#lights. off. my gay ass? horizontal as all get out.

[bugmistake]

i love being in bed everyone say hiiiii being in bed i love you being in bedddd yayy for being in bed!!!!

[fandomdaydreamer]

Of a Sun and Flower

Pt. 2 You Fit Me

Pairing: Pedro Pascal/OFC

Summary: Conflict induces a positive development when Nini meets the right person at the right time.

Warnings: alcohol, drug use, a psychoanalysis by someone who is not in any kind of medical field (me), symptoms of anxiety and depression, mentions of past abuse and overdose, domestic fights (with resolution, phew)

Notes: Well well well, if it isn't my late ass. Sorry, is all I can say. Life gets in the way and this chapter was fkn hard to write. Actually, I'm working on making Book 1 a real novel now, might be a real published author. Wheee

Also find this fic on Ao3 -here- or the series' Masterlist -here-

Length: 8.8k

~

You Fit Me

The floor was littered with old chewing gum and spilt, sticky puddles of alcohol when I lowered my gaze at my mechanically piloted feet. It was hot, too hot underneath my wig, too hot between these strange bodies. With nothing but numbness in my mind, I made my hips sway to the rhythm of the heavy beat, felt the base resonate in my chest and alter my perception as my nostrils filled with the scent of people's sweat, cheap liquor and the stale dampness of the fog machines.

My eyes wandered into the dark corners of the club, where hidden figures were locked in a passionate kiss or lived out their high with their mouths wide open as they gazed into the flickering lights. They were but quick illuminations of limbs and faces, pale picture frames of colourful people dancing to a heavy electronic beat. A hypnotic voice was singing and people upon people danced to it like they were in a trance. The air was thick and condensation threatened to drip from the ceiling. It was easy to be sucked into their midst, give in to the alluring promise of forgetful hedonism and just float into the river Styx. Float into another dimension while fate would handpick the gluttons who would descend into the third circle of hell.

What would Pedro say if he saw me like this? Not having fun and denying myself any peace. Was I pretending to push myself into a nihilist universe to chase fatalism and toxicity? A blind person would have been able to see it.

Maybe I wasn't drunk enough to stop my mind from constantly wandering back home and wane between regret and anger. However, I was intoxicated enough to tilt my head into the sticky air, close my eyes and remain in the eternal Asphodel meadows for a little while longer. I felt so alone yet free of all that I knew. An anonymous, ordinary soul drifting through the night.

My state in limbo felt complete until a slimy touch seized my hip and I was promptly forced to take a step away. "No!" My protest fell on deaf ears.

"C'mon, baby. You gotta try this!" A guy in a gay club of all places forced a shot on me. He waved a friend over who brought more glasses that were filled with some kind of dark liquid.

I batted his wandering hands away and yelled at him to leave me alone.

"Fucking fa-." I could read the slur from his lips before he took another leering step towards me. How easily his words shattered against the heavy armour I had braced my soul with.

"She said no, dickface! Fuck off!" A woman with rhinestone eyebrows stepped in. Her shrill voice was loud against the music and she shoved him away. She flipped the man off and cackled at the range of slurs he threw back at us. "You okay?" My saviour hollered in my direction once he'd left us alone on the dance floor.

"Yeah, thank you!" I yelled back. I had seen and gone through worse things. Infinitely worse. "I'm sorry-" I gestured aimlessly when everything became too much anyway. In an attempt to escape, I made my way through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

I had no clue how much time I spent trying to sober up inside the stall that was plastered with graffiti and scribbles. A stick figure lay horizontal with x's crossed over instead of their eyes and memories of last summer flashed through my mind. Overdosed eyes had glazed over into a blur and I recalled how scary it had been to not be able to move my body as I nearly choked on foam and vomit. In a hazy fever dream, Pedro had found me just in time and in the worst way possible. How terrified he'd been. How stupid I felt about the way I behaved again.

In my overwhelmed state, I kept ignoring my phone as it buzzed for the millionth time this night. Pedro's ID blinked up again, the pet name I gave him mocked me along with all the hearts we'd sent back and forth in our recent past. Such a stark contrast to his currently unanswered texts. I wasn't tone-deaf to their urgency.

01:34 - Baby, I just need to know if you're ok, then I'll let you do your thing. Promise

Can you please pick up?

02:04 - Where are you? I can come and pick you up, wherever you are. I'm not mad at you

02:11 - Please just tell me you're safe

02:50 - Leonie, this has to stop! You've made your point ok?

03:00 - I swear tfg, the least you could do is answer! You care at all??

03:01 - *(Angel deleted this message)*

03:02 - Pick up the fucking phone.

The last text, I imagined he had written before pulling his hair out in sheer frustration. A full stop. Yikes.

"Fuck." I whispered to myself.

Inside the filthy stall, I closed my hands over my eyes and slumped over with my elbows resting on my knees. I tried willing my cramp to go away or at least deal with the pain of heavy guilt setting into another part of my stomach. "I'm such a fucking fraud," I admitted to myself in a moment of clarity and regret. Impulsive and short-tempered Leonie van Fleet, the misophonic asshole who doesn't know what she's doing, everyone. Round of applause.

A voice in the stall next to mine ripped me out of my thoughts. "Does anybody have a tampon?" They asked obnoxiously above the dull sound of thumping music.

"I do! Hold up." I yelled back immediately, pondering on my last one and deciding giving it away would limit my time here but maybe having no other choice was a good thing. "I'll trade you for some toilet paper." I put my hands through the bottom of the stall door and crouched down, hoping I wouldn't lose my balance when chipped white nail polish met equally broken black polish as they grabbed for the tampon.

"Thank you so fucking much. My night is saved." They said, made the exchange and I felt dizzy when I decided to end my crisis and finish up myself. "No problem, that's what uterus pals are for." I slurred before flushing and walking up to the sink. I felt a little more drunk than I had originally thought.

"What was that you were saying?" The voice sounded nasal like it's been through quite a bit of crying before. "You're a fraud? What do you mean by that?"

Nosey, this one.

"I mean uh... I'm pretending to be this destructive version of myself. Or what am I doing here?" I was reeling with thoughts while washing my hands with barely existent soap. With no option to dry them in sight, I let the water drip as I stared at my reflection. A stranger stared back, a vision of everything gone wrong.

"Sounds like you've put a lot of thought into it." The voice ripped me out of my tunnel vision again.

I crossed my arms and the words somehow kept flowing out almost too easily. "I just keep making the wrong decisions," I spoke above the sound of the distant, thumping beat. "Just don't know why. Maybe just to punish myself for my perfect life." I narrated my unthought-through, impulsive actions and concluded my crisis with the afterthought of a selfish brat. "You know what? What's worse is that all I do is punish the person that matters to me most."

"Huh." The toilet flushed and out the stall came the same woman from earlier and a look of recognition washed over our faces. "Oh, it's you!" We burst out at the same time. She was of similar height, maybe in her early forties but it was impossible to say with that skincare routine she had going for her. Apart from the eccentric decorations on her face, she had black shiny hair and red-painted lips. "The self-punishment over a hypothetical would make sense if you think you might not deserve the positive things in your life. Have you been through some shit? Apologies for assuming-" She washed her hands messily and also noticed the lack of soap. "I'm drunk."

My brain caught up with her a second later. "Yeah, horrendous stuff." I dramatised in my tipsy state and leaned my weight against the neighbouring sink.

I lacked the ability to comprehend how she could have been so spot-on at first sight. Maybe my cry for help was painted above my head as obvious as the neon sign of this club. The woman spoke with an equal amount of compassion and anger. "Many of us have. Bullied and chased out of our homes. Fewer rights as a marginalised group. It's worse even for the trans community. So many places where you must have felt not accepted. I'm sorry, that had to be tough."

"I'm... Yes, that's true but I'm not trans." I informed her with a smile, amused she'd thought I was.

She froze like an elephant in a porcelain shop. "That wig-"

"It's a wig, yes." She had a fair point for assuming. It was a high probability in a queer scene club like this and my heavy makeup and a wig I hadn't even glued on.

"Well..." She grinned, making it obvious to me that my hairline was crappy enough for me to not pass as a woman. "Anyway then, your partner, she's the best thing in your life and you're emotionally dependent on her?" She asked before bending down and took a sip straight from the tap.

Feeling like such a fraud again, I suddenly felt ashamed. I was out of place. "He is. I hope I'm not but the truth is, I couldn't live without him. He's the best thing in my life." I corrected her and she coughed into the stream.

"Damn, I assumed you'd at least be part of the L in the alphabet mafia. What were the odds?" "No, it's fine. We're in a queer club so... I'm sorry for invading this space. I guess I just wanted a peaceful night out. Can't escape men anywhere though. Surprise." I chuckled at her before being serious again. "Karma. I haven't been treating my partner well these past couple of months." Suddenly admitting it felt devastating and my voice quivered so much, it made her turn her entire body and meet me with a worried frown. "I had a very abusive dad and I'm afraid, so fucking afraid I'm the abuser now." I was taken aback by my confession, for it was so unlike me to bring up my past, let alone to a stranger. However, there was something about this woman. Something so comforting and familiar, I had to reveal a well-hidden part of my life to an equally drunk stranger in a filthy bathroom.

Yet I received nothing but her entire attention and while her presence felt comforting, her voice was clear and cool as ice. "My best guess is you have tried to cope with everything yourself, depending on whatever distracted you and fed your love deprivation." She deducted.

I gaped at her. "How-"

"Do you mind?" She pulled a cigarette from a battered package and I shook my head 'no' when she offered me one. "I think I get it now. Wait for it-" She climbed onto the heater and blew smoke out of the tiny window. For a moment, she digested the first drag, smoking in a kind of club where nobody would bat an eye anyway. I felt like a lost little kitten, staring up at her with big hungry eyes. It nearly seemed she gathered information by scanning me from head to toe. "You have some kind of European accent, maybe you were new here at some point and lonely. You're a petite, pretty little thing with daddy issues in a queer club, still unable to escape that predatory behaviour from earlier. So in theory, you know how to protect yourself because you had trauma to deal with but you feel deep hurt all the time. Plus, a loving partner and a domestic fight, equals the fragile state you're in. Babe, you're trying to run away from happiness. It's called self-sabotage."

My throat hurt from having swallowed too hard. Mind completely blank from unadulterated surprise, I stuttered. "Self- self-sabotage... is that what this is?"

She clicked her tongue. "It's a behaviour that makes you think you have control over the negative outcome of your actions and be in charge of your pain. It's not real. You're just calming yourself with predictability." She had opened her arms like she had presented me with a magic trick and I was the stupified spectator who couldn't appreciate her art form. Although, what she said, sounded perfectly logical.

Impressed by her quick mind, I stood there with a frown between my brows while I took my time to process. "I was not expecting free therapy at three in the morning," I said numbly.

"Surprise." She grinned like a Cheshire cat despite the thin veil of tears that was still evident in her eyes.

"Are you in a psychological field of any kind? You seem so..." I tried to think of a better word than 'intelligent' and a kinder word than 'crazy yet wise. "Analytical."

She disposed of the burning cigarette through the crack in the window and hopped down to me. "Psychiatrist in crisis." She winked before turning to the mirror and giving her lips a fresh coat of red paint. A burst of frustration made her voice quiver. "But I have come to the realisation my work is fruitless in a world where people keep having normal fucking reactions to toxic post-capitalism. I'll never accomplish anything." She stopped doing her makeup to let go of her rage as she reenacted a conversation with one of her patients. "Oh, you're having a burnout and you live in a constant state of anxiety? You're a single mom working two jobs and you still can't pay rent let alone your medical bills but sure, you must have problems because Mercury is in retrograde." She was close to crying again and angrily tossed her lipstick into her purse. "I'm supposed to help people but all I see are unsolvable problems and stupid shit." She stared ahead in a nearly manic way and then breathed out like she was trying to get it out of her system.

Our tearful eyes locked in the mirror and I felt we had bonded in that moment. "I'm Giulia." My new companion introduced herself then.

"Nini." We shook hands and I came straight back to the point with something she said that had bothered me. "How did you know I have some unresolved issues?"

She didn't conceal an ironic smile. "You were talking to yourself in a bathroom stall. That's not a tough one to guess." She was right and my eyes started to become blurry before she interrupted me with a suggestion. "Wanna go outside? Dr Oswald will see you now." She offered with the grin of a siren who seemed to lure me in with a promising song of mental stability. After a short consideration, I sighed and nodded.

My path tonight had brought me to a club with a bright pink neon sign buzzing above its entrance. This hole-in-the-ground club's heavy electro-dance beat could only be revealed when its doors swung open. After falling shut, the soundproofing reduced the thumping music down to a dull ache in my memory. Some friends had shown me 'Nomi's' a few years ago and my disguise was either good enough to remain anonymous or simply nobody was bothered by the fact that a celebrity, and a hetero-normative one at that, was floating through an LGBTQ scene. The buff goth lady simply nodded at us before setting us free into the cold night.

Giulia poked me in the arm. "You hungry? I'm starving."

I shuffled about in the cold, considering if my anxiety was treatable with some food, then everything would be fine again. "I could eat."

"Wanna get kebab or pizza?" She held onto a street light and swung around playfully.

The corners of my mouth turned down into pathetic pout. "Chicago pizza?"

She smiled and frowned at the same time. "Yeah, why not? I know a place that's still open."

We talked on our entire way to the pizza place, shared our worries and doubts and she listened like we were two old friends who had finally reconnected but had never grown apart. The more she poured her interest into my problems, the more she lit up and somehow, I had overshared my entire trauma history. I was free to pretend to just be someone ordinary while in reality, I was opening up to a past life my public persona only dealt with when ugly rumours after a speculative peer-review turned into invasive interview questions. Giulia on the other hand had no idea who I was. To her, I was just another lost person.

The buzz of the alcohol had somewhat lessened during our cold morning walk. Some delis were already opening their shops for the day while the pizza place served their last customers.

A chosen New Yorker claiming Chicago-style pizza was superior was a dangerous opinion to have. Yet, I never felt more certain of it when the cheese string connecting to my piece seemed to never end. I chuckled darkly and groaned in delight while Giulia gave me an approving "Yeees, get in there."

"All I needed was some damn pizza." I sighed lowly, and yet again, battled my crisis with humour. "Can you believe that my ex-therapist advised me to go on a crash diet? All he wanted to talk about was my weight and my sex life. He wanted to stop me from being a massive kinky bitch and why would I want that?" Both of us cackled.

"Shit." She frowned, the doctor having a habit of leaning into me when she found something interesting. "I don't get how someone like that is able to keep a license."

"Yeah! Right?" I cried out, mouth full of hot pizza. I found enjoyment in being a hot mess when I mimicked his voice. "Oh, doesn't matter if you have a drug history. I have you under my wing, this is completely safe. Now here's some Ketamine. And boom, I'm dealing with withdrawal, cheers. Thanks a lot, dickhead."

"You weren't safe with him. Therapy shouldn't be manipulative." Dr Oswald stated.

"I swear, I have no verbal filter anymore. Being off meds is the worst." Though I had conveniently left out the part that I was famous, I remembered we were still in public and I shouldn't talk about too private things. I stared into the starless night above Manhattan and missed them as much as my sanity. "I can't help missing this... howling loneliness and complete lack of ego inside what was just mind fog." There wasn't any other way to describe ketamine to me. My nose clogged up at the pain and struggle of it all. "My sweet boyfriend- I was so mean to him and I know I'm also on my period and extra mean and the sauce I made was way too runny!" I sobbed at this point, nearly inarticulate, drifting off towards a point that was still very important to me.

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad." "It was practically water!" I sobbed out at the memory of our unsatisfactory dinner last night, shoulders shaking from crying.

"No... I meant what you said about being mean." She clarified while I suppressed a threatening hiccup. "What's your underlying concern?" Doc redirected our conversation with an annoyingly stereotypical therapy question but I guessed that had to be part of it.

"You know, I lost my cat-" A gulp broke my speech and I breathed until I got it together. "And it shouldn't feel this marginal but watching her die and realising I wasn't over my mum's death and feeling this profound sense of grief made me realise that maybe I don't want to be loved like that when I die. This much." Thick drops of tears streamed down my face and I knew I must have not made a lot of sense. "Never expressing this much love again. Feel the way I'm feeling... in that moment. I never stopped grieving and I figured, if he'd hate me, that would be easier."

The look she gave me was one of full understanding. "Go on, you got this." She encouraged me with a firm hand on my shoulder.

I wiped my face with my sleeve, snot, tears and makeup got stuck on the black fabric. "You know what my angel said? He said he could never hate me and he would never regret loving me, that I taught him that." I stifled myself with more pizza.

"Sounds like your person is there to help you navigate your pain," Doc said. "Maybe you're looking to become the people who would rather love like no one has ever loved before than to avoid the greatest suffering."

It seemed Pedro and I kept growing together. Through good and bad times. Despite the hardship, we still remained a unit and maybe that was all that mattered.

I soon rediscovered that food made everything better again and I filled the hole in my soul with cheese until my phone started buzzing in my pocket. Pedro was calling again.

"That's him?" Giulia asked with a look at the caller ID showing that 'Angel' with a load of heart emojis was calling. I showed her a picture of him and me together from our last New Year's celebration and she cooed at our big smiles. "I miss him," I admitted.

"He looks sweet. A bit... older than you, I guess?" She slurred back.

Bless her heart, she didn't recognise him either. "A bit." I downplayed our eighteen-year age gap. "Truth is, I am lucky to be with this treasure of a man, he's kind, sexy, smart and so talented." I gushed over him.

"But you've not communicated about your argument?" A slight smile spread on her lips despite her seriousness and somehow, I saw someone competent past those rhinestone eyebrows.

"No. I ran. Like always." I said in pure disappointment in myself. "I don't know if I fucked up for good this time. I can be such a bitch these days. But imagine me going home after this, what the fuck." I chewed slowly. "He already worries so much." I already knew my eyes were puffy and my lips were swollen from biting them. "Pedro thought he'd get a fun and bubbly, nurturing girlfriend but then he met my insecure dramatic traumatised and needy ass. What if I can't give him everything he deserves? He somehow still settled for me." A fresh tear ran down my cheek, this time I thought it might have been a happy one.

"You don't think your relationship is healthy?" Doc asked with a cough and I shrugged my shoulders. My fingers played with my sea glass necklace. "Do you think it's bad that... I don't feel like I'm not constantly on fire?"

"You think about the mind games that kept you interested?" "Don't call me out like that." My eyes narrowed.

"Let me ask you something. Does your relationship feel like an up-and-down roller coaster?"

I felt stupified and stammered out. "No?"

She kept insisting. "When someone has a hard time, do you make time to be there for the other? Not to improve things but just to be there."

"We can be miles away from each other at times but... yes. He's my lighthouse." I smiled widely despite her not getting the reference.

Giulia licked sauce off her thumb. "Do you bring the inner child up in each other?"

"Always." I laughed with tears in my eyes at every happy memory. I recalled our Christmases, birthdays, interviews and public events or simply the ordinary evenings just between the two of us.

Dr Oswald's shoulders relaxed with a sigh. "I think your relationship is more than healthy. Healthier than average couples. Don't let your insecurities talk you down, grow from them." With that, she shoved her last bite of pizza into her mouth and clapped her hands-free from crumbs.

My eyes skipped between her and the floor awkwardly. "Thanks, I guess."

She hummed before sharing an amused memory. "When my ex was fed up with me, I made her a sock puppet and tried to talk about it. She never called again." She demonstrated it with her glove. "Why don't you trust people?" She voiced her hand.

I gave her a fond smile as we began our walk back. "You're weird," I said with a chuckle as I retrieved a pre-rolled blunt from my purse and held it up to Giulia in an offer.

She grinned before passing me her lighter. "You're a cliché." She watched me light joint and take a practiced drag of the spicy herb.

"You're the one who said she dismembered Barbies as a kid." I countered with a deep exhale.

"Don't pretend you're not just as weird. You probably tortured your Sims or played with scary spiders or something." Giulia assumed, judging by my goth outfit by all accounts before taking a drag herself.

I couldn't help but play a joke on her. "There were indeed only spiders in the basement to play with," I commented dryly and her eyes closed while mine widened. Having just listened to the story of my sad childhood and the fact that my father used to lock me up in the cellar, she choked on the smoke. For a moment we were both shocked by my words until I noticed she was slowly breaking into laughter. She tried to keep it behind her hand but now we were both finished trying to hold back and instead of trying to work through and process my trauma, we let go of a hollering laugh. She at least tried to remain decent. "That's not funny. That's so not... funny."

I thought I was allowed to think it was. "It's a bit funny." She shook her head no, tearing up when she gave me my weed back. "See, you helped me already. I could talk about my dad without having an emotional breakdown. It's been easier already but I haven't felt this... relieved in a long time." I blinked away my tears stubbornly, finally admitting to myself that I was not fine and I was constantly reacting to my trauma. I decided then and there that if I would ever mistreat a future child of mine, I would not deserve to waste any more oxygen on this world. "You're really good at this. Knocking sense into people." I said sincerely.

"I appreciate you trying to end my lost cause. You made me feel like I'm not a total failure after all." She said on our way back through the calm side alleys. Our steps echoed from the red brick stone walls as we passed the joint back and forth.

"Are you kidding me? I appreciate your work so much. You do matter. This was... this was really helpful. I mean it." I saw her bottom lip trembling at my promise.

"Thank you. You're very nice."

Like a cool cat, I flicked the joint away. "I have my moments." She let me drape my arm across her shoulders as we made our way out of the last alley.

The night was slowly lifting and my mind felt light as a feather when the club came back into view. "I don't think I'll go back inside again." I said at the end of our journey.

Giulia turned and her hands clapped onto her sides with a sigh. "Now imma tell you what I'd say as a therapist and imma tell you what I'd say as a parent from an Italian household." She took a step closer and lowered her voice, her concern sounding far from patronising. "I would very much like to test you for PTSD and bipolar disorder and I want to break down generational trauma and introduce you to the right medication and progressive, beneficial habits because you girl, are not making wise choices." She finally put her finger down. "Second, and this is my nonna speaking-" Suddenly she raised her voice and I jumped. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE? GET YOUR ASS HOME, PRONTO." She gestured like her Italian grandma and I chirped out a laugh.

"O-okay." I was met with a passionate grin I had to somewhat dampen. "PTSD has kind of already been diagnosed though." A deep intuitive feeling matched and I somehow knew she would be able to help me.

"No depression?" "It's more of an anxiety disorder." "Shame. People with depression have the best Spotify playlists."

I blinked at the sound of her disappointment. "I would very much like to become your patient." I decided then and there.

"Fantastic." She wrestled her hand into her boot in return to give me a white business card with a font that promised a brutalist interior design. 'M.D. G. Oswald' written on it with an office address in Manhattan not far from here.

"Fancy," I noted and tucked it away into my bra. She seemed genuinely happy at the encounter. "God knows, I've made my partner age ten years tonight. After this-" I began to walk backwards towards the street. "I owe him a lifetime of happiness... and no more runny sauces."

"Try creme fraiche next time." Giulia advised me and the only thing I could do was comment with an awkward 'ah.

I shifted my weight from one to the other foot, pointing in the direction of an approaching cab. "I should probably... I'll give you a call." I turned one last time after I had already managed to hail it. "Hey Doc, one more thing."

"What?"

I couldn't have addressed her with a sterner tone as I stood by the open door of my ride. "If you ever tell me I need to forgive my dad, I'll be out the door." I threatened and at first she looked puzzled, but then saluted me in understanding and we smiled at each other.

I was already inside the taxi when she whistled sharply with her fingers and provoked me to roll the window down. "Ey, one last word of advice." She began as she stood in front of the door back where our journey had originally started. "Make up with your fella. If he's mad, suck his dick. He'll get over it."

"Amen!" A bunch of suddenly cheerleading people roaming the club's entrance in their colourful outfits contributed with loud and some lewd additions.

I nodded and sank a little deeper into my seat with my cheeks heating up at her thumbs up. "Thanks." Giulia slapped the roof of my taxi for goodbye and as I drove off, I looked back to see her going back inside the club.

~~~

At around five in the morning, the house was dark and perfectly quiet. Everything seemed to go according to plan if it meant Pedro had finally gone to sleep. The key and wind chime at the door hardly made a noise when I crept inside, yet having to greet a pathetically whining Edgar who had been waiting for me on the doormat required an advanced level of discreteness. "Hey, good boy, hi! Oh, dear. Oh, dear." I went over to pacify our boy before I snuck inside bare feet with my shoes dangling from my fingers.

Completely parched, I passed into the kitchen, unloaded all of my belongings onto the counter and fumbled at my earrings with a sigh. My mouth tasted weird.

I was stretching towards the glasses when sudden bright headlight illuminated the entire room and scared the living hell out of me. His sudden appearance had been nearly enough to drop my glass before I could even retrieve it from the cupboard. "Kut, fuck! You scared me!" I cursed after swishing around to see one particular unpleased Pedro in the French doorway. His frown only deepened and he gave me a thin-lipped stare as he leaned against the frame and crossed his toned arms over his chest.

I knew I had to look like an absolute mess, yet I gestured around as if I couldn't see what the point of him busting me like a naughty teenager was. This was terribly like a bad childhood memory of my father doing practically the same thing, the only difference was that I wasn't scared of Pedro. He was dressed in his old pyjamas and his hair was adorably ruffled post-shower but his softness was entirely replaced by harsh tension. Deep bags cast a shadow underneath his eyes and it was then that I noticed the sheen of tears in their hardness, something between pure anger and also, relief.

"Hi." I gulped, sensing I was in deep trouble regardless. I slowly pulled my wig off my head, discarding the long black strands as they flowed off my shoulders. He didn't echo my greeting as usual.

My eyes skipped to the floor at the sight of his obvious disappointment in me and I wondered if I would manage to raise any kind of reaction from him other than eyes that stared daggers into my soul. Pedro's anger was a chilling thing to behold. It was rare.

His chest first expanded and he tore his hand over his mouth like he needed to stop all the necessary curses from tumbling out with his next exhale. "How was it?" He asked instead, ironically with a sharp edge to each word. His eyes radiated a kind of severe heat that promised this was merely the calm before the storm.

I forced myself not to stutter but my heart beat out of my chest. "It was... nice. I feel good. Really good. Better um... I thought you'd maybe be asleep by the time I get home."

"Oh, really?" He parroted with dripping sarcasm, finally stepping down the few stairs and stalking intimidatingly closer. I shrunk underneath him and bumped into the counter, wincing at his proximity more than the impact. "Where were you?" He growled, jaw clicking.

Irritation glared up at me at his patronising tone and I realised I wasn't done provoking him after all. It was like I couldn't stop myself. With an attitude, I raised my chin and snarked up at him. "Why does it matter? I'm no longer there."

"Did you take anything?" He turned my face into the light above with force and I blinked, irritated at the examination. The light was too bright and his grip pinched my cheeks a little too harsh for his gentle character. He held heated eye contact that made my pride resolve and finally crumble. "Leonie, did you take anything?" He bit down at me after he couldn't detect something unusual about the dilation reflex in my pupils.

I freed myself from his grasp. "No, I didn't! Let go of me." I pouted childishly and he let it be for the moment, stepping back and letting me go like my touch burned him. "I'm fine!" I added when he walked away from me.

He faced the garden, his broad back casting a shadow onto the blueish-hued floor when I dared to speak up again. "I'm... I'm tired. I think I should just go to bed." I tried to sneak my way out but he was quicker to strut to the couch and toss me a pillow.

"No, you're not." He ordered, clearly insinuating I was sleeping here tonight.

"Fine." I bit out and aggressively fumbled with a blanket while he turned around and didn't take another look at me. A gush of air pushed through his nose when he walked past me.

I could only watch as he went to leave, a rush of sympathy and guilt provoking me to finally do the right thing. "I'm s-"

He broke off my apology. "Go to sleep and sober up. We'll speak in the morning."

A heavy stone settled in my heart. "Pedro."

He went to go upstairs and not once turned to look at my sad, lost form that waited in vain for a sign of forgiveness.

~~~

When I woke about five hours later, it was by the sound of items banging in the kitchen. The smell of something delicious sizzled in a pan but my stomach dreaded it and my head felt like it could burst. The first wave of sickness crashed into me when I remembered the resemblance of hatred in Pedro's eyes. Mine opened to the sight of his chocolate curls bouncing as he chopped something with a knife. His gaze was still turned down even though he must have seen that I was up and the more I told myself that he didn't care for me anymore, the more I felt like I deserved it.

The smell of bacon suggested that the thick tension hanging in this house was merely a delusion. Normally it meant something different. A cosy breakfast with a newspaper and coffee, loving banter and plans for the future.

Pedro discarded something into the bin when I sat up and disturbed Edgar, who had been sleeping cuddled into my side.

Pedro sighed and tossed the towel he'd been using over his shoulder. It was like he needed to brace himself before acknowledging me with a side glance and a tight pull of his moustache. I threw my blanket off and felt nothing but awful at the sight of the fatigue on his face.

"Good morning," I muttered meekly and got up to go and sit at the table with my hands folded sheepishly in front of me. I didn't even dare to walk up to him and get myself a cup of coffee. Pedro on the other hand, knowing me inside and out, fetched it for me and the creamy liquid sloshed over the rim at the force he used to slam it down in front of me. A plate with a croissant followed next with a harsh clatter of porcelain on wood. Before this 'talk' I dreaded more than anything would ensue, he waited for me to examine my favourite breakfast that I still adored him for. "Thank you." I barely managed to say.

He watched me dunk a piece of buttery deliciousness into my coffee, slip it into my mouth and treat him to a careful smile. I knew he had gone out of his way to get me fresh croissants but I couldn't tell if it was a peace offering or should merely act like a little sugar to make the medicine taste not so bitter. I braced myself for the latter. "D'd you sleep well?" He muttered tiredly and I nodded.

"The couch is pretty comfortable, actually." I attempted to make an insignificant observation before returning the question and receiving a hardly noticeable shake of his head as he brushed it off.

"Pedro, talk to me," I begged him, still hoping I could fix this. "Please."

Yell at me, throw something. Just anything.

I could hardly swallow as he stalked through the room. He took deep breath before his agitation finally unfolded. "Do you have any idea-" he spoke slow and patiently. "-how worried I was all night?"

Finally, his eyes met mine and it was nearly devastating. A heavy gulp forced my food down and I inhaled to start with an apology but he stopped me from making even the tiniest approach. "I was frightened, I didn't know what to do. You just... storm out after we had a fight, I have no idea where you're going-" The heat still radiated from his eyes when his voice turned a mocking tone. "The problem is you don't fucking care about anything! I wait for a fucking sign of life from you but you ignore my texts, you don't answer my calls-" His voice rose in volume with each word. "And then, finally at five in the morning, you come home, reeking of alcohol and weed and I knew-- I knew that would happen. Who else but you would just disappear, then pop up like nothing happened?" He had bent over the table, hands splayed out across when he spoke to me in calm anger. "You know what you did? You mixed painkillers with alcohol and drugs, you're lucky you didn't end up in the ER! And don't get me started on the scandal you could have caused when you walk around fucking wasted like that." He shook his head at me and I decided to keep it to myself that I had been to a gay club on top of that. "Irresponsible, stupid, impulsive girl. Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn't think you're a fucking danger hazard to yourself!"

"I was 'not' wasted," I muttered under my breath, but he looked past my antics and the flaw of design I called self-medication. He was speechless. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"Oh, you're sorry?" he chastised me, louder this time, ready to berate me a little more. "I'm sorry is not fucking good enough this time!" He was breathing irregularly.

"I needed a little bit of freedom, Pedro!" I cried out.

Maybe emotion made him irrational at this point too. He didn't care Edgar was whining at us. "Oh, remind me again how horrible living in LA was and make me feel guilty about it."

"I begged to come with you, to just leave New York, remember? Poen died and I wanted to leave." I yelled back, frantically wiping away the first couple of tears at his fury. "I love you, wherever you go, I go!" I sobbed. Silence hung in the room like thick fog clouding us.

He sighed, holding back the severity of his anger when he realised he had made me cry. Finally he sat next to me at the head of the table and with a terrible sigh, ruffled his hand through his hair.

He sounded so tired. "I was so fucking mad. Still am. You treat my concern like it's nothing. I get you're searching for yourself and what's good for you but call me out on my delusion if I assume it's not in self-medication but right here." He told me with his eyes closed. "Honey, I'm so invested in helping and supporting you and I also know you won't find that sort of thing while going out and risking your wellbeing. I have... a lot of empathy for what you're going through. Be selfish, by all means, but I am 'not-" he fixed my eyes with his and put his index finger onto the table. "deserving of being treated like shit. Trust goes both ways. If I can't convince you to do what's best for you, I trust that you at least won't disrespect my compassion."

Finally it sank in and I was struck by so much shame, my eyes stung violently and I hated myself for ever hurting him. Even if unintentionally, he was the only one who could stop me on my way down because he was in control of my heart. I was the first to break our tense silence. "I need help," I admitted in tears. "I want to get better."

We finally seemed to understand each other's dire struggle, for when he grasped my hand, it meant the world to me. "Maybe you want to try this clinic I found. I heard it's-" He began but I interrupted him and tried to conceal my disgust at even the mention of rehab.

"I already found a new therapist," I announced and he leaned back in a puzzled state. "Good, eh... good. What?" He stuttered.

"Last night." I finished and watched his jaw drop. He gave me a look like he was finally done with my bullshit and the hand he'd previously held so comfortingly let me go again. I aimed to pacify him before he could say anything. "A good psychiatrist, I met her in the club and I got a free session but I'm already a hundred per cent sure, she's the right one for me. She is... incredible."

Pedro was still too baffled to even process this piece of information. "That's... that's-" Pedro didn't know what exactly this was, he tried to think about his words but failed. He put his palm to his forehead to relieve the headache that had to be forming there. "I feel like you forgot everything I just said. You don't get it." Pedro looked at me, puzzled.

"I do." "No, I begged you to make more sensible decisions and then you barge in with this." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "God, you're a piece of work."

I tried not to take that past comment personally. "I mean something good came out of my manic episode. I realised important things. For example, that I'm self-sabotaging."

"Okay... okay. Let's think this through." Pedro had calmed down somewhat and ran his hand over his beard in an attempt to try and start over. "Does this therapist have any credentials? What's her background? References? Do you have any idea who she is?" His questions were all reasonable but I had no answers to them. All I knew was that none mattered because I had a good feeling I about her.

"She's extremely smart and empathetic, she's boisterous, a lesbian and she's a socialist. You'd like her." I explained and he blinked at me. Dumbfounded, he folded his hands and I felt free to tell him the entire story of how Doc and I met.

Even after I was done explaining, he was still not convinced. "You know can't have a personal relationship with your therapist. This meeting while going out... thing and smoking together doesn't sound good at all. Who parties with their therapist?"

"I know, I know we can't be friends. She already said something like that. That and, that I should suck your dick if you're still mad at me." His frown seemed edged in stone, causing my innocent expression to crumble bit by bit. "You don't want that." I assumed, quietly.

"No, I don't." He dismissed, low and pointedly. "This is a bad idea. And this... therapist suggesting a blow job would fix this-" he looked up with a spark of humour I fixed my hope on. "Maybe."

I raised my eyebrows and he pointed a finger at me. "No, I was joking." "Okay, jeez." "I'd appreciate it if you took this seriously."

Maybe it had dawned on me or my manic episode was finally tranquillized by cold sobriety but my eyes stung with tears and my voice cracked when I spoke under my breath. "I am taking it more seriously than ever." I tried and was met with a look of love and pain in his eyes that nearly broke my heart.

"Don't say that if you don't mean it." He begged quietly.

A heavy gulp got stuck in my throat and for several moments, I gathered the right things to say. "I know... I know you have a good reason to be angry with me but I felt... so helpless." I choked up. "So unseen."

For several long, insufferable beats, we stayed mute until the quietness became too much to bear. "I'm sorry if I made you feel that way." His voice had cracked mid-sentence. "Just the thought anything could happen to you... and it would have been my fault. When I didn't hear anything from you, I was so angry."

When his eyes filled with tears, I reached over the table to gently try and loosen the arms he had crossed in front of his chest. Reluctantly, he opened up and let me hold his hand.

"Baby, I know it's been hard. I know-" My voice quivered while he tried to compose himself and meet my eyes. He was right, I hadn't been myself lately and I was so sorry for everything. For last night, for what nearly happened in LA. He was the one person I wanted to keep trying for and I made a promise with the only words that mattered. "I'll do better."

Pedro nodded, the flicker of warmth in his moist eyes. He believed me. "Okay." He decided and merely the thought of ever disappointing him again broke my heart. Never in my entire life had I felt such shame. The tears that had gradually been filling my eyes spilled over and I watched them fall into my lap when I couldn't hold them any longer.

He cupped my cheek when a sob shook my body and raised my chin so he could look me in the eyes and make something clear. "I was scared, for you. And you- you don't understand how much it hurts when you run out the door like that. Please, at least let me know you're okay next time." He admitted quietly.

"I'm so sorry." I cried out.

"You were right, I was too controlling. And I'm sorry for letting you sleep on the couch and being too harsh on you." He sighed, wiped first mine, then his tears away before he regained his composure. "If you need time for yourself, I won't stop you."

"Not... time away from you but-" I sighed. "Maybe I just need to get back to work. Do my own thing again and work on some music."

"That's a very good idea." He smiled for the first time and it was soothing, even though something seemed to still weigh on his mind. "Can you promise me something?" His eyes snapped back up from our entwined hands and I braced myself to receive an expectation I would have trouble meeting. "Promise you'll tell me when you feel like I'm smothering you, so you won't start to resent me?"

Finally, the consequences of my actions had an impact when I realised he was definitely the more mature person about this. The fact that I made him worry about that deeply saddened me. "I could never resent you." I squeaked out, finally broken.

Pedro breathed out a relieved sigh when I threw myself into his arms and I could hold him tight. His shoulders sank low as he hid his face in the crook of my neck and hugged me close. He needed me as much as I needed him, right here and wrapped up in his arms.

"Lost my fucking Duolingo streak." He grumped, spoke muffled into my shoulder and triggered a peal of laughter to bubble up between us.

"I'm so sorry, angel. I really am." I replied nasally but somewhat relieved of all tension. Looking back at him, I wiped away the moisture underneath his eyes.

"It's okay now." He promised. "I promise it'll be okay."

I revelled in his gentle touch. "I'm sorry for being all wrong in the head." My voice thinned out.

He caught my chin between his finger and thumb. "Hey, hey, you're not. Look at me." I did, looking into his still glistening, beautiful brown eyes to see him sniff and brace me for some uplifting words. "You think there's something wrong with you? There's nothing. Absolutely nothing is wrong with you. Anxiety and depression fucking suck but you're gonna stop being so hard on yourself. It gets better, I promise. And when we fight, we fight hard but we love even harder." His eyes were so soulful and he was in every way, kindness and beauty while I was ashamed of the way I looked, felt and behaved. Somehow he made me feel deserving again just by looking at me.

"You don't know how much that means to me." I was hardly able to say through my throat closing up in tears as I held his face in between my palms. "I'm sorry, Pedro. My sweetheart." Gazing into his shimmery, yet determined eyes and finally seeing no sign of irritation in them lifted an enormous weight off my heart. A desperate need for closeness forced its way into our embrace. It was nearly too harsh, the way he pulled me closer when his fingers tangled into the roots of my hair like he'd lose me if he didn't but I needed it to survive.

He held me close for what felt like forever and again, I felt the need to just disappear within him. "Hey, I don't want a mentally stable partner. That's boring." I said in an uplifting tone and I nearly giggled. "Because that's not fun. It doesn't fit me. You fit me. I want you, with all of your issues. To me, you are perfect." He placed many, loving kisses on my head and made his devotion and immortal support finally resonate within me. I was a path without an end and he was happy to keep treading on it.

~

Part 3 - Coming Soon

~

Translation notes:

(it): nonna - (eng): grandma

(it): pronto - (eng): now

(dut): kut - (eng): cunt

[willowwisk]

Heyy, you said it's ok to give you prompts?

Can you write a destiel fake/pretend relationship maybe? (Any setting works except HS please) You don't have to, of course.

And could you add me to the taglist?

Thank you, have a good day/night!!

AHH! yes of course!  the fic is below the cut. its an au where dean needs to bring a date home for new years.

God. Damn. his father. that son of a bitch. All last year he dragged dean to bring a girl home for the holidays. all week it was “ooh dean, maybe you'll have a girl next year, ooh dean, when re we gonna get to see your girlfriend” what a tool.

but this year he finally stopped and thought. what if he DID bring someone home. stopped the annoying passive aggressive comments? easy. but who could he convince to fake date him?

that was where he hit a wall. No, really. he ran into the wall in the hallway of his dorm. shit. he needs to learn to think AND walk.

“What the fuck was that noise?” he heard from deep inside their studio dorm. “CAS!” he yelled, opening the plywood-esk door. “you’re a genius! I could just kiss you!” dean shrieked, hugging Cas. he would have no problem getting Castiel to relent to his idiotic plan.

“what, dean?” Castiel asked, slightly confused. “ok, so you know that Ryan Reynolds movie?” dean asked, knowing that cas would have no problem remembering every Reynolds movie to exist ever, the man was a wet dream.

“you are going to have to be more specific dean” cas added, becoming a little frustrated. “Sandra Bullock. Alaska.” Dean said. 

“OH, you mean the Proposal? we watched it last month, right? We saw Ryan’s ass?” Cas realized. dean laughed. leave it to cas to remember that. but yea. that's the one. 

once he explained to cas his little predicament and promised him he wasn't going to make him go to Alaska in December, they were packing their bags.

“WOAH cas if you put that in your bag I swear to god,” dean yelled, looking into cas’ duffle bag. the man was folding a Las Vegas raiders hoodie, and dean would not stand for that. 

“what the fuck dean, you know this is my favorite sweatshirt!” he said in his gravelly, back off voice. Cas really had no idea did he. “Cas, you realize we are going to Kansas, right? that's chiefs’ country. if you wear a raiders hoodie anywhere NEAR Kansas, they will shoot you point blank! not to mention my father,” dean said, trailing off.

Dean handed Cas a spare chiefs hoodie from their shared mini closet. “here wear this, I'm your size and you will get a better reaction from the entire state.

cas was shaking his head but he begrudgingly put it in his bag.

and soon enough, they were off! the plane ride was a little turbulent, so of course dean thought he was going to die the entire time. 

when they finally got on the ground, John, Mary and Sam where all there to greet him. Now, dean had told his family he was bringing home a date, but he didn’t specify the gender. they all knew he was bi; he was 20 and a sophomore in college, he was not planning on staying in the closet forever. However, his father elected to ignore that.

he was super excited to see Sam. when he was home for fall break, sam was sick in the hospital with the flu, and he was never really around the whole week. now he was better, and seemingly even taller.

 “whats up bitch!” dean called out, giving him an epic noogie. “Deeeeaaaannnnnn! You’re such a jerk!” sam said, only giving dean more gusto.

“Dean! Sam! Quit it. We are in public.” John said, rearing his ugly head and ruining the fun. “Yes Sir.” The boys said in unison, making cas cringe.

“Dean, who is this young man?” Mary asked, gesturing towards cas and breaking the awkward silence that comes after you yell at your 20-year-old son.

Dean tool a deep breath, looked at Cas and told them that he was his boyfriend. Sam shook his hand, Mary said, “oh, alright! Hop in the car and we can head home” and john said, well, predictably, nothing. He just got in the car and drove home.

When they pulled up at Deans childhood home, it looked exactly as it did when he comes every year. Nothing seems to have changed except Sam’s room since dean was born. “dean, can you take yours and Castiels bags to your room?” mary asked, unlocking the door. Dean had already assured cas that he had had bunk beds in his room since he was 12, and that there was no need to worry about sharing one bed.

Until he walked into his room. If you could even call it that anymore. His black walls? They were now a light shade of baby blue. His music posters? Gone. Replaced by Ikea paintings of bridges and shit. And the worst part, instead of his bunk beds tucked into a corner of the room, there was one big queen-sized bed.

Dean threw the bags onto the bed and yelled “MOOOOOOM!!!!” downstairs he could hear a quiet exchange and a “shit!” before he heard his mom running up the stairs. She had a lot of explaining to do.

After explaining why his room had been butchered and replaced by that Martha Stewart crap, everyone was exhausted. Their flight had come in at 10pm, ad they lived an hour from the airport.

Cas was in the bed, and dean was on a blanket on the floor. Ouch. But that’s when all hell broke loose.

There was a sputter, sputter, CLANK across the house in the wee hours of the night. Everyone was asleep except dean, and he KNEW that sound. The fucking heater had gone out. On December 22nd. In Kansas. F U C K.

Dean lay shivering on the floor, when cas screamed in his sleep. Now dean felt extra bad. He was used to cas’s  tears and whimpers in the night, since they were roommates, but he knew that straight up screams were really bad. Cas had nightmares and PTSD, like, bad. He grew up in an abusive household, and being the youngest sibling of 8, he was everyone’s favorite punching bag.

Dean knew the nightmares circled around that, but he never knew details. After waking cas a lot in his freshman year, dean finally learned that if you wake him up, its really hard for him to go  back to sleep, so cas told him to just let him ride them out.

In the middle of deans thought, cas screamed again, mixed with a chocked back sob. “no, don’t hurt him- no! NO! don’t hurt dean no no no no!!” cas whimpered.

At this point, dean was planning intervention. This seemed way worse than normal, it felt more like a PTSD dream than a normal nightmare. He needed to get cas awake, and now.

Dean hopped up onto the bed and grabbed cas’ face in his hands. “cas buddy, wake up, your safe, I’m here. CAS” dean yelps, trying to wake his friend up.

All of the sudden, cas’ eyes pop open, and! He begins to have a panic attack. But that’s fine. Dean knows panic attacks. They follow their 5 things you can touch, smell, and see procedure, and by the last touch, cas has almost calmed all the way down.

“Cas, what is the fifth solid thing you can touch?” dean asks, praying that cas has calmed down.

Cas reached out and touched deans almost frozen lips. He points at dean.  Cas then notices how cold dean is. He points at dean and puts his arms up in a ‘shivering’ gesture. Ok. So cas is going to be nonverbal tonight. Good to know. That one will be hard to explain.\

Its was also important to mention that cas had autism. He was a confusing little gay disaster that dean was somehow incredibly dependent on.

Cas had lifted his blankets and was gesturing that dean come and get in the bed, to warm up.

Dean was reluctant, but he was just so cold. So he relented.

“I hope you know im getting out as soon as the heat turns back on.” Dean said, crawling into bed.

He pressed his back to castiel's chest, effectively becoming the little spoon. Maybe this fake dating thing wouldn’t be so bad.

They had lost so many hours last night, that when the door opened in the morning, they were still asleep. “boys” mary said in a quiet voice.

This jolted dean awake, who was famously a very light sleeper, only to discover he and cas were even more entwined than before. He was now facing cas, and they were basically hugging horizontally.

“the heater is out ma” dean whispered, trying to not wake cas.

“dean, the heater came back on not two hours after it went out”

 oh my god this was so fun to write, sorry i went off of your prompt a little, i really was afraid it was going to turn into a 100k fic lol and i write wherever the plot bunny takes me.

[secretsantasides]

Gift #14: Colorblind

Gift for @forestwulf​

Prompt: Intrulogical Soulmate AU.

        Logan massaged his temples as the nightclub music pounded in his ears, “I don’t know why you insist on coming here.”

        “It’s twinks drink free night,” Patton said, sipping his appletini.

        “You stopped being a twink ten years ago,” Logan muttered.

        Patton sighed, “I’m going to ignore that because you’re my brother and I love you. Speaking of love-”

        “Don’t,” Logan said. “Not this again.”

        “Listen to me,” Patton said. “I’m worried about you, Logan. I know you’re a little robot and you don’t need romance in your life or any friends but-”

        “I have friends,” Logan said.

        “But,” Patton said. “You’re thirty years old and it’s starting to make mom sad on the holidays. When I met Ethan, it wasn’t sitting around at home and moping. I mean how long has it been since you were touched by another human being?”

        “Soulmates,” Logan sighed. “Don’t start, Pat. I’ll gouge my eye out with this tiny umbrella.”

         Patton rolled his eyes, “Logan it’s not just nonsense; it’s science! Just because you think you’re some kind of lone wolf doesn’t mean you don’t have a soulmate. Your eyes wouldn’t be grey if you weren’t still waiting for your person. So you can deny it all you want. It won’t change the fact that they’re waiting.”

         “I don’t have time for a soulmate, Pat. You and Ethan just work better; you have time to be in love and he’s patient enough to deal with… you.”

         Patton faked an offended gasp, “Just for that I’m not getting you a free drink next round! But you’re right, Ethan is perfect. However-”

         “There is no however.”

         ”However,” Patton continued. “It doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone out there who’s just as patient with your bullshit as Ethan is with mine. Now look you made me swear. I hope you’re happy.”

         “I think the three appletinis made you swear,” Logan said. “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

         “Actually I’m going out of town in two days with the girls so they gave me time off.”

         “Out of town? That’s this week?” Logan asked.

         Patton finished his drink, “I love how much you listen when I talk. The pandas are being moved to the zoo in Atlanta so their enclosure can be remodeled and we’re hoping to get some breeding done while we’re out there. That’s why I told you that you have to take mom to the optometrist on Monday. If you forget that, Logan-”

         “Right right,” Logan said. “No I’ll remember it’s… it’s in my phone.” He looked at his empty glass of whiskey but pushed it aside, deciding he’d better stay sober, “So what’s Ethan thinking about this longterm separation?”

         Patton snorted, “One of his retics laid a ton of eggs and she bit his face when he was pulling the clutch. Now he’s walking around like Crocodile Dundee. Plus the whole clutch is viable so we’re looking at a lot of new snakes to add to the national program. He’s in talks with a zoo in Taiwan too about some bloodline trades. It’s really annoying sometimes. He gets dozens of babies a season and I’m lucky if I’ll see more than two or three in my career.”

         “Well you chose the pandas,” Logan said.

         “I’ll have you know the pandas chose me,” Patton said. “You want another drink?”

         “Nah, I’ll drive you home,” Logan said. “Go flirt with the bartender and see if he’ll pretend to think you’re young some more.”

         Patton laughed as he slid out of his seat, walking over to the bar. On the dancefloor Logan saw a small group of students, a few of which he recognized—one in particular a large pain in his ass. Remus Prince, Quarterback of the university football team and well-known idiot. Logan wished Remus was the typical jock idiot, uncaring and arrogant, one he could easily fail without a second thought, but Remus was bound and determined to make up for his own shortcomings with hard work and extra credit. It meant that half of Logan’s office hours were spent patiently explaining things to Remus again and again, and accepting an outlandish amount of extra credit work.

         And—even more annoyingly—through it all Remus was cheerful, friendly and actually interested in what Logan had to say. Worse still, Remus was a senior, only four years younger than Logan who was the baby of the science department and didn’t he just hate that little nickname? Remus was like a peer, but worse, a jock, the kind of person that would have made Logan’s life miserable if they’d ever walked the same halls together as students. The revelation that Remus was gay was… interesting? No, not interesting. He’s a student and you don’t care. Logan rubbed his eyes and sighed, jumping when Patton returned with two appletinis. He sat down and stared at his brother matter-of-factly, “Guess how much these cost me?”

         Logan raised an eyebrow and couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips, “How are we related?”

          Patton was a lot heavier than he looked when he needed to be carried, and Logan struggled up the stairs to the door of the apartment, knocking on the door. It was a cute place, all brick and right on the street, divided in half horizontally to make a duplex, but it was roomy and it was nice for two people on zookeeper salary; it was inexpensive—for Florida. Ethan opened the door and Logan gasped, “Ethan, your face!”

         Ethan did smile, and there was more than a little pride in it, “Don’t worry. She hit above and below my eye but the doc said to keep a full dressing on it at night so I don’t rub anything off. He cool?”

         “Vodka drunk,” Logan said, hauling Patton inside and laying him on the couch. “Not too bad but I told him I’d stay sober and I think he needed to drink off some stress.”

         “The move, yeah,” Ethan said, following Logan back to the door. “And my face. He’s not really loving how many times I take the bandage off to show people but it’s my first big tag! You wanna see the pictures from the ER?”

         “Gosh I’d love to but I have class in the morning so-”

         “Ethan!” Patton called from the livingroom, “Come sex me up, Mr. Snake Whisperer!”

         “Good luck with that,” Logan said. “Tell him to call me when he’s less obnoxious.”

         “Will do,” Ethan said. “Bye Logan.”

         Logan snorted when Patton called again and started down the stairs, “Good luck!”

                   Logan looked at himself in the mirror after taking out his contacts and smiled at his grey eyes; grey was distinguished, and he didn’t mind having a constant reminder—for himself and others—that he was beyond all of this soulmate nonsense. He was a lone wolf, just like Patton said, and his true love was forensic anthropology—or biology, as he was currently teaching. His application was top in line for the anthropology department, however, and he had consulted a time or two on actual cases. So, despite Patton’s—and his mother’s—insistence that his life was somehow incomplete, Logan couldn’t be happier. He turned off the bathroom light and crawled into bed, thinking back over his tasks for the day, all of which he’d completed before he ever set foot inside the gay bar with his brother. It was the same way he lulled himself to sleep every night, assured of all of his accomplishments, large and small, and how every day was a blank slate.

         Sleep came quick for him, thanks to the single glass of whiskey and the exhaustion of dealing with his drunk brother—and his sober brother-in-law. His dreams were blurry and immemorable until suddenly his vision was filled with green. There were calloused hands on his skin, warm lips on his cheek and breath in his ear, and he was held against a solid body with a grip that was surprisingly strong. He closed his eyes and still all he could see was green.

         Logan gasped and sat up, checking the clock and scowling; it was still the middle of the night and he was baffled by the strange dream and irredeemably hard. He sighed heavily and climbed out of bed, heading back into the bathroom and turning the shower to cold, stripping off his pajamas. Who the hell did he know that was associated with green, anyway? He didn’t even like the color green, his favorite color was indigo, far from the blinding lime he’d been accosted with in his dream. Any thoughts of the dream went screaming from his mind when he stepped into the water; his chest tightened and he exhaled involuntarily, “F-fuck!”

He tightened his hands into fists and endured the water, somehow preferring cold-induced heart palpitations to ward off an unwanted erection than perhaps the more obvious—and less miserable—solution. It was easier to be stubborn and miserable than to admit—and revel in—the fact that something had gotten him going, and that it had to be the dream. Whiskey wasn’t exactly known for facilitating physical arousal, and he’d barely had enough to taste in the first place.

                           “Morning!” Remus announced as he knocked on the open office door.

         “Good morning,” Logan said, “Come in, Mr. Prince.” He cleared away the end of his desk where Remus usually worked and stacked up the papers elsewhere. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

         Remus laughed, his cheeks a bit pink; Logan wondered if he was getting a cold—and how much that would panic the other professors about the state of the football team. He took a sip of his coffee as he sat down. Remus scratched the back of his neck, “Well I have the three essays to turn in, and I did the makeup dissection test with Professor Picane’s Zoological Anatomy class… the uh… feral pig?”

         “Fetal pig,” Logan said, putting his coffee cup aside. “He sent your scores up to me. Good work. You got everything right except for the microscope work. We’re still struggling with cellular identification. I spoke with Emile and he said you actually seemed to have issues where things were similarly colored, so I took the liberty of emailing you some color-blind tests. I’m also inviting you to come in during my freshman course tomorrow. I use different dyes in my slides and I think you’ll benefit from it.”

         “Great!” Remus said. “You really go above and beyond to help me, Professor Heart. I um… well, thank you so much.”

         Logan crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair, “You know, Remus, I think you’ve got a lot of potential, and I think you’ve been pushed through classes due to your athletic prowess—to your detriment. I really want to help you understand that you’re not lacking in intelligence, you understand. You’ve got the answers, we’ve just had to learn how to get to them, right?”

         “Right,” Remus said, ducking his head shyly. “You’re always right.”

         “Now, with these three essays and with you making up the microscope work tomorrow, there’s no need for anymore extra credit work. You’ve got this, Mr. Prince. All you have to do is attend all of the lectures and you’ll be on track for a strong grade in this class. Do you feel like you need any more help?”

         Remus hesitated, “I  mean… you’ve done so much. I know you’ve basically changed my life, and how I feel about science—school in general! I um… I guess if I need anything I’ll just schedule a day before finals. If you think I can do it, I think I can do it.”

         Logan smiled, “Very good, Remus. You’ve got this.”

         Remus set the three essays down on the empty part of the desk and looked over them, “I can’t believe this is it, you know? I’m going to graduate in less than a month.”

         “Another year on the books,” Logan said. “Wait until you’re my age.”

         “You’re not old,” Remus said. “You’re still in your twenties too. Oh!” He picked up his backpack and dug through it, pulling out a small cardboard box. He set it on the desk. “I know your real interest is anthropology, like the cop kind, and I um… well, my dad works in the big museum uptown. They got a few of these and they gave my dad two of them.”

         Logan took the box and opened it, raising an eyebrow as he took out a human skull, obviously prepared and preserved professionally. “This is a nicely intact specimen. You’re certain this is alright?”

         “Yeah my dad said he’d rather it go to somebody who wants it than just gather dust in our basement or the museum’s basement. Oh they said it had uh… crouton disease?”

         “Crouzon Disease,” Logan said, standing up. “Hyperostosis Frontalis Interna, very interesting. Thank you Remus this is incredibly thoughtful.”

         Remus watched Logan put the skull in a central place on his shelf of books and specimens; it looked good, but Remus wasn’t really paying attention to the skull, especially when Logan turned and gave him a smile, extending his hand. Remus jumped up and shook it eagerly, “Thank you again, professor. You’re my hero. You’re especially my parents’ hero.”

         Logan chuckled, and the touch was mildly electric, probably static, but it made Logan shiver, “You’re the hero, Mr. Prince. Remember that, hard work got you this far, and it’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

         Remus nodded, slowly releasing Logan’s hand and stepping back to grab his backpack. “Well, see you in class tomorrow! Eight, right?”

         “Right,” Logan said. “And don’t forget the possibility of a pop quiz tomorrow in your actual class.”

         “Possibility,” Remus chuckled. “Good one, Professor Heart. See you then.”

         Logan watched him go and sighed, turning to admire the skull, a warmth blooming in his chest he’d never really felt before. It really was a nice skull, he supposed.

          Logan drove home with that feeling intact, almost floating into the elevator and riding it up to his floor. After making it down the hallway, and the obligatory avoidance of his neighbor’s eyes, he stepped into his apartment and locked the door behind him. He felt bone-deep exhausted—probably from the dream-cursed night before—and he went straight to the bathroom to take out his contacts. Once his contacts were safely back in their saline baths, he brushed his teeth, grabbing his glasses off of the vanity and putting them on. He admired his eyes—his green eyes. Logan gasped and squeezed his eyes closed, opening them again, still green. He took off his glasses, and his reflection was blurry, but clearly green eyes stared back at him. The warmth in his chest suddenly became a sharp icicle, and he realized. Green, Remus Prince. “Fuck!” Logan shouted, turning off the light and rushing out to his bedroom. He sat on the bed and pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, dialing his brother.

         The phone rang several times, and went to voicemail; Logan swore again and dialed the home phone, “Come on Pat come on.”

         “Hey Logan! What’s up?”

         “Ethan? Oh, is Pat… oh shit.”

         “Alabama,” Ethan said. “Yeah. You ok?”

         “No, not at all… oh god. Can we talk? Like do you have time?” Logan stood up, pacing around the bed. “I have… an awkward situation.”

         “You? I don’t believe it.”

         Logan sighed and Ethan laughed, “I’d like to be serious with you for a moment.”

         “Of course,” Ethan said. “Go ahead.”

         “When you realized you were Patton’s soulmate, was there a feeling?”

         “Hm,” Ethan said. “Actually, yes. I thought I had heartburn, actually. Just like this warmth in my chest? It sounds a bit stereotypical but yeah. I felt warm. That night when I was washing my face I realized my eyes had changed. You doing a study?”

         “Um… no,” Logan admitted. “My eyes are green.”

         “Oh! Oh my god! Did you tell your mom?”

         “Please, Ethan. I have only told you.”

         “Do you know who it is?” Ethan asked. “Any clue?”

         “One of my students,” Logan said. “The… football player.”

         “Oh yeah I remember Patton mentioning him, the stupid one right?”

         Logan bristled, “He isn’t stupid. He’s…” He sighed, rubbing his temple, “Well, thank you Ethan. You’ve answered my question.”

         “Text Pat,” Ethan said. “He’ll lose his shit.”

         “Goodnight, Ethan,” Logan said.

         Logan hung up and set his phone on the nightstand before undressing, pulling on a pair of pajama pants and climbing into bed. He turned off the lamp and pulled the blanket over his head, willing himself to sink into the earth.

          The following morning’s class was a blur of barely-controlled panic and dread, but luckily Remus barely even spared him a glance, intent on taking and passing his cellular identification exam. Logan pretended to grade papers when Remus came up to his desk, and his heart surged like it had, warming to Remus like a rock in the sun, “See you in class.”

         Logan gave a noncommittal sound, and Remus left the classroom, allowing Logan to finally breathe. Ignoring this wasn’t going to be easy, and Logan was already getting frantic texts from his brother demanding an explanation. Logan briefly wondered how hard it would be to vanish without changing universities. The worst part, without question, was how badly he wanted Remus to touch him, even just a brush of his hand. His body was like a magnet and his hands were shaking even though their closeness had been brief. At least his upcoming class was taking a pop quiz, and they were to clear out as soon as answers were submitted.  

          Logan remained more or less glued to the desk during the hour between classes, grading the microscope work—Remus hadn’t missed a single slide, so Picane’s catch on the colorblindness had been spot on. Logan had felt a stab of jealousy, absurd as it was, that he hadn’t realized it sooner, first, because Remus was his soulmate—his.

         “Mine,” Logan muttered to himself, then his face heated up when he realized what he’d said, and he looked down to realize he’d written it on Remus’ exam answers. Quickly scratching it out he pushed the test aside and lowered his face to the desk. “What a nightmare.”

         “What’s a nightmare, Mr. Heart?”

         Logan looked up to see his first student sliding into her desk, and he forced a chuckle, “The state of the economy in nineteenth century Luxembourg.” He stood up and began writing on the board.

         “Will that be on the final?” another student asked. The classroom had started filling up.

         “Not unless I’ve ever written it on this board,” Logan said. “We start final prep next week, don’t forget.”

         He finished filling out the board as the rest of his students filed in, and once his watch beeped cheerily that class had started, he heard a voice pick up behind him, the same girl from before, “Is that your favorite tie, Mr. Heart? You wear it a lot.”

         “It’s my favorite color,” Logan said without turning around. “As charming as the distraction is, I haven’t forgotten the pop quiz.” He turned around and Remus was staring at him, mouth open in shock. On either side of him, his linebacker buddies were looking at one another, and Logan realized his mistake in revealing his favorite color—because he knew better than anyone what color Remus’ eyes must be now. Wincing, he adjusted his glasses, “Alright, please take out a clean sheet of paper and answer the questions I’ve written on the board. When you’re finished please leave them up here and you may go.”

         Logan sat at his desk and pretended to be working, jumping when the first student turned in their quiz, but calmed and kept his eyes down as the steady stream of quizzes landed on his desk. He was starting to feel safe when most of his students had gone, and he made the mistake of looking up when a loud pair of sneakers stopped at his desk. The room was empty, and Remus Prince was standing at his desk, quiz in his hand. He set it down with the others and shoved his hands in his pockets, “Your eyes are green. I never noticed.”

         Logan paled and stared up at Remus, “I um… it’s recent.”

         Remus nodded, “Me too, indigo, right? It’s a weird blue for eyes. My brother said they look like Liz Taylor whoever that is.”

         Logan let out a nervous little laugh, looking down at the paper he’d been doodling on only to realize he’d been writing the word mine over and over, “Yeah. She had um… dark eyes. So I suppose you’ve met your soulmate then, congratulations, Mr. Prince.”

         Remus looked around and then back at Logan, “You’re going to pretend it isn’t you?”

         Logan was feeling very much like a deer in the headlights, but at the same time heat was playing in his chest. He pushed his chair back and stood up, tensing when Remus reached to grab his wrist, “I’m not-” Logan tried to pull away but Remus shook his head, “I’m not pretending anything I… damn it. Damn it I’m afraid, ok? You’re a student!”

         “Not for long! Like two weeks from now I’m taking the final, and unless I stop showing up entirely, there’s no way I’m failing. I did the math which I know will impress you because I’m such an idiot.”

         “Mr. Prince,” Logan said, then sighed. “Remus… is this even something you want? A relationship dictated by some… some system we don’t even understand? By colors and chance and… what, fate? You want to let the universe stick you with someone… someone like me?”

         Remus laughed and released Logan, covering his face with his hands, “You don’t fucking get it, do you? You really don’t.”

         Logan wrapped his arms around himself, blushing and adjusting his glasses, “Don’t get what?”

         “I have wanted you since before I started in this class!” Remus said. “My brother, the attention whore? He had me come here last semester to pick up a paper for him, remember? If it was just fate shoving us together it would have happened then… but it didn’t. I thought you were hot, so I signed up for your class because I figured I’d cheat my way through and have a hot prof to stare at right?”

         “Hot?”

         “Just let me finish,” Remus said. “When I came in here and sat down at that desk and I listened to you read the syllabus… and all of your weird bone jokes and that thing about the swamp mummy?”

         “Bog bodies, the Tollund Man, yes,” Logan said. “You remember that?”

         “Yeah because you cared, like you actually cared about it. You’re not just here because you couldn’t get a career and you’re not just here to waste time. You really care about what you’re teaching us, and I know you’re trying to switch departments but whatever, you know what I mean… there’s a lot of passion there and it made me give a shit. It took me forty-five minutes to fall in love with your stupid class, and maybe two or three classes to fall in love with you… but still it didn’t happen. Because it didn’t happen until you fell in love with me.”

         Logan was silent as he stared at Remus, his mouth hanging open; he took a sharp breath, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Jesus.”

         “Well? Am I right?” Remus said, tears welling up in his eyes. “It’s the mustache right? My friends told me that’s the reason you didn’t tell me. Because you hate it. I don’t even care. I’ll shave it off, ok? I don’t care if it’s good luck I-”

         Logan crossed the short distance between them and kissed Remus, cutting him off. Remus grabbed Logan’s collar and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Logan’s mind spun, and his knees went weak. Remus had no trouble holding him up, and when they finally broke the kiss, Logan smiled sheepishly. “I don’t hate the mustache, as much as I wish I did. I really don’t.”

         Remus buried his face against Logan’s shoulder and laughed, “Great because I really need to keep it if I’m going to get drafted. Three of the NFL scouts commented on it.”

         “Yes I’m sure you’ll bring back the seventies mustache. Your parents will be ecstatic.”

         “Yeah… so um… are we dating?”

         “No,” Logan said, then off Remus’ look he hurried to elaborate. “Not until you pass this class of your own merit. Like you said, it’s no big deal and then, the second your final grade is logged in the university database… we can date.”

         Remus smiled, smoothing down Logan’s shirt as he stepped back, “Right, cool um… hey I should probably go then, right? Got studying to do. Bye teach.”

         “Mr. Prince,” Logan said, sinking back down into his seat once Remus was gone.

         It was going to be a long couple of weeks.

[remusownsmyuwus]

Perfectly Real Chapter 7

Read Chapter 1, Chapter 6, Chapter 8 - or on AO3

Word count: 1171

Genre: Fluff and angst

Pairings: Loceit 

Warnings: Morally gray sides, anger, yelling, caps, self-deprecation, depression, food misuse, shattered glass/glass breaking, weaponry, alcoholism mention, suicide mention, death mention, discussion of morality, fire mention, weaponry, pining, crying, swearing

 ____

Thomas was getting weaker. It wasn't a subjective thing, Remus knew how it worked. There was… brainspace. And when something cleared up all the emotion taking up that space (Roman's passion, Patton's caring, Virgil's stress); it left room. Left room for Remus to play and to do what he wanted. Gave him… freedom. And with every thought that Remus shot through Thomas' stagnating mind filled more of it with disgust, which Hammy then dealt with, leaving oh-so-much-room for Remus. It was a vicious cycle in the best kind of way, and Remus loved it.

And well, when Roman wasn't creating, Remus was more than happy to pick up the slack-- the next video or project was sure to cover something a little more sour than Thomas' usual flavor. Sour? Bitter? Remus despised the typical, Western idea of morality as a black-to-white scale. Roman and his "dark" and "light" sides. Haven't we as a society and Thomas as a creator come far enough to know that having "bad"-- Remus chuckles at the idea of him, Deceit, and Hamlet being bad. --as dark and "good" as light is flawed and boring? Where was the subversion? The varied texture of writing?

Remus blinked a few times, sighing. He snapped his fingers, summoning a jar of steak sauce, which he unscrewed and began to pour carefully over the shelves of food in the light sides' food cabinets. Remus scrunched his nose, the smell of the steak sauce pungently sweet. It had a unpleasant viscosity, and with Roman down for the count-- thanks again, Hammy!! --it would be difficult for Virgil and Patton to clean.

Remus couldn't truly say that there was no fraction of vengeance in his actions. The way that the "light sides" perhaps there was subversion? It seemed the "lights" were far more… morally unclean than the "darks"... had treated Hamlet put a little more fire in Remus' blood. They had mistreated him to the point of alcoholism and suicidality! Ludicrous. We should use the ancient Egyptian color meanings. Dark was clearly the side in the right.

Remus threw the empty jar down to the floor, enjoying how it shattered. He summoned more jars, hurling them down one after another until the room was covered in a turmoil of shattered glass. Remus leapt over the wreckage, landing outside of the kitchen. He summoned glass barriers which stuck to the wall outside of the kitchen, which were about two feet high. 

Rushing back to his room, he picked up a massive sack- throwing in over his shoulder and running back. He crawled on top of the counters to avoid the glass and tore the sack open, watching as the pounds and pounds of Jell-O powder spilled onto the floor. Walking along the counter, spreading it out as best he could, Remus stifled a giggle. 

He summoned a small fire, in the center of the room, which was water resistant. He reached down, turning the sink onto full blast and pulling the head so it sprayed out across the floor, quickly filling up the now sealed-off kitchen. Remus summoned his morning star, extending the handle so he could gently stir the ~4488 gallons of liquid Jell-O mixture. 

Eventually, he snapped his fingers, stopping the fire. He lowered the temperature in the room, skipping away while the giant glass & pizza flavored batch of Jell-O cooled.

~•°^•^°•~

Hamlet hated the anger. Almost as much as he hated himself. And oh did Hamlet hate himself. There was so much heat. It was burning Hamlet alive, his cheeks flushed and his veins filled with fire. Roman's anger was so different from Patton's sadness, it made Hamlet so…. Incoherent. And hot. Hamlet tore off his tie and blazer, throwing them angrily against the wall of his room. He fumbled for a few moments with the buttons of his dress shirt before just ripping them off, leaving a horizontal stripe of his chest exposed.

"FUCK!" he yelled, just because it felt good to be loud. "FUCK IT! I HATE EVERYTHING!" It felt good to scream, and Hamlet pushed up his sleeves. His room was burning with heat. It felt so bad and so good and Hamlet felt so alive, with all that fire in him.

"Hamlet?" There was a gentle knock on the door, slightly muffled as if the knocker was wearing silken gloves (which he was). "May I come in?"

"Yes, Dee, come in! COME IN!" Hamlet wasn't mad at Deceit, he was mad at the door, and his room, and Roman, and Thomas, but most of all himself. 

Deceit opened the door, stopping once he caught sight of Hamlet's chest. He swallowed. "Hamlet, you're… you've been sscreaming for a while, I came to check on you. Make ssure you're okay."

"I'm so fucking mad! I hate myself so much!" Hot tears started falling down Hamlet's face. He really couldn't bear feeling so much all at once. How the others managed it, he didn't know. 

"Hamlet," Deceit's voice cracked slightly, and Hamlet felt slightly sick hearing it. "Hamlet, can you lie down for me, pleasse?"

"Yes! Fuck!" Hamlet flopped down on the bed, the springs groaning with the force of the impact. Tears still ran down Hamlet's face in tiny rivers, dripping down onto the bed sheets beneath him.

Deceit walked closer, the heels of his boots subtly clicking against Hamlet's floor. He wasn't wearing his full outfit that day, that morning he had opted for a soft yellow sweater over a loose fitting tank top and yoga pants. He pulled the sweater over his head and tossed it to the side, then pulled off the beanie he'd been wearing, feeling how hot the air around Hamlet was. 

"You're…" Hamlet trailed off, incoherent. He was… he wasn't able to form sentences at the moment. Everything hurt so much. Feeling hurt so much.

"I'm only here to help, I know how you are after you… transsfer emotions. I wissh you would sstop doing thiss to yoursself." Deceit sat down on the bed next to Hamlet, pulling off his shoes and setting them carefully by the bed. 

"It's my duty, Dee. It is!" Hamlet felt awful for yelling like that. Stupid stupid stupid, his brain supplied.

"You sshould help them manage their emotionss, not take them away. You're ussing them ass toolss to aid in your sself disstructive behaviorss. I know you don't believe me, but it'ss true." Deceit rested his head on Hamlet's shoulder, looping an arm around Hamlet's waist. He breathed deeply and evenly, leading Hamlet to do the same. Some forbidden part of him wished that this was… more. That Deceit could hug Hamlet like this when Hamlet wasn't having a breakdown. He shoved that part of himself away, it was too complicated to process now, in Hamlet's arms.

Hamlet drifted to sleep, the knot in his brows smoothing. Deceit watched him, the heavy blush on Hamlet's face, and smiled. He was glad that he could help Hamlet, that he could be there when he needed him.

____

Taglist: @gay--insomniac @power-in-plain-sight @thiaholimon @djpurple3 

special thanks to @aleiimm​ for beta-ing this fic! 

[willpowerbutch]

Willpower Butch: In Profundis

Dawn clambered over the LA quarantine like a wearied soldier storming a hill – the hill that has become the burning bosom of the Gay-Transgender. Since NASA identified God in the night sky, flying toward earth to assess His children, society has been thrust into a state of nihilistic chaos. The Christians rejoice, and the Gay plot on how to turn Him over to their wickedness. The Transgenitalists, banned from public restrooms, desecrate suburban streets with their bodily fluids in an expression of protest, making neighborhoods where once children could freely get hit by cars while playing Pokémon Go into a biohazard.

(God, who is due to arrive this summer, is shooting through space right now.)

Morning threw these degenerates into relief as they staggered over the pavement of Duplass Avenue and into oncoming traffic, waving stolen underwear on long strips of decrepit building vinyl: the art gallery spinsters who invented Mitski; adults who cosplay as memes; “grandfathers” who loiter in the Youth Bibles section of book stores; and, most troublingly, the bodies of fallen straights, levitating up through the storm drains on the wands of gay necromancers – in short, the entire Green Party – were only the first denizens I encountered along the harrowing road to James Franco’s homo-cidal circus. Everywhere, there were the remnants of bar food and suspicious in-laws. All this was the plutonic vision which greeted my trusted correspondent and I as we strode heterosexfully down the block.

Paragon Shag beside me had not been the same since our eviction from the House of Those Motherfuckers Who Wear Sandals. Only the whiff of pedicure oils on a passing European businessman would send him into such extravagant declamations on the aesthetics of marginalization that I would be impelled to beat the fuck out of him.

“Shag,” I spoke unto him as we arrived at our destination, the Villa de Hermaphrodita, that crypt of human bipedalism. “What is this stench wafting from your chest?”

“Deodorant,” said he.

“I fear for you, Shag. You are aware that deodorant is a witch’s brew intended to inculcate children into the homosexual lifestyle.” He knew as I did that those who use it too much become ravenous beasts, mere British culture journalists, addicted to the scent of Orientalism and male crying.

“Precisely so. We cannot allow ourselves to be overtaken by those limping nancies. With this, we shall confuse their predatory instincts.” And just then, a furious piss communist passed us by, navigating by the odor of listless pretension to James Franco. “You see?” said Shag, turning to me suddenly. He took my arm in the manner of the Romans, up to my elbow. “We are brothers, Mr. Butch, and not in a YouTube Red sort of way, nor in the sense that two different-looking male roommates claim to be, nor in the manner of college boys who make out at strangers’ house parties and tell everyone that it’s part of their fraternity hazing ritual, nor like bohemian male friends who have a large age gap in a hot way, nor indeed like the Quakers, who we all realize developed oatmeal as a gateway to eating spunk.”

He spoke prettily, and I could do nothing but convert my doubt into glorious masculinity. We had come to investigate Franco, after all, whom we suspected of creating twinks to try to turn himself gayer.

We entered the villa -- and there he was, directly before us, barefaced and shockingly confident for a man who looks like a toilet squeegee, licking chocolate off the thighs of a servant boy. James Franco: provocateur of the Gay and war poet of their slick uprising against biological persons.

“Wow,” he greeted us running a hand through his hair. “This is, like, crazy. I haven’t been tag-teamed by two bears since I was on the set of Milk. Did you come to see how I kidnap women and transform them into twinks to make myself gayer?”

We were speechless before this display of arrogance, but Franco’s attention had already been diverted. The servant boy’s epaulet had come unbuttoned.

“Well,” said Franco, hooking him by the shoulders, “the evidence is piling up, huh?”

“Sir?”

“Tell me,” Franco mewled in a squalid attempt to sound erotic, “while you’re existing in a state of, like, untroubled happiness because of straight privilege, do you ever wonder how it feels to have ornery fetish sex with glamorous-yet-blasé strangers every second of your life like the Gay-Transgender are expected to do?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, now you’ll have nothing but time for that, man – as the newest member of the Heterosexual Circus.” Turning mercurially, as if astonished to discover that Shag and I had not moved, Franco addressed us. Raising his arms, he shouted, “Birth is Death! Reason is Treason! Empiricism is Imperialism!”

We could not bear to witness the poor boy’s torture by being forced to be bad at dancing in front of gay perverts. As Shag and I shuffled back onto the street, idly kicking the shit out of a taxi that had parked on the sidewalk, I was emasculated by a notion unrelated to the sweating power of my manhood: that we had not heard the last of these frightful slogans.

*******************************************************************************************

It did not take long for us to find a trap door at the other side of the villa, under a cypress tree. It was locked, but not for a man. Reducing it to smithereens with a mere touch of my beard to it, we descended into a lively disco club where, clinging to the shadows, we moved about curiously. There was in one of the dance-floor cages a sight which startled us.

“Gayflame!” called Shag. “Reddie Gayflame!”

“It’s just Sexchaynge now,” she whispered above the music, on the verge of tears because her body was undergoing a dramatic change.

“But, Sexchaynge,” Shag advanced fretfully, leaving enough distance so as not to be endangered by her femininity, “I thought you were a Gay as well.”

“I was, but I gave it up. You see, I believe in doing things as hard as I can, like Hugh Dancy -- but I knew that I would never be the gayest of all. Not while Ben Whishaw still has a career as an international sex fae... So, why not become a transgender instead, I thought to myself, since there’s less competition?”

Shag nodded sagely.

“Anyway, there is somebody else here that you ought to meet. Follow me.”

My correspondent and I were led into the adjacent hallway, where loomed a misshapen yet familiar silhouette. Suddenly recognizing it, I cried out, “It is the Lord of Lust, the fluent horizontal dancer ‘himself,’ Ben Whishaw! You fiend! You devil!”

But when the vampire stepped into the light, it turned out to be only Twinkathee Charlotterampling, who is merely probably an insatiable fairy.

He threw himself into Paragon Shag’s arms, weeping. “I knew you would never go back to Italy, so I came here to find you. Oh, please say that we can stay together, Daddio. Listen, I can even help you out: Gay Franco isn’t only turning women into twinks, he is then cloning the normal homos! Next, there will be enough fit gay guys to have sex with each other, and Franco will be our only option. Then where will I get any action with men who don’t look like a rejected Muppet? It’s a direct assault on bottoms, and not the fun kind, like when Benedict Cumberbatch gets turnt on Corvo and tries to turn my ass into Christmas lights,” spoke Timpani, gulping. “It’s against my huwoman rights.”

The dimensionless sex balloon’s discourse rained down upon me the spume of flaccid object permanence, and I was forced to rebuke him. “You skinny-jeaned Socratic, you purveyor of gay lies. Humans are not women. And the only right you have is to stop dangling your driftwood in front of every sailor you lay eyes upon. Knave!”

We resumed our progress down the hallway, the two of us and our limpid sidekicks, who stopped every so often to slather their tongues over errant broomsticks. At last, we cruised into a large room, which contained in its rear a glass chamber that held a strange, dark machine within.

“It’s the TRANSporner,” said Timpani Gayparade.

Turning to Shag, I asked, “What do you suppose it is, my macho companion? I cannot well understand the cartoon elf’s French.”

“It must be how Franco transfigures women into the Gay. My God,” Shag exclaimed, “it’s full of emo music.” Grabbing Gayparade’s weird jaw, he brought him into his line of sight so he could address him. “You – What else has Franco created?”

“He has an entire lab devoted to cloning the Gay,” Timpani laughed drily. “And it’s completely, like, impenetrable. Any man who goes in there is brainwashed into Franco’s horde. Only a woman could do it.”

“A woman?” we shouted together.

Twinkathee nodded.

“But we have so few in our warehouse. What if Franco merely kills them? We cannot afford to risk one,” Shag bemoaned.

“You see this?” Twinkathee peered up at Shag and shook his head despondently, pendulating his curls like Quentin Crisp’s spinal column. “This is only the first step. Once Franco masters cloning, the gays will be able to have orgies with themselves, and then they’ll spend eternity competing to see who can suck the most of his own dick. We can’t let God know that we ripped off twincest from Leviticus; he’ll think that we’re total fucking nerds. Shag,” Timpani huffed Frenchtastically, “I know this is the last thing you want to hear–”

“Silence, you animated meringue.”

“—but Ben Whishaw is the only homo who still dares to manufacture women. We need him.”

(A diagram of some of the unique anatomical characteristics of women.)

There was little sound then – nothing but the shaking swallow of breath and a distant applause, floating down from the circus where Franco was, variously, receiving his latest recruits. Tears of frustration had sprung up to rim Gayparade’s eyes. There was something accusatory in his gaze at my friend; such a look might have paused me in my celebrations of erectile power, if it had been produced by a man and not by a melancholy bagel fingerer.

Twinkathee lifted his chin, which surprised me because most homosexuals lose executive function of their necks by his age. “You know I’m right. And you know that you have to make him come.”

“He already has,” I interjected, “Whim Bitchaw, Colin Firth, Tom Tykwer, Patrick Stewart, and Judi Dench all at the same time. Oh, you mean come here.” I turned unto Shag, who shirked his eyes. “Why, Shag? What can this eroticized bungee cord mean?”

Slowly and with great shame, Shag reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, right above his heart, and pulled out a condom. “This – this is how we summon Ben Whishaw.”

“With a condom?”

I was surprised, but my skepticism soon changed to heroic terror as Shag tore at the wrapper with his teeth and emptied its contents onto the floor.

“Ben cannot resist the scent of a condom that is left unused. He will come now whether we want him to or not.”

Soon, Ben Whishaw came.

He came – in a flourish of glitter and sharpie tattoos -- attended by his insidious Cummunists: nudists brandishing firecrackers at uncomfortably-pretty busboys, male lingerie models, lions mounted by braless Valkyries, weeping Bavarian youths, the entire population of Barcelona, Michael Shannon, and a parade of cats, all singing “Cake” by Rihanna at the top of their lungs. BBC4 was empty that day; all the mouthwash Mary-Janes were on earth, rutting against children’s harmonicas, instilling fear in all but the most excellent specimens of manliness.

“Rejoice,” Ben Whishaw sang as his silky knees folded to the ground, chafing immediately. “Rejoice, you who have beheld the bawds of my bedchambers, the Greeks of old beachfront restaurants, the harbingers of fantasy sex tours like Ezra Miller’s career. I have come, and so shall you.” Swanning over to address Shag, he bit his lip. “Darling, I am here for you! What do you need, hot stuff?”

“Women!” he shouted manfully.

“What for? You aren’t still trying to figure out which hole is the mouth, are you?”

“Nay,” he replied, “my brother Butch told me. We need them to infiltrate Gay Franco’s hideout and destroy his cloning technology.”

“And you,” the hunch-hip padded towards me, “this is your brilliant plan? You send women to do your dirty work for you? What are you afraid of, big boy, and what can I do to ease that stress?”

“Naw, son,” called out Michael Shannon from afar, “do you want a garden salad with that skewer, or should I just serve you a knuckle sandwich?”

But Whishaw held up a slim, delicate wrist, jangling his fetish jewelry, silencing him. “I will say it to you strai—” he hacked painfully, “directly. I will give you my women, whom I had intended to use to lure fathers into a gay orgy, thereby undermining their paternal confidence. This, of course, would homosexualize the youth. But I will command them to join your cause instead... for a price.”

“Speak, elongated child!”

“Your beard,” said he.

I was struck silent.

“I need your beard,” he repeated, endless tears gathering in his eyes. “It’s for my play. The director is afraid that I’m not hairy enough to be Marilyn Monroe.”

“Why,” I puffed my chest, but it didn’t look gay or like breasts, “of all the evil perversions your kind have committed against man, this is the one that I shall never entertain to forgive.”

“That is the deal, Comrade Butch: your sublime brush for my women.”

There was no canon fire, there were no memorial barbecues where suburbanites play a game of subconsciously adulterous cat-and-mouse over the grill, for the sacrifice I made that day. Dear reader, it is a day that shall be marked forever with infamy, for that is the sin that hangs over whatever circumstance impels a straight man to give any piece of himself over to a queer Nancy. Do not mourn for Faust, do not pity Dante the Pilgrim for his travails in Hell; in the flash of a scalpel, I fell into a greater damnation than those dramatic homos could ever conceive.

*******************************************************************************************

When he had his ill-gotten prize, Ben Whishaw parted our company as he has left each of the tens of thousands of men he’s seduced around the world, with a lachrymose little smile, a wiggle of the ass, and a soliloquy on the transient beauty of tricking straight men into thinking you’re a woman until they’ve already removed their pants. Being a consummate phallic god, I was immune to his European witchcraft; Paragon Shag, I’m afraid, was somewhat awestruck by this coy display. But there was no time for either of us to dwell on his fabulous sorcery. The deal was done, and there awaited before us creatures yet almost as feminine as that enchanted nymph.  

“So,” I said, stalking around their strange mass, “these are the notorious ‘women.’” A slim shadow fell across my face, and a chill entered my heart. “Shag, what do you make of all this?”

He proceeded to inform me, “It is supposed that women were invented by the early Catholics, at the decree of the Pope.”

“The Catholics?” I interrupted him. “But what do those queers need from women? They themselves gave rise to the two cruxes of gay culture: old men who sort of cross-dress, and bottoms who think they can top.”

“Like Michael Kors,” added Shag, “but with less herpes.”

“So, what, by God, did they want with women?” Yet Shag could only shake his head. “Women!” I shouted unto them, for their ears ring incessantly from all the cock they swallow. “What are you for?”

They seemed to consider my question. “We like Shakespeare!” shouted one. “We create life, and we perpetuate culture,” replied another thoughtfully. Said the third, “We’re trying to eliminate baby-faced depressives from the gene pool.”

“Then you’ve certainly backfired on the Catholics.” I stroked the remnant of my beard and turned to Shag. “Sir, we should waste no time in bringing them to the safety of our suspicious roadside barn. Send Gayparade back through the TRANSporner and let us put a plug in James Franc’n’o in a firm and impressive way.”

Shag nodded apprehensively, taking the marionette by the elbow and helping him toward the entry port. “Fear not,” he advised the waif, “for soon you will have no rap career again. Iggy.”

“Iggy,” Gayparade murmured after him. “Iggy, Iggy.”

They came upon the threshold of the TRANSporner, its dilated cavern of unnatural lust that had given Iggy Azalea talent and genitalia so many years before. The twink gulped, appraising it, unsure of how to proceed.

“Timpani?” Shag inflected. “What is the matter?”

But the twisted, hollow-cheeked spaghetti said nothing, impelling Shag to grip him by the hair, repeating his query in a low growl.

“Oh, Paragon!” cried the gimp at unimpressive length, “I can’t do it, brother! Being a girl is bullshit!”

“Truly,” said Shag. “I’ve read Nietzsche.”

“I won’t go back into the TRANSporner,” he wailed. “I would rather die than look like an adult human.”

Shag leant down, menace in his eyes. “Then we must leave, Timpani, quickly -- before Master Butch is able to transfer sufficient power from his penis into his legs to follow us.”

“You mean...?”

“Yes,” my noble friend, my eternal companion responded, turning to me. “I am prepared to accept my animal nature, the amoral truth of my life: there can be no more good taste, because that is for the straights. I am a total gay forever.” And thus, Shag tore the bomber jacket from his shoulders, and it fell away like his erection, revealing a strapless silver gown and taffeta stole. Rising by fabulous vampirism, he glared down at me; nevertheless, I could discern a cold and implicit sadness in his gaze, the gaze of young man after the golden summer of 1914.

“Shag,” said I, my loins quivering, “get ahold of your senses. There is no future in the Homosexuality. Every country where gay queers establish their warrens, penises shrink. This is because the Nancy makes healthy public arousal impossible by constantly bringing up Madonna.”

But he had already vanished, along with Gayparade, into a vortex of passionate mid-century female friendships.

The silence that prevailed in his wake was deafening; it was interrupted, at last, only by the genital whir of the TRANSporner and the soft, incomprehensible chattering of the women. And after much prayer, my noble witness, I still cannot say which of us in that final instant had been more the queer Dorothy: Shag, his crystal-blue eyes darkened with looming cocks, cutting loose to spend his life spoon-feeding treacle to a preteen girl’s gay skeleton; or myself, at the realization that, more than my box of horse condoms, more than my brass knuckles, more than even my beard, I needed Paragon Shag with me. It brings me shame to confess this, but we live in such times as make masculine pride scarce, and I do not foresee Western civilization’s return to glistening worthiness until the metrosexuals have been pounded back into almond butter and adult coloring books.

I crossed myself, still in a state of disbelief, and turned toward the threshold of hell, where Sexchaynge stood waiting. She had pressed her cheek against her fist, and her gaze lifted to me sympathetically. “What are you going to do now, Master Butch?”

In a supreme display of muscular eminence, I diverted my erection away from the heart of the sun, boring it into the ground, quaking the earth with my righteousness. “I must pursue Shag, and I must put an end to his delirious transsexual rampage at any cost. Even at the cost of his life. Before he encounters God and offends Him with Sapphic literature.”

“Take solace,” Sexchaynge whispered. “I don’t believe it will come to that. Shag has become a gay slut, so you will always know where to find him...” She smiled sadly as I considered her words. “And lucky for you, sweet-meat sandwich, I know just the ‘man’ to get you in.”

To Be Continued

 About the Authors

In preparation for the BAFTA ceremony, Admiral Willpower Butch is studying how to act prissy and entitled by sitting in on liberal arts film classes. His former beloved companion, Paragon Shag, hasn’t been seen in public since he scandalized a group of children with a flamboyant Broadway medley at their school vape bar; now, he prefers the privacy of the abandoned crime scene he shares with Timpani Gayparade and his twenty-two hot brothers. Their secretary, international murder victim and street gastroenterologist Dead Summer Days, will never get into heaven, but he will loiter around the gate smelling of weed.

[them-stony-boys]

“How should we tell them?”

Hey so I’m peeved about not being clever and coming up with anything good for my baby boy’s birthday (Tony if you live under a rock and didn’t know) but for the glorious occasion of June descending upon us I thought a good old fashioned gay fic is in order.  First one I’m posting of stony ever so please be gentle. (Also I’m going to my first Pride this year so I have no idea how they work so I’m sorry) This is crack I finished this in like three hours (a sporadic three hours) and the end is super rushed and I’m sorry for this. I swear I have better stuff line up.

“How should we tell them?”  

Steve stops smearing pink, purple, and blue face paint down his cheek. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I think we should come clean and tell the team about, you know, us.”  

Steve let’s his hand finish its trek down his face before wiping his hand on a rag.  “What do you mean?”

“Like, they’re our friends, our family, so I think we should come clean.”  

Steve pulls a dark blue muscle tee over his head, letting Tony continue to talk. 

“And since it’s me and this is kind of a big deal I thought why not do something extravagant.”   

Steve raised an eyebrow as he sat in front of Tony, bringing his little face paint pallet with him.  He started on the rainbow across Tony’s cheek as he continues to ramble.

“Maybe go to Paris and send them a picture of us kissing at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”  

“Tony.” 

“Or we should get a cake a huge cake a three tier one, the top one would be frosted blue.”

“Tony.”

“The middle one would be rainbow and the bottom one would be blue.  And I’m sure you get what I’m saying.  It’d be hallowed out maybe, if we wanted to be really extra-”

“Tony.” 

Steve swiped the last purple stripe across his cheek. He then leveled Tony with The Look.  

“Hm?”  Was Tony’s responded as he looked at his boyfriend, trying and failing to match his gaze.  

“We could just tell them.  You know, with our words.” 

Tony’s mouth twisted.  “You’re no fun.” 

“Come on,” Steve said as he stood, running his hand through Tony’s hair, smearing it with purple and blue and green, “we’re going to be late.”  

“Yeah yeah.” Tony stood and stretched and Steve couldn’t help but look him over appreciatively.  Tony wore a white tank with “Love Wins” written in rainbow font across the front and booty jean shorts barley an inch below the perfect curves of his ass.  Rainbow face paint was smeared horizontally across his left cheek, bi colors on his right.  Tony looked over his shoulder and Steve tried to look elsewhere before Tony could say anything.  But Tony noticed.  Tony smiled as he swayed his hips.  “You like what you see?”  

Steve rolled his eyes.  “Oh shush, you.”  

Tony pulled Steve up and raked his eyes over Steve.  He was wearing a dark blue muscle tank with his shield on it, the red white and blue pattern replaced with the bisexual flag colors, and cargo shorts. Tony wanted him to wear something a little...shorter, but Steve refused. 

“Are you ready to go?”  Steve asked as his hands settled on Tony’s hips.

“Yeah yeah let’s go.”  Tony said as he pressed a gentle kiss on his lips before pulling away,  walking toward the elevator, Steve in tow, headed for the garage.

---------------------------(Watch for the cut)----------------------------

Steve and tony’s relationship may be a secret but Tony Stark’s sexuality isn’t.  Tony decided to tell the world after driving by a gathering of homophobic protesters, Tony breaking out his phone and leaning out the window screaming “I love sucking (insert profane genitalia)!” 

It trended for a month.

 Of course there was backlash but the avengers defended Tony tooth and nail, as did half the internet.  

But when Tony asked Steve to pride Steve had no idea what to expect, he’s never even heard of it before.  

“Oh it’s just a gathering of people celebrating who they are.  Real fun time.” That was Tony’s explanation of it.  A very understated truth Steve realized upon arriving.  There were people and rainbows everywhere, people were smiling and laughing as Tony pulled Steve through the crowd. 

Every so often Steve would hear whispers of ‘is that Tony Stark?!’ ‘dude that’s Captain America!’  Sometimes he would feel someone touch his bicep or tug his shirt, occasionally he’d hear a squeal after. 

They’d walk through the parade, something swelling in his chest as he looked around him and took everything in.

It was going so smoothly that Tony half expected some alien to come along and destroy it.  But no the only hiccup was Steve forgot what Tony told him on the way there, ‘don’t interact with the protesters.’   

Steve had somehow slipped away from Tony when he noticed a protester in the corner with a poster with him on it.  Steve moved through the crowd as he picked up on their conversation. 

“-and what makes you think Steve Motherfuken Rogers is homophobic?” 

“Dude was born and raised in the forties, he’s got values and he’s Captain America-!”

“Do you not watch press conferences?” A girl asks, “Did you not see him defend the ever living hell out of Tony Stark?” 

“He probably does it because the man pays for everything and doesn’t wanna get cut off for speaking his mind.  A damn shame if you ask me.” 

“Yeah well nobody asked you-”

“I mean Stark is a pussy ass fairy like you all, dude shouldn’t even be an avenger.”

By this point Steve has managed to push his way through the crowd, stopping on the edge of the little circle surrounding the protestor.  Steve towered over the teens in front of him, raising an eyebrow as he looked at the poster with his image on it. It was light blue with him standing at attention with the phrase ‘CAPTAIN AMERICA IS NOT OK WITH YOUR SIN’ in big block letters.  

“I’m sorry what were you saying about Tony Stark?” 

The man scanned Steve, his eyes falling to the symbol on his chest.  Steve took a step closer and the man swallowed.  He tried to gather himself. “You can’t be serious.”

Steve clenched his jaw and looked down at the man in question.   “Take it down and leave these people alone.”

The man scoffed, “Or what?”  

Steve moved to take a step forward with his fists clenched, “Do you want to find-”

“Woah there big guy.” Tony said as he grabbed Steve’s elbow, “let’s not get arrested.” 

“How about you come back when you haven’t been corrupted by a fag like Tony Stark.”  

“Who in the hell-!?” 

“Steve don’t!”  Tony pulled him back, Steve needing to remember his own strength.  

Tony had managed to pull him away, promising the protester that there’d be lawsuits if he didn’t take down the poster (”you can’t do that!” “The image of Captain America is owned by the avengers, which is funded by Stark Industries, aka me.”) The group perviously surrounding the poster asked for pictures, which they gladly gave.  

They continue on their way, the incident nearly forgotten about.  At some point as they walk through the crowd that was the Pride Parade, they ended up walking along side of a float with people on it yelling various phrases and riling up the crowd.  Apparently someone on the float recognized them.

“Mr. Stark?  Mr. Stark!”  Tony looked up, a smile quickly growing on his face.  

“Yeah?!”  He yells over the noise. 

“Mr. Stark will you join us up on here, say a few words?”  The crowd cheered in response.

“How could I say no?” 

Tony, with the help of the people on the float, climbed up on the float, taking the microphone.  It was hard to hear what he was saying as every other word was drowned out by cheers, something about pushing through and showing the world that it’s ok to be who you are, etc.

At the end of it Tony had coached down and grabbed Steve’s bicep and started to pull on it.  “-and,” he said as Steve climbed up, “I just want you to know,” he looped his arm with Steve’s, that the avengers are on your side.  Be Proud and stay Proud!” He finished as he turned to Steve, wrapping his arms around his neck and dipping them both as he kissed Steve.  Steve was quick to respond, settling his hands on Tony’s hips. 

Best Pride ever.

------------------------------------------------

Steve and Tony stepped out of the elevator the next morning late for breakfast.  Last night they discussed how they would tell the team about their relationship, Steve’s method winning out.  Everyone was gathered around the table, about a dozen different conversations going on at once.  Steve cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.  They all quieted down, looking over at the two.

“Tony and I have something we need to tell you all.” They exchange a glance before they look back at the group, everyone looking at them expectantly.  

“Tony and I...” Steve grabs Tony’s hand, “are in a relationship. Romantically.”  

Everyone looked at them, then at each other.  “Yeah we know.”  Was Natasha’s response.  

“What how?”  Tony asked.

Clint, who’d gone back to looking at his phone, grabbed a remote and flicked on the tv without looking up from his screen.  He flipped it to a random news channel and the first thing that appeared was a picture of the two kissing on top of a pride parade float.  Clint flipped to another channel, the same picture was situated behind a panel of people talking.  Clint repeated this process several times and finished with “It was all over the internet yesterday, all over the news this morning.”

Natasha looked over her shoulder, “Bruce you owe me money!”   

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.  He should’ve gone with the cake.

Hi yea I know it’s rushed I have way better stuff lined up this was just that gay thing I wanted to put out for June so here it is. (Sorry for this rushed thing I don’t know why this happened)

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 12

Sleep eluded me after our parking lot conversation. Tom and I had taken a long bath together, during which neither of us were injured, surprisingly, then went down to the beach so we could listen to the waves crashing on the rocks prior to retiring for the night. Luke and Simon had popped out for a quick hello and a late night swim, then disappeared again into the privacy of their suite. I was beginning to think they might have us beat as far as incorrigible went, then quickly stopped myself before my mind wandered into what-has-been-seen-can-never-be-unseen territory.

Tom was out like a light in a matter of minutes, while I tossed and turned like a dog with a bad case of fleas. I knew it was pointless to continue to try and doze off, so I said fuck it and decided to get up and attempt to get some work done. I wormed my way out from under Tom’s leg, climbed out of bed, put on some shorts, grabbed my laptop and headed for the door. He mumbled incoherently in his sleep, and I waited until he was silent again before I opened it, padding in my bare feet through the soundless house and out onto the lanai.

After trying to determine whether to go with a horizontal or a vertical menu on Tom’s site for forty-two minutes, I called it quits and perused Twitter comments instead. Alani’s tweet had amassed the most, and screenshots had spread to Tumblr. Honestly, I was glad of the way she’d mentioned me in such a specific context …there was very little, if any, speculation about whether or not I was, in fact, his girlfriend. Everything was out in the open, which I always thought was the best choice. Though the initial negativity was far worse than if the topic’s legitimacy was in question, it would likely die down much more quickly. That’s how it had worked for clients in the past, anyway. Hopefully my methodology would apply to my own situation as well.

My revelation regarding my weight plagued me…I replayed what I’d said over and over, and I wished I’d gone into greater detail. I hadn’t meant to impose a blanket statement that being overweight was unhealthy, or that it made one unworthy of attention from the opposite sex – or the same sex, or both, whichever was personally preferable, of course. That’s not what I believed, at all. Quite the contrary. Beauty comes in all shapes, colors and sizes and is entirely dependent upon the eye of the beholder, and if said beholder opts to eliminate certain sizes from their pool of eligible candidates, that’s their choice. And their loss.  

And as far as health was concerned…illness doesn’t discriminate based upon the number on the scale. It can strike anyone, at any time, and originates from a multitude of factors that are more often than not out of our control entirely. Unfortunately for me, a poor genetic inheritance and horrifically nutritionally deficient diet, combined with an excess of weight and my wickedly sedentary lifestyle had compromised my health considerably. Losing weight seemed to be a better option than medication, though there were many, many days on which I questioned that choice. Usually while sweating my ass off, literally, on the treadmill in some hotel gym. In all honesty, if I hadn’t been diagnosed with early stage diabetes, I probably wouldn’t have changed a thing about the way I lived my life.

“Maude, think about something else, you schmuck. This is a rabbit hole you do NOT want to go down at 2 AM.”

I sighed. Too late.

I’d told Tom there were reasons for me putting on a significant amount of weight, and my sleep deprived brain decided that this was the ideal time to refresh my memory as to what they were. I tapped my finger on the table and quietly ticked them off out loud.

“Let’s see, we’ve got… pain, anger, grief, depression, replacing one addiction with another, self-medicating, a convenient excuse that allowed me to reside in my fortress of solitude without constantly having to justify it to everyone because they’d be inclined to think ‘oh, she’s alone because she’s fat, you know, the poor thing’, and, my favorite, to spite my mother. Okay, maybe that’s not my favorite. Because food is fucking delicious. That’s my favorite. Plus, cardio sucks balls.”

Groaning, I crossed my arms on the table and rested my head on them, intending to collect my thoughts and get back to work. I woke up four hours later in a puddle of drool with Simon yammering in my ear.

“ ‘ello, Polly. Wakie Wakie!”

I raised my head and wiped the saliva off my face with my forearm.

“Ewe, Maude, that is so thoroughly vile. Were you out here all night?”

I nodded. “Don’t you even dare to ask me if I’m doing yoga with you today. I feel like grim death.”

He patted my head. “You look like it, too. But your excuses mean nothing to me. Shut up and go get your mat.”

I lowered my chin to my chest, peeled myself off of the chair and shuffled into the house, nearly smacking right into Tom as I opened our bedroom door. Brows raised, he pulled me inside and into his arms.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” I shook my head. “Want to talk about it?”

I shrugged, wishing I could talk about it, but knowing that anything I’d say would require additional context that I was not willing to supply. “Just another bout of insomnia brought on by chronic over analysis of every minute detail of my existence.”

“Oh, that’s all, is it?”

I feigned surprise. “What, that doesn’t happen to you?”

He grinned. “It does. Quite often, actually. But the sheer physical exhaustion that results from your incessant attentions seems to have solved that particular problem for the time being.” He ground his erection against me. “This problem, however, persists.”

“And it’s such big problem, too.” I bit his shoulder gently, then pulled back to look at his face. That beautiful, talented pink tongue was peeking out just the slightest bit from between his lips and I damn near lost my shit. He winked at me.

I poked him in the chest. “Well, Thomas, since you’re…up…why don’t you join me for some yoga?”

He rolled his eyes. “You mean you and Simon. I abhor doing yoga with Simon.”

I tilted my head. “Seriously? Why?”

He pinched my nose between the knuckles of his index and middle fingers, shaking gently. “Because he’s so much better at it than I am, that’s why.”

It was my turn for eye rolling as I walked to the wardrobe to grab a bra, pulled off my sleeping shirt and slipped the bra straps over my hands, up my arms and backed towards him. “Hook a sister up, wouldja?”

He lifted the cups up over my breasts, tweaked both nipples, then wrestled them back into place and licked my neck as he connected the clasps. I moaned and pulled away. After putting on a fresh shirt, I turned around and walked past him toward the door, slapping him on the ass as I went.

“Nice try, Thomas, but we’re still doing yoga. Now you put on a fucking shirt and get that ass moving.”

He followed me. “Sorry, no.”

“Fine. I’ll just keep my eyes closed.”

“You won’t.”

I sighed. “No. I won’t.”

Simon’s snarkiness was at orange alert status due to Tom’s presence, and watching the two of them compete was wildly amusing. Tom was right, Simon was better, but watching Tom do yoga shirtless was better than any porno I’d ever seen. A light sheen of sweat coated his skin, and when he moved into camel pose I made a…sound. A gasp? A moan? A dying whale noise? I honestly couldn’t label it properly.

Simon turned his head to the side so he could face me without breaking his pose.

“What the hell was THAT, woman?”

“Nothing. Got a cramp. Just a little cramp. I’ll be fine. Carry on.”

He moved his arms above his head, brought them forward and sat on his haunches. He looked over at Tom, then back at me. “Mmm hmm. Cramp. Thomas, if you wouldn’t mind concealing your torso beneath some clothing next time so your girlfriend won’t blow my focus with her inappropriate vocalizations I’d be ever so appreciative.”

Tom chortled. “I’m rather fond of her inappropriate vocalizations, especially when she’s blo…”

Simon put is fingers in his ears and chanted loudly. “LA LA LA LA LA LA LA…”

I grabbed my iPod and put my earbuds in, hoping music would distract me. It was a successful strategy for the most part, and I felt myself shifting into the transcendent space that was the reason for me deciding upon yoga for both physical and mental fitness. Tom almost ruined it when I caught him staring at me during my easy plow pose, but I managed to breathe through it. While doing my cool down stretches, I wondered if the intense sexual chemistry between us and the overwhelming desire it fostered was because we were so new to each other, or if it was always going to be like this. I smiled, recalling Diana Gabaldon’s brilliant prose in Outlander, when Jamie is addressing Claire.

“Does it ever stop? The wanting you?“ "Even when I’ve just left ye. I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.”

When I’d read it years ago, I thought it was beautifully written, but, you know, fictional. Filed under ‘shit that never happens in real life’. For once, I was totally okay with having been wrong about something.

We discussed our options for the holiday over a breakfast of the most mouth-wateringly delicious sausage, egg and cheese burritos I’d ever tasted. I wanted to work for a while, but that was shot down in a chorus of noes and ‘but-it’s-a-holiday’s. Our final destination of the evening would be the Nawiliwili Tavern, which was back on the other side of the island near the Marriott. It so happened that this was the first Saturday of the month, and that’s when Kaua’i’s gay community gathered there to celebrate with drink specials and, much to my wicked delight, karaoke. I needed to see Luke doing karaoke. It was inexplicable, but I just knew I NEEDED it to happen or I couldn’t go on with my life.

Since I’d yet to park my ass on a proper beach after an entire week on the island, I offered it up as my next suggestion. It was well received. Kalapaki Beach was a 14 mile ride from the house, but less than a mile from Nawiliwili Tavern. Available activities included volleyball, surf lessons, catamaran cruises, stand up paddle boarding, kayaking and body and boogie boarding, none of which I was interested in but were certain to keep my companions occupied if sitting on a lounge and reading all day wasn’t their idea of fun.

Simon got to work assembling a picnic lunch, Luke and Tom each had another burrito, and I hit the shower. Afterward, I sat on the bed wrapped in my towel as I waited to air dry enough so I could squeeze into my bathing suit. Tom walked in, bent down to kiss me, rammed his tongue in my mouth, then dropped his shorts and paraded around the corner for his turn under the spray.

I packed a small bag before dressing since we wouldn’t be coming back home…black Birkenstocks, a pair of hiking shorts, a black V-neck tee shirt, underwear, a bra, hair ties, my beach towel, Finders Keepers, Neuromancer, my iPod, my phone and my glasses. Just in case.

My bathing suit was still buried at the bottom of my suitcase, but it didn’t look any worse for wear when I shook it out. It was black, halter style, with cutouts along both sides and a built in strapless bra so I wouldn’t look like Saggytits McSaggerton. Anyone who claims to have natural double D’s with nipples that point anywhere other than down is utterly full of shit. Or maybe that should be udderly. I was still giggling to myself when I heard the shower turn off, and I quickly tossed my gauzy black cover-up over my head and slipped on the pair of flip flops I’d also unearthed from my suitcase.

Tom came out, dripping wet, towel slung low around his hips. I told him I’d meet him in the living room and used the half bath in the hall for my last pee so I wouldn’t have to watch him dress, then helped Simon gather beverages and put them in the cooler. We decided to take the car instead of the Jeep as it had actually room for all our stuff, including the folding lounge chairs we’d found in the garage. Luke volunteered to drive on the way there if I’d be the designated driver on the way back home tonight, which was fine with me since I knew I’d be sober. I figured he did as well and hoped he’d keep it to himself, then wondered how the hell I’d handle it when the subject finally came up. Because it would. It always did.

************************************************** The beach was surprisingly empty…by my standards, anyway. Try the Jersey Shore on July 4th…you’d have to get there at the crack of dawn to get a decent spot, and someone would fucking steal it if you went to get a snack or use the restroom. Perhaps it was because there was a lot more beachfront to choose from here, or maybe everyone was boating or something, but I was thrilled that I wouldn’t be spending the day elbow to elbow with strangers.

We managed to get everything in one trip and set ourselves up about twenty feet back from the shoreline. I unfolded my chair, pulled Neuromancer out of my bag and set it gently on the sand, then relieved myself of my cover-up. Simon whistled loudly when he saw my suit.

“Maude, you look like a 1950’s pin up model in that thing. Those cutouts…va va va VOOM!”

Tom had his back to me, but spun around upon hearing Simon’s comment. He looked me up and down, then again. And again. I made a mental note to do some lingerie shopping ASAP, then plopped down in my chair with all the grace of a drunken hippo on rollerskates as I released a long, triumphant sigh.

“Ass in lounge chair. Goal achieved. Sand trophy awarded. Beach level unlocked.”

Tom leaned down to whisper in my ear. “I have my own goal to achieve, you know…and it also involves that luscious ass of yours. What’s the optimal way for me to go about unlocking it, Maude?”

I closed my eyes, hung my head down, shook it, then looked up and spoke through gritted teeth. “God, do you have any idea how much I hate being beaten at my own game?”

“I do now.” He grinned, then ran down the beach and into the ocean.

Over the course of the day I read most of Neuromancer, and Tom bought a copy for his tablet to read along with me. We paused after each chapter to discuss, noting the parallels between Gibson’s text and modern technology as well as how much the Matrix had liberally borrowed from his work. I was coerced into playing volleyball, despite citing that my bathing suit and my boobs were not meant for such activities. My refusal to jump led to a stunning loss, at which point Luke and Simon decided to go paddle boarding. Tom and I walked the shoreline, quietly enjoying each others company as we left our footprints behind in the wet sand. He ran in front of me, squatted down and drew a heart with an arrow through it and our initials in it. I rolled my eyes, squatted and drew two stick people fucking doggie style. We giggled like ten-year-olds as we ran away from our creations.

Luke was sitting on one of the lounges scrolling through his phone, and Simon was setting up lunch on a blanket he’d spread out when we returned from our walk. His culinary skills were mind-blowing…pesto, tomato and fresh mozzarella sandwiches served on toasted garlic bread, a platter of paper thin prosciutto, and little cups of mascarpone and dark chocolate cream topped with white chocolate shavings for desert. I glared at Luke, who had eaten his entire meal with his phone in his hand.

“Um, are you working over there, Luke?”

He looked up, frowning slightly. “I know, I know. I’m the one who said ‘but it’s a holiday’. We’re still getting lots of queries from prospective clients, though. And I’m not sure how to handle them all.”

“I’ll help you with it, if you want. Tomorrow. Now put that away and enjoy the day.” I laughed at my unintentional rhyme. “Damn, I’m funny when I’m not even trying.”

Simon grunted. “If you say so.”

I flipped him off, got up from my spot on the blanket and returned to my lounge chair, Tom already draped over the one to my left. He took my hand, I closed my eyes, and dozed off straight away, wiped out from my lack of sleep the night before.

My nap was rudely interrupted by Tom, bent over and shaking my shoulder gently.

“Maude, love, wake up.”

My eyelids fluttered open and I smacked his hand away. “Yeah. Fine. Awake. Why?”

He tipped his head back and to the right. “We’ve been spotted. Just fans, probably. No paparazzi yet.”

I yawned, stretching my arms above my head as I sat up to look and take a head count. Five, so far, about twenty feet away, phones raised. Three adults, two children. Adults were women, children a boy and a girl. Luke was in front of them, back to us, holding up his hands, saying something that I couldn’t quite make out over the roar of the waves. Simon was hovering nearby, watching and waiting.  

I hoisted myself out of the chair and stood next to Tom. I elbowed him in the side.

“Come on, cowboy. Let’s go do this.” I rooted in my bag, searching for my phone.

I felt his hand grasp my forearm, and I glanced up at him. He was staring at me, eyes wide.  “Really? This is all right with you?”

I shrugged. “They’re just people. One smile from you will make their day, and then some. So, why not? Spend a few minutes, they’re happy, they leave, it’s done and we’re back to being beach bums.” He shook his head in disbelief. “What? Is it really so shocking that I practice what I preach?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe it’s that I’m just not used to…?”

I interjected. “…having someone around who doesn’t think that they’re several rungs higher on the social ladder than the folks who are a huge part of what makes your successful career possible?”

“Oh, I like that. Let’s go with that.”

Twenty minutes later, the crowd had dispersed, Luke had informed me that I was a natural at wrangling fans as well as Tom and that this was my one true calling, and Simon was itching to move on to Nawiliwili Tavern before the crowds hit the beaches in hopes of getting a better view of the fireworks. I’d forgotten that sand was so intrusive and decided to shower before changing in one of the stalls provided, Tom keeping watch for me. I did the same while he rinsed and dressed. Simon and Luke were wearing matching Hawaiian shirts, which I thought was adorable, though the shirts themselves were hideous. Tom emerged wearing a tight white V-neck and tan shorts, and I wondered how in the hell I was going to make it through the evening without spontaneously combusting.

Simon, several yards in front of us with Luke as we all walked back to the car, began chanting, fists in the air. “KARaoke, KARaoke, KARaoke!”

Tom gave me a lopsided grin, eyes alight with mischief. “Care to wager on Luke’s participation again, Maude?”

“What stakes?”

“A late night dalliance of the oral persuasion, underneath the moon and stars? Winner is the receiver.”

“You’re on. Though that’s not really much of an incentive.”

His mouth dropped open. “Why not?”

“Because I’ll enjoy it just as much whether I win or lose.”

He sucked my earlobe into his mouth, then flicked it repeatedly with his tongue. “Are you certain that’s the case?”

“Not anymore.”

“Good.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tom. Terms?”

“Guess how many alcoholic beverages he’ll need to consume before he’s loosened up enough to sing in front of an entire bar. We each pick a number, one closest without going over wins. I choose five. Absolutely NO coercion or interference from either of us.”

“Fine. I’m going with two.”

He laughed. “Luke needs to be intoxicated in order to sing, period. He doesn’t even sing in the car, to the best of my knowledge. So very many drinks would be required for him to perform in public that he’ll likely pass out first. You won’t win.”

“Yes. I will.  I’m already plotting all the things I’m going to make you do with that tongue of yours….”  

“Damn.”

“Damn right.”

************************************************** From the outside, the Nawiliwili Tavern is an unassuming white building with green and red accents. Inside, it’s a quirky, homey, wood-laden watering hole with televisions everywhere, a horseshoe shaped bar, a Foosball table, a pool table, lots of neon and local artifacts aplenty. Karaoke happened right smack in the middle of all the action, and when we walked in the place was packed, with a grey-haired gentleman in a white tank top and Bermuda shorts belting out Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’. There wasn’t an official dance floor, but that didn’t seem to hamper the crowd’s enthusiasm as they moved and shook in place.

Simon turned to me and grabbed my hands, shouting above the din. “Maude, I have found my people. And if they’re my people, I’m thinking they might just be your people, too. Are they your people?”

I nodded as he dragged me closer to the sound system speakers, still shouting. “LET US DANCE WITH OUR PEOPLE!”

Luke and Tom joined us after the song had ended and things quieted down as the next person browsed the available selections. Luke had two Blue Hawaii drinks, one for himself and the other for Simon, and Tom had something that looked like orange juice in a hurricane glass and what I assumed was a Coke for me.

He smiled widely and handed me the tumbler. “Nice moves there, darling. Since you’re the designated driver I brought you a soda. They don’t have Coke, only Pepsi. Hope that’s acceptable.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “I guess I’ll just have to make do.” I kissed his cheek, then pointed to his drink. “Thank you. Now, tell me what the hell that thing is.”

He caressed the side of the glass, running his fingers over its curves. “This is a Tropical Itch. Rum, vodka passion orange juice and orange curacao. Bamboo backscratcher included at no extra charge.” He took a sip, then offered me one.

I shook my head. “I’m driving, remember?”

He pouted. “So there’s no chance of me getting you snockered and having my way with you?”

I snorted.  “Riiight. Because you haven’t had your way with me already.” I grabbed his ass and he emitted a low hiss.

“Minx.” His tone seemed…off. I looked up at him, noting that his expression didn’t quite align with his words, either. He met my gaze, then shifted his eyes to the side for a moment, then back to me as he smiled softly. I knew instantly that the topic of my lack of participation in the consumption of alcohol had reared its ugly head while he and Luke were ordering drinks, and that he’d offered me a sip and posed his suggestive question in the hopes that I’d volunteer an answer to another question…the one he’d rather not have to ask.

It wasn’t as if I’d never been down this road before, but that didn’t make it any less awkward. And this time, I actually gave a shit about the reaction I’d get, which was terrifying but I decided it wouldn’t get any less awkward as time went on. And if I was lucky, he wouldn’t press me for too much background information.  

Taking a deep breath, I put my hand on his forearm and looked into his eyes. “To answer your question…no, Tom, I don’t drink. Historically, alcohol and I make incredibly poor bedfellows, so I’ve made it a point to abstain. Hope that doesn’t pose a problem.” I swallowed and cast my gaze downward as he put a hand on my shoulder.

“How did you know…I…lord, you…I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to you seemingly reading my thoughts, though I certainly do adore it.” He kissed me briefly, his lips soft and warm, slightly sweet with orange and passionfruit juice. “I’m very sorry, Maude. When we were at the bar I initially ordered two Tropical Itches and Luke looked at me as if I had three heads and said ‘don’t tell me you’re such a dolt that you haven’t noticed that she doesn’t drink’, and apparently I am such a dolt because, I hadn’t. I asked if you told him why and he said you hadn’t even told him you didn’t but unlike me he actually possesses observational skills so he picked up on it and that it wasn’t anyone’s business but yours and if you wanted me to know you’d tell me, but…”

He paused, waiting for a response from me. I met his gaze but remained silent.

“I…Maude…of course it’s not a problem for me, not at all…but…is it a problem for you that I do drink? I suppose if it was you would have mentioned it or run for the hills already…shit, I…please, say something before I make an even bigger arse of myself, won’t you?”

“You aren’t making an arse of yourself, Tom. That’s an odd word, isn’t it? Arse. Doesn’t sit well on the tongue.” He raised his left eyebrow, smirking just the tiniest bit. “Other people’s drinking preferences are of no concern to me as long as they don’t impact my own existence in a seriously detrimental fashion.” I patted his bicep. “For the record, abysmal drunken singing is not automatically considered to be seriously detrimental. That’s a case by case basis kind of thing.”

He crossed his hands at the wrist and put them on his chest, right above his heart. “I am deeply offended that you believe my singing will be…abysmal.”

I shrugged. “I was actually referring to the lovely woman currently butchering ‘We Built This City’, which is bad enough when sung on key. But if you think the shoe fits, prove me wrong, Thomas. Get in the karaoke line.”

He leaned down, frowning as he touched his forehead to mine. “You okay?”

“Good, actually. I’ve been dreading that whole conversation. I always wind up feeling like a freak show because the general consensus is that if you don’t party there must be something really, really wrong with you.’”

“Again, my apologies. If you ever want to talk about it…”

“Someday. Thank you. And no need to apologize. By our own admissions, there’s still a ton of shit we don’t know about each other yet. Please, never be afraid to ask me questions, Tom. I’ll always answer as best I can.” I chuckled.

“What?”

“At least you didn’t ask me if it was because it’s against my religion.”

“You’ve been asked that?”

“Yes. Yes I have.”

“Might I inquire as to what your reply was?”

“Let’s just say the conversation went sideways. And that the person hasn’t spoken to me since.” His brow furrowed. “Turned out they didn’t appreciate being lectured on the impact of religion on personal freedom and how it was engineered from the start as a means of controlling the populous…”

Simon came bounding over and put his arm around my waist. “Time for singing, Maude. Let’s go.”

I raised both eyebrows and handed Tom my soda. “Um, okay…mind telling me WHAT it is we’re singing?”

He poked his index finger at my chest. “We will be performing one of my personal favorites – ‘It’s Raining Men’ by the Weather Girls.”

Tom threw his head back and laughed, then fished his phone out of his pocket and waved it at me.

I stuck my tongue out at him. “Film away, baby. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back in the habit of tweeting more than once every hundred years.”

We sang, we danced, and by the end of the song most of the bar had joined in. After enjoying a round of applause, Simon and I found Tom and Luke in the crowd and pushed and shoved our way to them. I sucked down my entire soda and set the glass on the nearest table while Luke handed Simon a Tropical Itch. He was still nursing his first Blue Hawaii. Simon kissed his cheek.

“Your turn, love. Come sing with me.”

I grinned evilly at Tom. He shook his head. Luke handed me his drink.

“Watch this for me, will you?” I nodded, and Simon passed off his beverage to Tom. I pulled out my phone since I had a hand free, then realized I was way too fucking short to be able to get anything other than the heads of the people in front of me. Tom had set the rest of the drinks on a table, and took Luke’s from me and put it there as well. He held out his hand, palm up.

“May I do the honors?”

I handed over my phone. “Please do. I can’t see for shit.”

He took my hand and worked his way to the front of the crowd so he was directly in front of Luke and Simon, then moved behind me. When the first notes of the song hit my ears and I realized it was ‘I Got You Babe’ I believe I may have actually squealed with delight. Luke did Sonny’s parts, and Simon did Cher’s. It was adorable, the depth of their feelings for each other so blatantly apparent that it moved me to tears. I felt Tom’s arm slip around my waist, followed by him kissing the back of my neck. Looking around the room, I saw that nearly every other couple was entwined in some way, swaying to the music. Tom managed to capture it all, and as soon as the song ended I grabbed the phone and logged into Twitter.

My boss, Luke. My co-worker (and Luke’s fiancé), Simon. Karaoke USUALLY only makes me cry because the singing is SO very bad. #happytearstonightthough  #igotyoubabe #tooadorable #thisjobgetsbetterandbetter

Tom whispered in my ear as he slowly lowered his hand from my waist to my belly. “Well, it appears you’ve won again, Maude. I’m anxiously awaiting the settlement of my debt.”

“You should stop talking, Thomas. Rest that tongue.” He pressed me back against him and I could feel him hard against my ass. I clenched, knowing his hand was in just the right spot to feel everything tighten. His groan almost made me come right there, in the middle of the bar.

“Maaaaauuuuddee.” He bit my neck, and as I turned my head to the side to allow him better access I noticed a woman a few feet away with her camera pointed in our direction. I waved, hearing her gasp as she quickly turned around. I chuckled, and Tom mumbled into my neck. “What’s funny?”

“Prepare yourself, dude. I just caught some woman taking pictures of us…which are totally going to show up on Tumblr any second now.”

“Good. I want the world to know you’re all mine.” He growled and laved the spot he’d bitten with his tongue, then released me as Simon and Luke approached us. “I do believe it’s time for my abysmal performance.”

I rolled my eyes and burst into song. “Let it go, let it GOOOOO…” He blew me a kiss and began perusing the song catalog.

Simon crossed his arms and tapped his foot. “He’ll do Piano Man. I guarantee it.”

I shrugged. “I have no point of reference for his karaoke habits, so I guess I’ll have to take you at your word.”

When Daft Punk’s ‘Get Lucky’ began to play, Simon’s jaw dropped and he patted his pockets frantically as he tried to locate his phone. “Well, fuck me. This is definitely not ‘Piano Man’! Shit, where is my phone?!”

I handed him mine. “Will you film so I can watch him, please?”

He pinched my cheek. “No, let’s make Luke do it. I can’t stand still during this song.”

Luke sighed, but obliged. Since Tom had taken center stage, so to speak, more people began to recognize him. Cameras were raised all around the bar, some patrons standing on tables to get a better view. I heard him singing, and was surprised at how good he sounded, but the majority of my focus was directed upon watching him move. His hips gyrating, pelvis thrusting, spinning with his arms extended, jawline and cheekbones so perfectly shadowed in the dim lighting of the bar. I was sure I heard ‘get Loki’ from somewhere in the crowd a few times, which made me grin like an idiot. It was all over before I could truly process what I’d just witnessed, the sound of the crowd clapping and cheering snapping me back to reality as I watched him bow deeply several times. As he strode toward me, everything else faded in to a blur, and all I saw was Tom. He picked me up and spun me around as if I was as light as a feather, then set me down and dipped me as he kissed me. His smile as he set me upright again nearly made me swoon.

“Well? Was it as terrible as you expected?”

I punched him in the shoulder. “Shut up, asshole. You’re well aware that you were fucking amazing.”

Simon gave my phone back. “Post it, Maude. POST IT.”

Oh look, it’s this guy again. Karaoke. Daft Punk’s ‘Get Lucky’. You’ve never seen it done like this before, trust me. You’re welcome. :) #upallnightforgoodfun? #indeed

Luke’s phone dinged. He checked it, and suddenly his head lolled back, eyes closed, mouth open and tongue protruding.

Simon snorted. “Whoops, I think you finally did him in with that one, honey.”

Tom peeked at the screen over my shoulder and cackled. “Since it’s entirely your fault I expect you’ll be covering all of the funeral expenses?”

I wiggled my fingers and tickled Luke just under his armpit. He tried to maintain his composure but was unable to resist, finally dissolving into a puddle of giggles.

Simon shouted “IT’S ALIVE”, which earned him a huge hug and a rather lengthy kiss. I looked up and Tom, who firmly planted his hand on my back and walked me to the laptop that contained the song list.

“Your turn, my love.”

The left corner of my mouth turned down. “Um, you’re kind of a tough act to follow, you know.”

He shook his head. “I’ve heard you sing. No one will even remember what I did when you’re through.” He kissed my cheek and went to rejoin Luke and Simon, his phone in his hand, ready to record.

I considered Blondie’s ‘One Way or Another’ but decided it was a little too high for me in spots, thought about Adelle’s ‘Skyfall’, which was well within my range but not really a crowd pleaser, and then I found it. Amy Winehouse, ‘Back to Black’. A little raunchy at times, brutally honest and incredibly dark…rather like me. Perfection. It had been at least fifteen years since I’d sung in front of an audience of more than a few people in public, and they were forced to listen to me because we were in the grocery store or on a plane, but I was incredibly calm. I’d sung this one more times than I could remember, and I knew it inside out and upside down. I hit the button and grabbed the microphone, ready to roll.

Halfway through I noticed that the room had gone quiet, not a single sound to be heard other than the music and…me. I knew if I looked at Tom I’d fuck up royally, so I kept my eyes on the screen. When I finished the silence continued for what seemed like an eternity, broken suddenly by thunderous applause, whistles and cat calls. I bowed, then searched the faces around me, trying to find Tom. I saw Luke and Simon, but he wasn’t with them. I made my way over, head tilted, questioning.

Simon pointed to a nearby table. “Honey, you were so good the man had to go sit the fuck down. And I got it all on video. Luke filmed you, and I filmed Tom watching you. Your grandkids will thank me. Or throw up in their mouths a little. Something.”

I followed Simon’s finger, and there was Tom, sitting in a chair, legs spread wide, hands on his thighs, head down and looking at the floor. I approached him slowly, coming to rest between his legs. He wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his face in my stomach. I put one hand on his shoulder and the other on the back of his head, stroking his hair. I heard the first strains of Rick Astley’s ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ and turned to see Simon, mic in hand, doing his best impression of Rick’s dancing . I gently pried Tom’s arms from around me, slid down and squatted in front of him. His eyes were still directed at the hardwood floor. I leaned my head in and under in an attempt to get him to look at me.

“Hi there.” He raised his head ever so slowly, mouth turned up at the corners almost imperceptibly. His eyes wavered from angry to pained, aroused, and then to adoring as his emotions cycled. He stood, taking my hands and pulling me up with him, then let go so he could place them firmly on my shoulders as he stared at me.

His words came out haltingly, but firm. “I. Love. You.”

I reached out to cup his jaw and ran my thumb along his cheekbone. “And I love you.”

“That was both beautiful and terrible all at once, Maude.”

“Okaaaay…”

“There was so much pain in your voice…raw, naked, real pain.”

“Maybe I’m just a top-notch performer.”

He took two steps towards me, closing the gap between us, his hands still on my shoulders, eyes ablaze. “Is it wrong that I want to decimate whomever is responsible for that pain?”

I shook my head, wishing it was that simple. He let his hands slide down my arms until they were clutching my elbows.

“In addition to that, I’m overwhelmed with pride, joy, and, more than anything else, desire. Everything I’m feeling is a jumbled, incoherent mess and I need you in order to sort it all out. Right now. I need to be inside you, to feel you all around me, your skin against mine, flushed red by the pleasure we’re giving each other, enveloped by your scent…” His hands were shaking, eyes full of desperation. “I…I…just…I need you. I need you, lest I lose my fucking mind, Maude.”

It took all the willpower I possessed to not fuck him senseless right then and there. I felt in my pocket to make sure the car keys Luke had given me when we arrived were still there. Check. The vehicle was roomy enough, I thought, and the windows were darkly tinted to ensure the occupants could remain relatively anonymous. I pulled out my phone and shot off a quick text to Simon, who was just finishing up and basking in the accolades bestowed upon him by the bar’s patrons.

We’re taking a little ride. Won’t be long, about thirty or forty minutes max. Everything’s fine, Tom just needs some air. - XO, M

Talk about uncharted fucking territory. I pushed any negative thoughts aside, telling myself that yes, it is perfectly normal and absolutely possible to grow to love someone so deeply in such a short period of time that you began to need them as much as you needed…well, air. I took Tom by the hand and led him out to the parking lot, and he hesitated when I opened the door for him.

“Maude?”

“Get in the car, Tom.” He complied. I hopped in, put on my seat belt, turned the engine over, put it in reverse and backed out of the parking space. I forgot to brake as I tried to shift it into drive, corrected myself, and headed down the road to find what I was looking for. Two miles down, there it was. A large office complex, dimly lit and completely deserted as it had been when we passed it on the way to the bar. Since it was a holiday, I was reasonably sure it would remain that way. As I pulled into the lot Tom finally realized what I was up to. He unbuckled his seat belt, leaned into me and began licking the hollow between my collarbones as he wriggled his hand under the waistband of my baggy shorts.

“You need to stop that or I’m going to wind up driving the car right through the fucking building.”

He ignored me and began rubbing my mound with the palm of his hand while he slipped three fingers inside me. I drove around to the rear of the property and parked as far back as I could, right next to a privacy fence. He climbed on top of me as soon as I put it park, devouring my mouth, his free hand in my hair as the other worked me into a frenzy. I rode his hand, fingernails raking up and down the back of his white V-neck, screaming his name as I came. He opened the driver side door, rose up off of me and gracefully exited the vehicle, hand extended. I took it, and he helped me up. Neither of us spoke.

I opened the trunk, searched for our beach towels and spread all of them across the back seat, tucking the edges into the space between the top and the bottom of the bench. I didn’t think it was nearly long enough for him to stretch out, but we’d most likely be able to fit without having to leave the door open. I turned around to find him completely naked, cock standing proudly erect. I yanked my T-shirt over my head while he unhooked my bra, taking a breast in each hand, bending to suck on my nipples in turn as I wiggled out of my shorts and underwear. He stood back to look at me in the moonlight, fireworks sounding off in the distance and reflecting in his eyes, then moved closer to touch my face with his fingertips. He pushed me backward gently, motioning for me to lie down on the seat. I squirmed as I did, struggling to find a comfortable position, and when I finally stilled he bent over, entered the car headfirst, closed the door behind him, then crawled between my legs and up my body like a cat. He looked as if he wanted to eat me alive, and I was SO totally fine with that.

I could feel him hard against me, poised at my entrance. He stared at me, unmoving, waiting. For what, I didn’t know. His voice startled me when he spoke.

“Will you let me make love to you, Maude?”

I raised my hips, shifting so the head of his cock slid into me. “Please, Thomas. Fuck me.” He pulled back and out of my reach.

“No. I don’t want to just fuck you. I want to make love to you. Pleasure your body with the reverence it deserves.”

The realization that I had no idea what that actually meant hit me like a freight train. I panicked, then decided to opt for honesty.

“I don’t think I know how that’s supposed to work.”

“You let go and let me love you. That’s how it works.”

I frowned. “Still not getting it.”

He resumed staring at me, and it slowly dawned on me that what he so desperately needed was not just a physical connection, but an emotional one as well, wherein we focused on the way our bodies came together, instead of them just…coming. Two people becoming one. Possessing each other fully, completely. I twined my legs with his.

“Take me, Thomas. Make me yours.”

He thrust his tongue into my mouth as he sank into me, his lips finally closing over mine, our breath mingling. He propped himself up on his elbows, raised my hands so they lay beside my head, then wrapped his fingers around mine as he rested his full weight on me.

Our tongues danced around each other, pulling back, pushing forward, licking, mouths sucking, teeth biting. He lifted his head so he could meet my gaze as he began to move, a fraction of an inch at a time at first, finally pulling nearly all the way out then sheathing himself fully over and over again. I was panting, and the urge to clamp down on him was overwhelming, but I breathed deeply and concentrated on the way our bodies joined, fitting each other so perfectly, the way his cock felt when it was completely buried in my cunt, the way it dragged against my walls as he thrust in and pulled back again and again. This beautiful man above me, looking deep into my soul, making me feel like I was his entire world. And he was mine. There was nothing else, just us, skin on skin, pleasure emanating from where we connected, and I never wanted it to end.

I felt him twitch inside me, and our eyes locked. He sped up, full weight still on me, hips undulating like waves. My breasts moved with him as he rocked us, nipples rubbing against the hair on his chest, his pubic bone pressing deliciously against my clit with every thrust. The tension in my belly rose, setting me alight, the fire spreading throughout my entire body. When I began to shudder, he let go of my hands and slid both arms underneath me, raising my upper body to him, cradling me, one hand buried in my hair and holding my head, my name an invocation on his lips.

I wrapped my arms around him, clinging to him as if I were drowning and he was the only one who could save me, staring into his eyes as I…let go. It was almost an out of body experience, an orgasm that seemed to go on forever, involving every molecule that comprised the shell that housed my spirit. An explosion, bathing me in warm, bright light. And he was right there with me, coming and coming deep inside me, anointing our union with his essence.

I burst into tears, overcome with emotion. He moved his hands to my thighs, lifting me, and shifted us, still joined, to a sitting position so I was on his lap, holding me and rubbing my back as I sobbed against his neck.

“Shh, shh, I’m here, I’m here.”

The minutes ticked by, and as my storm subsided I lifted my head and brushed away my tears with my forearm, then placed my hands on either side of his face, leaning in close.

“I love you, Thomas. Sorry for falling apart. I…it’s…I…I’ve never experienced anything like what just happened before. Ever. Not even close. Thank you. For that. And for loving me.”

He rested his forehead against mine, eyes wet with tears of his own. “And oh, how I do love you. Please don’t be sorry, Maude. The fact that your feelings about me, about us, are so intense means…well, everything. And I’m the one should be thanking you. You gave me what I needed. You let me in. You let go. You gave me you. All of you.”

We held each other until I began tittering softly.

He cocked his head. “What?”

“Nothing.” He raised his brows at me. “Fine. It’s just…we’re having, like, this MOMENT and then I remembered that we’re naked in a fucking rental car in a parking lot on the 4th of July in Hawaii and that we totally ditched Simon and Luke at a bar like we’re a couple of fucking horny teenagers and…” I was laughing so hard that I thought I was going to pee my pants, and then I realized that I wasn’t wearing pants and that pushed me over the edge and I was crying again.

Tom’s laughter began as a low rumble in his chest, then escalated to full on guffawing, and soon enough we were both weeping and clutching at each other.

Once we could look at each other again without losing our shit, he grabbed the towel nearest to us and slipped it under me as I lifted myself off of him, then opened the car door to gather the clothes we’d strewn across the macadam. He dressed me, kissing me everywhere as he went. My ankles, the backs of my knees, my belly button, up and down my spine, my eyelids. When I wanted to return the favor he refused.

“If your lips even so much as graze my skin, we’ll never make it back to Nawiliwili tonight.”

Since he hadn’t even finished his first drink, I let him drive while I checked my phone. There was a text from Simon, sent five minutes ago.

Your forty minutes were up ten minutes ago, girlie. I’m a total slut for karaoke, but I don’t think my voice can take much more. Get your asses back here, please. – XO, S

I texted him back.

We’re on our way. Be there in two minutes. I’d say I’m sorry, but…I’m really not, so… - XO, M

He replied immediately.

Bitch. ;P – XO, S

We parked and walked in, hand in hand. Simon and Luke were chatting away with another couple, and as we approached them I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see the woman from earlier who’d been taking pictures of us. Tom looked at me, and I nodded and let go of his hand so he could go join Luke and Simon.

“Um, hi. I’m really sorry to bother you but I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about before. It was really wrong for me to take pictures of you guys when you’re just living your lives. That was a totally private moment. I mean, I wouldn’t want a stranger taking a picture of me and my boyfriend like that…anyway, I didn’t post them online or anything, and I deleted them off my phone. I was just really excited because I’m a big fan and…so, yeah. Sorry for being an asshole.”

I patted her arm and smiled. “Thank you for apologizing. And since you didn’t post them, you are absolutely not an asshole as far as I’m concerned. I completely understand how it happened. He’s just so damn beautiful, how could you not, right?” She laughed. “Want to meet him?”

She blushed and held up her hands. “Oh, no, no…I couldn’t, not after what I did, I feel like such a shit.”

“Don’t worry about it. Come on. And sorry, I forgot to ask…what’s your name?”

“Samantha.”

I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Samantha. I’m Maude.”

Her blush deepened. “I know.”

I brought her over to Tom, introduced her and took their picture, and when I told her it was fine to post it online she said she’d think about it but would probably have it printed instead. She thanked us and went back to her group of friends across the room. As Luke took a handful of glasses back to the bar, Simon pointed at me accusingly.

“You’ve had your fun, now I want mine. For the love of Christ, let’s get OUT of here already. And please tell me you’re a fast driver. Please.”

I nodded. “I am. But I’m not driving. Tom is.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oy. He drives like my grandpa. We’ll just have to fuck in the backseat on the way there then, I guess.”

Tom snickered, and I pretended to smack the back of his head.

Simon’s face scrunched up in disgust. “You didn’t. Did you?” I shrugged. “You did!”

Luke returned, brow furrowed. “Did what?”

Simon shook his head. “You don’t want to know. All I’m sayin’ is that I’m putting towels down before I sit in that car.”

I held up a finger. “Yeah. About those towels…”

[brunettereader]

Klance fic recs

Just a collection of some of my favorite Keith and Lance fics. I’ll probably add to this as it goes.

Bold - Favorite Fics ★ - VLD Verse but knowledge of specific details of canon plot is not required

calling me to come back by aknightley Teen and Up | 50,464 | 1/1

Keith is a witch who owns a shop where he breaks curses on both magical items and people under spells. Love spells, family curses passed down generations, cursed heirlooms lurking the attic -- he can handle them all. But one day a boy named Lance walks into his shop, and his curse is darker and more difficult to break than anything Keith has ever seen before: the curse is draining his magic, and without his magic, Lance will die.

the universe has moved for us by aknightley General | 6,850 | 1/1 | Sequel to calling me to come back

Keith carefully waits until the bell stops ringing and then makes his way to the back of the shop, into his office, where Lance is slumped over the desk with a dozen books spread out in front of him. A huge red and white cat is laying on top of the keyboard of the laptop shunted off to the side, her tail flicking back and forth. They both appear to be asleep.

it’s all in my head by aknightley ★ Teen and Up | 7,660 | 1/1

"Uh," Pidge said, "Lance? Buddy? What's the deal?"

"That's Lance?" Hunk shouted, somehow still ramming ships away from the castle; Keith felt like bubbles were bursting in his head, effervescent pops of giddy fear mixed with conviction. Lance, he thought, Lance feels like this. "Thank God, I thought I was going crazy for a second."

so why don’t we fall by aknightley ★ Explicit | 8,218 | 1/1

Five times Lance used a pet name for Keith, and one time Keith used one for Lance.

Keith has no basis for having a relationship with someone, so he's trying to follow Lance's lead.

the stars are bound to change by angstinspace ★ Teen and Up | 50,828 | 9/9

Both paladins turned to their new, small alien companion. She lifted her head to look at each of them in turn, her eyes round. Keith laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“How about you, Zola?” he said. “Are you ready to go?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then she hesitantly asked, “Where are we going?”

As he made eye contact with Lance over her head, Keith could have sworn he felt something electric in the air: a simultaneous resurgence of determination.

“We’re going to take you home.”

Keith and Lance rescue a little alien girl from a hostage situation and bring her home ... and learn a few things about themselves and each other along the way.

pepsicola by corydalis ★ Teen and Up | 10,328 | 1/1

It starts like this: Lance looking up at the scoreboard only a few days into his Garrison training and muttering to himself, “What the hell kind of a name is Keith?”

-- Or, Keith and Lance fall in love. Eventually.

phlogiston by corydalis ★ Teen and Up | 2,101 | 1/1

When Lance was eight years old, his abuelita sat him on her knee and told him; love is a leveler.

At the time, Lance had no idea what she meant. Love was still a rather far-off and foreign concept, but he was enamoured with the general idea behind it, even if it seemed a bit confusing. The phrase stuck with him, but had ultimately been pushed to the back of his mind when he couldn’t figure it out.

Now though, his back arched against the wall and Keith burning caustic kisses into his skin, he thinks he might get it.

nothing’s quite as sweet by dimpleforyourthoughts Teen and Up | 50,369 | 1/1

Keith is a barista who hates his job. Lance works at the cat shelter across the street.

For the Soul by kali_asleep Teen and Up | 4,835 | 1/1

Her eyes are glued to the glowing screen in front of her as she, with surgical precision, cuts straight to the muscle of the matter: “I'm a scientist, not a love life counselor. Tell Lance to quit being a baby and drag his congested ass to a healing pod.”

Lance is sick. Keith isn't sure how to help.

left on read ✓ by lancemclain Not Rated | 35,509 | 17/? (not completed :( )

(bi)tter: allura i love you marry me right now lesbean: you know if i wasn't so gay (bi)tter: [white girl voice] all the hot ones are gay edgelord™: why thank you lance (bi)tter: shut up, my chemical romance

(OR, once upon a time lance created a group chat and things didn't exactly go as planned)

Today, anew by MemeKonVLD ★  Mature | 5,910 | 6/6

“Lance.”

Lance’s eyebrows furrow in concern for a second before his whole face goes gentle and open.

“Hey buddy, everything okay?”

Keith nods. Then shakes his head, then opens his mouth to let out a noisy sob before he’s hugging the air out of Lance, grip vise tight.

Lance hugs him back. That’s one of the great things about him— he doesn’t— he doesn’t need explanations for things like this. He doesn’t make Keith jump through hoops, the way other people might— he’s just— he just knows what Keith needs in times like this. No façades, no posturing.

(Or: the one where Keith is trapped in a time loop. A time loop from hell.)

How to Steal a Prince by Ms_Towa Teen and Up | 20,295 | 1/1

“Your eyes just—they just light up whenever you see Lance though!” Hunk argued. “Let’s compare how many times you’ve been in New Orleans Square back when you were working attractions and now. I’m pretty sure the numbers have definitely skyrocketed. You’re totally seeking out Lance, man.”

“I am not,” Keith tried. “They have good churros there.”

“Keith, they have good churros literally everywhere,” Hunk quipped. “You cannot walk three steps in Disneyland without seeing another churro cart.”

Or, an alternate universe where, come summer, most of Keith's pining happens at the happiest place on Earth.

The Six Gun Sound (Our Claim to Fame) by Mytay ★ Mature | 13,403 | 1/1 | Part 2 of Trouble’s Making Everything All Right (NOTE: This is my favorite part of this series, and it can be read as a standalone.)

“We’re not robbing the bank of the biggest crime lord here, Lance. Do you have a death wish?!”

“Let’s just do our damn best to not die. I am too gorgeous to expire this early, dude — I haven’t even hit my prime yet.”

Six weeks after crashing landing on this miserable world, the Red and Blue Paladins are on the verge of losing everything. This is how Lance and Keith turned it all around and earned their badass reputation as The Two McClains: Mercenaries That Get The Job Done.

Where the Lions Roam by Mytay ★ Teen and Up | 7,002 | 1/1

“ ... tell me why Blue is making the moves on Keith.”

Pidge stared at him, a touch incredulous. “You really haven’t figured it out?”

“Pidge. I am very intelligent, but I am not a genius,” Lance said patiently. “Spell it out for me.”

“Well, you just sort of answered your own question,” Pidge said, snorting. “Your Lion is making the moves on Keith — and by ‘moves’ I mean responding to your abject terror whenever Keith is in danger.”

Cuddle Puddle by nothingwrongwiththerain ★ Teen and Up | 46,782 | 6/6

Unexpectedly, Shiro’s hand landed on the top of his head. Apparently with Lance and Hunk taking up all the shoulder real estate, Shiro would settle for ruffling Keith’s hair.

Keith was fairly certain his soul was about to detach and abandon his shaking body on the couch. He was surrounded, in the complete and total sense of the word, by other people. Not once before, not in his whole life, had he dealt with a situation like this one.

Or, five times Keith found himself too close for comfort and one time he couldn't get close enough.

Though he be but smol, he is fierce! by Reader115 ★ Teen and Up | 16,827 | 1/1

It started like this. One second, he was shooting at sentries, and the next second he was on his ass on the cold metal floor of the Galra base due to an extremely rude shove from Keith.

Of course, from his new horizontal position, he got a front row seat to the shiny purple beam — that had previously been aimed for his chest — hitting Keith directly instead.

And then Keith disappeared.

Sort of.

I mean, he's not the science guy, so disappeared is probably the wrong word. Regular-sized Keith disappeared anyway. And Lance was left staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at a tiny, oh so very smol Keith unconscious on the ground beside him.

We’ll Be Counting Stars by southspinner Teen and Up | 2,958 | 1/1

Keith's just trying to navigate the collegiate mine-field of tests, social circles, and sleep-deprivation while still maintaining a fragile grip on his sanity. The last thing he needs is some snapback-clad fraternity president making him re-evaluate his entire existence, but of course, because the universe hates him, that's exactly what he gets.

As If by surveycorpsjean ★ Mature | 6,924 | 1/1

The five times Lance was his impulse control, and the one time he wasn't.

Like Devo by surveycorpsjean Explicit | 8,371 | 1/1

As rival jammers, they're rough, skating around the rink, giving bruises, bloody noses, broken ribs and snapped fingers-

But when the cops show up, Keith grabs his hand and yanks Lance into the storm drain.

And that’s how they start dating.

Nightmares by Trashness ★ Teen and Up | 14,864 | 1/1

Lance's nightmares are getting out of control. It's effecting his and the team's performance, but he's at a loss for how to fix this.

Apparently sleeping next to a warm body helps.

it grows stronger by tylerproposey Teen and Up | 8,979 | 1/1

College campuses are a cesspool of awkward encounters. Some more unnerving than others, as Lance comes to find. He thinks it's important to note that in all those instances, Keith is there to witness them. Actually, that's unfair. Admittedly Keith happens be useful in getting him out of those situations. Affection, as it goes, grows stronger when you're constantly being "saved" by a protective rival – but mostly friend at this point.

Or 5 times Keith helped Lance out of a situation and the 1 time Lance tried to pay back the saves.

No Greater Gift by usernicole ★ Teen and Up | 20,062 | 1/1

Keith gets a cat, learns the True Meaning of Family, and falls in love. In that order.

your favorite ghosts and planets by xShieru Teen and Up | 16,664 | 1/1

In hindsight, an asthma attack in the middle of the day wasn’t such a terrible way to give up the ghost.

Except this isn't how he imagined afterlife.

An AU about being dead.

call me, beep me General | 85,591 | 1/1

(00:31) Do you think she gave me the wrong number on purpose? (00:31) Or was it a genuine mistake? (00:32) Like maybe she writes funny and I misread it? (00:32) Some of the numbers do look a little dodgy... (00:33) Cause, you know, her threes could very easily be poorly formed eights? And maybe she writes her sevens like her ones? (00:45) What (00:46) The (00:46) Fuck??? (00:47) Oh good, you are awake!

where lance messages the wrong number and things kind of snowball from there

[sofeyhh]

Enigma

*Warning: mentions of masturbation and blow jobs. AKA some Taekook smut*

Part: 13 / ?

Slipping into his favorite furry Gucci slippers, Taehyung skips down the twirling stairs, the metal planks clanking at his every step. His long silk robe drags behind him as he maneuvers to the back of the bar.

“Tonight’s dessert shall be…” he trails his words while drumming his fingers along the glass cabinet, trying to decide on the choice of drink. They land on an unfamiliar bottle, presumably his father’s new addition to his Whisky collection. Very new, in fact, it was still in its cylindrical container.

Taehyung unscrews the lid and pulls out a bottle of single malt Scotch whiskey, an A++ grade when it came to whiskeys. The label read: The Balvenie aged 40. He could feel his knees weakening at the thought of being the first to crack the bottle open and the first to taste it.

“40-year-old malt Jesus Christ,” he moans and kisses the cool glass of the bottle. A bottle of Balvenie was already such a luxurious treat but to have one that was aged for 40 years, must have cost his father a fortune. And Taehyung was blessed with the honors of getting the first sip.

With a glass in hand, he walks down the hallway and out to their pool room. It wasn’t too big, just enough to fit the size of their T-shaped pool that ran out of the room and into the open. The shorter, horizontal part of the pool, sat outside, with only a glass barrier lining it. Taehyung had always loved how his backyard sat on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the bright city down below. From where he lounged inside, he could see the skyline of the buildings and the glittering lights that flickered non-stop.

His deep sigh echoes in the pool room, only reminding him of how alone he was. Kim Taehyung, the kid who has everything yet still feel empty on the inside. Father off on a month-long business trip and mother partying up somewhere in the world, leaving him to wallow in self-pity by himself. He hurriedly pours the Scotch and takes a big gulp to alleviate the burning misery.

“Oh, fuck that’s good,” he groans in satisfaction after feeling the thick alcohol running down his throat smoothly.

Without clinging on to hope, he checks his phone. No new notifications, just a blank screen staring back at him. He had half expected Jimin to reply to his text, even when he knew that Friday nights were game nights for the Parks. A small part of him whined and pouted that his best friend hasn’t replied. He downs another gulp, trying to chase that mucky feeling away.

Taehyun’s lonely pity-party was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open. In came his father’s wife, the red head, sashaying her way down to the open chair beside him. They exchange an awkward brief greeting with her trying to start conversation and him only grunting in response and a small smile. This had to be only the 6th time he’s been in the same room as her, and Taehyung plans on keeping that number as low as possible.

She rids of her white robe to reveal a black bikini so tiny that it left little to the imagination. Taehyung rolls his eyes as he nurses his Scotch, annoyed that the redhead had chosen to swim at this time when clearly, he was trying to bask in the glory of being alone. He watches her intently, eyeing every bit of muscle and skin as she dips herself into the water. She was voluptuous, without a doubt - if she wasn’t then there’d be no reason for his father to take her home - but Taehyung just couldn’t find himself getting hard at the sight of her.

His eyes follow her figure as she swims up and down the length of the pool. Her bright red hair made it look like a ball of fire was creeping around the water. After glasses and sips of Scotch and laps in the pool, the two finally find themselves eye to eye again. Like a serpentine, she had smoothly pushed herself out of the water and up on the ledge of the pool. She sits with one of her long legs resting on the tiled floor and the other lazily treading the water.

While wringing out her hair, she catches Taehyung staring at her. “You know, you shouldn’t be staring at your stepmother like that,” she purrs.

“Like what?” he asks, voice devoid of any emotion.

She mistakes his question as an invitation, and so with a smirk, she plays out all her cards. Her sexy cards, that is. The redhead slinks over to him sensually while swaying her hips. She bends over, baring her entire chest, and crawls up his figure. “Like you want to fuck me,” her voice dripping with a sultry tone.

Her actions all but fazed him as Taehyung gives her a low chuckle. With a stoic face, he says, “Don’t worry. You don’t have a dick, so I’m not interested.” He ended his statement with a wink, leaving the woman flustered with shock.

“You’re gay?!” she spurts out, a hint of mixed emotions painted her face.

Taehyung pushes her off his lap and grabs the bottle and glass. Walking backward, he gives a wide smile and spreads his arms open. “Well, you don’t see me getting hard over you right?”

He halts by the door and turns around, unable to bite his tongue back, “Though it might have something to do with your flat ass. You might want to transfer some of that silicone from your boobs.”

Seeing her cheeks getting as red as her hair from anger, pleased him. At least tonight wasn’t such a waste. Taehyung locks himself in his room and falls back on his bed. Ditching the crystal glassware, he drinks the Scotch right out of the bottle, bits of it dripping down his chin as he gulps. He holds up the bottle, scoffing after realizing he had already gone through half the bottle.

“I should feel sorry,” he mutters to himself. There was a tinge of guilt gnawing at him. This was a very expensive bottle of Scotch that his father had bought. And here he is, finishing half it within the hour. He pouts and thinks it over. “Yet I can’t bring myself to be that sorry over this 40-year-old gem.”

Taehyung bellows out a laugh before it dies down to a giggle. A silly smile sits on his lips as he gets comfy in bed. His body melts into the silk pillows, earning a groan to escape. The 80-inch flat screen tv hung on the wall stares back at him begging to be watched.

Drumming on the bottle he decides, “Porn it is.”

It was a quiet Friday night, he was alone - that fact didn’t need to be reiterated - and he was a hormonal teenage guy. It was better to unabashedly let it out than have it pent up. With a shrug, he turns it on and surfs the internet for his usual porn site. Correct that, his usual gay porn site. Emphasis on the gay.

At this point, he wasn’t sure if he was, in fact, gay as a whole. He wasn’t really sure how he felt. But ever since that one time he decided to get experimental and watched his first ever gay porn, his dick just seemed to react better when there were other dicks in sight. He tried going back to the heterosexual kind but the female parts just didn’t have the same effect on him anymore.

Taehyung rests the Balvenie beside him, patting it so it was snug into the pillow. He chooses one that peaks his interests and starts preparing himself. Lotion and tissues out, pants pulled all the way down and shirt off - there was no way he was going to ejaculate all over his $1302 pajamas. The video starts off with a sexy, shirtless pool boy cleaning the indoor pool. It was going to be cliche plot, but all that matters was the sex. And Taehyung wasn’t disappointed. The porn got him hard in a matter of seconds as one of the actors starts teasing the pool boy, grinding down on him so hard, he could feel the action on his own dick.

“Ah, fuck,” Taehyung moans, his fist working harder and faster as he tries to keep up with the actor’s thrusting. He closes his eyes and immediately, his mind starts imagining himself pounding into the one and only, Jeon Jungkook.

A guttural groan builds up in his throat as he teases the head with his thumb, pressing into the slit to get him closer to the edge. “Fuck, Jungkook, you like that?” he dirty talks to himself.

The thought of fucking Jungkook plus the sounds of moans and skin slapping from the porn drove him insane as he starts to jerk off faster. His thigh muscles start to clench and his moans become whinier and high pitched. “Shit, oh fuc- shit I’m gonna come I’m go-”

“Taehyung! I-”

His head whips to his right, where his balcony door was swung open and a panting Jungkook, sweaty and red faced, stood with an open mouth and wide eyes. Taehyung was so high on lust that having Jungkook bust through his balcony door in the middle of the night didn’t stop him from jerking off. Instead, it made him gasp to imagine that the boy was sweating and panting after a hard fuck with him.

“Ah, fucking fucks of fuck!” Taehyung screams as he cums all over his hands. His eyes were closed shut, his head was thrashed back and his toes were curling. “Jesus,” he breathes as he rides out his orgasm. That had to be one of the best jack-off session he’s had.

Sighing into the bed, Taehyung grabs pieces of tissue from his bedside table and cleans himself, oblivious to an embarrassed Jungkook standing awkwardly by the door. “God shut the door. It’s cold out,” he grumbles.

The boy hurriedly closes the two doors as he stammers,“Well...a- aren’t you going to...to put your pants back on?” His throat was dry as his eyes flick down to see a glimpse of Taehyung’s dick, sitting limp and soft on his tummy.

“This is my house? My room, specifically. I didn’t ask you to burst through my balcony door and interrupt my sexy time,” Taehyung scoffs. But after seeing how the younger one was so stiff with his back glued to the balcony doors, he sighs and pulls up his pants. Though he does it ever so slowly, smirking as he catches Jungkook eyeing him with curiosity.

Taehyung grabs his Balvenie bottle and crumpled tissues and walks over to his desk. He discards the tissues and leans his weight on the edge of the wooden table. “What are you even doing here Jeon?” he asks, surprised by his sudden guest.

Jungkook took a while before his brains managed to work as per normal. But it was a hard thing to do when he had just caught his friend jacking off, dick out in the open, in all of its glory for him to see. And now, said friend was nonchalantly conversing with him like he didn’t just cum into his hand a few seconds ago. It didn’t help that lewd sounds from the porn were serenading them in the background.

“Uhm....I...sorry I just needed to get out of the house. Yoongi isn’t home for the weekend and I didn’t know where else to go,” Jungkook stuttered, his cheeks still red.

It was funny to him that being Jeon Jungkook, he was always confident, icy and ruthless. Especially in school, where the students feared him as much as they feared his father. But now that he’s in a room, face to face with one Kim Taehyung, he was a mess of stuttering words and blushing cheeks. And it wasn’t the first time it has happened. Within seconds, this boy was able to crack open his facade and peel back the layers of the persona he dons.

Taehyung hums in understanding, nodding as he takes a swig straight from the bottle. “Something happened?”

Fiddling with the bag strap on his shoulders, Jungkook takes a gulp and tries to word out his thoughts. “Yeah, we were having dinner and my mum had invited the Kims ov- Wait, can you turn that thing off? It’s distracting me.”

The tips of his ears darken to a deep shade of red as he keeps glancing over at the screen. Taehyung’s television was so huge that the images of the two boys fucking looked even sexier. The surrounding sound system he had installed, made the actors’ moans and groans fill his ears. And suddenly, he felt hot and flustered. A particularly hard thrust during doggy style got him biting his lips as he crosses his legs, hoping to God he wasn’t about to get a boner.

Taehyung internally groans as he watches the younger boy slowly unravel. It was obvious enough that he was getting turned on by the porn. As much as he tried to restrain himself, Taehyung could clearly see the tent poking from beneath his slacks - he noticed the boy was still dressed in his dress shirt and slacks, abandoning his blazer and smart shoes.

The taller boy shakes his head in amusement and picks up the control to turn it off. He walks over to Jungkook and tosses the duffel bag aside. “I’d rather you get hard off of me if I’ll be honest,” he confesses with a smirk.

With a new found confidence - 90% of it from having drunk almost the entire bottle of Scotch - Taehyung palms Jungkook through his slacks, feeling the boner getting harder in his hands. The younger boy’s figure immediately weakens as he falls on Taehyung.

“Tae...what are you doing?” he mewls with his hands gripping onto Taehyung’s bare shoulders tightly.

“Just let me help me you baby boy,” Taehyung whispers into his ears, lowering the octaves in his voice as he unzips the slacks, painfully slow.

Being called “baby boy” out of the blue got Jungkook keening into Taehyung’s touch. With desire leading his train of thoughts, he gives up on trying to rationalize the situation and go with the flow. He gasps as he feels Taehyung’s long slender fingers curl around his dick. The boy works his way around it, his thumb circling the head and occasionally dipping into the sensitive slit. He spreads the leaking pre cum all over the shaft and strokes it slow and hard, trying to build a momentum.

“Fuck, go faster Tae,” he whines as he drops his head into the crook of Taehyung’s neck.

Thrilled by Jungkook’s begging and want, Taehyung sheds any self-control he has and takes over the show, promising the boy to bring him the best pleasure he’s had. He pushes Jungkook back to unbutton his dress shirt, pulling it apart hungrily and tossing it away. Without hesitation, he dives for his lips, savoring his taste. It had been almost a week since his first kiss with Jungkook and that brief encounter they had, had been permanently burnt into his memory. So to relieve it again made him high.

Their lips were a mess of teeth and tongue as both of them fight for dominance. The kisses were sloppy, lustful and needy and it drove their sexual drives higher. Jungkook soon relents and lets Taehyung take control. He relishes in the way the older boy expertly moves his tongue along the ridges of his mouth, letting him taste every inch of himself.

“Tae, touch me please,” Jungkook whines again as he presses Taehyung’s hand against his hard on.

“Ah fuck, baby boy,” Taehyung growls into his ears, taking a small nibble from the soft flesh. “Beg me again. Do it.”

Jungkook’s heart drums in his ears as he hears how Taehyung was being demanding, making him feel light headed. It was so sexy that he wasted no time in begging the older boy. He was at the mercy of Kim Taehyung now.

“Please, please Taehyu - ah- I want you to touch me,” he shamelessly begs.

Hearing the Icy Jeon beg him to be touched made him groan before biting down on his neck. Taehyung turns them around and pushes Jungkook back onto the bed. As he falls back, his slacks had ridden down his ass and the tip of his dick was peeking through. He kneels down in front of the boy and spreads his legs open. With a smirk, he lowers his tongue on the head and gave a slow lick, making sure it was wet and hot.

“Ah shit, more, I want more,” Jungkook gasps as he hands cards through the boy’s hair, gripping it harder as he feels Taehyung’s lips around the head.

Taehyung grips the bands of the slacks and boxers and pulls them both down, letting it pool around his legs. He licks his lips at the sight before him. In a matter of minutes, he had managed to get Jeon Jungkook naked and splayed out on his bed. This boy unraveled pretty quickly, he chuckled to himself.  Taehyung kisses up his thighs, earning soft moans from Jungkook, and eventually found himself licking along the long, slender shaft. In one swift motion, he takes Jungkook whole in his mouth, wrapping his lips around the head and slowly going lower, savoring the warmth of the skin.

He flicks his eyes up and was surprised to see Jungkook staring back at him, pupils dilated and darken with lust. The younger boy nods, urging him to go on like his life depended on it. Fulfilling his erotic wishes, Taehyung starts bobbing his head, taking him deeper with every move. His tongue swirls around the shaft, putting extra pressure on a sensitive part. The sound of Jungkook’s sinful moans fills his ears.

“Fuck, you taste good baby boy,” Taehyung pants before going back to sucking it like a lollipop.

Every time he moves up, he gives a hard suck, eliciting wet lewd noises. It created quite a symphony with Jungkook’s groaning. He chokes out a strangled moan when Taehyung suddenly takes him whole, feeling him hit the back of his throat. “Ahh, fuck I’m gonna come fuck,” he gasps when the older boy swallows around his dick.

He whines when the warmth of Taehyung’s mouth is gone but is quickly replaced by his fingers. “Come for me baby boy,” he growls as he crawls up Jungkook’s slim figure. He straddles him and uses his free hand to tilt Jungkook’s head up to give better access to the skin on his neck. Taehyung starts sucking and biting on every inch of his skin while his hand works hard on jacking him off. He feels Jungkook’s iron grip on shoulder tighten the same time his dick twitches, followed by a string of curse words and Taehyung’s name moaned out as the boy comes undone. He continues to stroke him, letting him ride out his orgasm.

With one last hard flick, Jungkook falls back onto the bed, breathing heavy, hair mussed up, lips red and swollen. It was a sight that could make Taehyung hard all over again. “Shit baby boy,” he chuckles as he looks down. Jungkook had shot all over his own body, splattered like artwork.

Taehyung gives him a peck before getting off him. “That was uh...something else. All I can say is, you’ve got great vocals,” he teases and winks at the boy. It was the truth. If he could, he would record Jungkook’s moans and groans and grunts and play it on loop.

“Oh shut up,” Jungkook grumbles with a frown and pushes himself off the bed. And just like that, Icy Jeon was back. It was almost like a magic show; one second it was whiny Jungkook, the next, frowning Jungkook. He grabs the tissue and tosses a few to Taehyung, who still had his eyes trained on him.

“You’re not going to thank me or something?” Taehyung smirks. “You sounded like you really needed that.”

He could see Jungkook’s back stiffen. With his bare skin exposed, Taehyung could see the muscles ripple, making him want to run his finger up and down - not even in a sexual way.

“Thanks,” he replies tersely. He shrugs his slacks back on and swings his shirt on his shoulder, still refusing to face Taehyung. “I’m going to use your bathroom if you don’t mind.”

Taehyung shakes his head as he lies back down on the bed. “So tense,” he chuckles to himself. Maybe that’s why he was attracted to him. He wanted to see if he could crack Jungkook’s facade. And in a way, he kind of did tonight. But a part of him wanted to do so without any sexual acts. “Shit,” he whispers as he brings the bottle to his lips, realizing that perhaps his attraction for Jungkook could be more than just the physical kind.

His train of thoughts got cut off when Bohemian Rhapsody started blaring out of nowhere. “-uo think you can stomp me and spit in eyes! So you think you can love me and leave me to die!” He scrambles off the bed to find the source of music. On the floor, laid Jungkook’s discarded phone, flashing its bright screen, trying its hardest to get someone’s attention. “Ohh baby, can’t do this to me, baby! Just gotta get ou-” The song stops and his room was silent again.

It was an interesting discovery to catch a glimpse of Jungkook’s personality. In school, all Taehyung saw was an athletic boy, donning a mysterious aura with a scowl permanently etched on his face. So to know that he was the type to put in extra effort for a ringtone got him smiling. And it was Bohemian Rhapsody, the original version by the Queens. Taehyung had to admit, he had good taste.

Taehyung, being the curious cat that he was, takes a peek at the caller ID. The screen flashes open to reveal 4 missed calls from a number titled “The Mother”. Just reading it gave Taehyung chills. The name “The Mother” had as much warmth and affection as a block of ice. At the sound of the shower turning off, he jumps back on the bed, leaving the phone lying by the edge of his bed. As nosy as he can be, he wasn’t about to be caught in an awkward confrontation that starts with “Why are you looking through my phone?”.

Seeing the missed calls from his mother didn’t take an idiot to be able to put the two together. The Jeon household was probably going through some shit - not an uncommon occurrence in the town of Ashborn Village. Everyone in this town was living in a house of cards, a flick away from crumbling. People here were just too good at being oblivious about it.

Taehyung did his best to hide his blatant staring the second Jungkook came out of the shower. His hair was ruffled up like a wet mop yet somehow, he was able to make it look sexy as he runs his fingers through them a couple of times. “I used your towel, I hope you don’t mind,” Jungkook said as he briskly gestured to the white fabric hanging off his waist.

The older boy felt himself salivating as he takes in Jungkook’s tight shoulder muscles, carved biceps, distinct abs that adorned his torso and the v line that traced down his hips. The quickie they had minutes ago didn’t do Jungkook’s body justice. It went by too quick for Taehyung to actually admire it, he realized. Now, his eyes trail every inch of his body to burn into his memory.

“Stop staring, pervert,” Jungkook mocked him with a smirk.

Taehyung’s head snaps up and looks him in the eye. “You’re under my roof, so you have to obey my house rules. And it says that I’m allowed to stare,” he says smoothly.

Scoffing, he retorts back, “Technically, this is your father’s roof.”

“Technically, he isn’t here, so I’m head of the house for the weekend.”

“Technically, you don’t pay the rent so either way, this roof ain’t yours.” Jungkook raises his eyebrows as if to dare Taehyung to challenge his words.

“Technically you should shut up before I kick you out,” Taehyung advised the boy before adding, “Of my house.” He flashes his boxy smile in an unsettling way. His friends knew him well enough to know when pushed to his limit, he could do things that lack consideration of the other’s feelings with a thick-skin.

Jungkook surrenders with his hands up. “Fine,” he sighs. “But technically-”

“Shut up!” Taehyung giggles as he chucks one of his pillows at his friend. It hits Jungkook right at his crotch area, almost pulling his towel down as it fell to the floor. Frankly, he would’ve preferred if it actually slid off his waist. But unfortunately, God wasn’t being generous tonight. After ducking the pillow from Jungkook’s aim, he stands up and heads for the door.

“Where are you going?” Jungkook asks hesitantly, keeping his head down as he busies himself with finding a shirt to put on.

“Going to set up the guest room for you to sleep in. It’s just down the hall,” he explained as he jerks his thumb over his shoulders.

“W-wait,” Jungkook calls out. Taehyung turns around to find his hand hanging mid-air like he was reaching out for him. Jungkook quickly pulls it back and tucks them into his folded arms. Rolling on the balls of his feet, he rambles, “Can I...sleep with you on the bed? I just....only if you’re okay with it. I’ll sleep in the guest room if you want.”

Sensing that he wasn’t about to share his reason behind his more-than-unusual request, Taehyung doesn’t prod further. Instead, he closes the door behind him, climbs into bed and pats the empty side. And he swears, it was the first time he ever saw Jeon Jungkook smile so shyly with genuine sincerity. He could feel his heart melting and his stomach fluttering.

Jungkook crawls up to bed in nothing other than a big white t-shirt and black boxers. “Is your partner going to be alright with this,” he jokingly said, pointing to the almost-empty Balvenie bottle that was still sleeping snugly on his pillow. “I don’t want to make him jealous or anything.”

Taehyung hums in thought before making a show of dragging the glass bottle slowly to his chest and cuddling it. “But he’s been with me through so many shitty days,” he drawls and pouts.

Even though he was joking, there was a truth to it that Jungkook could see. He gently smiles and pulls the bottle away from Taehyung’s grip. It’s true, the two boys haven’t been the closest of friends, both vaguely unaware of each other’s issues. For some reason, tonight, he felt like he needed to protect him. “How about, from tonight onwards, you swap that bottle out for me?”

Taehyung’s eyebrow twitched as he stared at Jungkook warily. Those words, coming out from him, sounded so foreign. “Are we about to cross that line of pretending to be friends?”

Their eyes meet as they both gaze at each other softly. The room falls for quiet with their heavy breathing echoing. Lost in the moment, Jungkook bends down and kisses Taehyung’s forehead. “Let’s just go with it.”

That night, they both knew that the dynamics of their relationship has changed.

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