the prejudice I was met with during my life. Yesterday, I had an antigen test where I self isolated at home upstairs in my room && was talking to myself on tumblr. I put the kettle on the floor of my room. It was pretty nice & strange to be back in the rpc, although I tentatively stepped in the water with water washing around my ankles ;; sansa talking to cesare w a visual accompaniment at westeros cafe + athelstan talking to lagertha & ragnar. Some people also followed me first :o which was nice they were interested in me / my blog && messaging/roleplaying with me. I had also gotten used to talking to myself ooc as especially differentiated from the older times of rp when I felt very choked and judged ;; noted when I said at the time to ariel that I didn’t feel like she judged me. Yet some seemed to judge quickly at the marshmallow squishy comforting / thumping Julian’s back like wechat sticker ;; tavvy’s toy && my pinned post talking about my own rules I keep edit adding to find ways to adapt happily into rpc/life in general. ( drinking water/fresh air walking ) && in perpetual building frustration, I also wrote how I didn’t stand by callout posts && how damaging they could be in pushing one to the edge to write endless goals ( this stemmed from my worry in talking to ariel again as I spoke to her a lot about my anxiety during university as it was really horrifying yet strangely fulfilling ( as noted on my wordpress in which I now breathed life in the mundaneity) & I knew from clues/hints she talked behind my back to other rp friends when I was drowning. I also talked to myself how bad it was to live out my entire life on the rpc / site & to just immerse myself into happy && it was great fun to ascend to heaven and valhalla without caring what others think.

my relationship with orion is interesting. She, with ariel saying some context of my experience in rpc & how it seemed to affect my life/thoughts, said something about study of oneself in dialectical behavioural therapy ( pulling books from the city of weep ) as she had brain fog too. this was in a october day.

my relationship with johnnie is a bit more disjointed. I watched many YouTube videos of his, and felt he was with me during my library study ;; when I felt I needed to be completely alone && walking along the road like boulevard of broken dreams && on my own mahogany ship sailing. When i watched poison, I thought his red colour lips was like beautiful red paint 🎨 ;; I think YouTube && doing art was part of my experience when writing athelstan park drabble — colour within chaos. I could also relate to past & present selves ;; when he is singing always looking for ways to improve himself && getting frustrated && throwing up blood into the desert outback from his eternal sitting in barn. I felt he was speaking to me when he talked about growing up and that everyone was worried about me and that I didn’t deserve hate. && then other direct messages he said like I was a bad person and what I did now didn’t really matter and doesn’t excuse my not trying to understand properly to the level of fogginess that I nearly died in my sleep/didn’t sleep to near dying, yet he could appreciate people who bettered themselves contrasted in confusion.

when people spam calling me, or anyone in general, I do not think they understand how unsafe individuals feel. When people spam call me yesterday, I watch unbroken by melovin ;; yet thought this was very irritating out to get me within me trying to live life from the complete mess that life gave me. I also rightfully think in secret of vengeance, which help me sleep :)

I thought it very creepy when brandon said I was a fake-ass wannabe while wearing ryuk make-up ;; yet knew it was a weird ironic short visual of black comedy — of people trying to find their own voice && visual style of presentation && the ulzzang emo MySpace days.

#personal

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brassandblades · 5 years ago

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Sleepless Pirate 1/?

Of course he's a terrible sleeper. Months and years spent on rickety and constantly rocking bundles of wood planks has made him a light sleeper.

He didnt admit it till many years later, years of practicing trust in your love and trust in Him- but all he could think of was his first ship crashing. The moment Mazelinka's ship sailed off, the horizon shrinking, he gallantly announced that he was going to unpack his things and promptly had a teeny tiny anxiety attack. He handled it heroically, his smile wide and his eyes deeply tired. There was only a ship full of pirates seeking bounty as he walked among them. Who knew how fast news of bounty for a Count's Killer traveled, surely it was just barely making the rounds now, as they left the distancing shores? Definitely. It must be.

These morning stories always came from a careful and quiet place in Julian's memories, the sunlight through the window just as soft and careful as these tales. The look in his eyes speaks of restless nights even as he sleeps more peacefully under your arms than he ever as before.

He pulls you closer, breaking out of his reverie, sighing as you run your hands through his hair, carefully untangling any knots you come across. His whole body relaxes, breathes slowly, feeling safe with you wrapped around him. Surely the morning duties can wait for a few more minutes?

#julian darling #julian devorak #julian devorak the arcana #julian ficlet #ficlets #hmmmm...#i started watching black sails and ive been thinking a LOT about julians pirate days......#i might continue this series #its set in your bedroom overlooking vesuvia #also how fuckin LONG are my sentences?#i just keep throwing in commas and moving along like. Okay

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mordoriscalling · 4 years ago

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Stay or Sail Away (5/6)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (@geraskier-trashh @negativenuggetz)

A/N: oh lord this wasn’t supposed to be 3k words long XD Hope you like it tho!

***

It was a bad idea to tell Geralt not to wear all black. Well, the scarf is grey and the coat and the shoes are black, but they don’t matter. Geralt’s just taken them off to reveal a three-piece suit and a shirt with two top buttons undone, the clothing in a deep, navy blue colour. His eyes stand out beautifully against it. Geralt in navy blue makes Jaskier want to weep and it’s only half-past noon. To add to Jaskier’s tragic swoon, Geralt’s hair is braided away from his face into a lovely plait at the back of his head (which Jaskier suspects is Ciri’s doing). It just shouldn’t look as good as it does. Geralt is so stunning today that words other than what the fuck do not begin to cover it.

Not to blurt out that in lieu of a greeting, Jaskier spreads his arms wide and exclaims, “Ahoy, captain!”

Geralt snorts with disgust. “Never say that again.”

Jaskier laughs out loud. “Come in, come in,” he says as he ushers Geralt into the living room, “make yourself at home. Are you hungry? It’s last chance for a snack before I put on some eyeliner and we’re off!”

“Eyeliner?” Geralt repeats with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, to finish off this look!” he replies as he gestures at the floral Gucci suit he’s wearing. The outfit’s actually demure considering his usual fashion choices. Bright colours and ridiculous patterns are his go-to but today is the first day of his life when he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. Much. “Help yourself with something from the kitchen if you want,” he says over his shoulder, already leaving for the bathroom.

The makeup takes just a minute or two – eyeliner application has become much less of dark magic with practice. He decides to put on some pretty pink lip gloss as well because, although he’s going to spare his family today and won’t flaunt his queerness at them, he still has to do something. It’s not at all because he hopes his fiancé might like it.

(Geralt’s suit)

(Jaskier’s suit)

When he strides into the living room, he poses like a model and asks, “How do I look?”

Geralt, who sits on the couch, stares him up and down. His gaze almost makes Jaskier blush, so does his smirk. Both border on appreciative. “Really good,” he says.

Since Jaskier expected some mean comment, he almost topples over in shock at the compliment. He sputters, definitely flushing a bit, but quickly re-establishes a working link between his mouth and his brain. “Of course I do, darling,” he replies with a wink. Geralt smirks in that sexy way again. Jaskier has to give himself a good mental shake to stop staring. Clearing his throat, he starts thinking out loud, “So! Have I got everything for the party? I’ve got Geralt, and then the present, and then... Ah! The rings!”

Jaskier sits down next to Geralt and pulls the box out of the pocket of his jacket. Raising the lid, he reveals two rings seated within, one silver and one gold. “Should I kneel?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier laughs with delight, then takes out the silver ring and passes it to Geralt. It’a simple but chunky band with tiny engravings. Jaskier figured Geralt wouldn’t appreciate anything too showy. Geralt takes it and inspects what’s engraved on it. “What kind of flowers are those?” he asks.

“Buttercups,” Jaskier explains, “That’s what my name means. My grandma always told me I’m a jaskier.”

Pretty but poisonous. It’s extremely fitting.

Geralt only hmms and slides the ring on his finger. It’s a perfect fit but it’s no thanks to Jaskier’s genius deduction or anything; he simply knew Geralt’s ring size because Geralt told him. After their phone conversation regarding ring preferences, family drama and other things, they kept talking. Geralt even began starting conversations by himself – he’d send some texts about Ciri like “Ciri says hi” or “Ciri’s playing that song again”. It made Jaskier melt every time.

“Look what you bought me in return, darling,” he says, smiling excitedly, and puts on the gold ring. It’s much more flashy than Geralt’s – a signet with a three-dimensional head of a wolf. “White Wolf” is apparently Geralt’s nickname and a pseudonym of sorts. Wolves are his favourite animals, too.

Jaskier holds out his hand, putting it next to Geralt’s on the couch, and admires the rings on their fingers. “They suit us,” he says quietly

Geralt hmms. “They do.”

The drive is two hours long. Geralt insisted on driving even though it’s Jaskier’s car. Jaskier has a suspicion that driving is an excuse not to listen to him as he’s going over the essential family drama, but it’s mostly for his own sake anyway. He just wants to delude himself that Geralt will be well-prepared for everything and all will go smoothly. They will be fine. They must.

When they pull up in front of Jaskier family’s mansion, panic and second thoughts wash over him alternately in cold and hot waves. As they walk out of the car and Geralt hands him the keys, Jaskier hides within himself and observes the reality unravel a sense of detachment. He doesn’t want to be a part of the upcoming disaster.

“Ready?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier only looks at him helplessly. Geralt offers him his arm and Jaskier takes it like a lifeline. He clutches on it, the touch grounding him, as they walk towards the front door silently.

“Should’ve guessed you were rich,” Geralt remarks as he takes in the mansion looming before them.

“My success in music is all my own,” Jaskier replies feistily, “it took me ten years.”

Geralt wisely doesn’t say anything else and Jaskier settles down, letting out a shaky breath. He always gets very defensive of his achievements. Sis parents paid for nothing; he never asked them to. He hates that people assume differently.

The entrance hall is empty when they invite themselves in, but not for long. Just as they manage to take off their coats, they hear someone coming down the stairs. Jaskier looks up to see Rozalia, his older sister. She’s only one year older than him but doesn’t look a day over thirty. In appearance, she’s all mum: luxuriant dark locks, cat-green eyes, tan skin, and regal features.

“Julek!” she exclaims with a smile and rushes down the stairs into Jaskier’s open arms. They laugh when their bodies collide.

“Hey, horror sister!” Jaskier says, the words their special greeting.

“Hey, wild brother!” Rozalia replies, as tradition commands.

When Jaskier releases her from his embrace, he goes on to introduce Rozalia and Geralt to each other.

“So this is your fiancé,” Rozalia drawls after she and Geralt shake hands, clearly amused, and looks Geralt up and down. “Holy shit. I can see why you kept him a secret.”

Jaskier purses his lips, putting a possessive arm around Geralt’s waist. “Roza, you��re married.”

Rozalia only smirks, then turns on her heel and starts walking down the corridor towards the living room. “Everyone! Julek’s here!” she announces loudly.

“Julek?” Geralt mutters to Jaskier as they start following Rozalia.

“Diminutive of Julian,” Jaskier explains quietly.

“Sweet.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Jaskier snorts under his breath but doesn’t reply. The sensation of detachment from the reality is there again and Jaskier doesn’t fight it – the distance between him and everything else wards off the impending panic attack.

Like in a dream, he sees his other sister Amelia, who’s five years younger than him, marching towards them, her mop of short golden curls bouncing up and down as she walks. With her sweet face and wide blue eyes (just like Jaskier’s, which they both got from their dad), she looks like an angel. (Spoiler alert: she’s not. She can be the worst. That’s kind of the youngest’s privilege, though).

When Amelia hugs him and Jaskier introduces her and Geralt to each other, he’s still in a daze. Amelia walks on his side as they all enter the living room, chatting about something to him, but he doesn’t really hear it due to the ringing sound in his ears.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice rumbles.

Jaskier looks into the sun-like, concerned eyes. The warmth calms him down.

He takes in everyone in the room: his parents, Alfred and Wanda. Amelia, Rozalia and her husband Silvio. Dad’s brother, uncle Konrad, with his wife and son Ferrant. Mum’s sisters, aunts Maria, Hanna and Anna with their husbands. All watching Jaskier and Geralt expectantly.

Jaskier puts on his best smile and lays a hand on the small of Geralt’s back. “Everyone, this is Geralt Rivia. A Royal Navy commander,” he says and observes, delighting in the array of shocked reactions his family display. “My fiancé,” he adds with pride that he doesn’t even have fake.

A round of introductions follows. Geralt shakes everyone’s hands and says nice things like “honoured to meet you finally”, “Jaskier told me so much about you” and “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you earlier”. It’s actually pretty convincing, Jaskier has to give him that. Still, it doesn’t stop one of the questions Jaskier dreads the most.

“But why didn’t you tell us anything, darling?” his mum asks as everyone sits down at the table in the dining room.

This is it, Jaskier thinks mournfully, this is when it all goes to hell. At least Geralt sits next to him. It would be a quick departure – Jaskier will just grab his fiancé and run out of the house.

“Exactly,” Amelia seconds, her slender arms crossed before her chest, “it isn’t like you. You would tell the whole world about your engagement in some wild Twitter thread.”

Shit. She got him there. “W-well, I...”

“I asked him not to,” Geralt comes to the rescue. At the confused looks from everyone around, he goes on, “Not until I go on at least one more deployment and Jaskier’s absolutely sure he wants this. He should have it easier in case he changes his mind. Fewer people know about it, less painful it is to announce.”

Jaskier’s dad frowns. “But why do you assume he’d do that?” he inquires, regarding Geralt with suspicion.

“Being in a relationship with a marine officer is hard,” Geralt replies with a heavy sigh and makes a dramatic pause. Jaskier’s family looks at him with almost bated breath but he takes his time, the bastard. He already has them hanging off his every word. “My deployments are rarely shorter than nine months long,” he confesses ruefully.

A stunned silence falls over the room. Jaskier’s family stare at him with disbelief – they all know Jaskier wouldn’t be able to survive a relationship like that, not with how needy he can be.

Of bloody course Geralt would take it too far at the very start.

“But I’m stubborn!” Jaskier exclaims as cheerfully as he can, “Won’t have anyone else but Geralt.”

“Well, that’s all you,” Amelia says, and Jaskier heaves a sigh of relief.

It’s not that Jaskier doesn’t appreciate Amelia’s inquisitive mind. She’s always had the tendency to analyze and look into everything until every fact and detail adds up. Her character makes her the perfect heir to the family business, which she’s agreed to gladly. Ever since she made that decision, Jaskier choosing music is much less of a painful topic for their family. And so, Jaskier certainly values his younger sister’s nature of constant question-asking, but not in moments like this.

Amelia appears to already know what is going on here and Jaskier only prays she’ll be nice enough not to delve into it too much. Maybe some warning glances from Rozalia and begging ones from Jaskier will stop her. Maybe.

Food is served, alcohol starts flowing. Jaskier’s family begin asking Geralt about himself but Jaskier always tries to twist the conversation so that questions about their relationship don’t come. Until they do.

After they sang dad happy birthday, told him their wishes and gave him the gifts, it’s time to eat the birthday cake. Just when Jaskier puts half of his slice on Geralt’s plate (he doesn’t even like cake), Silvio asks, “When did you two meet?”

Geralt and Jaskier share a look. Jaskier opens his mouth to answer but it’s Geralt who says, “It was two years ago. I walked into a bar where Jaskier was playing. He asked me for a review of his songs after his performance.”

Geralt has the audacity to smirk at him so Jaskier, just to be a little shit, adds, “In three words or less!”

Geralt doesn’t appreciate this contribution judging by how he narrows his eyes at him. Jaskier knows they’re treading a dangerous ground – in their stupidity, they didn’t discuss the details of their “first meeting”. Geralt started it, though.

“And what did you say?” Silvio questions.

“That they don’t exist,” Geralt replies without a beat, still staring Jaskier in the eye.

“Whaaat don’t exist?” Jaskier’s father says what Jaskier himself almost blurts out.

“The creatures in his songs,” Geralt explains.

The affronted noise that leaves Jaskier's mouth is beyond his control. “It’s folk! The genre allows for fantastical elements like that!” He huffs. “But you know, Geralt with his commander mind always wants the facts and only facts.”

“So you don’t like Julek’s singing?” Rozalia asks Geralt.

Geralt denies this with a shake of his head. “Jaskier sings beautifully,” he replies, “Like a siren.” He lays his hand on Jaskier’s and looks into Jaskier’s eyes. “My siren,” he adds quietly.

Jaskier has to gape a little. He barely restrains himself from mouthing are fucking serious? because, really, Geralt can’t just say things like that. When he regains his composure, he decides to be mean. “I told you not to call me that, dear heart,” he says, “Not exactly flattering. Sirens lured sailors to their demise.”

Geralt does that lethally adorable head tilt and answers, “Still would go for you.”

He can hear aunt Maria cooing in the background, bless her heart, but Jaskier almost doesn’t register it. His attention is fully on Geralt – there’s something new in his gaze, beneath the teasing glint. Something guarded, tentative and true. Jaskier cocks his head to the side just a little bit. Geralt notices the question in the gesture (they’re really getting good at reading each other, aren’t they?) and answers by raising an eyebrow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Jaskier experiences the feeling of a thousand butterflies fluttering their wings in his stomach when he understands – it’s an invitation. He accepts.

Geralt’s lips stretch into a small smile and he squeezes Jaskier’s hand on the table, intertwining their fingers together. Jaskier’s heart almost gives out and he grins, giddy like a teenager who’s just found out their crush is reciprocated. It’s not that far off from the truth anyway.

Uncle Konrad asks Geralt about the Navy. The two of them start discussing working in the army but Jaskier only half-listens, too focused on cherishing the feel of Geralt’s palm engulfing his. Until Geralt takes his hand away, that is.

With a displeased grunt, Geralt takes his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket. The screen displays an incoming call. “I should take this,” he says apologetically and quickly walks out of the dining room.

The moment Geralt leaves, the assault is unleashed upon Jaskier. His family bombard him with so many questions and remarks at once that he only hears what Rozalia sitting next to him says. “Didn’t know you were into older men,” she comments, swirling the wine in her glass innocently.

“He’s forty!”

She frowns. “Then what’s the deal with the hair?”

Jaskier freezes in panic. Fucking hell, what is the deal with the hair? He has no idea. Geralt refused to answer his questions. “W-well,” he stutters out, “it’s really... uhh...” He clears his throat. “Not my story to tell. Geralt doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Rozalia hums, an amused twinkle in her eyes. “How mysterious.”

“He sure does seem mysterious,” uncle Konrad chimes in, “And...”

“Quiet?” Ferrant suggests.

“Taciturn?” Silvio supplies.

“Closed off?” aunt Hanna adds.

“Why are you saying it like it’s a bad thing?” Jaskier cuts in, interrupting this merry-go-round offering of adjectives before it spirals into everyone calling Geralt a brute.

“It’s not,” aunt Anna reassures, “It’s just that... I’m sure I’m not the only one wondering how on earth the relationship is even working with him being like this and you being, well...” she trails off and gestures at Jaskier with her fork. “You.”

“Frist off, I’ll take this as a compliment –”

“Of course, dear.”

“ – and secondly, even though we’re different, our differences only keep things... interesting, if you get my meaning.” Jaskier throws in a telling wink, and his uncles chuckle.

“Julian!” both his parents cry out, scandalised.

“Honestly,” Jaskeir goes on, unmoved, “deep down, he and I are quite the same.”

“Indeed?” Amelia asks, “Is he also a bastard at heart?”

“Yesss!” he hisses out, wildly pleased. Sometimes he loves Amelia’s analytic mind.

“He actually seems like a sweetheart,” his mum says, warming Jaskier to his very heart. He loves his mum so much �� she always sees the best in people.

“He’s both, really,” he replies, “He’s certainly a sweetheart to his daughter.” Jaskier delights in shocking his family once again. Then, an idea pops up in his mind, “If you ask him about her, he’ll open right up.”

Before anyone can ask anything else, Geralt returns. After taking one look at him, Jaskier knows something is wrong. There’s tension about him but his face is a blank mask.

“Something wrong, love?” Jaskier whispers, barely realising that he even said the endearment.

“Work,” Geralt grunts.

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s father says, “Julian tells us you have a daughter?”

Geralt face lights up immediately. It’s such a charming sight. Jaskier’s chest constricts with how everything in him screams and begs don’t ever go.

“Yes,” he answers and launches into talking about Cirilla – how old she is, where she goes to school, what she likes doing. How she loved to paint her little hands on the walls when she was six. Soon after that, everyone shares funny stories about children, either their own or themselves as kids.

Jaskier zones out a bit, too busy wondering why Geralt took his hand away when he reach for it.

Later, Jaskier’s parents invite Geralt to stay for the night, which makes the fake-fiance scheme a success; they wouldn’t allow someone who they thought to be a stranger to sleep in their house.

Geralt doesn’t take them up on their offer.

TBC

Part 6

***

A/N: Rozalia is the Horror while Jaskier is the Wild 💕 (Amelia is the nasty angel baby. They adore her for it. Must protecc).

(Also, I love making up OCs, can you tell? XD)

#myfic #geraskier #the Sailor and the Singer AU #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #fake dating #geralt x jaskier

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themanicmagician · 5 years ago

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Shipwrecked [4/4]

[AO3]

Summary: When Redd’s boat crashes upon the shore of Bastion Island, Tom reluctantly takes him in while he recovers. Tom despises Redd for his past deceit, but when he has no choice but to spend time with him, Tom is reminded why he fell in love with the wily fox in the first place.

“Welcome!” Mabel chirped, ever a font of enthusiasm. She clasped her paws together. “How can I help you two?”

Redd, looking decidedly uncomfortable, did not speak up. It fell upon Tom to explain.

“He needs a wardrobe.” Tom said. “He lost most of his things in the shipwreck, so we’re replacing what we can.”

Tom could admit, to himself alone, that he would miss the sight of Redd in his shirts. But Redd really should wear more fitting, comfortable clothes instead of baggy tees. And besides, Tom didn’t have that many spares.

“Oh, of course! How many outfits were you thinking?”

“Let’s do five, to start with. And two sets of sleepwear.”

Mabel nodded, then beckoned Redd over to the fitting platform. “Right this way, Mr. Redd.”

“It’s just Redd.” He did not follow the porcupine’s instructions right away, instead murmuring to Tom: “I’ll pay you back for all of it when I can.”

Redd was embarrassed—embarrassed to be unable to provide for himself, to be forced to rely upon Tom’s charity.

“Don’t worry about it.”

This didn’t reassure Redd; his mouth twisted in discomfort.

“But…”

“Everything alright?” Mabel circled back to them, tape measure in hand.

“Yes, just give us a moment, please.”

When Mabel returned to the platform, Tom tried a different approach. “You’ve been a great help with the boys lately.” Indeed, story time with Redd was now a nightly ritual in the Nook household. They were steadily making their way through Flurry’s entire library. “Just think of it as repayment for that, alright?”

Redd mumbled something unintelligible, but finally nodded his acceptance. They joined Mabel. Redd stepped up on the platform, and Mabel began taking his measurements, jotting them down in a little spiral notebook.

Sable watched them shrewdly from her sewing station. Redd and Sable had never met in person before, but both knew of each other thanks to stories from Tom. Redd saw Sable observing him, and he offered a sheepish smile.

“I suppose we can’t do a complete wingspan measurement for now.” Mable mused. Redd turned away from Sable to look at the younger hedgehog, grateful for the plausible excuse to break away. “I’ll just have to use the measurement of one arm for the other as well. Oh! We can fix you up with a new sling, too. Wouldn’t be hard at all.”

“It’s fine, really,” Redd demurred. “It’s not necessary.”

“Oh pish. It’ll just be a bit of fabric, won’t it?” Mabel trotted over to her sister. “Sable, surely you’ve got something lying around that we could use.”

Redd threw a helpless look to Tom. Tom only shrugged. Once Mabel got started on something, there was no stopping her.

“Here.” Sable offered up a stripe of black fabric. Mable seized it with a happy “Thanks sis!” and then spent a good ten minutes between the front of the store and the back storage room, putting together an ensemble for Redd.

“Okay, you can try these on to start with.” Mabel set a bundle of clothes down in the changing room. “Do you need any help getting dressed?”

Redd colored. “No, I can handle it myself.”

As they waited for Redd to get changed, Tom chatted lightly with Mabel. The young hedgehog was overjoyed that their middle sibling, Label, was making frequent trips into Bastion. By the time Redd emerged from the dressing room, Tom had learned more than he ever needed to know about how Label’s hot pink clothing line was revolutionizing the fashion industry.

“Well?” Redd asked, scuffing his foot on the carpet.

Tom gave him a once-over. Mabel had selected comfortable clothes, suited for island living. Redd wore tan corduroy shorts, and a light pastel color block t-shirt. He didn’t look like a sleazy businessman, but like a true islander. Like he’d fit in well here.

Tom shoved the thought aside. He and Redd had made amends, but Redd was still going to leave in a few short weeks. Best not to dwell on things like that.

“It suits you,” Tom told him.

Redd muttered a thanks before Mabel dragged him off to try on something else.

~*~

Tom chopped apples into slices in his kitchenette for today’s lunch. He was fond of pears, but was infinitely grateful to Alex for bringing other fruits to the island, thereby expanding their cuisine possibilities. He was preparing fruit salad, made of the island’s entire available assortment, and included generous scoops of orange sherbet as well.

He stopped by the Cranny to drop off the boys’ lunches before he headed outside. He found Redd exactly where he thought he would: by the sea, an easel and canvas in front of him. He was working with acrylics today. Redd was painting the shoreline before him, capturing a wave mid-crash. Even partly-done, his work was impressive. It was a bit of luck that the shipwreck had spared the fox’s dominant hand.

A little ways in front of Redd was Julian. The unicorn must have assumed Redd was here to paint him, because he was currently splayed out on sand in a very dramatic pose.

“Make sure you get my best side, glitter!”

Redd, focused on painting a collection of wispy clouds, didn’t pay Julian any mind. Unperturbed, Julian remained in his chosen pose.

Tom nudged Redd’s shoulder with the bowl of fruit salad.

“Lunch.”

“Mmm.” Redd’s gaze didn’t lift from his canvas.

There was a splotch of blue paint on one of his ears. How on earth had he managed that?

Tom set the fruit salad down on the sand beside Redd. The fox’s tail swished lazily back and forth as he worked.

“It looks very good.” Tom complimented.

“Flatterer. I’m out of practice. Been a while since I’ve done something like this.” A while since he’d patined original art instead of copying classical pieces.

Redd added layers to the wavers. They began to look like wild, angry things.

Tom frowned.

“I spoke with Orville. He has spare life jackets he can donate for your boat. And he’s happy to go over basic sailing techniques with you. It won’t be like that again.”

“It was so sudden.” Redd explained, at length. His brush paused on the canvas as his gaze became distant. “One moment the waves were calm, and the next, they were roiling. I’m lucky I got away with just this.” He gestured to his splinted arm.

“Maybe someone can go back with you.” Tom suggested. “One of the dodos at the airline could sail with you and then fly back at port.”

The light in Redd’s eyes dimmed slightly. “Oh, yeah. The dodos. Maybe.”

The air between them felt thick with awkwardness. Tom kicked at the sand, begging someone up there for a distraction.

His prayer was answered in the form of Julian.

“My goodness!” Julian gasped, clutching a hoof to his chest as he ogled Redd’s work. “What a painting! You have captured my beautiful essence! Sublime! Magnifique!”

Redd leveled him a flat look.

“Yes, that’s exactly what he was going for. You truly have a mind for art, Julian.” Tom said.

Julian gave a bow before he pranced off with a self-satisfied smirk.

Redd snickered. Tom chuckled. They seemed to set each other off. Once they started, they couldn’t stop, until they were both letting loose full belly laughs.

~*~

June was a welcome reprieve from the previous month of cold rain. The air was mostly pleasant, occasionally humid. Rain came in short bursts and cleared up just as quickly.

Tonight was mildly warm, and they’d constructed a decent-sized bonfire in the town square. Residents mingled around the area. Flurry and Diana sipped drinks and chatted. Lucky was showing Del the proper marshmallow roasting technique. Julian and Elvis were arguing over whose turn it was to sing at the microphone. Fang grumbled about “kids and their wild parties” and yet mingled with the group anyway.

Tom sat on the swell of a grassy hill, overlooking the plaza. Sable was at his right. She could never sit entirely still, so she’d brought a half-finished scarf along with her to work on.

He watched the impromptu party for several moments, until a thought occurred to him. He straightened up from his casual slouch. Where were the boys? They knew the island, but it was still scorpion season.

“Sable, have you seen—?”

She pointed before he finished his sentence. Tom squinting in the dim lighting to see what she was gesturing towards.

“Oh. Oh no.”

“Mhm.”

Celeste had dragged her brother over to her telescope. Blathers was peering through it as Celeste chattered at his side. The siblings were utterly preoccupied with their occupation, completely oblivious to the three forms sidling up behind them. Timmy, Tommy, and Redd were inching closer and closer. Each of them was holding a fake rubber tarantula. Tom had raised an eyebrow when the boys ordered a box of them a week ago, but hadn’t thought to question why they wanted them. He’d just assumed they were for the Cranny’s stock.

Timmy giggled visibly, his tiny shoulders shaking with laughter. Redd shushed him.

“Shouldn’t we stop them?” Tom asked.

“Better Blathers than me.” Sable said simply, needles clicking lightly as she knit. There was a gleam of mischief in her brown eyes.

“Sable!” She startled a laugh from him.

The boys rose up on their tip-toes to place their fake bugs on Blathers’ shoulders; Redd deposited his rubber tarantula atop the owl’s head.

Blathers, feeling the touch, lifted his wing in confusion. He squawked at the bugs on his wings, and flapped them in panic. In his fright, the tarantula on his head slipped down, landing right between his eyes. Blathers’ resultant squeal turned everyone’s heads.

Timmy and Tommy leaned on each other, bodies wracked with laughter. Redd snickered.

Blathers, having now realized he’d been played, stomped over to the perpetrators. He pointed an accusatory wing at Redd.

“You! You—You—!”

“Hey, hey, calm down, Babbles. Don’t get your feathers in a twist.”

Blathers sputtered indignantly.

“You wouldn’t hurt an invalid, would you?”

“I... well...no…but still!”

Redd sobered. “Sorry, I guess we went too far. I apologize. Put ‘er there.” Redd held out his hand for a shake, to make amends.

Blathers took it—then shrieked again. Redd had palmed him another fake spider. The boys started giggling again.

Tom facepalmed.

~*~

Tom deposited the splint and sling on the coffee table. The fur on Redd’s now-freed arm was a bit matted, unwashed for seven weeks. But the arm itself appeared sound.

“Well?” Tom asked, a touch anxiously. “How does it feel?”

Redd flexed his arm carefully. Drew his fingers into a loose fist before he extended them again.

“A bit tender. Stiff. But better.”

Redd’s ship had been fully patched up about a week ago. Now that the fox’s arm was finally healed, there was no real reason for Redd to stick around. He had confessed to coming here to see Tom. But Tom couldn’t give his heart away so easily a second time. And Redd had never promised to stay, only to visit.

Tom busied himself by picking at some fuzz on the arm of the couch. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to get on your way then.”

“...Actually, I figured I should stick around for a bit.”

“Oh?” Tom was grateful his tone came off at just the right level of interested, not too eager.

“Sure. Should probably hang around another week. Maybe more. You know, just to make sure my arm is strong enough. It’ll be a problem if I get out there and can’t really grasp the wheel.”

“Uncle Redd!”

“...Redd!”

Timmy and Tommy burst into the room, a whirlwind of excitement. Tommy was clutching a new book to his chest.

“Can you read this one to us tonight?”

“...night?”

“Of course.”

The twins noticed Redd’s discarded splint, and squeezed themselves on either side of Redd to cuddle.

“Careful, boys.” Tom warned. He didn’t want them to accidentally hurt Redd in their enthusiasm.

“They’re fine,” Redd said, softly. He gently ruffled the fur on both the boys’ heads.

“K.K. is in town today. Can we all go see him?”

“...him?”

“Who?” Redd asked.

“He’s Uncle Tom’s favorite.”

“...favorite.”

Redd raised an eyebrow at Tom. “Favorite?” He repeated, dryly.

“Favorite musician.” Tom corrected.

“Can we go? Please?”

“...please?”

“Why not.” Tom said. The boys cheered and scampered off to get ready.

~*~

Lightning bugs blinked in the air as the quartet meandered from the Cranny over to the town plaza. K.K. sat on his customary stool, giving his guitar a quick tuning before his performance. A few villagers were already milling around the area, waiting for the evening concert to begin.

“Right, my dudes and lady dudes, any request?” The musician asked the crowd.

Suggestions were hollered out, and K.K. inevitably went with a jaunty fairground melody. Diana and Julian clapped along to the melody. Isabelle coaxed the twins into dancing with her, and the trio jumped and swayed merrily in the center of the plaza. One song melted into the next, and more villagers joined in. Muffy twirled in elegant pirouettes. Del performed a shambling robot. Neither of them really matched the tone of the music, but they were having fun.

Redd nudged Tom. “You should be out there too.”

“Me?” Tom laughed. “Hardly.”

“What, are you shy?” Redd teased, before he offered his hand. “C’mon. I’ll go with you.”

After a beat, Tom placed his paw in Redd’s. It was warm.

Redd didn’t bring them to the center, instead lingering on the fringe of the group. Neither of them tried to keep up with the frantic beat of the music, instead swaying with each other, from side to side. They were close like this, closer than they had been in some time. Redd smelled like the sea, like his acrylics, like the lemon-scented soap Tom owned. Their noses brushed by accident.

“Sorry.” Redd murmured.

“No, no—it’s fine.” Tom had one hand splayed across Redd’s back. For support.

The music shifted to something slower. Tom groaned inwardly as he recognized the melody. K.K. Love Song. He glanced over to K.K. Timmy and Tommy were next to him, looking rather smug. Had they been the ones to request the song? After all he’d done for them…

At least Redd was unfamiliar with the music. The one saving grace.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Never a good sign.” Tom quipped, weakly.

“I’m grateful for everything you all did to rebuild my ship.” It was still shocking to hear Redd speak so plainly, so honestly. “But, if it was alright with you, I thought. That maybe instead of going, I could...stay?”

Tom froze. It was what he’d wanted, and now that it was being offered to him, he could scarcely believe it.

Redd mistook his silence for a denial. He began to draw away.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ll go. I can go tomorrow.”

Tom clutched his arm so he wouldn’t slip away. “No! No, I mean—yes. If you wanted to stay I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Redd’s smile was like the sun.

“Good. Great. Yeah.” He let out a breathless laugh of relief.

“We’ll have to pick a plot of land for you. Alex can help coordinate that.”

“We’ll be neighbors. Neighbors,” Redd tested the word out, and seemed to like it. “I’ll badger you for a cup of sugar. You’ll yell at me for mowing my lawn too early in the morning.”

“The boys will lose their baseball in your yard. You’ll have to return it. Over and over again.”

“Will I? Maybe I’ll be a crotchety neighbor. Who wants those darned whippersnappers messing about my perfectly-trimmed lawn?”

Tom laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

Tom did.

It was a good idea for them to live separately, for now. They would wade into it slowly this time, not plummet into the deep end right off. They’d see what happened, how it played out. But even though they were taking their relationship slow, that didn’t mean he couldn’t…

Tom ducked down to press a chaste kiss to Redd’s cheek.

“Welcome home, Redd.”

#reddnook #tom nook #redd #timmy & tommy #this chapter is a little rough but i ran outta steam #sorry folks #but i hope you like the fluff anyhow and enjoyed the fic overall #my fic

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vulturhythm · 5 years ago

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heave her up and away we go

people across the globe have heard of the wolf of the sea. they’ve heard tales of a captain with hair as pale as the moon and eyes as yellow as the gold he seeks, of a brute of a man whose conquests are vicious and leave no survivors.

(no one ever points out that, if there were no survivors, there would be no tales.)

nearly all the coastal cities claim to have been visited by the wolf and his horrific vessel, the mohren. “he took our mayor’s daughter” or “we watched him slay all our finest soldiers...” all stories of bloodshed, of unspeakable acts the likes of which only a true pirate could achieve.

(no one ever points out that no one actually describes having seen the wolf in the wake of such assaults.)

the wolf has earned himself an awful name upon the seven seas, and it is said that he fears no other captain - not one who sails beneath the crown, nor one who hoists the skull and bones high. it is said, in fact, that even blackbeard cowers at his very name.

(no one ever points out that blackbeard has been many years dead and gone.)

and yet...

well.

for such a horrendous reputation, the wolf of the seas is, in fact, little more than a puppy in the shallows.

and who am i to tell you this?

none other than the wolf’s favorite companion, his most trusted friend, his private performer, his lover on the best of days.

i was born julian, but following my recruitment into the pack of the wolf, as it were, i have taken up a multitude of names - jaskier, dandelion, even songbird at times.

(more cruel names, such as bastard, wretch and ship’s rat, at other times. it all depends upon the side of bed upon which the wolf awakens.)

when geralt found me, i was playing for farthings - pence or shillings, on a good day - at a little pub in an even littler port city. some of you may know it, but it is likelier that the rest do not, so i won’t name it. it had been a rough day for tips, and yet still i sang. by the time a great, hulking man with hair as white as snow and eyes as bright as the sun walked inside, my voice was nearly gone, and so i pounced upon the chance to down a drink or ten with a mostly-willing partner.

(geralt is standing above me as i write this, and he says he was less than willing, but i question his memory at times.)

i don’t recall how long we talked that evening before the location of our discussion moved from the pub to the exterior wall, and then, eventually, to the loft of a stable, the owner of which i knew would be drinking until dawn. i caution against taking a man to bed amongst a pile of straw, for a multitude of reasons, but i have no regrets.

well, anyway.

dawn came, and i found myself loath to leave geralt entirely. he mentioned that he had a ship, the night before, and it was this that i repeated to him upon sunrise. “surely,” said i, “my prospects for money would be better in a new town with new ears,” and geralt sighed at me, acting so incredibly put-upon.

“to the next port,” he said, and that was that.

“but, jaskier,” you cry, “you set foot upon the mohren and did not immediately turn tail? such bravery!”

waste not your praise, fair reader, for, i must admit, i had yet to piece together the image of this powerful man with that of the infamous wolf of the sea. it was with foolish joy and a light heart that i strode up the gangway and onto the great black ship. first to strike me was the fact that the only visible crew consisted of a young girl, watching from the crow’s nest.

next was that this was most certainly not of the british crown, nor was it your average fishing vessel.

no, it was a large and sleek thing, meant for speed and endurance.

it was, in short, a pirate vessel, something which i confirmed for myself when i cast my eyes upward to see a black flag overhead.

a black flag that held not the jolly roger, but a massive white wolf skull, vicious teeth bared.

i assure you, dear reader, my heart was in my throat when i whirled to geralt, who had already begun to pull the wooden gangway back onboard.

“you’re the - “

“the wolf of the seas,” he said, and he sounded entirely unaffected, as though this was a daily conversation. “i have no plans to hurt you. like i said, to the next port, and no further.”

it was as i stood there, lute in hands and jaw upon the deck, that geralt stepped toward me, and i take pride in the fact that i didn’t flinch. “you have the song of a lifetime in the making, right here before you, but if you want to go back ashore, i won’t stop you. i’m merely offering transport.”

as i recall it, i was entirely robbed of the ability to speak for those first few seconds, so i was capable of little more than a nod. on the one hand, if i was killed, i could rest assured it would be painless, considering the strength and power geralt had made evident the night before. on the other hand, geralt was entirely correct - if i were to survive, i would have the makings of the finest song known to man.

i would live in luxury!

geralt took to the wheel shortly thereafter, and i followed along, standing near his side to observe.

the wolf of the seas, i can tell you all, is not a fan of idle conversation, so the bulk of our discussions for the next four days consisted of my eloquent monologues, halfhearted grunts, and, well, various other noises.

it was the evening of the second day before i managed to coax anything akin to an explanation from the incredibly silent man, and, once i had begun the process of extracting his story, i found it far more prudent to remain aboard than leave his company at the next port. geralt protested initially, but three years later, he has not yet rid himself of me entirely.

now, i wish to preface this - and all subsequent information - with the following:

all that i am about to relay has been pieced together over many a year of traveling with the wolf of the seas, and the writings in this journal are little more than a traveling musician’s attempts to chronicle the life of one of the kindest men to ever sail the world.

with that out of the way, let us begin.

the circumstances of geralt’s birth and early childhood remain a mystery, as any attempt to discuss these things results in a complete and undeniable refusal, so alas, i cannot tell you where the wolf was spawned. i can, however, tell you that his introduction to the sea came about as follows:

as a youth, he trained under a crew of shipwrights, one that built the finest of crafts for the crown - a crew that has, from what i’ve gathered, long since met their ends due to natural causes. geralt’s affinity with the craft paved a natural way for him to join the british royal navy as soon as he was of age.

(watching geralt, it is easy to imagine him upon a warship, and yet, i cannot fathom him in anything but a position of command. he is a leader, through and through.)

he saw few true battles, as my understanding goes, but it seems his frustration with the crown merely grew with each passing day, as he and his crew were sent to dispatch all pirate vessels. in moments of vulnerability, he has shared with me stories of horrific acts committed by the men said to be on the side of the law, of innocent folk harmed in the path of good, of men whose only crime was seeking a living upon the seas slaughtered like beasts for the altar.

to date, geralt hasn’t told me of the final straw.

i know better than to ask.

according to him, it isn’t that difficult to steal a ship from the navy when one is among the most trusted sailors.

i have my doubts.

geralt’s brand of piracy is a unique one, to be sure. i doubt the man is capable of a legitimate attack on another vessel, at least not on one that isn’t telegraphing clear intent to harm. a stark contrast to the brutal portrait painted by civilized society, geralt spends his days patrolling the seas with intent to help, not to harm.

in my time spent at his side, i have witnessed the horrible wolf of the seas escort smaller craft to port, dispatch empty slave vessels and let them sink in splinters, defend others flying beneath the jolly roger from the crown... perhaps most important, however, i have seen him offer men and women alike safe passage or a spot on the crew in exchange for their promise to spread the worst of rumors to those on land.

why?

well, according to geralt, the why should be obvious - no british officer is going to fear a pirate whose reputation is one of kindness.

—

the wolf of the seas travels with a motley crew, to be sure. in all honesty, his crew isn’t much of one to speak of, as the majority of those who travel with him regularly are kept on for... sentiment, as it were. in terms of combatants, he employs those whose luck has failed them elsewhere.

the young lady i’d spotted in the crow’s nest that first day goes by the name of ciri, and she was taken in when the crown left her town decimated in search of a presumed criminal. geralt thinks of her as a daughter, something i determined very quickly. she’s a bright child, although perhaps a tad too perceptive for her own good.

there’s a grown woman aboard, too - a lady with bright red hair and a sharp wit, known as triss. geralt’s interactions with her lead me to believe they were once rather fond of eachother. i bear her no ill will. she’s an interesting sort.

eskel and lambert - two rather formidable men, both of whom i tend to avoid, for little reason apart from their enjoyment of tormenting me. i’ve rescued my beloved instruments from their mischievous hands many times before.

there are others, too, of course, different people of different creeds, all taken aboard to be given a second chance, all useful in some way. i know none of them particularly well, but we live on friendly terms.

geralt makes a point of dropping in on certain towns regularly, to visit old friends - vesemir, yennefer... i never interact with them terribly much, but i have seen the fondness in geralt’s eyes when he returns from his much-needed retreats.

one thing for which i can vouch is that the wolf of the seas has never turned on one of his own. he treats each and every one of us well, and truly, we want for nothing. i, for what it’s worth, have a warm bed and a warmer body to enjoy each and every night, in exchange for little more than song.

i live what is far from a conventional life, to be sure, but i wouldn’t trade it for all the riches and status in the world.

well, the moon rises high, and geralt is calling me to bed. i must set my quill aside for the time being, but rest assured, my tales are far from complete.

until the morrow,

jaskier

—

you have no clue how nervous I am right now - I really, really hope you like this!

to the rest of you, don’t worry, merman!au is nearly done!

@xdandelionxbloomx

#geraskier #gerlion #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #wolf of the seas au #pirate au #my fics

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thatkindamusicjustsoothesthesoul · 4 years ago

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My favorite personal fact about my love for Black Sails is that I only ever knew about it bc I was just coming out of my deep entrenchment in Merlin (which lbr we’re still in pretty deep) and I was watching stuff people from Merlin were in so when I saw Tom Hopper, aka Sir Percival who was only given 2 lines by Julian Murphy, be like “I’m in a pirate show come watch :)” you KNOW I jumped on that so fast

#all roads really lead to Merlin ahskfjs #I think I saw some flintHamilton kiss gifs after that which sealed the deal #but Tom was the gateway and that’s pretty iconic of him #black sails

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 5 years ago

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Silver In The Sea (Julian Devorak! Pirate x Mermaid! Reader) 2

Summary: A year into his travels at sea, Julian Devorak is faced with the highs and lows of sailing across the southern sea; facing the dangers that come with it. As a physician, he is given many opportunities to live out the days in surviving for himself - especially against many things that want him dead.

Notes: Julian is certain that there isn’t a massive half-human half-fish creature in front of him, but he is certain he has lost his mind.

SUPPORT ME ON A03, MY USERNAME THE SAME AS HERE!!

Prologue - 1 - 3 - 4

Silver In The Sea Chapter 2 (Disbelief)

Julian lowered his spear, watching with curiosity and horror as before him in the shallowness of the red-mixed water, the head floated to the top, and eyes were staring back with anger back into his.

In that instant, he thought truly that the denial and lack of shade had brought him to insanity; staring down into the waters, dirtying up to mix the blue with the red, creating a brown-green hue.

The droplets were thick and hanging off the person’s head, a head that looked most likely from a female if he had remembered what they had looked like. Their eyes - almond-shaped and dark - held no warmth, the only fury as they seemed to snarl and squint back up at him.

Quickly, Julian hastily threw the spear back over his head, the sound plonking and wadding in the water behind, as the wave caught it and dragged it to and from the shoreline, drifting further and further away from him.

Wrapping the imagery in his mind of what could’ve possibly been in front of him - a strange lady with only her head floating on top, Julian tried to get some sounds resembling words out of his drying mouth.

Wracking his fingers together decidedly, he tried to give a nervous smile. “Erm, hi?”

The creature, not impressed, didn’t answer, instead, bringing out another low whine mixed with a hiss, something similar to what Pepi would let out when she was annoyed; and downright, the creature was too.

I’m not surprised, if you had been speared in the leg, would you be chipper about it? Ilya studied dumbfounded, lifting his arms to give off the look of submission.

The creature didn’t take its eyes off him, and instead, in a last-second scramble, tried convulsing and twisting its way back into the water where it had come from.

Julian gave off a small noise of uncertainty, trying to clamber back to the bottom of the creature hastily and clumsily, all long limbs trying to reach out to help. “Here, let me- woah!”

His hand hadn’t even come out properly in reach yet and instead of not touching soft flesh, he found his fingers feeling for the same slimy texture found when he touched wet seaweed or from fishes they had caught from his time onboard Eliana’s Song.

He recoiled, as a something thick and long came and swiped underneath his feet, with the same texture he had felt on his fingers, now knocking him backwards into the shallow waters below.

He tumbled and luckily being tall enough to properly submerge, he spluttered when the saltwater reached his mouth and nothing else, but now he would have to deal with wet clothes once more.

“Gosh darn it, not again.” He lamented heavily, his eyes briefly looking up before doing a double-take, startling him at what was now in front.

It wasn’t just now an angry woman’s head just floating above, but now a proper head attached with a torso and lower body, but something was whipping out like an aggravated snake through the water, and in that flash, the same silver flickering of a snake-like tail snapped back into the small waves.

Oh crap.

Julian tried pushing himself backwards, finding that the seabed was growing deeper the more he went in, watching in fear as the drowned woman crawled like a predator towards him.

Their human skin was blue-ish, making them look more like a drowned corpse than a living being, matching the bodies he had tried saving when seamen fell into the waters.

Their hair hung over their face, altering their features as their lips opened, and Julian pulled back in dread when he saw jaws pointing back at him.

So, the tales of the merfolk were true all along? He thought in morbid fascination, awaiting what would be his end. He had remembered the stories he had been told by Mazelinka; of beauties prowling in the deep rich seas, seducing sailors in and bringing them more than just trepidation.

The siren was near now to his face, hissing with its mouth pulled back in almost an animalistic and horrific display; eyes black with no pupil, fingernails sharpened and growing into talons, they tried to reach out and take a final swipe at his face, and Julian awaited the end with both awe.

At least I will go to my grave knowing that they always existed. Ilya thought, shutting his eyes finally as he waited for it, the hideous slash across his throat and the feeling of drowning in his blood, but that never came.

Opening one of his eyes slowly, Julian observed from the other side what was taking place in front of him.

The siren pulled back with another low forlorn whine from the throat, ceasing all movement as the pulled back, the same hand coming to touch at their tail.

Julian watched, not moving nor speaking, watching more of the blood seeping out as the creature watched on and wriggled at its ultimate demise.

Poor thing-- no! I shouldn’t pity it! It tried to kill me! Ilya bickered in his mind, trying to think what Mazelinka or Pasha would do if they were in his shoes. They certainly wouldn’t of allowed this creature to live.

Another pathetic, yearning whine came from the siren, as they waded through the shallow depths, their skin pale, and almost in the soft sunlight of the day, they looked so much like a woman he had remembered back in Nevivon.

Dammit, Pasha will think of me as weak. He sighed in defeat. I just cannot say no to a pretty face.

“Medicine... Medicine! I can help you-- wait there, darling!” He scrambled back up to his feet, rushing past the half-naked woman as he ran back to his camp, trying to find anything useful. Dried up seaweed and some cloth he had found in his pocket that resembled a handkerchief, he ran back into the shoreline, happy to still see the siren still laying there.

“Okay, I’m just going to add pressure, this may hurt.” He brought the dried seaweed as it still had some moisture to look like a paste, bringing up the silver tail that looked heavier than it looked.

He heaved it into his lap, kneeling before her on his knees as he inspected the wound. It wasn’t too deep, but it certainly looked like it would hurt and leave much more of a puncture wound for sharks to come out and find her.

He applied the seaweed to the end of the tail, and again, another drawn-out hiss came from the lips of the siren, the longing arrival for death, yet tortured for it all; sadly looking on as they watched Ilya at work.

Skilful with his work and hands, he was able to wrap the cloth around the wound and seal up the wound with enough seaweed, using some string he wound the bind it all together as he set to marvel at it all.

For the lack of supplies and anything to stitch it up, he thought he did quite the good job.

“There, I’m sorry about... all that. I suppose you got back at me for all that earlier.” Julian apprehensively spoke, running a hand through his drying hair.

The siren watched him, not speaking to him, as if more watchful of the craft of his aid on her. She lifted the end of her tail above the water, looking at the bandage with close inspection and squinted eyes.

Julian nervously observed it all, and before he could utter another word to the creature, the siren had rolled onto their stomach once more, and dragging with their nails back into the water, until they had engulfed themselves’ fully, and disappearing fully below the darkening waters.

Ilya hummed in thought, maybe more in interest as to what he just took part in. “Huh, Pasha will laugh at me for believing I just saved a mermaid.”

#Julian The Arcana #julian devorak the arcana #julian devorak #pirate julian devorak #julian devorak x reader #mermaid au #ilya devorak #The Arcana AU #the arcana #mermaid reader #julian x mc mermaid #reader x julian devorak

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countessmorgasson · 4 years ago

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The Painter

Here is a Julian x MC scene, featuring (a gender neutral) MC as an artist, ready to take on their first big project.

It only took my whole morning to find Julian.

Why didn’t I start at the theater?

I sneak up, giggling to myself as I head towards the towering figure draped in black. He’s got his back turned towards me, and I just can’t help but take advantage of the opportunity.

Wait, should I scare him or hug him?

Too late- the sound of my boot scraping against the cobblestone causes him to turn and spot me. At least he jumped a little bit.

Flushing, he looks down at me with a crooked smile.

“M/c, what are you doing here?” His voice is oddly upbeat, but it warms my heart to see him going about his day so happily.

“Asra’s looking after the shop, and I have some time. I was wondering if you’d like to spend the day with me.”

Now, Julian’s smile spreads from cheek to cheek. He dramatically swishes his cape in a theatrical bow.

“But of course!” He exclaims. “There would be nothing better.”

I can’t help but beam at him, and I blurt it out.

“I want you to help me with my project.”

Julian raises his eyebrows, and for a moment he looks at me in deep thought.

“Ah, your painting, yes? Of course- but I have to warm you, m/c, I’m not much of a painter- certainly not like you.”

He takes my hand anyway as I lead him away from the theater.

“Actually, I could use your help down at the market too.”

“Too? What exactly is the nature of your latest project?” He asks. I don’t want to tell him yet.

We arrive at the market, and I watch as Julian stands up a little taller, basking in the sound of vendors bargaining with a horde of customers.

“It’s quite busy today, isn’t it? No matter, dear m/c.”

Julian cracks his knuckles and strikes a triumphant pose for me to admire. “What do you need? Just say the word.”

“Paint! I need lots of it.”

We stroll through the marketplace, choosing to avoid the rowdy vendors and the drunken customers- that was an adventure for another day. Before I know it, I watch as Julian engages in conversation with an unfamiliar vendor off the corner of the market. He must have made a joke, because the vendor is nearly in tears from laughter, while Julian turns my way and raises his eyebrow in a moment of victory, also holding up way more paint than I expected to find here.

He returns to me with a proud, dazzling smile.

I reach up and plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“You found it! Thank you.”

Before he can turn into a blushing, flustered mess, we hear a scuffle, and then a crash.

“And that’s our cue, m/c!”

We escape the underground market in record time, laughing the entire way back to my shop.

“Are you sure you want to paint here? Won’t it be... crowded?”

Upon entering my shop, Julian walks very slowly, as to not touch or possibly break any of the many jars stored on the shelves.

“There’s a small balcony in the back- where our garden is. I have space to paint there.”

I drag him to my usual corner- a slab of concrete on the opposite side of the shop, dedicated to the herb garden. My easel sits adjacent to the plants, and on sunset, I can even see the docks overlook the water. It’s the perfect spot. Now Julian seems a bit restless, tugging at his gloves and cape.

“Well... we’ve got the paint,” he begins. I turn to him.

“I’d like to paint you.”

His eyes widen as he looks from me to the easel.

“Me?” His shock is undeniable. He seems to shrink somehow, muttering something I can’t quite make out, something along the lines of “...simple.”

“My greatest inspiration,” I place my hand over my heart. “I’ve painted it all, Julian. The shop, the docks, even the damn Lazaret. I’ve never had a human subject- and I want to learn how to paint a portrait. You’d be a great start.”

By the looks of it, I’ll have to paint Julian’s face in red.

He ponders for a moment, and then a goofy grin spreads out across his face.

“I can’t say no to you, m/c.”

He proceeds to stand in front of the easel, in full view, only to throw me the post posed, dramatic stance yet. The performer in him seems to draw out as he turns his head to the side and tilts his chin up.

“Ah, m/c! You could make me look like a pirate, right? I can see it now; my hair tussled in the wind, the sails bursting at the seams as we embark on the journey of a lifetime- and what’s that? Land ho!”

Julian goes on a tirade, unclasping his cape and letting it fall to the ground with a dramatic swoosh.

I’m too busy holding my laughter in to set up the paint.

The sun begins to set, casting a glow on Julian’s auburn head of hair. It glistens with the integrity of an ember flame. He’s still standing in his theatrical pose.

This is the man I’ve chosen to love.

His eyes flicker to me and realizes that I haven’t even set up my supplies.

“Too far?” He blushes. I grin and shake my head.

“Go on, Old Salt. Tell me all your pirate dreams. Just don’t move.”

Julian smirks, already twitching as I speak.

“I expect your best work on this, m/c- and get my nose right, will ya?”

#the arcana #the arcana julian #julian x mc #mine #my writing

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

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A Change in the Weather AU (inspired by Cacophonylights's A Change in the Weather) - Chapter 31

Read on AO3.

Notes: Finally! I meant to have this up yesterday but I was having some technical difficulties and then life kicked me in the face. But here it is, a nice light-hearted romp before the heavy chapter, which will also be a monster length wise, so be prepared. Also, if you’re enjoying this, please share the love. It would mean the world to me.

Sebastian drives with the top down all the way to Red Hat. He’d been considerate enough to warn Kurt ahead of time so he wouldn’t spend too much time fussing with his hair. Kurt already had a look in mind since the moment he found out they were going, so this news wasn’t well received. But he rolls with the punches, managing to throw together a style that comes across as attractively disheveled - morning-after-bedhead with a twist of reluctant apocalyptic superhero. On the up side, not having to sculpt his do ends up being a huge time saver. And Sebastian being Sebastian knows how to adjust the windows of his car with the top down so that Kurt doesn’t get buffeted too badly by the wind.

That move adds stock to Sebastian’s boyfriend cred.

The drive to the amphitheater is magical - the night air that whips over their heads warm and fragrant, the sky bursting with stars, and relatively smooth sailing for the first leg of their trip. Sebastian had created a playlist of Airiel Down’s hits for them to listen to, but they end up forgoing music altogether to relax in companionable silence. Sebastian’s right hand finds and holds Kurt’s left above the gear shift, and they remain that way for the entirety of the drive.

The second leg of their journey ends up being a bit rockier.

The pulsing beat reaches them from over a mile away. Fingers of multicolored search lights stretch to the sky, welcoming them from the highway. Kurt gets swallowed by deja vu the second he sees those lights in the air, and excitement washes over him. Traffic into Raleigh is hellacious and, in the end, parking scarce, but it’s worth it. The vibe coming off Red Hat is electric. It hits them before they get anywhere near the amphitheater. And even though Kurt is heartbroken for Julian, he’s grateful that he offered them these tickets. Kurt wants to make it up to him, but the only way he can think to do that (the only way he’d agree to, that is) is if he could pull Cooper out of a hat, make him keep his promises.

And make Julian Julian again.

Sebastian and Kurt foot it from the only lot with valet parking that had space available down to the venue. They did find a spot closer, but it was on the street, and would have only given Sebastian’s Mustang a foot of clearance front and back.

Sebastian balked.

“Do you know how many people are going to be walking by here, intoxicated, carrying keys, phones, and God knows what else that might scratch my paint? Not to mention the spot seekers who won’t pay any attention and might take off my rear view mirror. Nu-uh. I have no intention of putting my baby in any danger,” Sebastian had said, putting a protective arm around Kurt’s waist and squeezing tight. “Not even for prime parking.”

From the parking lot, it’s a stretch of the legs to get there, and also a bit of a dance - swarms of people migrating up and down the street, stopping Kurt and Sebastian’s progress every five feet. The stop and go gets frustrating after awhile. But before Kurt knows it, they’re waiting in line, watching the opening numbers by way of a gigantic flat screen positioned behind the stage for the people stuck in lawn seating. Kurt turns in a circle, getting a lay of the land. He sees a hotel across the street - a Sheraton or a Hilton, some chain establishment. The drapes on each window are pulled open with guests sitting in front of the glass, enjoying the music from the comfort of their rooms.

‘That’s the way to do it,’ Kurt thinks enviously. As much as he enjoys a night out, he envisions being in one of those rooms, watching the concert from beneath the covers of a king-sized bed, perhaps using the music as a backdrop while he and Sebastian make love with the curtains wide open. Or right in front of the window, kneeling on the carpet, holding on to the drapes for leverage, hot skin pressed against the cool glass as Sebastian takes him from behind.

Would people notice them and call the police? On the average Wednesday or Thursday possibly, but not during an event like this, with everyone’s attention focused elsewhere. There’s a chance there is a couple doing the exact same right now. Kurt wouldn’t know. Even with an unobstructed view of the windows, he’s hard pressed to zero in on any single one.

That fantasy is not like anything he’s ever wanted before - more exhibitionist than he would have been comfortable with at the beginning of summer. But now - who knows? He’s game for pretty much anything. He’s been aiming to mark items off his bucket list, but maybe he should consider adding a few things, too - things that will be possible because he has Sebastian to do them with.

Once they get through the main gate, Sebastian and Kurt breeze past the line of people trying to buy last minute tickets. Sebastian gets his phone screen scanned by the guard manning the turnstile and voila.

They’re in.

The place is packed. There are still seats available but they’re difficult to pick out due to the sheer amount of bodies filling the rows. Not a single person is sitting down - everyone on their feet, hands in the air, moving to the music. An usher offers to help them find their seat. Sebastian tells her that he’s familiar with the layout and, to Kurt’s surprise, she lets them go off on their own. Sebastian finds their seats, or seems to find the general location, and leads Kurt down the row to the center.

Kurt had really been hoping for an aisle seat. He isn’t a crowd person. He doesn’t like germs or bacteria, and human sweat teems with it! He’d stretched his boundaries at that bar in Columbus, too fascinated by the flesh on display, too intrigued by Sebastian’s promise of a boozy good time, one where Sebastian acted as designated driver while Kurt got his buzz on. But this is different. This is that crowd of half-dressed, writhing bodies times ten! Aside from the people bouncing around them, getting way too close by accident, the temperature soars about twenty degrees immediately.

They have excellent seats, a stone’s throw from the front with a clear view of the stage. Kurt focuses on that, and on the music, on the beat humming through the cement floor, drumming its way through his body.

He focuses on Sebastian, standing so close, they may as well be fused together, a single entity swaying and grinding in time to the music.

But even with Sebastian’s body pressed against his, Kurt finds himself having a hard time letting go, feeling like a pinball caught between bumpers: his incredible boyfriend to his left, and a woman to his right who has never heard the meaning of the word restraint.

His mind takes a turn back to the hotel across the street, those open windows, and the people on the other side of them, doing whatever with this music as a soundtrack. He wonders what Sebastian would think if he suggested they watch the rest of the concert from a rented room and put his fantasy into action.

Odds are, Kurt feels, Sebastian would be willing - and eager - to oblige.

“How are you enjoying yourself?” Sebastian asks, lips hovering close to Kurt’s ear. He wouldn’t need to ask if they were standing chest to chest instead of chest to back. If Kurt’s hips were flush against Sebastian’s, he’d have an accurate indicator of whether or not Kurt is enjoying himself.

“Great!” Kurt tilts his head back, hands cupped over his mouth so he doesn’t blow out his vocal chords trying to be heard. They are his instrument, after all. “I really like it!”

“Really? You like this kind of music?” Sebastian asks, smiling as if Kurt’s enjoyment is a personal triumph, which leads Kurt to believe that Airiel Down must be one of Sebastian’s favorite bands. Kurt has never heard of them before, but when he gets the chance, he’s going to hop onto YouTube and download every single of theirs he can find.

“Apparently!” Kurt replies, rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t think this would be your speed.”

“You underestimate me, Sebastian Smythe!” Kurt says slyly. “For I have many speeds!”

Sebastian chortles loudly at that remark and Kurt blushes. It sounded different in his head. A lot different.

“I only have one complaint,” Kurt continues.

“And that is …?”

“The woman next to me keeps elbowing me in the arm! And she has sharp elbows!”

Sebastian looks past Kurt at the woman in question, bouncing up and down, limbs flailing, without a care in the world. He grabs Kurt by the elbow and shimmies him away, moving him to his other side as he peers over the crowd towards the stage, eyes sweeping the amphitheater from end to end. He must see a solution to Kurt’s problem because his face lights up.

“Come with me,” he says, taking Kurt’s hand. “Maybe I can fix that.”

“You’re going to cut off her elbows?” Kurt asks hopefully.

“Even better.” Sebastian pulls him through the crowd the way they came. It’s tight, but eventually they stumble out into the aisle without too much more elbowing and race straight for the stage. When they get there, Sebastian positions Kurt between himself and the barricade separating the audience from the stage.

Then he starts jumping up and down with his arms in the air like a lunatic.

“Wait! What … what are we doing?” Kurt asks. “Am I missing something?”

“I’m flagging down a friend. Hey! Hey, Viola! Vi! Down here!”

From where they’re standing, Kurt can see four hands on this end of the stage - three men and one woman, all wearing dark jeans and black t-shirts with Airiel Down printed in white letters across the front. The woman Sebastian seems to be hollering at has on a pair of enormous headphones with no less than three antennas sticking out the side. Kurt’s father owns a pair of BOSE noise canceling headphones that don’t look half as intimidating as these. When Kurt borrows them, they block sound so effectively, he wouldn’t hear a 747 if it came crashing into his bedroom.

He doesn’t see any way that she’ll be able to hear them.

Sebastian does, however, manage to grab the attention of a security guard - a mountain of a man with more head than neck - who frowns and walks their way.

“Uh … Sebastian …” Kurt tugs on his boyfriend’s sleeve. “I think we’ve been spotted!”

Sebastian glances down the barricade and spots the guard coming toward them. He’s not rushing, so he obviously doesn’t consider them a threat.

“Nah. Don’t worry about him.”

“But I think he has a Taser!” Kurt points out nervously.

“He’ll have to catch us before he can use it!”

“Believe it or not, that doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence!”

“Relax! I’ve got this under control!” Sebastian bends his knees and jumps higher, windmilling his arms over his head while he’s airborne. Kurt doesn’t see how making an ass out of himself means he has things under control. But seeing as luck is a way of life for Sebastian, it does the trick. When the woman spots him waving frantically from behind the barricade, she smiles wide, teeth gleaming unnaturally from the UV lights. “Hey! Sebastian! Let them up!” she calls to the guard marching their way. “Let them up!”

The guard, nearly upon them, seems to have no problem switching gears last minute and moves the barricade a sliver to let them pass.

Kurt, getting an up close and personal look at what is - yes - a Taser, has a mini heart attack.

“Oh my God!” she squeals. “Long time, no see!” She motions to a staircase that leads to the stage, greeting Sebastian at the top with open arms.

“I’ve got good reasons,” he says, hugging her back. He bumps Kurt’s hip with his own when she lets him go. “This is my boyfriend, Kurt.”

Smiling brown eyes land on Kurt and look him over. “Wow!” She offers Kurt her hand to shake, gives Sebastian an approving wink. “Very nice! Nice to see you finally using your charm and sense of humor to land you a man with class.”

Kurt decides there and then that he likes this woman. Not because she called him a man with class, which was nice, but because she described Sebastian as charming, and with a sense of humor.

She didn’t mention anything about his money.

“That tends to happen when you grow up and come to your senses,” Sebastian says bashfully.

“Word. So, you guys look a little beaten and battered.”

“You might say that.” Kurt rubs his arms, knowing he’ll be covered in black and blues tomorrow - bruises he’ll need to explain to everyone he encounters if he doesn’t want them to think his boyfriend covered him in head to toe hickeys. Which he might if they’re going to speculate over his sex life unsolicited anyway. Too bad Rachel isn’t here, he thinks. The jealousy in her eyes would be delicious.

“You guys through mixing with the rabble?” Viola asks.

“You know it,” Sebastian says.

“Well, you’re welcome to hang in the wings for the rest of the concert. Here …” she reaches into her pocket and pulls out two stickers, taking the liberty of affixing one to each boys’ thigh before Kurt gets the chance to complain about the catastrophic effects of adhesive on his jeans. “These’ll keep security off your back. They’ll even get you back stage after.”

“Thanks a bunch!” Sebastian says. “ I knew you’d hook us up!”

“Anytime. Look, I’ve got to get back stage before intermission. If I don’t see you later, it was nice meeting you, Kurt.”

“Likewise,” Kurt says.

She jabs a thumb in Sebastian’s direction. “Keep an eye on this one. He has a tendency to get lost.”

Kurt watches her hop behind the curtain, disappearing in the cover provided by a nearby fog machine, thrown by the poignancy of her parting remark. He turns to his boyfriend gazing out across the stage with a look of genuine joy on his face that leaves Kurt speechless.

“What?” Sebastian asks, sheepish when he catches Kurt staring.

“Of course you would know the stage hand of a professional rock band.”

“No, Julian does,” Sebastian defends. “They went to Berkeley together. From what I hear, they bonded over Nueva Cancion, small batch craft beers, CBD gummies, and the trammels of having a broken younger sibling. The only contribution I’ve made to this friendship thus far is knowing Julian … unfortunately.”

“That’s apparently enough in the circles you run in.” Kurt chuckles. “But I would have thought you’d be just as famous. You know, your name and number written on bathroom walls from here to the space station ...”

Sebastian’s expression changes, becomes muddled, every default expression he has scrolling by on his face, trying to land on an appropriate one. When he can’t seem to settle, he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at his shoes, still trying to choose.

Kurt doesn’t know why, but he feels like he needs to apologize. They’ve exchanged jokes back and forth like this before, but this one … it landed differently. “I’m sorry. I insulted you, didn’t I? I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s not that,” Sebastian says, shaking his head with a look in his eyes like even he’s trying to make himself believe that that’s not what he feels. “It’s just …” Kurt watches Sebastian’s lips move, trapped between words. “I’m not ashamed of who I am, and I’m not going to apologize for who I was, but … I don’t want you to see the Whore of Babylon every time you look at me.”

Kurt wants to tell him that he doesn’t. It’s simply a fall back joke. The two of them have tons of them. It’s not even one of the crueler ones as far as Kurt is concerned. It’s never bothered Sebastian before …

No. Kurt can’t say that. It bothers Sebastian when Julian calls him that. It bothers him a lot.

“Who do you want to be?” Kurt asks, taking Sebastian’s hand and moving closer, as impossibly close as he can until he becomes Sebastian’s entire field of view. “Who do you want me to see when I look at you?”

Sebastian loops his arms around Kurt’s waist, threading his fingers into his belt loops. He holds him tight and leans back, lifting Kurt off the ground a couple of inches, grinning when Kurt yelps and squirms. “I want to be yours. Just … your man. Kurt Hummel’s boyfriend, and that’s all.”

“Just Kurt Hummel’s boyfriend?” Kurt repeats with a laugh when he tries to touch the ground and Sebastian refuses to put him down.

Sebastian rolls his eyes up, stares contemplatively at the flashing lights overhead while he swings Kurt back and forth, only the soles of his shoes brushing the floor. “How about … Kurt Hummel’s sexy ass boyfriend?”

Sebastian sets Kurt down, but Kurt doesn’t move from his boyfriend’s embrace. They rock there, swaying side to side, reminiscent of middle-school kids at their first official dance, even though the music being performed doesn’t support their rhythm, pounding like a short-circuiting jackhammer locked in a metal box. But Sebastian’s arms around Kurt’s waist transport him to a different plane of existence entirely, where the crowds down below and the band on stage become nothing but static.

Sebastian’s lips brush Kurt’s forehead and he wonders if Sebastian knows, the way he seems to know about everything, that forehead kisses are one of his weaknesses.

If he didn’t know before, he definitely figured it out.

“Noted,” Kurt says, tilting his chin up to capture Sebastian’s next kiss with his lips. “I’ll look into having a shirt printed up.”

***

“Okay, so … uh … that there’s Ursa Major.” Sebastian points to a series of stars up and to the left above their heads. Kurt squints in that direction, trying to make out an outline of a bear in the group Sebastian indicates. If he unfocuses his eyes, he can kind of see it. He can also see a pig, Mario’s go-kart, one of Rachel’s carousel horses, and that girl from The Grudge. “And that over there is Ursa Minor. And those three stars in a line all together, that’s Orion’s Belt. That makes this whole section of sky …” Sebastian holds up his hands, framing between his thumbs and forefingers the portion of the heavens they’ve been staring at “… The Capricorn Sky.”

Kurt turns his head from its resting place on yet another of Sebastian’s Dalton sweatshirts, folded in a square on the windshield of his Mustang. Kurt wasn’t too surprised when Sebastian suggested they lie atop his hood and stare up at the stars when the easier and more practical option would have been to put the top down. After all, Sebastian literally jumped on the hood of his father’s Aston Martin - a memory that still haunts Kurt, causes him considerable pain when it flashes behind his eyes. However, being his baby and all, Sebastian did add the caveat that if Kurt scuffs his paint, he’ll be paying to have it buffed out.

Kurt retaliated, saying he could buff it out himself no problem wearing nothing but a tank top and Sebastian’s old gym shorts, and that if Sebastian was a good boy, he’d let him watch.

Sebastian agreed to those terms, but he had a difficult time climbing up on the car after that.

“Really?” Kurt asks, partially skeptical.

“Kurt …” Sebastian looks at him, intelligent green eyes brimming with mild hurt at Kurt questioning his authority on this subject. But then his mouth splits into a grin and he laughs. “How the fuck should I know? They’re stars! They all look the same! Big balls of gas thousands of miles away that some drunk asshole on a ship hundreds of years ago claimed made pictures and I’m supposed to remember them all? This is just what guys do. They look up at the stars and identify shit.”

“I don’t!”

“Well …” Sebastian says, waving his hand in a vague gesture.

“Wait … what’s The Capricorn Sky then? Did you make that up? Because that sounds like a limited edition Starbucks drink.”

“It’s the title of a book by Colly Campbell. Not my usual cup of tea, but it was decently entertaining.”

“Damn.” Kurt shakes his head in mock disappointment. “I was impressed, too. Smart guys get me hot, you know.”

“Well in that case, I actually do know a few constellations. The popular ones … big dipper ... little dipper … Pauly Shore …” Sebastian slides closer while Kurt’s laughter fades.

“Trying to save face, Smythe?”

Sebastian’s smile is bashful, smooth around the edges. Though Sebastian’s smiles haven’t held their razor edge for a while. “Maybe a little.”

“And how do I know you’re not putting me on again?”

“Because I have an app for it.” Sebastian reaches into his pocket and pulls out his iPhone. He swipes his finger over the screen, searching through his apps until he finds the one he’s looking for. He raises his phone, focuses on the darkness, and takes a shot of the night sky. Then he shows it to Kurt.

“Wow.” Kurt moves the image with his fingertip, reading the names of constellations as the app identifies them. “Now that’s impressive.”

“Isn’t it though?”

“Five bucks says this app was developed by a twelve-year-old.”

“You’re probably right.” Sebastian selects a hyperlink in one of the sections and scrolls through the details. “Oh hey - according to this, you can’t see Orion’s Belt in the sky over North Carolina at night during the summer. Good to know.”

Kurt giggles, the fact that Sebastian wasn’t just wrong, but nowhere near the ballpark, makes his fronting even more hilarious.

Something gooshy hits Kurt’s forehead and he jerks upright. He scans the area around them in a mild panic, looking for anyone who might be lurking nearby, throwing things.

After the concert, they roads out of Raleigh had been cluttered with cars, turning the highway into a parking lot in both directions. Sebastian suggested they go for a drive, hang out for a while until the traffic died down. He took them to another one of his thinking spots high atop a hill with nothing else for miles around - no lights, no houses, and (since they had to drive over a gravelly road at 2 miles per hour to get there) no easy way down if they get ambushed by wild animals. Or vagrants.

Or homophobes.

But Kurt hears nothing, sees no one. Not a single shadow against the black. Another wet splotch hits him on the head from straight above and he glares at the sky. “What the …?”

“What’s up, babe?”

“I think …” Kurt wipes at his forehead and stares horrified at his hand in the dark “… a bird pooped on me!”

Sebastian switches on his flashlight app and aims it at Kurt’s head.

“Ah! God! Bas!” Kurt screeches, shutting his eyes and squeezing them tight “Are you trying to blind me?”

“Yup. That’s the goal. You’ve uncovered my brilliant plan. I’m trying to help you, you walnut! Now hold still.” He takes Kurt’s wrist and re-aims the light down at his hand. “I don’t think …” He leans in close, examining the wet spot. “It’s not bird shit. It’s just water. Probably from one of the trees---” Sebastian jumps, scooting back as if poked. He, too, looks threateningly up at the sky before wiping the back of his hand down his cheek. “It got me, too!”

The next drop pegs the hood of the car, darkening the paint. Those four drops are the only warning Kurt and Sebastian get before the skies open up and a deluge starts, water pummeling the ground and the car around them, the roar deafening.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” Sebastian grumbles, sliding down the hood, then rounding to Kurt’s side to help him. “Get your ass in the car quick! If you get drenched, I’m not letting you in!”

“Nice,” Kurt remarks, though it doesn’t go over his head that Sebastian helps him first, opening his door and ushering him inside before he races to his own door. Kurt follows Sebastian with his eyes, biting back a smile when Sebastian hits a wet patch, slides three feet, spins in a complete circle, and then, thrown off track, starts running the wrong way. He finally makes it to his side of the car, throws open the door, and ducks inside as lightning splits the sky overhead. The interior of the car glows white as they stare at one another, breathing hard. The thunder that follows rumbles for close to a full minute.

When the noise dies down, they burst out laughing all over again.

“That happened fast!” Kurt says, pointing in wordless ridicule at Sebastian, who’s twice as soaked as Kurt and looks like a drowned rat.

“Yeah, it did. Jesus Christmas!” He gathers up the edge of his shirt and rings it out onto the floor mat. “Who ordered up the tsunami?”

“Don’t say that!” Kurt presses wrinkled fingertips to Sebastian’s lips. “After everything that’s happened to us on this trip, you don’t want to tempt fate!”

“So true!”

Kurt doesn’t pull his fingers away for Sebastian’s mouth, and Sebastian starts kissing them one by one. When he reaches Kurt’s pinkie, Sebastian takes him by the wrist and presses a kiss there, too, traveling up to leave another one in his palm.

Kurt’s heart skips, every muscle in his body reacting, sparking off with tiny fires one by one by one. Water drips from the hair at the nape of Sebastian’s neck, rolls down his skin to the collar of his tee. How that isn’t absolutely driving Sebastian crazy, Kurt doesn’t know.

But Jesus, he’s sexy when he’s wet!

Kurt counts each drop as it hits the forest green fabric to keep from tearing off his own clothes and begging Sebastian to continue those kisses over every inch of his body. Not because he doesn’t want that, but because with everything on this trip, he’s trying to make this moment last. But when Sebastian sits fully up again, Kurt can’t help himself. He leans forward, bringing his mouth to Sebastian’s neck, licking up the drops with the tip of his tongue before they can make it to Sebastian’s shirt, moving up to his hairline to catch them before they even fall.

“God, Kurt,” Sebastian moans when Kurt’s tongue flicks along the sensitive skin behind his ear. “Can we …?”

“Yes,” Kurt says, reaching up to start undoing the buttons of his own shirt.

“You … you didn’t even let me finish,” Sebastian stammers, wasting no time following suit and peeling off his own wet garment. “How do you know what I’m …?”

“Were you going to ask if we can fuck?” Kurt snorts when Sebastian startles as if he’d slapped him across the face.

“Uh … possibly …”

“Then the answer is yes. Do you have any objections?”

Sebastian’s stunned expression melts into a conniving grin. “Not. A. One.”

Sebastian launches himself over the center console and into the back seat, grabbing Kurt’s arm and tugging to get him to follow. Kurt starts kissing Sebastian before he even makes it over the gear shift, kicks off his shoes and unbuttons his pants before he’s anywhere near a seat.

“Do you have a towel?” Kurt mutters when his knee hits leather.

“For what?” Sebastian mumbles against Kurt’s neck.

“For your seats.”

“We’ve already gotten the seats wet. They’ll dry. They’re leather … made from cows … and cows get wet.”

Kurt snickers. For a boy who acts so edgelord regarding his sexual prowess, Kurt quite enjoys the fact that lately he turns into a bumbling fool when he gets excited.

“That’s not … mmph … that’s not what I mean. There are ways of baptizing your seats that don’t involve water, Bas. Things that will crust in the seams … leave stains...”

“Oh. Right.” Sebastian laughs. “Okay. Just … mmph … try not to splooge all over them, will ya?”

“Don’t worry …” Kurt grunts, shifting his weight and adjusting his balance to give Sebastian easier access to his body. It’s a tight squeeze, a bit of a juggle, but once he does, once Sebastian preps them both and gets there, slides in and finds the right spot, Kurt almost loses control of his legs. “If I do,” he says, his voice breathy and needy and begging for Sebastian to move for crying out loud! “I’ll detail it for you.”

“Detail?” Sebastian repeats, his voice just as shaky, just as needy. “You know how to do that?”

“Of course I do. As it is, your baby … mmph … looks like it’s a bit overdue.”

“Bite … your … tongue,” Sebastian snaps, punctuating each word with a particularly forceful thrust. Kurt gasps as Sebastian adopts a slow rhythm, shuts his eyes to fully absorb the sublime pull of it. “I take excellent care of my baby.”

And there he goes again, making another remark that can be taken two ways.

“You have leather seats. They need going over with a horse hair brush … a rub down with Maguiar’s and a microfiber towel … polish your trim with some Aerospace Protectant …” Kurt’s voice begins to fade, lost in the ebb and flow of Sebastian’s body working into his own. “A-and when this vacation is over, I’m dying to hit those wheels with some non-acid cleaner and a bottle of tire shine. I’ll make it … make it look just like … black glass …”

“Oh God …” Sebastian’s body shudders, the hand that had reached around and found Kurt’s cock going still before it began. “That’s … that’s it. I just came.”

Kurt’s face snaps back over his shoulder, desperate to check if Sebastian is lying. Either he’s an incredible actor or no, he’s not. “What!?”

“I’m … I’m done,” Sebastian says with an embarrassed chuckle.

“You have to be joking! Please, tell me you’re joking!”

“It’s your own fault. You shouldn’t talk cars around me.”

“But you don’t know anything about cars!”

“True, but the way you sound when you talk shop … oof!” Sebastian lowers his forehead to the curve of Kurt’s spine and shivers. “It’s really erotic.”

“OhmyGod!” Kurt groans. “Sebastian! You ass---!”

“All right, all right. Hold your horses.” Sebastian rolls gingerly to one side. Holding Kurt against his body, he takes him with him, balancing to lie down carefully on the back seat while staying buried inside his boyfriend. “I guess I can go a little longer.”

“How very gracious of you,” Kurt growls, allowing himself to be manipulated, lifted and carried like a half-naked rag doll. Sebastian settles his rear into his seat, scoots down a hair with his back against the inner panel, then positions Kurt in his lap. The change in angle and in depth has Kurt seeing stars, brighter and more brilliant than the ones outside.

It’s not the easiest position in the world for Kurt to move in, but he suspects Sebastian has something else planned.

“What do you want me to do?” Kurt asks, moaning when Sebastian slides both hands down his body to his groin - one wrapping around Kurt’s cock, the other reaching further down to caress his balls.

“Just stay like this and let me touch you.” Sebastian moves both hands in different maddening directions. Kurt reclines against him, and Sebastian starts to buck up slowly. “There you go. How’s that? Do you like that?”

“Y-yes,” Kurt replies, limp in Sebastian’s arms, shuddering with each roll of his hips, each pass of his hand.

“What do you like about it?” Sebastian presses with kisses to Kurt’s temple.

“I like lying on you like this. Being close to you …” This isn’t dirty talk. It’s conversation. Sebastian wants to know how he makes Kurt feel. They could have this conversation anytime, but doing it now, in the midst of making love, feels intensely intimate. Extremely sensual. “I like feeling your heart beat against my back, your skin against mine, and your hands ...” Kurt swallows hard.

“What about my hands?”

“They’re just so … sure. So talented. So … so … mmm fucking good at this …”

Sebastian presses more kisses and a smile to Kurt’s skin. “Anything else?”

“We’re not rushing. There’s no race to the end. Oh God …” Kurt’s legs trembles when Sebastian’s hand on his cock speeds up, but the one on his balls slows down. “I want to stay like this, just like this, and listen to the rain. How long do you think we can stay this way?”

“How long would you like to stay this way?” Sebastian asks. There’s a whine in it. He may be the one in the lead, but he’s not necessarily in control. He’s becoming fully hard again, but he’s oversensitive. But he fights against that to give this to Kurt.

To satisfy someone other than himself.

“Forever? At least till morning. Can we watch the sun rise this way?”

“I’ll do my best. But there doesn’t only have to be a round one. I can make you cum … let you have a breather … then start all over again … keep going … and going … and going …”

Kurt thinks about being locked against Sebastian’s body with his boyfriend inside him, all over him, caressing him, kissing him, making him cum all night long. “That’s … good to know,” he whimpers.

Sebastian can’t competently kiss Kurt on the mouth in this position, which is the only thing Kurt doesn’t like about it. But Kurt will rectify that later. Watching the rain fall outside the window while Sebastian makes love to him reminds him of his fantasy from before - of being in a hotel room, making love in front of a window with the curtains open.

That would have been fun, but this is way better.

He feels like he’s floating, being carried on a tide, the wind and the rain rocking the car adding to his sensation of weightlessness in Sebastian’s arms.

Sebastian changes speed again, changes direction, bucks up harder and faster at odd intervals, then stops to let Kurt simmer. “Do you like that, baby?” he whispers in a broken voice as Kurt’s legs and arms become restless, hands grabbing for whatever they can touch and hold, reaching behind to thread into Sebastian’s hair and gently tug. “Do want me to keep doing that?”

“Yes … please, yes …” The change in pet names from babe to baby flips switches inside Kurt’s brain, lighting him up from the inside like the forks of electricity dividing the sky. Sebastian’s thrusts remain shallow but they pick up in pace, and his hand, traveling leisurely from the base of Kurt’s cock to the head, matches it. Kurt tries to move his hips, help Sebastian out, but that’s met by Sebastian’s hands stopping in their tracks.

“Uh-uh-uh. None of that,” Sebastian teases. “I like you at my mercy.”

“Sebastian …” Kurt says, a plea and a warning all at once.

“Now you stay still,” Sebastian says into Kurt’s shoulder, his hot breath tickling Kurt’s skin, “and I’ll give you what you want.”

Kurt swallows hard, lies still, but that’s not his first instinct. His first instinct is to argue, to say he’d like to be an active participant in this act of love that they’re sharing thank you very much! But there’s nothing wrong with taking every once in a while without needing to give.

Or being helpless with someone you love.

Good things do come to those who wait, and Sebastian had said that Kurt was a good thing.

Sebastian starts up again when Kurt gives him no indication that he’s going to move, going as excrutiatingly slow as possible to begin with, probably to put Kurt in his place. Kurt clears his mind, lets the frustration in his body take a sidebar as he concentrates on the rain. The floating sensation comes back as the wind picks up, seeming to mirror Sebastian’s movements. Or maybe Sebastian is the one doing the mirroring, linking his stroking, his thrusting to the rhythm of the weather.

Sebastian is the first to signal how close he is to cumming by moaning Kurt’s name.

“Kurt … oh, God, Kurt … you feel amazing, Kurt …”

“Sebastian,” Kurt murmurs, taking advantage of the only body part he’s apparently allowed to move. “Sebastian …”

“Yes, Kurt …” Sebastian moans, voice changing, not entirely his own but an amalgam of what he’s doing, who he is when he’s around Kurt. “Say my name again. Please …”

“Sebastian … Sebastian …” Kurt chants, first out of request, but then over and over until Sebastian’s name doesn’t sound like a word anymore. But it’s not just a word. It’s the word, the only one he can think of, one he starts crying as his fighting not to move makes him cum harder than he ever has before. And when he’s done cumming hot over Sebastian’s hand, he keeps saying it, his throat dry with it until it is literally the last word on his lips.

“There,” Sebastian pants, shivering bodily as what’s left of his second orgasm evaporates into Kurt’s body. “I hope that made up for me finishing early.”

Kurt smirks. “It was … acceptable.”

“Acceptable, huh?” Sebastian says, and Kurt can hear him smirking, too.

“Yup.”

“A-ha. Well, I know me,” he says, retrieving his wet tee from the floor to clean them both up with, “and I’m excellent.”

“If you say so.”

“How do you feel?” Sebastian asks in a softer, less teasing tone, one that sends the liquid warmth of a long, relaxing orgasm pooling in Kurt’s stomach shooting out to the rest of his body.

“I feel …” Kurt rolls his head to look up over his shoulder at Sebastian “… radiant.”

Sebastian drops his head, giggles into Kurt’s neck. “Jesus Christmas, Kurt! We’re not in a Jane Austen novel! You could use a normal word like good … excellent … bitchin’.”

Kurt snorts. “Bitchin’?”

“It’s a word!” Sebastian giggles again, offering up no excuses for his horrendous vocabulary.

“I’m sure it is. That doesn’t mean we should use it,” Kurt counters, which makes Sebastian giggle more. Kurt removes himself from his boyfriend’s flaccid, overworked cock, rolling onto his side to face him. “Sebastian …”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it.”

“Why me?” Kurt asks, inching closer, lips ghosting Sebastian’s mouth, enticing him to answer.

“What do you mean?” Sebastian asks, rising to the bait of a kiss … then another …

“I mean, of all the boys you could have chosen for your ruse, why me?”

Sebastian stops kissing Kurt, which Kurt had been trying to avoid. Sebastian rolls his head on his shoulders and huffs into the air, as if this question is beneath him. Or so far behind them, his motives don’t matter. “I told you. My dad …”

“I know what you said,” Kurt interrupts gently, sliding down Sebastian’s body to rest his head on his shoulder. This may not be the time to ask, but he can’t shake what Charlotte said … He chose you for a reason. So why won’t Sebastian tell him what that reason is? “But I’ve always found that a little difficult to swallow. How in the world was I the first person that came to mind? You go to Dalton Academy. There has to be tons of boys from prestigious families with more impressive pedigrees than me. Boys that you could stand better, that you wouldn’t have to fight …”

“Fighting with you is half the fun,” Sebastian says, clicking his tongue.

Kurt gazes at him, eyes imploring. “Tell me the truth, Sebastian? Please?”

Sebastian sighs, fingers fidgeting, tapping against Kurt’s spine. Like he’s playing a piano, Kurt thinks for a second time this trip till he it dawns on him. No. Like a violin.

“You’re right. There’re a lot of boys at Dalton from so-called prestigious families, with money and connections and yada yada yada. Boys who’ve been after me since I enrolled in school, who watch me everywhere I go with disgusting moon eyes. Boys who would do anything I ask them to with the snap of my fingers.” Sebastian stops tapping, his fingertips moving to Kurt’s cheek, paving feather light paths down his skin. “A lot of polite, vanilla, cookie-cutter Dalton boys. But there’s only one Kurt Hummel.”

Kurt sighs, part frustration, part flattery. “Are you ever going to explain it to me?”

“Maybe.” Sebastian plants a kiss on Kurt’s forehead, his lips coming to rest there. “I just … need to decide how.”

“You could always start at the beginning? Stop when you reach the end?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes and kisses Kurt again. “Where’s the fun in that?”

#acitw #acitw au #kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt

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