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quentinsquill · 5 years

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Fic: “Quentin Coldwater and the Pernicious Prickle Pixie Predicament” (The Magicians)

Author: Lexalicious70

Fandom: The Magicians

Pairing: Eliot/Quentin

Rating: R for sexual situations

Word Count: 1,798

Summary: Quentin’s encounter with some Fillorian woodland creatures leave him with an itch he can’t scratch, but Eliot is more than happy to help him get some relief.

A/N: This is the result of headcanon chat on Twitter. I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for laughs. Comments and kudos are magic! Enjoy.

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18711196

Quentin Coldwater and the Pernicious Prickle Pixie Predicament

By Lexalicious70 (jagged_little_quill)

“Shit, shit!”

The words, tinged with anxiety, were followed by a crash in the hallway that made Eliot jump out of his throne and yank open the door that led to the main entryway. Quentin was there, his messenger bag slung over one shoulder, whirling in circles like a religious convert overcome by a sermon. Eliot stepped forward.

“Quentin, what the hell?”

“Get them off me! Shit, ow, OW!” Quentin dropped his bag and yanked his sweater off, ignoring the startled stares of nearby servants. Eliot shooed them away and helped him, wincing back when several small winged creatures flew from the garment. They moved faster than hummingbirds and were completely iridescent. Eliot swatted one of the dime-sized things and it fell to the stone floor, twitching. Tick came bustling over at the ruckus, and Eliot pointed to the fallen thing as Quentin groaned and turned his back to the nearest wall, where he rubbed himself against it in a way that made Eliot flash back to the time he’d watched The Jungle Book with Margo during an all-night Disney binge.

“Tick, what the hell is that thing?” He asked, and the rotund little man crouched down.

“Ah! There is no cause for worry, your majesty. ‘Tis only a prickle pixie.”

“A what?”

“A prickle pixie. They can be somewhat likened to your earth mosquito, you see. Only they are larger . . . and more aggressive.”

“A mosquito!” Eliot glanced down at the dead thing, which had a somewhat humanoid form that was almost transparent. “Those are insects, Tick! These things—”

“Are magical creatures, yes, but his majesty shouldn’t fret. They are not poisonous. They will attack in groups when their nests are disturbed, but their bites only cause mild—” Tick winced as Quentin gave a low sound of dismay and scratched himself against the stone wall again. “. . . discomfort.”

“Thank you, Tick.” Eliot went over to his friend and tugged him away from the wall. “Q, what the hell happened?”

“I was gathering spell ingredients in the northern woods and I tripped over a tree root. I fell against the base of the tree and all those little things came flying out of a crack in the tree trunk! They swarmed me like wasps! I ran but some of them flew down my shirt.”

“It’s okay, Q. Tick says they aren’t poisonous.” He turned the smaller man around and hissed softly through his teeth at the sight of Quentin’s back. It was peppered with bites from his shoulders to the small of his back, the irregular welts blotchy red and scored with a purple dot in the center of each. Eliot’s skin prickled at the sight of them.

“Jesus . . . come on Q, let’s get you into a cool bath,” Eliot said, picking up Quentin’s messenger bag and leading him away as Tick swept up the dead pixie and tossed the remains out a nearby window.

*********

Long after the court retired and Whitespire grew silent, Eliot was awakened by an odd noise outside his bedchamber. He rose, tossing on a purple robe with black piping before opening the door. There were guards at both ends of the hall, as always, and the sound was coming from an alcove to his right. Eliot nodded at the guards to assure them he was all right and went to inspect, casting a Chakril’s mini sun to light his way. He rounded the alcove to find Quentin sitting on the opposite side, where the arch was carved from rough stucco-like stone. Quentin was scratching himself against it, moving back and forth like a metronome gone haywire. Eliot crouched down.

“Quentin, what the hell are you doing out here?” He asked, and Quentin looked up at him, his cheeks flushed.

“These fucking bites! The castle physician brought me a poultice but I can’t reach—” His words tangled on near-panic and Eliot put a hand on his shoulder.

“Deep breaths, Q,” he said as he tugged the smaller man to his feet and turned him. The rough stone had left scratches across Quentin’s back, but the bites still looked swollen and pink around the edges. Eliot resisted the urge to scratch at himself in response. “Those pixies must have been 31 flavors of pissed off when they swarmed you.”

“Why is everything in Fillory so goddamned touchy?” Quentin scowled. “In the books they were all warm and fuzzy!”

“The books didn’t mention an all-powerful Beast that used to be a Chatwin, either,” Eliot sighed. “Come on, show me this poultice the doctor brought you.”

Quentin led Eliot back to his bedroom. While, Eliot, and Margo all had their own chambers, they ended up in each other’s rooms and beds more often than not and because Eliot was, according to Margo, made to be the big spoon. As they entered Quentin’s room, Eliot reflected that they hadn’t acted on any impulses since arriving in Fillory and becoming royalty, even though he knew Quentin had to feel the chemistry in the air each time they were together.

“This is it,” Quentin said as he went to his dresser and handed Eliot a jar of greenish goop that reminded him of avocado dip. Eliot sniffed it—it had the faint scent of a stagnant pond, earthy, rich, and not entirely unpleasant. Quentin huffed and rolled his shoulders. “The doctor says I’m supposed to kind of knead or scratch it across the bites, but I can’t reach!”

“And you didn’t come to me, why?” Eliot asked, and Quentin dropped his gaze to his bare feet.

“I don’t know, El. I guess—things got weird and I—I felt like shit for what I said to you about ruining my life. I was pissed at myself for hurting Alice and needed someone to blame. You and Margo weren’t at fault . . .” Quentin sighed. “Emotion magic, booze—yeah they were factors but, in the end, I’m the one who hurt her. And then I hurt you too.”

“Nonsense.” Eliot took his hand and led him over to the bed. “That wasn’t my first dalliance with more than one person, and certainly not the first to cause trouble. Here, lie on your stomach.” He guided Quentin down. “I have a thick skin, Q.”

“It was mine,” Quentin admitted. “But as usual, my timing was horrible. Alice called me a whore.” He paused. “I felt like one.”

“She was angry and hurt.” Eliot dipped his long fingers into the jar and spread some of the salve across Quentin’s skin. “The doctor said to knead this in?”

Quentin nodded. “He said it won’t do any good on the surface.”

“All right, shove over a little.” Eliot nudged him so he could sit. The edges of the bites were raised and pinkish. “Quentin, are you sure—”

“Please El . . .please they itch so bad!” Quentin begged, and Eliot relented. He ran the fingers of his left hand over Quentin’s shoulders, scratching and kneading the salve into the bites, and the younger magician arched his back into Eliot’s touch like an affectionate cat. “Fuck! Yes, El please, harder . . .” He whimpered, and Eliot cleared his throat a little as he tried not to imagine Quentin stuttering out those words other different circumstances. He stiffened his fingers and scratched his nails across the bites, ensuring each one became slathered with the stuff. Quentin shivered and made a small mewling sound, and Eliot added another dollop of the poultice between his shoulderblades. His cacodemon tattoo was marred with more of the bites, and Eliot swept his nails along them in wide left-to-right motions. Quentin’s shoulders rolled and his back arched.

“Is it helping?” Eliot asked, and Quentin responded with a sound that Eliot could only describe as a purr.

“So much better, ohhh. Don’t stop El, please!”

Eliot obliged him, adding thick blobs of the medication to clusters of bites along the small of Quentin’s back, along the outer edge of his tattoo, and along the skin just above his hips. The black sleep pants Quentin wore gaped at the back each time he arched his back, revealing that he wore nothing underneath them. Eliot looked away.

Focus on something else. Roger Ebert in a thong, a pig wearing lipstick—Henry Fogg in spandex!

“Uhhnnhhhh,” Quentin moaned as Eliot kneaded the last of the stuff into the bites. The treated ones were already shrinking, and Eliot could see they’d probably be gone by morning.

He wasn’t sure he could say the same for his erection.

“Better,” Quentin sighed after a moment. “Oh, better, thank you El, thank you so much . . .”

“You’re welcome.” Eliot set the jar aside. “But I really should go and let you rest now.”

“Wait!” Quentin rolled into a sitting position and snagged Eliot’s hand. “Wait . . . please?”

“What is it, Q?”

“I—I don’t want to be alone, that’s all.” The words left the young magician in a rush. “Can you stay? Like you do with Margo?”

Eliot closed his eyes a moment.

“I’m not sure if you know what you’re asking.”

Quentin got to his feet and tipped his dark gaze up to Eliot’s.

“I think I do.” He rose up onto his bare tiptoes and pressed his lips to Eliot’s in an inexperienced but eager kiss. Eliot’s eyes widened at the bold move but his arms slid around Quentin’s lean form almost of their own accord. Quentin bumped his thigh against Eliot’s erection and then ground his inner thigh against it until a damp spot appeared on the purple material of Eliot’s robe.

“No emotion bottles, no booze,” Quentin smiled up at his friend. “No girlfriends. Just us.”

“But I—”

“I know, El,” Quentin nodded. “I was scared as hell when you came in here with me. I wasn’t sure if I had fucked things up for good back at the cottage, but when you offered to help, I knew there was still a chance. There—there’s still a chance, isn’t there?”

Eliot smiled and stroked a hand through Quentin’s fine tawny hair.

“Yes.”

Quentin rocked into the hard shaft of Eliot’s erection once more and tugged him down onto the bed.

“Margo says you’re the best big spoon in the universe. Show me?”

A slow grin spread over Eliot’s face.

“Got another itch only I can scratch?”

Quentin tutted toward his chamber door and it shut and locked, the fob giving off a small shower of magical sparks as he offered Eliot a hand.

“Only one way to find out.”

The room’s candles snuffed out a moment later, leaving Eliot to explore Quentin’s skin in a different way.

Thank Fillory for second chances, he thought. And for prickle pixies.

Fin

#Queliot #The Magicians #Fic

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mpdgmustdie · 7 years

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French Toast and Families

Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil

Pairings: Prinxiety (can be read as platonic) and Logicality (can also be read as platonic, idk there might be others but that’s the only subtext I intentionally put in

Word Count: 1710

Summary: A few weeks after the ‘Fitting In’ video. Virgil is becoming more comfortable with his identity as part of the group, but still has some lingering doubts. Lots of fluff.

Warnings: negative self-talk, angst; I think that’s it, but please correct me if i’m wrong

A/N: This is my first fic, so feedback would be appreciated. I’m sorry for any typos or ooc behavior. So anyway, here goes... (I am afraid.)

Virgil awoke to the noise of the other sides clattering in the kitchen. "Oh crap I overslept I was supposed to help with breakfast and- Hey. It's okay. Deep breaths." As he practiced his usual 7-4-8 rhythm he focused on the sounds of the others from down below his room. It had been a few weeks since that whole Harry Potter incident, and he was still trying to get used to the idea that Thomas, Patton, Logan, and Roman all needed- no, wanted him around, that he belonged with them, that they were his friends, his- family. The word tasted so sweet and strange on his tongue, almost too beautiful to be real. More often than not he woke up convinced it was all a dream. "Speaking of waking up, I should get downstairs before they somehow manage to burn down the mind palace..." He quickly changed into his new attire and went downstairs.

"Hey there kiddo!" Patton chirped. “I was just about to come check on you!” “No need, I’m up,” Virgil muttered, perching on the counter a safe distance away from what appeared to be the beginnings of French toast. "Well obviously. I-" Logan was cut off by a loud remark from Roman. "Is that milk you're putting in? the prince asked incredulously. "Yes," Logan replied. "Is there an issue?" Roman seemed to be at a loss for words. "I- You- You can't just put in milk! It dilutes the flavor! French toast is an experience! It's bland, ordinary bread baptized in rich, eggy, goodness to make a treat worthy of royalty!" "I'm afraid I must correct you there. Though French toast, or 'pain perdu' as they called it at the time, was consumed by Henry V, it dates back to as early as the 5th century, when the bread was primarily dipped in milk and fried for the consumption of peasants." Logan smirked. "Aww... Lo, you're such an egghead!" Patton grinned, making finger guns at him. Logan groaned, looking like he wanted nothing more than to dump the milk on Patton's head. "Ooh, I know eggxactly how to fix this milk dilemma! Moove over!"

This was apparently too much for Logan, who shot Virgil an exasperated look as if to say "look at the things I put up with" then walked off to collect himself, presumably in the sane realm of his room. Patton reached into a cupboard and pulled out two bottles. "With a little vanilla and cinnamon there'll be more than enough flavor!" He poured a thin stream of vanilla into the bowl, turning the liquid a lovely shade of brown. Then he uncapped the cinnamon and began shaking a bit of the fragrant powder into the mixture. Unfortunately, Logan chose to reappear at that exact moment, and Roman burst into his own rendition of Belle's song from Beauty and the Beast to acknowledge his return. "Here comes Logan with his books like always The same old facts and notes to tell..." Startled both by Logan's sudden reappearance and Roman's sudden musical outburst, Patton squeezed the bottle a little too hard and cinnamon came flying out, covering the counter and turning the bowl's contents a dark brown. "Vanilla?! CINNAMON?! Who taught you how to cook?" Logan fumed, peering into the bowl with a dismal expression on his face as he tried to skim some of the extra cinnamon off the top of the mixture with a fork. Virgil snorted. Logan was definitely not a morning person. And his temper had been pretty short these days, which was worrying...

“Hey kiddo, do you wanna come help Roman cook this stuff?" Patton asked. "Sure," Virgil slipped off the counter and over to the stove. Because if anyone could burn the mind palace down, it'd be Princey... Despite Logan's best efforts, the French toast goop was still dark with cinnamon. Virgil, dragged a piece of bread through it, which removed most of the excess cinnamon, then threw it on the pan. Roman did the same, flipping the slice sharply through the air with a spatula and landing it on the pan with a satisfying hiss. Roman's sharp movements gave Virgil an idea. It was silly, but it seemed like the sort of thing friends did... He picked up his spatula and pointed it at Roman like a sword. "En garde, Prince!" Roman, who had been hovering over the cooking toast, whirled around, exchanging a bewildered look with Logan. Patton let out a high pitched squeak. I should have thought this through everyone is looking at me I'm so stupid why did I- Distracted by his rising panic, Virgil nearly failed to dodge Roman's spatula as it came swinging towards him. "If it's a duel you want, a duel you shall have, edgelord!" cried the prince. Virgil stabbed at him then ducked behind the counter, running out into the other room. Patton was beaming and Logan looked confused, a rare expression for him. Neither Roman nor Virgil noticed, as they were locked in the middle of an all out spatula duel in the living room.

All the sides loved acting, as they were all parts of Thomas, but Virgil loved the rush of adrenaline that came from stage fighting in particular. "This," Virgil decided, "is a positive kind of anxiety." He fought defensively, ducking behind couches and chairs and parrying jabs from Roman, who had an affinity for spinning and flourishing his spatula dramatically. Roman was relentless, and eventually, despite Virgil's best efforts, the prince had him pined down against the floor with one hand, pointing his weapon towards Virgil's throat with the other. "Yield," he commanded. "Never!" Virgil laughed, out of breath. Roman grinned, then looked at him. "You know Verge, I've never heard you laugh before." "Oh, uh... you know..." Virgil trailed off, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. What was he supposed to say to that? "Relax, Hot Topic, I like it," he said easily, offering one of his trademark charming smiles. "Well, thanks, I guess," Virgil replied awkwardly. "Boys, your toast!" Logan called from the kitchen, sounding vaguely alarmed.

"Crap!" Roman ran to the kitchen, followed by Virgil. Logan was standing over a pan of brownish black toast and Patton appeared to be distracted by a cat video. "What... happened?" Roman asked, aghast. "Toast... why did you toast my bread? Now it is blackened and dead!" He lamented. "It wasn't my fault!" Logan said quickly. "I assumed Patton was keeping an eye on the stove, so I started reading!" "Well, you can't really trust Pa-" Roman was cut short by a glare from Virgil. "I mean, it's alright, we can just make more." "I gotta be honest, I don't know what you all are talking about. French toast tastes the best this way," Virgil admitted. "What?!" Roman cried, outraged. "Yeah, you know, the more cooked it is, the less risk of Salmonella there is..." "While only 1 in about 20,000 eggs is contaminated with Salmonella bacteria, it never hurts to be careful," Logan added helpfully. "Plus it looks kinda, I dunno... edgy?" Roman blinked. "...You think Halloween crayons and burned toast are edgy." "And?" "Nothing," said Roman, hiding a smile. "I'm not-" Virgil started, but was cut off by Patton. "If fish could make snow angels, what would they look like?" he wondered aloud. No one knew quite what to make of that.

After many bad puns, a few more pieces of burned toast, and one slightly singed tie, the sides were sitting around the table eating happily. Logan and Roman appeared to be drowning their toast in Crofter's. "Seriously guys, what is with you and that jam?" Virgil asked. "Oh you simply must try some; it's exquisite!" Roman advised. I concur," Logan said thickly, his mouth full of jelly-soaked toast. "Uhh... No thanks," Virgil grimaced. "What do you guys wanna do after breakfast?" Patton questioned. "There's a few things for next month I need to plan," Logan replied. "I was planning on having an epic adventure!" Roman announced. "I dunno, just chilling in my room, I guess," Virgil replied when the others looked towards him. He'd had such a good time with everyone, did it really have to end? "Of course it does, you idiot,” he thought, looking down at the table. "They have lives after all, and much better things to do than spend time with you. You slept in late, you challenged Roman to a stupid sword fight, you let the toast burn-"

"Are you alright, Patton?" Logan sounded concerned. Virgil looked up to see Patton hastily trying to wipe a disappointed expression from his face. "Yep, I'm fine. I guess I was hoping we could maybe all cuddle for a bit, but seeing as how you all have things to do..." "Next month isn't for a while," Logan cut in, looking at Patton with an odd expression. "Adventures can happen any day. Cuddling with the ones you hold dear... that is a rarity," Roman nodded. Virgil shrugged, and gave a half-smile. "I'm down for that." Patton broke into a grin, a faint sheen of tears in his eyes. "I love you guys so much," he said in a choked tone. Virgil could've sworn he heard Logan mutter the word 'adorable' under his breath, and then Patton was pulling them all towards the couch. Logan ended up by the arm of the couch, with Patton snuggled into his side. Patton's free arm was around Roman's shoulders, who was draped elegantly over the remainder of the sofa. Virgil stood awkwardly by the side of the couch, unsure of what to do. He'd never really cuddled before. Luckily Patton came to his rescue. "Hey Roman, would you mind scooting over a bit?" The prince sighed dramatically, but smiled and pulled Virgil toward the couch in between himself and Patton. Roman was leaning against him, Patton's arm was around him, and Virgil felt safe. He could feel the others' love for him as they sat there together in content silence, connecting together as parts of a whole. He closed his eyes to stop the tears from falling, trying to soak in every sensation of the moment. He was not the villain. He was not a reject. And for the first time, Virgil felt like he'd found a family, found a home.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #french toast #thomas sanders fic #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #my fic

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gattius-starfrost · 7 years

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Shopping Woes

(( Co-written with @kidcatgemini / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 ))

~*~*~*~

Gattius sighed. He followed Syrielle around the Bazaar, shoulders slumped and eyes droopy. Normally, he was more than happy to spend time with her. But he’d avoided and dreaded the thought of going clothes shopping with her again - not that he minded the company, but he really didn’t care for the Bazaar in general. Shops were loud, colors were bright, smells from food vendors clashed… It was an assault on the senses, as far as he was concerned. But he tagged along at Syrielle’s behest. She was right - he didn’t have a lot of clothes. It was a fact they discovered when he moved his belongings into her room.

‘Oi, maybe she’ll buy y’two cute matchin’ outfits, aye lad?’

Alteris’ voice rang out, mockingly, in his mind. He frowned deeper.

“Syrie, I changed my mind. I think I’m good on clothes, y’know? I don’t need too many.”

Syrielle turned to face him, bringing her hands up to her hips, “Hey now! No skipping out on this! You need more variety, Gatto. You’ve put this off long enough!”

She stuck her tongue out at him, before taking his hand and pulling him along.

“We’re going to try and get a bit more colour in your wardrobe, too. Everything you own is black and red. What other colours do you like? Maybe a dark green or blue?”

“Gotta admit… blue’s grown on me.” he smirked, clearly not talking about clothes.

He gave her hand a squeeze as she tugged him along, at least enjoying the time they spent together now.

“I don’t mind green, but with my hair? Too… Winter Veil-ish, don’t you think?” he shrugged. “Yellow’s too bright, orange is too friendly… maybe a nice purple?”

He shook his head, the feeling of dread returning to him as he looked out over the sea of shops. The deeper they went into the Bazaar, the louder, brighter, and smellier it got.

“--What’s wrong with red and black, anyway?” he protested, whining a little.

She chuckled, “Alright! We’ll look for some blue or purple. --and there's nothing wrong with black and red, it just makes it look like you're wearing the same outfit over and over again. You need variety! And we're finally going to get that for you!”

She continued to ramble on, before suddenly pausing in her steps. Her free hand came up to hover over her mouth as her face had suddenly gone extremely pale. She took in a few good breaths, letting them out again. Slowly, her colour returned to normal again.

She cleared her throat, “It doesn't have to be solid colours either. Can have some black or red in it.”

Gattius quirked his brow.

“--You feeling okay?” he asked, noticing the sudden stop and paling of her skin tone. “It’s the smells here, isn’t it? I know it- they clash like crazy, between all the different food carts and vendors!”

He moved around her, and turned to face her - to make sure she was okay. He frowned, concerned.

“We can do this another time, if you’re still feeling some mana drain fallout.”

She waved a hand, attempting to dismiss his worries, “I can't stay in bed forever. I can manage, but yeah… the smells aren't helping at all.”

Syrie sighed, finally looking up at him, “I’ve never had mana drain go on this long. This isn't letting up no matter what I do… and you cleansed the Fel, so… I don't know what this is, exactly. But hey, it's not getting worse, either.”

She gave him a smile, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek, “I’ll be fine. Let's get you some clothes, already.”

He frowned, but nodded. “If you’re sure…”

Damn, so much for an easy out. Still, her being sick and tired this long was very concerning. He’d heard of cases of mana draining being this bad before. But rarely did the patient recover fully. If she wasn’t bouncing back to full energy like before, it could be a sign she was losing her Arcane potential. His frown deepened as he followed her lead through the Bazaar once more. Magic was her life! She’d be devastated if she was losing her abilities…

‘Don’t go crushin’ her hopes and dreams too soon, lad…’ Alteris’ voice warned him.

He was right, best investigate further before making her worry about it. He nodded.

“What if I have various colored shirts, but still wear a black or red undershirt?” he offered, back on mission. “Or different colored undershirts, but still wear black or red over it?”

She shot him a smile over her shoulder, “You can keep black and red for your undershirts. That would be fine. And black works with just about every color, so you’ll be fine with that. And like I said, you can still wear black and red in general, just switch it up once and awhile, yeah? Like… I wear a lot of blue, but you DO see me in other colors from time to time --Oh! ICE CREAM!”

Her eyes lit up and she let go of his hand, happily skipping over to stand in line, as though she had reverted back to a child. The cryomancer had always loved frozen treats, but excessively so as of late. It was hard to tell exactly how much of the stuff she had eaten just in the past week.

“Want anything? My treat!” she called over to him as her turn came to order.

“Oh, uh…” Gattius blinked, trying to catch up to the random subject change. “Sure! Whatever you’d recommend. I’m not picky.”

He caught up to her, and stood beside her in the line. He smiled; it was good to see her happy, even if it was over something as simple as ice cream. The little things made all the difference! He took her hand in his, contently.

‘This is it, lad’ Alteris’ voice entered his mind. ‘This is the life you’ve seen with her.’

He smiled at the thought, giving Syrielle’s hand a gentle squeeze as he tugged her close. The line moved up - they were next.

Her eyes scanned the ingredients in from of them. She thought of a few different combinations, some odd ones came to mind, but she decided to stick to normal stuff since she was also ordering for Gattius.

“Two orders of the triple chocolate, please!” she piped up when it was her turn to order, “Can you put an extra scoop? And caramel syrup on top….. And strawberries? Oh! Are those marshmallows? Add some of those on there too… and sprinkles… -wait no, no sprinkles. Oh! But throw a bit of cream on top of that, yeah? Perfect!”

She handed the coins over to pay for their order, handing Gattius his share as the bowls were handed to them.

“Thank you!” she said happily, as she scanned for a place to sit.

There was a free spot by the fountain, and she grabbed his hand again with her free one and tugged him along so that they could rest and eat their frozen treats. She immediately dug into her bowl.

Gattius stayed quiet through the ordering - he was definitely out of his element, there. Flavors he’d never heard of, toppings he’d never considered, it occurred to him how infrequently he’d had ice cream in his life. Syrielle, on the other hand, was clearly a professional. He took the small bowl that was handed, and followed her to the fountain.

“Ice cream sure has come a long way, aye?” he chuckled. “I didn’t know they had so many options these days.”

He dug his spoon in, and took a bite - it was good. Sweet, rich, the strawberries gave it a tart flair, and the marshmallows added some unique texture! He hummed, smiling as he went for a second scoop.

“Okay, how about this;” he began, between bites. “Black silken pants, black boots, various colored shirts, but red undershirts?”

“Hmm… you’ll have to try stuff on, for sure. It’ll depends on the shades, how they’re worn together as well as how they fit on you,” she rambled, before shovelling spoonfuls of ice cream into her mouth, ears perking up happily at the taste. Yes. This was a good combination.

“Black silken pants are for sure a yes,” she finally spoke up again, after swallowing it down. Apparently, brain freeze wasn’t a thing for cryomancers, “Those types of pants you can wear with just about anything, so find a couple of pairs that fit really well and you’re all set for pants. Do you need a new belt, or are you good for that? We’ll get you different types of shirts, for different occasions, yeah? Some you can lounge around in, some casual stuff to wear out and a few fancy ones for date nights, yeah?”

She took another bite, before pointing her spoon at him, “And you HAVE to wear them. I don’t want to see them just sitting in the closet, yeah? I want to be able to smell you when I wear them in the mornings.”

“--Alright, alright, slow down!” he chuckled, listening to Syrielle ramble on between scoops of ice cream. “I promise I’ll wear them. We’ll pick some good ones, and I will absolutely wear them, even if under my armor.”

He had slowed his ice-cream consumption by now. It was good, but… a bit too good. The rich chocolate was intoxicating, and the whipped cream topping made it almost irritatingly sweet. He sat, stirring the contents of his small cup together to form a sloshy goop.

“Think we should prioritize comfort, aye? Good fabrics, even if they don’t look extremely stylish, y’know?” he nodded. “I’m not about to wear something uncomfortable just because it’s ‘in’.”

Gattius looked at Syrielle, smiling. He remembered the telltale sign that she was comfortable with their relationship; the first time she wore one of his shirts. It was a ratty old thing, one he’d worn hundreds of times. Brown, if he remembered correctly. But it was a comfortable shirt - age had thinned it, stretched it, left it smooth and flowing. He loved that shirt - but since she took it, he hadn’t bothered taking it back. An unspoken gift. He wanted more shirts like that. Shirts she’d steal from him and wear when they were simply lounging around at home. Comfortable shirts were important to him for the day-to-day… but moreso for the prospect of seeing Syrielle in them.

“I’m good on belts.” he nodded, scooping another spoonful of ice-cream-slop into his mouth.

She nodded, shovelling down a few more mouthfuls, having completely finished what was in her bowl. Considering how sick she’d been as of late, it was a wonder how THIS wasn’t making her sick. In fact, she seemed to be feeling better than she had in a long time. The slight movement of her ears as he spoke indicated that she was listening.

“Comfort is key, yeah. But the fancier pieces are going to be a bit more of a challenge on that point. My nicer robes aren’t the most comfortable or convenient, and some of my shoes and boots just KILL my feet, you know? But they aren’t meant to be worn for long periods of time. Just like… a nice dinner where I won’t be walking a lot. Or a couple of hours at a fancy function before going back home and changing into the comfy stuff.”

The empty bowl and spoon disappeared from her hands, having been transported to whatever subspace dumpster mages sent their garbage to. She eyed his bowl of melted goop, making that disappear as well once she was certain he was done.

“Maybe we can make one of the shirts a sleeveless one; show off that tattoo on your shoulder, yeah?”

“Ah, that’s… not really for showing off--”

He blinked, the bowl vanishing from his hands. Just as well he wasn’t really eating any more of it anyway. In truth, it started to make him feel sick… With that, she was up and tugging him into the first shop.

#Syrielle Starfrost #Gattius Lightmourn #shopping!#ice cream!

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limpblotter · 7 years

Text

Piece of Cake

Warning: ...cussin and waste of food, also unedited(raw draft) a/n: oneshot drabble, jam fluff. Getting those writing juices flowin’ Summary: high school au/ hamilton w/c: 3733

“Why the hell are we here?” Alexander groaned, he ran a hand down his tired face. He started to think back at the series of events that led him here. Where was here? Sitting at a long table for two in a Home Economics class. There were various cooking tools, bowls, a sink and small two burner stove top oven...and there was his partner. The bile began to rise up his throat and threatened to force a gag out of him. He glanced over at the purple bomber jacket wearing, big haired, facial hair on fleek idiot beside him. His partner sported a face of immense disinterest, his eyes on his phone as he scrolled with his thumb.

“Because you’re a fucking idiot who got us kicked out of Creative Writing.” Thomas responded with a hiss, he didn’t look up while he spoke to Alexander, he didn’t want to look at the face of the guy who placed him in this bullshit elective.

Honestly that was not how he remembered it going down at all. What he remembered was signing up for the Creative Writing class with his friends Aaron and Gilbert. His best friend John Laurens wasn’t a fan of writing and took on Aquatics as his elective. Alexander was more of an academic, though he tried his hand in sports. He was fairly good at wrestling but found it hard to maintain the proper weight/height ratio to stay in his class. He decided to follow Aaron in a more relaxed subject, one he knew he was well versed at as well. As for Gilbert...well he was in it because Mr. Washington was teaching the class.

Alexander only expected the best of the best to be there, Angelica Schuyler's little sister Eliza was taking the class, as she did the year before. It was highly recommended after that. Alexander expected James Madison the kid who skipped two full grades to be there, he seemed to enjoy writing as well. What he didn’t expect was Thomas Jefferson to be there. Apparently he was some kid that moved away then moved back or some weird drama. He was popular when he left and even more so when rumors flooded in that he and Angelica were dating.

Not. True. He wasn’t a fan of someone who just waltzed into school like that. Alexander wasn’t popular...he tried and he was popular among his close friends. Most people found him annoying, the kid who got in trouble and still managed to get the grades. Kid who never shut up and pissed off nearly everyone. It took a certain kind of person to put up with him. “Maybe if you didn’t start talking shit I wouldn’t have thrown my book at you.” Alex growled back, remembering clearly that in the middle of his discussion, Thomas had clearly leaned over to Madison. He looked right at Alex and laughed right at him.

Thomas rolled his eyes, still not giving Alex the benefit of meeting his eye contact. “Please, you don’t even know I was talking about you and even if I was, someone who talks as much shit as you should be able to take it.” The dislike was mutual. Thomas was not a fan of popularity in the sense of having people flock him. He liked being admired from afar. Little knew but he was quite awkward around too many people, often leaning on the moral support of his friends like Madison. Alexander threw him off balance. He was boisterous and impossible to ignore, more importantly he brought out an ugly side to Thomas that no one had seen before.

“I can take the shit talking!” Alex yelled, earning a hush from their new elective teacher. Of course, it was bold face lie. Alexander could deal out some of the rudest, wittiest insults but the moment it was directed back at him he flew off the handle. In his mind, he had to have the last word, the last say, the last insult no matter what. He was in the middle of a great discussion when Thomas interrupted him. Sure throwing his book across the room and taking out Madison instead of Thomas was a bad idea. It would have been well worth it if he had hit Thomas instead. “No one told you to return fire…”

“You fucking socked James in the face with your book and gave him a nosebleed.”

“I said I was sorry.” Alex crossed his arms.

“After you complained about how your shot would have been perfect if it wasn’t for his, and I quote, ‘bulbous air brained head’” Alexander smirked to himself, it was a good time to use his word of the day. “Now thanks to you, James is stuck in the nurse’s office and the only other elective I get is Home Ec, stuck with you.”

The fight didn’t go over well with George. Who, as much as he loved Alexander as a student and a person, wanted him to learn a little restraint even when it came to those he had trouble tolerating. Alex felt personally attacked. He was Washington’s favorite, he was the cool new kid that everyone befriended. Then the ‘legend’ Thomas Jefferson, rich, snobby, basketball player comes back and everyone is up in arms. Angelica and Lafayette were apparently his friends first, George missed him since he coached the team. Even Aaron Burr spoke highly of Thomas. It was sickening. “Whatever lets just get this over with.”

The bell rang and Mrs.Adams began instruction they were to make a dish that reminded them of home. The deep sentimentality made Alexander’s stomach churn. He had been through various foster homes, hopscotched around so many times the past was just a blur. That was another internal lie, he purposely tried to keep his past in the past. He looked over at Thomas. He was from the South or something, he remembered hearing that stupid twang in his voice. He probably wanted to make fried chicken or something. They were suppose to work together, other groups already started brainstorming while Thomas started taking out pots from the cabinet.

“What are you doing?” Alex watched as Thomas silently began to maneuver around him.

“I’m going to make my comfort food.” He answered, “Be a doll, and get me some cheese from the fridge.”

“This suppose to be a team thing, we didn’t discuss what we’re making.” Alex ignored his instructions. Thomas rolled his eyes and went to get the items himself. Fine,if that was how he was going to play it. Alexander went to the back and grabbed a large, clear, cylindrical container of ground up coffee.

He returned just as Thomas was filling up a pot with sink water. “What are You doing?”

“I’m going to make my comfort food.” Alexander echoed in a mocking voice, it was hard to mock Thomas’s voice. It was low and rumbly but not at all gritty. It was...smooth and low, like dark chocola--

“We can’t make two different foods, we can only turn in one.” Thomas glared as Alexander popped the container open and started measuring out a few cups of ground coffee. “Coffee isn’t even a fucking food, you dunderhead.”

“Doll, now Dunderhead, what are you fifty?” Thomas was old fashion, his tastes were dated and so was were his insults apparently. “Hm, then I guess whoever finishes first gets to turn in our assignment.” Alex mused watching Thomas’s dark eyes narrow at him. They shared a silent moment, which was rare, nothing but glares and shallow breathing before they broke away and furiously went to cooking. Racing to be the other.

Thomas turned and dumped all of the pasta in the water before it was boiling. Alex went and started practically throwing cups of flour into the bowl with his coffee. A puff of flour rose from his bowl and dusted itself onto Thomas’s jacket sleeve. “Fucking watch it slob.” He tore off his jacket and revealed intensely toned biceps and a tight tshirt that hugged his wide chest. Alexander clenched his jaw unable to repress the small wave of shock. Thomas felt eyes on him and looked down. Alexander was glaring a hole into Thomas ‘s arm. “Take a picture, it lasts longer” He purred.

The shorter student felt a rage. The same violent rage he felt when he heard Thomas laugh at him. That stupid, soft, bell like laugh that was warm and light, completely contradicting what Hamilton assumed his laugh would sound like. With no book to throw and no time to waste, Alex eyed the open bag of flour that was between him and Jefferson. In midmix he elbowed the back and watched it flop over all over Thomas’s side of the table. “Whoops.” Alex smiled, the flour trickled off the side of the table down to Thomas’s fancy oxfords.

His southern attitude shined as he sucked his teeth and rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Thomas kicked off some of the excess flour from his feet and looked over at Alex. He waited until he was measuring cups of milk and just as he began to Thomas nudged his arm causing him to spill out of the bowl and onto himself. “Whoops~”

“You, fuckin’” Alex turned and was met by a flour covered hand smearing the white dust all over his face.

“Good look for you, Hamilton, ever considered wearing makeup to cover up those baby hairs on your chinny-chin-chin?” Thomas smirked, insulting the only thing that kept the strangely rosy, baby faced Hamilton from looking overly feminine. Thomas went back to stirring the pasta now that the water was now in a rolling boil. Hamilton angrily wiped his face, getting only some of the flour off his skin. He looked down at the batter he was making and smirked. “Thomas…” Alexander cooed, sickly sweet. Falsely sweet but it sent a strange sensation down Thomas’s spine. He turned his head cautiously and noticed Alexander was still covered in flour. Ha. He smirked but it started to fade when he tried to read Alex’s expression. It was soft, no smile, cheeks flared. He was slightly disarmed, long enough for Alex to lean forward. Thomas’s nervous and awkward tendencies started to shine as he backed up, slightly gawk like expression in his eyes. Hamilton, confident as always, got so close their chests bumped. And fast as a whip, Thomas’s well maintained facial hair was slapped by Alex. He felt a wet, goop on his face. “I think coffee cake batter is a good shade for you.”

Jefferson frantically shoved Alex aside, his bowl in his hand, as he hogged the sink. Alex lost control of his bowl and his batter went flying all over the floor. Thomas ran out water over his face. He made quick work of the cake mix before it made him break out.

A livid Alexander who’s “hard work” was now splattered on the ground walked over to the sink. He pressed his thumb against the faucet hole and the water pressure exploded as a stream of water aimed at Thomas’s wild, mane like hair. “You missed a spot”

Thomas shook his head, his curls now hung low heavy from being dampened. “So did you!” He grabbed Alexander by the collar and held him up a few inches off the ground. “BOYS” Mrs. Adams glared at them. “I hope you two have your dish done in the next thirteen minutes...or else you will both not only be failed, it will be a trip to Principal King’s office!”

They gulped in unison. Thomas didn’t want to visit the principal, his parents would skin him alive if he got in trouble and risked missing a game. Hamilton couldn’t risk hurting his college bound future with a failing grade… Slowly Thomas placed Alexander down and sighed. “Look lets just do something, anything…”

“Well coffee cake is out of the question.” Alex sighed. Not like he was any good at making cake.

“Ew who puts coffee in a cake?” Thomas wrinkled his nose. “My mac and cheese idea is so much better.” “I forget my partner has the tastebuds of a child.” Alex only ever saw Thomas eat carbs and cheese. His palette was almost as stupid as Thomas’s love for the color purple. His tired eyes darted behind Thomas to the pot on the stove, it was foaming and overflowing behind him. “Yeah i don’t think your dish is going to work out either.”

“Shit!” The southern boy spun around and turned off the stove. The pasta was painfully over cooked, now they were both out of luck. “Crap...now what? We can’t cook something in eleven minutes can we?” He looked at Alex who was rubbing his finger under his chin. He looked deep in thought, pensive, those eyes framed by sleepless bags never really looked tired. They had a bad frame around them, in truth, Alexander’s eyes (in Thomas’s opinion) were wide awake. Intelligent browns that were hyper focused to any and all tasks at hand. Shame, those bags made him look lazy and lackluster. Thomas blushed a bit realizing he had been thinking about Alexander’s eyes. The moment of admiration was fleeting as Alexander turned and started pacing towards the pantry. “Hello? Earth to Hamilton do you have an idea or what?” Jefferson waited but got no response. He groaned and followed behind Alexander as he searched the dry ingredients shelf. “Hamilton, you being quiet is unnerving so speak we have 11 minutes to make something that doesn’t cause food poisoning.”

“No bake Cheesecake.” He muttered. Thomas didn’t catch that, Hamilton turned around holding a box of graham crackers. “We’ll make a no bake cheesecake. I saw it once skimming on Facebook. It was one of those tasty videos.” “You watched a Tasty video?” “No, I skimmed it but I got the gist.” Alex pouted as Thomas facepalmed in front of him. “Look you have cream cheese, we have whipped cream and no time to actually bake anything, you want to fail fine but I’m going to do something about.” He marched off. He didn’t need Thomas’s help. He’d pull both of their asses out of this mess, he was not going to fail a class and ruin his chances in an Ivy league school. He started cleaning some space when suddenly a hand came out and stopped him. Their skins met and Alex felt a jolt so strong he made him flinch back.

Thomas stared down at him, his cheeks slightly red “what can I do?”

How strange, Thomas was being helpful? Subservient? Alex could get use to that look on his face. The awkward, unsure shy look he wore, the blush, not to mention he looked pretty nice with his hair wet and hardly as fluffed up. He was hot when he wasn’t peacocking around. “Grind up the graham crackers, I’ll soften the cream cheese and melt the butter.”

Silence came over them, they worked...well together. Alex found it strange Thomas was silent...then again when Alexander wasn’t around him Thomas seem quiet. After all he was friends with James Madison the sickly and silent type. He didn’t think they had long conversations. They had knowing lookings and that...he envied. He didn’t know anyone that could figure out what was happening in his mind long enough to figure it out. Even his closest friend was lost when it came to what went through his mind. Hamilton watched as Thomas used a rolling pin to bound the crackers as fast and finely as possible. He was...strong. The table shook with his pounding, Alex watched that bicep flex and his heart sputtered like a failing car. It took him a moment to restart his mind, and slowly he went back to working the cream cheese with sugar, whipped cream making a thickened mix.

Once Thomas was done he grabbed a cake tin and walked around Hamilton. “Watch your back.” He whispered in a low voice closer to Hamilton’s face. Alex’s ears started to burn with color and heat. Thomas reached over Alex’s shoulder, his large arm pressing up just a bit against Alex’s face, grabbing the container of melted butter. Without being told? Alex was impressed. He, absentmindedly, leaned into the arm and felt a sudden urge to close his eyes. “Uh…” Thomas slowly retracted his arm a bit and arched his eyebrow at Alex. “Alright then. You should look into sleeping.”

“I don’t sleep.” It wasn’t by choice. Thomas chuckled, soft and not sarcastic, were they getting along? No but at least they weren’t biting each other’s heads of. “I’m sure turning off your mind is near impossible but you should at least try cutting down the caffeine.”

“Are you worried about me, Jefferson?” Alex turned his head and there was a silence. “No.” Hamilton rolled his eyes, “crust is done.” “Thanks.” Alex poured the mix in and popped it into the freezer for the rest of the time they had left. “Well now it's up to the fridge.” “I’ll start praying.” Thomas shook his head. “Oh yes, please pray to the Southern Cake God” A questionable believer like Hamilton could only scoff at him. “I don’t pray for miracles.”Thomas smirked, “I’m praying not to fail.”

Hamilton and Jefferson went back to awkward silence. How strange silence came when they couldn’t fight. As if they only knew how to speak to each other when it was meant to hurt. After a while Thomas spoke again, his eyes on his phone, scrolling. “I wasn’t laughing at you.” Alex had his head down, catching some rest as they waited as long as they could. “Excuse me?” “In Creative Writing, I wasn’t laughing at you.” Thomas had put together why Alex had his outburst. He couldn’t believe that Alexander was so sensitive when it came to his performance but it was the only logical conclusion. “I was showing a video to James.” “So why were you looking at me WHILE you laughed?” “Because I was also paying attention. Some of us can manage two things at once.” Thomas shook his head. “I listen to all your stupid discussions. Insightful or not.” Jefferson shrugged, keeping his eyes down on the screen of his phone. Alex blinked...a small smile formed on his lips. So he was heard. Thomas thought he was insightful? Thomas might have only meant at times but Hamilton knew he was always insightful. And Thomas Jefferson paid attention to him…

Mrs. Adams started making her rounds, Alex pulled the cheesecake out of the fridge and placed it on their table. “Well...mess and your little mishaps aside...this looks promising.” She took a slice and jotted down a grade. She placed a ‘B’ on their sheet with only the comment ‘Next time actually cook something’. “Not my usual, but I’ll take it.” Alex sighed in relief. He sliced a piece for himself and started to dig in. It was theirs after all. He chewed, knowing well he probably shouldn’t, when he felt eyes on him. Instantly he glared at the pair of judgmental black eyes...instead they were disarmingly curious. “Want some?” Thomas silently wrinkled his nose and Alexander could almost read his mind. “Stop being a baby, it's cheese, you like cheese. And it's cake, everyone loves cake.” He shook his head, Thomas pouted a little still silent and somewhat surprised Alex was reading him so easily. “Try it and stop acting like a child. It’s a B grade cake. It won’t kill you.” “It -- “ “It won’t.” He interjected not letting Jefferson finish. He took some on a spoon and started making train noises towards him. “Say ah, baby~” Both of them froze for a moment. Alex swore it was more insulting in his mind...He squeaked when Thomas’s large hand gripped his wrist tightly. He leaned in, keeping Alex’s hand steady and opened his mouth. His full, plush lips wrapped around the tip of the spoon and slowly slid off leaving nothing on it. He chewed, then nodded, licking his lips slowly. Thomas’s eyes were on Alex, while Alex watched Thomas’s slow tongue move around his lips. “Not bad, Alexander.” He nodded, “We make a decent team.” Working with Jefferson wasn’t so bad. Alex would say it was even…

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imaginetonyandbucky · 8 years

Note

imagine tony being unpopular with superheroes – hello, former weapons mogul and a jerk in general – but he is somehow considered very attractive by supervillains, cause his snark and brains and just good looks. so tony's like what the hell, i might as well flirt with dr doom/magneto/loki while I beat their asses, and he does. what tony fails to notice is that his team is actually really attached to him, and his flirtings with the villains make a certain one-armed supersoldier really mad and sad.

One bad Idea After Another

Six months is what Tony had promised Ross; sixmonths of pretending to be a team again, so that the people of the world couldsee, and go back to trusting, maybe. And then Tony was fucking out of here. Hewas retiring, he was locking his house to every so-called Avenger on the planetand he was going to live out his life in his workshop with things that he couldprogram and shape and build and not get stabbed in the back by. (He totallywasn’t counting Ultron here, because his programming had been mostly flawless;the mind stone had fucked that up but good.)

Which was five months and twenty-nine dayslonger than he wanted to work as a team with the pack of liars, betrayers,hot-heads, murderers and idiots. But he’d done distasteful thingsbefore. He kept a paper-chain in the penthouse, and each day, he tore off alink and threw it away.

But that wasn’t now, and it wasn’t today, and…

“Hey, Erik,” Tony chirped, after Magneto hadpinned him to the building. Fighting someone who could control metal as someonewearing a metal suit was pretty stupid, admittedly. The only more stupid thingwas being an X-person who had metal running all through their bones. “Good tosee you again, gorgeous. Really, you have a wonderful skin care regime, becauseI swear, you don’t look a day over fifty.”

Running his mouth was really all he could do;Magneto could crush him inside his tin can, although for whatever reason, heoften didn’t. Tony wasn’t sure why, exactly. Magneto had never made hisfeelings unclear about how much less worthy humans were. Humans like Tony, whoweren’t experiments or mutants or aliens, but just simple ingenuity were onErik’s particular dislike list. Especially, as he said, homo sapiens andtheir guns.

Tony, as a leading weapons developer andmanufacturer for most of his entire adult life, was especially despised.

So, being a sticky-note smart ass was Tony’sonly option, because, of course, shutting up and minding his own business wouldhave been the wise thing to do, and Tony was never wise. Or capable of shuttingup.

“Oh, nice swing, Babe Ruth,” Tony quipped asMagneto used a semi-trailer to backhand Hulk about half a mile away. “Youforgot to point though, before you hit him. Really, Erik, you’ve been doing thesuper villain thing for a long time, you’re losing your edge with the wittyrepartee.”

“Tony, shut up,” Steve said in his earbud, andthat was just too much, because under no circumstances – and it was even inthe contract he’d had his lawyers draw up before he agreed to Ross’s demands,because, see, Steve, some of us are fucking capable of compromise – was Steveallowed to tell him what to do. Ever. Ever again.

“You know, what, Erik?” Tony said, glancing overagain. Magneto was playing pile the car on Steve, which really, Tony kindaapproved of. “I’m being really sincere this time. How do you look so good? Imean, you and Charles have been bashing it out for a while now and I never evensee you with a black eye. I have a black eye almost constantly.”

Magneto turned his attention to Tony, havingcleared the field of Avengers for the time being. “Do you ever shut up?”

“When someone’s dick is in my mouth, sure,” Tonysaid, winking. “It’s rude to talk with your mouth full.”

Magneto didn’t even turn, just thrust an arm outbehind him and the Winter Soldier went flying backward, dragged by hisadamantium prosthetic. “Really?” Erik looked… intrigued, rather than disgusted.Not really the plan, but okay, Tony could roll with this. “I thought youpreferred women.”

“I prefer sex,” Tony said, easily enough. “Dick,pussy, whatever.” That was true and he was surprised that Erik didn’t know it.He thought everyone knew about his sex tapes, and Ty Stone had not been exactlyshy about talking out of class.

Erik held up one hand and star-fished hisfingers. Tony’s armor responded, brutally stretching him out, spread eagle. Hnnnnng,okay, well, that was… something else entirely. Magneto flew over (how did thateven work? Did the guy wear tap-shoes or something?) and hovered about sixinches away. He had brilliant blue eyes with a ring of steel gray around theedge, an oval face, and a great chin. His lips were a little thin for a reallygood kiss, but Tony’d made do before.

“Uh-huh,” Tony said, nodding slowly, giving hisbest inviting look. “You know you want to try it out, see if I’m as good as myrep.”

Erik slid his hand into Tony’s hair, the back ofthe helm retracting neatly into the collar and he bent forward.

Which was exactly when Spidey grabbed Magneto’shelmet with a wad of spider-goop and Wanda floated up behind Erik, undetected,to red-mist whammy Erik’s attractive ass into oblivion.

Tony barely managed to get the repulsors workingagain to not smash into the ground some ten stories below when Magneto’s powersuddenly released him.

Ha! One for the home team.

“So, how ‘bout next time, Captain,” Tonysnarked, “you just let me do what I do best and leave me the hell alone?”

Barnes was there, having dropped out of hiscreepy Winter Soldier routine and was lacing Magneto’s arms behind his backwith plastic cable while Erik was there and totally blissed out on whateverbrain-shaping delusions Wanda was feeding him. Jesus, that was fucking scary.Both of them. Wanda doing her weirding-way finger gymnastics as Erik’s eyes sparkledruby red, and Barnes staring at Tony with… disappointment? Anger? Tony had noidea, didn’t want to know, and the less he could manage to speak with Barnes,the better, as far as Tony was concerned, because Steve got all weirded outwhen they even looked at each other for too long and the tension was murder.

“And what would that be, exactly?” Steve asked.“Being a world-class slu –” And Steve’s voice cut off suddenly when Barnesthrew a rock at him. Accurately. From over half a block away. Nice aim.

“Shut up, Stevie,” Barnes’s voice came over thecoms, rough and low and somehow soothing. “Tony just saved all our collectiveasses by bein’ a fuckin’ good distraction.”

There was something vaguely amusing about Barnesinfantilizing the captain that way. There was nothing quite like having yourchildhood friend around to remember that you weren’t always a bad-ass. Tonyspared Barnes a quick grin and was shocked when Barnes smiled back. Tony’dnever seen that smile before, not outside of pictures, and certainly neverdirected at him. It was wide, genuine, showed quite a lot of white,perfect teeth, and competed with the sun for brilliance. Tony staggered back astep, not sure what that feeling was in his stomach, but it was… something.

“Huh,” Tony said. “Nice to be appreciated.”

Madam Hydra was unfairly hot, Tony thought. Andenormously tall. Even in the armor, Tony was about nose-level with herimpressive rack.

Also, she carried a whip as her weapon ofchoice. Which, while painful, was also kinda hot.

Green hair was a nice touch, as well as thegreen lipstick that made her mouth look both luscious and poisonous at the sametime.

Despite the fact that her whip was wrappedaround Tony’s throat – seriously, what was it with my neck that people findit a convenient hand-hold? Come on, really, pull my hair sometimes, too, that’sokay – she was not hurting him. In fact; she rubbed up against the armoras if it was turning her on. Maybe it was; she was, after all, straddling him,her skirt hiked way up around her powerful thighs.

“You should reconsider your stance, Mr. Stark,”Madam Hydra purred, her long fingers running down the side of his face. “Wewould be much more appreciative of your unique skill set as we rebuildHydra.”

Suddenly Barnes’s metal hand was wrapped aroundMadam Hydra’s throat and he lifted her bodily up, kicking and gasping weakly.Which was all good and well, except her whip was still around Tony’s neck, sothis dragged him up – he really, really hated it when the suit got powereddown in the middle of combat – by the neck.

“Come on, Red October,” Tony managed to gasp.“I’m all one for a little breath play, but this is getting ridiculous.”

Barnes stomped down on the whip, yanking it fromMadam Hydra’s grip, which was nice as far as the whole breathing thing went,but was a little less pleasant in that Tony was now on his knees, stuck atBarnes’s feet.

Falcon and Hawkeye rushed over to relieve theWinter Soldier of another Hydra baddie, with magnetic handcuffs and a fewsnarky remarks, pushing her off toward the armored prison car.

Leaving Tony still crawling on the ground infront of the Winter Soldier, which just seemed like eight kinds of bad plan toTony. But of course, no one else ever worried about how Tony was dealing withhis so-called teammates. That hadn’t been part of the agreement at all.

Barnes moved his foot and knelt down, puttinghimself on eye level. “Are you okay?” he asked, unwinding the whip from aroundTony’s throat and tipping back Tony’s chin with oddly gentle fingers to peer inTony’s eyes. “You got a little singed, there.”

“The choking wasn’t so bad,” Tony said, tryingto stagger to his feet and the armor was just heavy enough that he let Barneshelp him. “The electric current came as a bit of a shock, though.”

Barnes laughed, low, and shook his head, hisrich brown hair scattering around his face. “Always with the bad jokes,” hesaid. “You always play off gettin’ hurt like it’s nothin’?”

Tony got his fingers inside the collar of hisarmor and punched the emergency release, letting it fall around him. Crap; he’dforgotten that he’d been sleeping when the call came and he was, in fact,mostly naked under the suit. He’d grabbed a pair of boxer briefs from thedrawer before Friday had closed around him in her comforting embrace, otherwisehe’d be stark naked. Ha ha.

“Jesus, Tony,” Barnes said, and for just amoment, Tony thought there was disgust there, for being undressed in public,for being an old man, but instead, Tony caught Barnes’s eyes, flickering frombruise to bruise, the needle-marks from the suit’s pharmaceutical package thatlet him take a licking and keep on ticking not even faded. “Doesn’t anyone evertake care of you?”

“Friday does,” Tony said, flatly, trying to pullaway.

“Come on, doll,” Barnes said. “Let’s get youchecked out before you head back home, yeah?” And Barnes’s arm was locked loosearound Tony’s bicep, pulling him gently toward the medical van. Which, normally,Tony wouldn’t have accepted – he hated medical care with an unholy passion –but Barnes didn’t leave his side the entire time, talking and telling storiesand getting Tony involved in an analysis of Star Wars physics long enough forthe medics to wrap up his sprained wrist, stitch closed a laceration in hiscalf, and plaster an icepack over his eye.

Barnes wrapped Tony up in a blanket and rodewith him in the car back to the Tower. And God, Tony was tired. Maybe Barneswas lulling him into some sort of false sense of security, or something, but atthe present moment, Tony wasn’t sure he wouldn’t just sigh softly and letBarnes kill him, if he was so inclined. It might hurt less.

Instead, Barnes walked him into the penthouse,helped him lay down on the bed, and as Tony was drifting away into sleep, hethought – probably he was dreaming already – that Barnes kissed him on theforehead. “Get some sleep, Tony. I’ll stand guard.”

The club had been a good idea, Tony thought. Heleaned against the rail at the VIP lounge and watched the lights flare,listened the pulse and pound of the music, the taste of top-shelf on histongue. There were some pretty people in the lounge with him, no one whose namehe knew, or cared to know, and surely someone would be interested in a littlenudge and whisper later in the night. He needed that, needed it so bad. Thealcohol was good, but some no-strings sex was just what the doctor ordered.

Particularly as far away from his fuckingteammates as he could get.

Being alone in a crowd while in the club was atleast familiar and safe. No one in the club scene had ever wanted anything fromhim that he couldn’t provide; a quick lay, a bit of cash, a good time, a smoothdrink.

His gaze traced the crowd, a seething mass ofbodies, pressed together obscenely, slick with sweat. There was no room toreally dance, just sort of find a partner, whatever gender, and grind upagainst them. Except then the floor cleared a little, to make way.

Hot moves comin’ through, the general moodseemed to say.

Tony’s eyes widened fractionally. He’d heardthat James Barnes could dance – Natasha liked to talk about their days at theRed Room together if you got a few glasses of red wine into her – but Tony hadthought it was the ballet, or maybe the Lindy or something like that. Butapparently Barnes knew club moves and music-video type dancing, too. Or someonehad been taking pole-dancing classes, what did Tony know? It’s not like histeammates talked to him anymore.

Tony threw back his drink and the girl at hisside laughed and poured him another. He almost wanted to leave, before hestarted thinking of Barnes as a human being and not just… except he couldn’tlook away. There was something sweet and sinister about the way the man danced,calling partners to him with a quick twitch of his fingers, spinning them intohis dance, then weaving them right back out. He wasn’t there with anyone, hewas there as a predator, chasing the prey that lurked in the clubs, drawingthem in, finding them lacking.

No one could match him, not even for a moment,and Tony found himself more, and more, drawn to the heated sensuality of theman, the way his hips moved, the way his legs seemed to go on forever, encasedin black leather pants, the way his shirt was rucked up, baring a strip of hisbelly and back.

Tony let his jacket fall to the floor and headedout to the dance floor. He tapped his watch, and Friday muttered an unheardcomplaint in his ear, something something drinking, something something sideeffects, but Tony wasn’t listening. He wasn’t a bad dancer himself, even if hewas getting older, and he needed the jolt of his mix-drugs cocktail for some ofhis fancier moves, especially given that he was still a little sore from thatlast fight.

If he was going to make some sort of claim, somesort of impression, he needed every advantage he could get.

At first, Barnes wasn’t even looking, didn’teven notice who’d moved into his dance space, and then, with that quick flashof lighting-up-the-room smile, Barnes had taken Tony into his arms and theymoved as one. It was slick and heated and easy and the best damn thing that hadhappened to Tony in a long time. It was bliss.

At least that was what he thought, right upuntil Barnes nudged him back into the VIP lounge and started kissing him on thesofa. “Been watchin’ you all night,” Barnes said, his voice a low, husky growlthat went straight from Tony’s ears to his groin in a bolt of wanting. Despiteall the booze and the drugs and the girls and the men, there was somethingabout that moment that was utterly sacred. Tony touched Barnes’s face with agentle hand, wondering and confused and wanting and terrified all at the sametime.

Barnes’s cold metal hand slid under Tony’sshirt, touching and tugging at the fabric.

And then he wasn’t there at all.

Thor had taken a great double-handful ofBarnes’s hair and dragged him backward, leaving a cold hollow where the supersoldier’s warm body had been only moments before.

“What the hell?”

Thor shook Barnes like he was a misbehavingkitten and the man dangling from Thor’s godly grip shimmered, shuddered, andsuddenly –

“Oh my fucking Christ,” Tony said,scrambling backward away from Loki.

“Brother,” Loki said, practically purring, “I don’tknow what you’re all upset about. I wasn’t going to hurt him. I was giving himexactly what he wanted.”

“In such a manner that would badly damage thetrust we have worked hard to restore,” Thor said, his voice booming.

“Trust?” Loki scoffed and twisted, which causedThor to curse and drop the trickster god to the floor, where Loki gazed at hisbrother with that signature look of mixed longing and hatred. “There’s notrust. Your precious midgardians have wounded and betrayed each other to suchan extent that you have almost lost the one who started it all. I only wishedto give him ease.”

Tony got up, recovered his coat and straightenedhis tie with some semblance of recovered dignity. “Next time you want a pieceof midgardian ass, Loki,” Tony said, snarling, “come to me as yourself andwe’ll talk. But don’t pretend to be something you’re not.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you, Iron Man,” Lokisaid, his voice light and mocking, “what it is to pretend to be somethingyou’re not. But I know the truth; I was just a mirror for what you trulydesire.”

Tony didn’t look back. He didn’t want to seeLoki’s mockery. He didn’t want to see Thor’s sympathy.

And he sure as hell didn’t want to be tempted bywhat Loki was promising.

This was getting old. It was getting old, it wasgetting boring and it was getting fucking predictable.

Tony didn’t bother to struggle in Doom’s grip;he knew exactly where this was going, and he was so bored with it, he justwanted it over with.

“Yeah, yeah, skip to the end,” Tony said.“Captain America kills you, your death kills me, everyone else lives happilyever after, the end.”

Doom’s hand didn’t move; he kept his fingertipspressed to Tony’s chest. The suit was slagged, only Doom’s power kept it frombroiling Tony alive. If Doom died, he’d stop holding the heat at bay and therewas nothing Tony could do.

But Steve had Doom at a disadvantage. Doom’sarmor was broken, had been in the long struggle, and the back of his neck wasexposed. Steve was right behind him, with the shield. One move, Doom’s spinalcolumn would snap and then Tony would die in the miniature volcano that hissuit had become.

Well, that’s what happened when you fuckedaround with the fabric of space-time. You got really weird goddamn results.

“Remove yourself from Doom’s presence,” Doomdemanded, not looking at Steve. “Or this man will die.”

“That’s not much of a threat, Man in the IronMask,” Tony said, looking past Victor Von Doom’s shoulder at Steve. “What’s thelife of one man, one soldier? Hmm?”

Steve winced at that, hesitating.

“Just do it, Captain,” Tony said. God he wastired. Exhausted. “Finish it. We all know everything’ll go smoother, if it’sjust you at the helm. I’ll get a tragic, heroic ending. S’what I always wanted,you know that.”

“Tony –”

Tony stopped listening. Steve had lost his rightto call Tony by his name; they weren’t friends. They’d proven that. “Just geton with it, Lone Ranger,” he said to Doom. “Let me go.”

“That isn’t what Doom wants.” And Doom stood up,one hand around Tony’s shoulders and the other scooping him up so he was in agoddamn bridal carry, and that was just fucking fantastic. Doom ignored Steve,utterly and completely, walking away as if Steve wasn’t even there at all. Theslits of Doom’s mask showed brilliant brown eyes, glittering with malice and…desire? Really? Good lord, what was it with the fucking bad guys recently thatthey were all getting these stupid little crushes?

“So, what’s the plan?” Tony couldn’t move, hishalf-melted armor still held him in place. “I mean, you do have a plan, don’tyou, Iron Maiden?”

“Doom pities you, Iron Man,” Doom said, hollowand booming. “So betrayed. So tragic. So unappreciated. Doom wishes to show youthat there are other options.”

“You think my tragic backstory is earning mevillain points?” Tony asked. “Is that what all this is about? All the badguysin the world are trying to recruit me?”

“You would be a worthy ally,” Doom intoned. “Andif not, life in Latveria can be your retirement.”

“That was almost romantic,” Tony said. “Goodtry, I appreciate it. Can I get down now, because really, I’m just not feelingit, here.”

“You do not want down,” Doom said, carrying Tonyonto his fucking Doomship, or whatever the hell he was calling it these days.

“You’re telling me what I want, now?” Tonyrolled his eyes, really that was a bit much. Everyone acted like they knew whatTony wanted.

“Everyone wants the same thing,” Doom said,reasonably. “Even Doom. A home, appreciation. Family. To rule the world.”

Tony would have shrugged, but that just wasn’tpossible. “Too much like work. I think you’ll find I’m a really highmaintenance boyfriend. You’d be better off picking someone who’ll be a betterhelp partner for you.”

The gangplank closed behind them and Doomgestured again, letting his powers flow through Tony like riverwater – dirty,choking, ugly, and fucking cold. On the plus side, also put the fire out in thesuit. Which was still busted all to hell and back, but at least Tony wasn’t indanger any longer from a really radical tan.

Doom helped him with the armor, and Tony foundhimself trailing along behind like a lost puppy while Victor did hisevil-seduction-plot which was nicer than Tony had expected. There was food –and carefully selected at that. Someone had been studying his preferences –and new clothes (nice, a Desmond Merrion, and that was a little creepy, becausethose were very exacting measurements and it fit perfectly. Damn!) – and aroom aboard the Doomship. A lot nicer than Tony had been expecting.

Sure, okay.

Doom removed his own armor, the flowing greencloak folded neatly over a chair. He peeled out of the metal plates andgreaves, leaving them behind. Victor strode behind the dressing screen inTony’s doomroom and came out wearing his own suit, just as nice, as tailored,as the one he’d had ready for Tony. With a quick flick of his hand, Doom tookhis mask off and tossed it aside.

Wow. Okay. That… that Tony was not expecting.

“Well, rumor isn’t true, I guess,” Tony said,not quite able to look away. Victor Von Doom was gorgeous. Breath-takinglybeautiful, with a wave of silver hair that spilled into his face and deep browneyes that watched everything Tony did from under a frame of dark lashes. A tinyscar, just under his eye, didn’t mar Doom’s appearance at all, just sort ofadded to the rugged appeal.

Victor smiled, a quick, sly tip of his lips.“You, of all people, should know better,” he said. “We’re not what we seem tobe, behind our masks.” He snagged a cherry tomato off the tray of food that hadbeen presented for Tony’s supper.

“Yeah, still think I gotta pass,” Tony said. Hebrushed by Doom toward the exit of the Doomship – he didn’t really have aplan, but he always worked best when he improvised.

Doom reached out, snagged his wrist in a gripthat wasn’t rough, just enough to say Wait, stop.

“Give Doom – give me, a chance,” Doom said, andhe drew Tony in, kissed the back of Tony’s neck, which sent shivers up Tony’sspine and urged a gasp from his lips.

Oh, what the hell, why not? Tony wasn’t going toget what he wanted, he might as well take the next best thing. He turned, letthe movement draw them closer. Victor’s mouth came down on his, warm and sweetand gentle, nothing like the sort of kiss Tony was expecting.

And, unfortunately, quite honestly, nothing likewhat he wanted, either.

Tony wanted a lover who would pull his hair andbite his neck. A lover who wouldn’t give, gentle and go softly into thatgoodnight. He wanted a demanding, ravenous, hungry sort, who’d never let Tonyrest, who’d wrench screams from his throat as he rode through Tony’s pleasure,who’d want and need and take…

I was just a mirror for what you truly desire…

Yeah, okay, subconscious, I get it already. Tony sighed, inward. Maybe that was why all the villains weretrying to pick him up; Tony was giving off “I want a bad boy” vibes likenobody’s business.

The ship rocked, suddenly. A strident blast ofalarm bells sounded, the lights flashed red.

“Always, with the vexations!” Doom broke off thekiss and stormed off to wherever the pilot’s chair was, presumably to makemincemeat out of whoever was firing at them.

“Christ,” a familiar voice said, startling Tonyso badly that he knocked the salad plate right off the table. “What is it withyou?” Barnes pushed open the closet door and stepped into the room. “Everyonejust wants to take a bite out of you, don’t they?”

“Is this a rescue?” Tony rolled his eyes.“Because I’m not sure I need to be rescued right now.”

“Stop bein’ contrary,” Barnes said, “an’ let’sget the fuck off this boat before Falcon an’ Thor bring it down.”

“Why would they do that?” Tony asked. “Doom wasleaving.”

“Because you’re part of the fuckin’ team,”Barnes said. “We ain’t leavin’ you behind, and we ain’t lettin’ you getkidnapped by the worst fuckin’ guy in the world, doll, even if he does seemmore like the wine an’ dine type.”

“It’s not doing anything for me,” Tony admitted,looking around the lushly appointed room. “Much as I hate to admit it, so ifyou’re rescuing, go right ahead, don’t let me stop you.”

Barnes shoved a chute-pack at Tony, then led himthrough a maze of corridors to an outer hull wall. “Come on, doll,” he said,wrapping one arm around Tony’s waist. “I’mma blow this wall out, then we jump.”

“Together?”

“There’s only one chute, so, yeah,” Barnes said.He drew a hand-cannon from his holster and pointed it at the wall.

And because it was Tony, he couldn’t stop hissmart mouth from running, even at the very worst opportunities. “What, no kissfor luck?”

Barnes whirled, looking straight into Tony’seyes; shock, want, desire, confusion warred in Barnes’s steel-gray eyes. “‘Boutfuckin’ time,” he said, grabbed Tony’s jaw and kissed him.

And this?

This was a kiss. No sweet, tentative explorationor gentle nudges, but a soul-searing, leave ashes behind experience. Barnesravaged Tony’s mouth, took possession, left no survivors. Everything, everyoneelse was burned in his wake. His lips were fast, rough, uncompromising and Tonyfelt the kiss all the way down to his toes. It consumed him, destroyed him,made him want more, and made him want nothing else, ever. It was hot,slick tongue and brilliant, talented lips and the scrape of teeth just on theedge of pain, and yet, it was still more than that. A crescendo wave offeelings and needs and desires, of wants and necessity. It was thirst that nowater would slake, hunger that no food would ease. It was everything.

Barnes tore himself away from the kiss,reluctance in every muscle in his body, written on every line in his face.

“Wow,” Tony said. “What was that?”

“A damn fine start,” Barnes said. He turned,shot the wall, then kicked it open. He wrapped his arms tight around Tony.“Jump, already, doll, time’s wastin’.”

Tony nodded, tucked his face against Barnes’sthroat, and leapt.

There were a lot of things that Tony hadexpected, in his life. And a number of things that had taken him completely bysurprise.

Being peeled out of a twenty-thousand dollarsuit and fucked sideways into the ground by a very relieved and eager JamesBarnes had never been on the list at all, but Tony would take it.

“So, what is this?” Tony asked, as they werecurled up under the parachute silk. “Another one of my very bad ideas?”

James nuzzled at Tony’s throat, softer now thatthe edge was off, but still eager, still wanting. Tony didn’t want to admitjust how attractive he found that.

“It’s redemption,” James said, finally.“Darkness in me calls to th’ darkness in you. Maybe,” he linked their fingerstogether, “maybe we c’n find the light together.”

What had Steve said, that one time? If welose, we’ll lose together.

And maybe that had been the wrong idea, allalong. Maybe what they needed to do was win. Together.

“Together?” Tony squeezed James’s hand, tippedhis head back again to accept James’s eager kiss.

“Always.”

Always. Always sounded nice. Tony thought hecould get with that particular idea. And then he couldn’t think of anythingelse at all, except what James’s hands were doing. And his mouth. And other….

Together. Always.

Author Note: http://rdjlock.tumblr.com/post/154269133774/taste-you-doomtony-fanart-anad

I admit that I took this prompt SPECIFICALLY because I saw this gorgeous fucking artwork a few days beforehand and I wanted to capture the moment. I hope @rdjlock likes the tribute to this piece of work, because man, I did not ship it before, but WOW…

As always, you can follow me on @tisfan and A03 for more winteriron and other Marvel fics and pics

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #victor van doom #villains have needs too #prompts #tisfan #Anonymous

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