#maybe a slight wistful “what would have happened?” but that Also goes nowhere. they work best as friends

[gutsfics]

Julian is aspec ive decided. he and Percy r queerplatonic

for them it looks like two dudes who are roommates forever and have eachother's backs on everything. total bro besties for life

[fifteenleads]

the perfect shot

AO3 | FFNet

Based on the new Chuuya art, glorious!

.

“T-There’s really such a thing?”

Osamu snickers— nothing like good, useless calendar trivia to catch Chuuya’s near-impenetrable attention span over morning coffee. As expected of someone who claims to love all things about bikes, he sure is bad at everything else apart from his hobby.

He takes a photo of Chuuya mucking around with the packet of Aspartame; casual moments often make the best subjects. After he saves the shot, he decides to rile his chibi up, just for the heck of it: “Of course, there is. August 19th of every year is Bike Day. I thought you knew that already?”

Chuuya dons an expression between fascination and skepticism as he considers the idea. He can doubt it all he wants, but a quick search on Google will only prove Osamu’s point, and his pride won’t allow him to grant that satisfaction on a platter, so Osamu wins, either way.

“... Okay,” he does concede, sipping his sweetened black coffee, “so what if it is? I still have to look over the articles for the magazine. Deadline’s next week, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Scratch that— maybe Chuuya is serious about other things, too. Granted, it is a magazine about bikes, but to boast of being an editor by day, model by night, and bike enthusiast always, is certainly a feat not many people can do. It requires much dedication, something Chuuya always has had.

The thought makes Osamu smile, in all earnest. No one else but  he  can boast of being together with such a good catch of a man, so there’s that, too.

“We’ll cross the bridge when we get there,” he reassures. “For today, how about let’s put those nighttime modeling skills of yours to use in broad daylight, and take photos with your bike at the seaside park? It’s a good day to ride, don’t you think?”

“N-Nighttime modeling,” Chuuya sputters; luckily, he hasn’t taken another sip of coffee yet. “It’s a perfectly legal second job, not a shady sideline!”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Osamu dismisses with a whimsical wave of his hand. “You love me, too, so there’s that.” For all intents and purposes, though, he is offering a spontaneous gig right now, and given how they’re both cash-strapped idiots this time of the month, it’s an offer he knows Chuuya wouldn’t refuse, all things considered.

As expected, he doesn’t. “... Fine. Let me get my hat and jacket. You can go ahead to the garage.” Chuuya downs the rest of his coffee in a few seconds and goes back up to their room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he does.

Osamu rises, too, smirking in amusement. So demanding, yet so agreeable.

-

The ride to the park takes only fifteen minutes, more or less, but to Osamu, it feels a lot longer than that. A huge part of it is due to the fact that it’s difficult for a tall person to ride on the back of a motorcycle, mostly for the lack of legroom, if nothing else. He willingly tolerates the slight discomfort, though, as he holds firmly onto Chuuya’s waist, letting the mid-morning sun and the humid sea air hit his arms as they coast through the empty highway.

Chuuya remains focused on the road ahead, tiny beads of sweat trailing down his face from under his helmet. Osamu licks at the sweat forming on his own philtrum; the spare helmet is a little too small for his head, and he predicts a migraine coming on sometime this afternoon, if they do not wrap this up fast enough. Not that he minds at all, though— he had made Chuuya agree to having the rest of the day off and to themselves. God knows how much he needs sleep, and if Osamu has to come up with an elaborate plan to make it happen, he will.

For now, though, they both enjoy the feeling of sheer freedom at the moment, eyes no doubt shining with exhilaration as they speed along without a care in the world. They soon exit the highway via a side road and follow the coastline, only slowing down as the lighthouse finally comes into view.

“Well, isn’t this nice,” Osamu comments, breathing in the thick scent of brine and wet sand as he takes off his helmet. They are at an open area of the park just near the wharf, and the sea has never been this close. Chuuya wordlessly takes the helmet from him and stores it away in their duffel bag along with the rest of their equipment.

Osamu doesn’t really have much to set up for this shoot, in all honesty. He absolutely hates organized shoots, with all the hustle and bustle and bright lights and tangled wires that make him want to just get it done with and pack up. He much prefers the outside, with everything quiet and natural, and it’s just him and Chuuya, quietly working together like two halves of a whole, well-oiled machine, as it were.

That is to say, he only wants Chuuya all to himself, as his exclusive model and more. There, much simpler.

He looks back up as Chuuya takes a break from practicing poses, taking off his hat and unbuttoning his leather jacket. He casually leans on the side of his bike, as if reverently holding it up with his toned hips and legs, in fitted blue jeans and dusty brown boots. There is a very fond look in his eyes as he traces the engraving on the front of the bike— a real red beauty that drives like a dream, limited edition only because he had more than earned it, and in Chuuya’s own words, “love at first sight.”

The memory of those words move Osamu’s heart and index finger, and the shutter clicks at the right moment, as the downwind blows gently and the leaves on the ground dance in the air.

A perfect shot.

Just then, the clicking sound breaks the spell on Chuuya, and he looks up to Osamu, wearing an expression of both confusion and disappointment. “Are we starting already?”

“In a bit. Just checking the lighting,” Osamu follows it up, likewise making a show of adjusting the settings on his DSLR so Chuuya doesn’t see the disappointment, too, in his own eyes. The ruined moment is his own doing; best to let it go, like everything else in life that ceases to matter after a good twelve hours and then some.

He lets his gaze linger just a few moments longer on the preview of the shot just now; casual moments really do make the best subjects, but he won’t tell Chuuya that.

“Oi.” It is Chuuya who calls his attention this time, an order Osamu knows he can never refuse. “Are you ready or what?”

“Okay already, just pose whatever.” It’s pretty much the only instruction he has ever given whenever they team up for shoots; he trusts Chuuya’s better judgment and sensibility when it comes to these kinds of things. It’s also what Chuuya is most comfortable with, he has learned over time, and he is only more than happy to accommodate that. Anything for the one he loves, who loves him back just as much.

They finish up in half an hour, and get ready to go back as thick clouds begin to cover the high noon sun— definitely have to hurry back home now, lest they get stranded on the highway with nowhere to hide under when it rains.

Midway through the ride back, Chuuya slows down a little, turning slightly towards Osamu. “Something on your mind, mackerel? You’ve been awfully quiet since we left.”

“Hey, I’ve always been quiet when we ride together,” Osamu protests weakly; luckily, his helmet hides the wistful smile on his lips. “Don’t want you to get in an accident, do we?”

“Excuses,” Chuuya mumbles, before raising his voice again. “Out with it.”

So obstinate. “It’s not much, really…” Osamu trails off, choosing his words carefully. The memory of the perfect shot is a clear vision in his mind, and the smile on his face morphs into that of a fond one. “With the way Chuuya is looking at his bike, it must probably be a metaphor for something or for someone. I wonder who he's thinking of?”

“T-That’s what you’re thinking of!?” Chuuya’s muffled voice is colored in disbelief, and Osamu knows he has gotten his message across, loud and clear. He speeds up again to the upper limit, and they get back a whole three minutes earlier than usual. A good thing they haven’t been caught by the highway police at all; getting a violation ticket would certainly make an unfortunate dent in their plan to laze around the whole afternoon, and that won’t do at all.

[we-work-hard]

Room 117

Pairing: AJ Styles x Shane McMahon (younger AJ, current-day Shane)

Summary: Some guy called Shane checks into a rundown motel in the middle of nowhere early one morning. He gets a visitor...

Notes: Young AJ training for CWF matches on YouTube inspired this - he's so cute and lithe and luscious. Also, Shane’s *heart eyes* on Talking Smack (RIP) whenever he looked at AJ sure didn’t hurt (neither did thirsting over Twinky AJ with @llowkeys – ~love you, girl~)

Warnings: Adultery, a slight little tiny bit of Daddy Kink, mention of religion, voyeurism.

Cutie-pie Twink AJ 

Daddy Shane

Room 117

“Were these the towels for 117?”

I roll my eyes up from my book to stare Nate down.

“Uh, I guess.”

“When why the fuck are they still here?”

“...Because you fucking work here and I don’t?”

“Yeah, you don’t work here, but I let you come over and cram for your finals in MY office-”

“Nate-”

“I asked you to do ONE thing to help me out, Marianne- why didn’t you tell me before I let the room?!”

“Okay! Jesus, shut up – I’ll take Mr Big Stuff the towels already!”

“Goddammit, lower your voice!” Nate hissed, as if the guy could hear us from a floor up. Christ.

“Room 117-”

“I’ve got it!”

I grabbed the pile of scratchy towels out of his hands and stomped out of my hotshot Night-Supervisor-Brother’s ‘office’, wishing I’d tried to study through the night at home instead. Office? More like ‘front desk of a rundown Super 8, out in the middle of nowhere’. Servicing probably five guests per night, at the most. Usually truckers. Or creeps.

Not this 117, though. He’d checked in about an hour ago while I was sat behind the desk with Nate, who’d been blowing bits of chewed up flyers at me through a straw while I tried to read. Even douchebag Nate – who claims to have seen everything there is to see while working the early morning shift - looked taken aback by this guy walking into such a shitty place at 2pm to get a room.

As I take the stairs outside to the first floor, I’m a little nervous about having to wake 117 up to hand over these crappy towels. Though he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d get angry or mean.

Mr Shane Jones is the name he gave. Short silver hair, big brown doe eyes, and olive skin. Totally daddyish, if you’re into that stuff, and really, really polite. Gentlemanly, even. It’s like he somehow got lost on the way to a big business meeting in New York and ended up in the middle of Bumfuck, Texas. He’d arrived by cab with no luggage, paid for his room in cash – a pic of his pretty wife and kids on show when he’d opened his wallet. He has no fucking business staying in a place like this. With that shiny suit jacket, and the tight jeans, and the flashy sneakers? Who the fuck is this guy?

I mean, he looked kinda familiar, which is weird, because there’s no way I would have run into him before tonight.

I’d interrupted him paying for the room to ask if he was lost – to which Nate told me to “Shut the fuck up” under his breath – but Mr Jones’d just laughed and shaken his head, before bidding me and my brother a good night, saluting us with the keycard as he left with a sleepy smile.

Nate figured someone with money like that, clearly out of town, might be here to deal. Or to bring back a girl – or a group of girls – from the strip club not far from here as a scummy treat for himself. Guys come here to do that shit all the time, Nate says. I figured he was too wholesome looking for that. Nate told me I’m naive as fuck about what goes on at this time of night, and who does it. Whatever. I don’t believe daddyish 117 with the gold wedding band would do that.

I walk along the gritty windows and rusted railings of the first floor, counting down the room numbers in my head as I approach 117. Huh – Shane still has his light on. A glow spills out from his window onto the balcony – I can see the curtain inside has rucked-up by the bottom left hand corner of the window, furthest from the door. The little bit of light cuts in and out as it hits me at hip level. He must be walking around in there.

Okay, so, I can knock on his door, and give him the towels...

...unless he’s just showered, and is stomping around the room with his dick swinging around, looking for what I’ve got under my arm...

I pause and think. He won’t notice me checking if I bend down to look through the window real quick... And, I don’t mindseeing some daddy-dick tonight, if it happens to be swinging around in there. I’m a grown-ass woman (sort of). His wife won’t know I saw it. Plus, I’m nosy as fuck about what he’s up to. I quietly drop to my knees and peek through the curtain, holding the towels across my lap so they don’t get on the dirty floor. I figure he doesn’t deserve dirty towels, poor guy – he’ll probably already be getting some contagious skin disease from the sheets.

Shane’s not alone in there. He’s talking to someone.

I sit back on my heels, surprised, then look back – who has he got in there with him?

***

I nosily settle in to figure out what’s going on, at this time in the morning. Shane – still in the clothes he’d arrived in, and wide awake – has stopped to stand in front of the bed with his back to me slightly, and he’s with a younger man, way younger – early twenties, I think – who’s definitely not rich.

This one is dressed like the young guys who cut the lawns at my college: loose, worn jeans, black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. He looks like cute local trash, who probably pumps weights with his equally-dumb friends at the Y, and yells at girls from his beat-up truck. He’s kinda short – shorter than Shane by about five inches - but built, with smooth tanned skin, short brown hair. A cute snub nose and pouty lips, light blue eyes. Hoop earrings pierce both lobes.

Shane is trying to push money into his chest, urging him to take it. I’m legit disappointed – is this guy dropping off drugs? Is this what Shane travels out to the sticks for, in shitty motels? But the younger guy is shaking his head, and pushing the money away, looking down and sighing, frustrated.

Not enough?

It’s not drugs.

Maybe it’s sex.

Family man Shane, travelling here tonight to order-in some rough trade... ? The young guy sure is sweet, in a backwoods redneck way... maybe Shane likes that, too. I feel myself flush in embarrassment about what could be about to happen – I should probably leave these towels on the doorstep and let the ‘transaction’ run its course, if that’s what’s taking place...    

But then I see the younger guy smile – a cute, crooked smile – and step closer, taking Shane’s left hand to place on his own face. He rubs into Shane’s palm with his eyes closed, like a cat. Shane softly chuckles at that, and the boy opens his eyes to grin back at him playfully, but a little wistful too. Oh my... they love each other, just a little?

I watch Shane stroke at the boy’s mouth with his thumb, hesitantly at first, until it seems the soft touching isn’t enough for him. He pulls the guy in and kisses him; the cash he’d tried to give falls to the floor, forgotten.

How do they know each other; how did they meet? Does Shane’s wife have any idea? Curious and fascinated, I can't help but lean in closer to watch them together through the window. They don’t notice me. All they care about is touching each other.

I’m frozen into watching everything that happens between them in that room.

***

Shane is whispering fervently to the younger man between longing kisses, lost in passion for the boy who’s come to meet him. In return, he nuzzles into Shane’s mouth and pulls at the collar of his shirt, his brows furrowed cutely in desperation. I notice that his wrists are strapped up with white tape, like he’s just got back from lifting the weights that keep his arms so thick, and his shoulders rounded with muscle. He looks sweated out under his rumpled clothes already, too, like he hasn’t had time to shower after a workout.  

The back of his shirt says ‘AJ’ in big gold letters – and I don’t know who would wear a shirt with their own name on it... But AJ is his name. It’s what Shane mouths over and over again each time their lips pull apart: “AJ”.

AJ sways forward and pushes his tongue further into Shane’s open mouth, before pulling back to lap at his lips, hands now in Shane’s silvering hair to keep his mouth on his. I can faintly hear Shane growl as he presses a thumb into the soft skin of AJ’s throat at the feel of his tongue, as the touching unexpectedly turns rough; possessive.

Shane forces AJ down onto the bed with a grunt, yanking his t-shirt up to scramble at the buckle of the younger man’s leather belt, then the metal button, and zipper of his jeans. AJ tries to pull his shirt off all the way, enthusiastic and happy to get naked. His belly button winks as the smooth muscle of his midriff flexes, but Shane slaps his hands back and orders him to leave the shirt on. Not yet. Something changes in AJ’s eyes, like a switch flips. He looks at Shane like he wants to do whatever he’s told tonight. Anything, if it’s asked of him. It makes my legs clench together at how hot that thought is.  

Shane nods at him, eyes fiery and firm, and goes back to roughly tugging the boy’s jeans down – he’s wearing tight black and white satin shorts under his pants, also with ‘AJ’ written on the side. Is the luscious guy Shane’s tearing into working as a stripper? But then I see the kneepads, and shin guards strapped to his thick calves (which stay on after the jeans are pulled down over them and off). I figure it out when I see the large gold crucifix spill out from under AJ’s shirt.

Big gold crosses next to the logo – CWF. The flyers Nate had been tearing up in reception to chew up and spit at me. Christian Wrestling Federation.

He’s a wrestler! And a good Southern Christian wrestler, at that. Who’s being roughly stripped of his ring gear by a married man at least 20 years older than him in a motel room right now.

AJ warily grabs the cross in his palm to hide it from Shane, as though he’s ashamed of what they’re doing while he wears it. But the sight of the crucifix seems to turn Shane on even further – he pulls AJ up by the chain and jams his tongue into the boy’s mouth, forcing his jaw wide open to accommodate him. He grips the waistband of AJ’s lycra shorts and pulls them down with no care to AJ’s comfort, taking a black jockstrap with them, over the kneepads, down past the shin guards and off. AJ gasps and moans at the feeling of his exposure.

AJ’s so aroused after the rough treatment and tongue-filled kisses that his thick dick is leaking a clear slick over his belly. A drop drips slowly down the shaft to seep into the dark pelt at the base of his cock. Shane pushes AJ to the bed by his wrists to stare down at his dick with hunger. The intense focus makes AJ writhe against the bed in embarrassment, his chest flushing red under the pulled up shirt. He whines in his throat.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay,” Shane murmurs while letting go of AJ’s wrists. He gently rubs his fingers along AJ’s Adonis belt and through the hair of his crotch, making him undulate and moan Shane’s name almost sorrowfully.

“I want you to feel good – do you feel good?” his older lover asks soothingly, swiping up a thumbful of the liquid leaking from the head of AJ’s cock. It makes AJ jerk with a moan – Shane rubs the creamy fluid onto the pads of his own fingers. “So good...” he says, pushing the fingers through AJ’s lips, and hooking them into his mouth. AJ’s hips come off the bed in alarm, but more fluid leaks from his penis; I see it get even stiffer. He likes this.

“Aww, I know that tastes good, baby,” he says to AJ’s muffled affirmation, “but I’ve got something you like even better,” he promises, pulling his saliva-covered fingers out of AJ’s slack mouth to undo his own belt and zipper.

So far Shane’s remained fully-clothed, and even now only pulls his underwear down to take his cock out over his undone fly, getting on the bed on his knees by AJ’s face. He grasps AJ up slightly by the neck, gently this time, to bring his face closer to his crotch. AJ struggles to push himself where Shane wants him, thrilling at getting what he came here for. He gladly opens his mouth for Shane, bobbing his lips onto the cock and grasping the base in his fist. The back of his head is supported by Shane’s thigh while he works up and down, Shane stroking the hair back from his forehead and breathing shakily, almost as if he’s indulging AJ by letting him do this to him.  

AJ’s t-shirt has steadily worked its way up to bunch under his armpits, and it’s damp with his sweat. Shane rubs down the boy’s pecs and stomach, and AJ moans around the thick cock nudging at the back of his throat and stretching his lips open, sucking it harder with his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure and concentration. Shane shifts to move his hand further down AJ’s body. But to my surprise, he bypasses his crotch entirely.

Instead, his fingers sink into the meat of AJ’s thigh, grabbing to tug it up towards him, pulling the young man’s legs open. AJ is lapping his tongue at the thick pink head in front of him, but stops to look at what Shane’s doing with hazy unfocused eyes. His head is pushed back onto Shane’s dick with a grunt and a quick squeeze to the back of his neck.

While AJ continues to suck, Shane breathes hard and reaches to rub between his legs; the firm-looking flesh of his inner thighs, and the soft skin behind his balls, which makes AJ’s body jump. Shane rubs harder, and AJ’s legs quickly close around his hand in reflex.  

***

AJ might not be ready for this – and who knows how far they’ve gone before now – but Shane seems to have decided what he wants from AJ tonight. He pulls his hand out from between AJ’s legs and slaps one of them, lightly.

“Open your legs for me, baby – let me touch.”

AJ keens in response. He pulls his legs open slowly, but he shakes. He’s pushed his face in towards Shane’s groin for comfort, holding Shane’s cock against this cheek. He’s biting his own lips.

His body shakes more and his chest heaves as Shane’s fingers explore between his legs and back – it’s like he’s holding his body stiff to keep his own legs apart. I can see Shane’s fingers stroke past the base of his penis, down past his balls, back to the softness of AJ’s perineum – he pushes his fingers up against the skin and massages it, which makes AJ moan and give a slow lick to the cock pressed against his face, unthinkingly. Finally, Shane’s fingers make it to the furled skin of AJ’s opening, which he lightly taps – AJ shudders with shame at being touched there. A dark and wanting smile flutters across Shane’s face.

He growls and pushes AJ off his lap and over onto his stomach roughly, pulling his hips up and tugging the thighs apart – he slaps AJ to keep them like that. I see AJ grab a pillow and push his face down into it, wracking with sobs and gasps at this humiliation Shane is putting him through. Shane crawls further down AJ's body and lowers his head to lick and suck the skin between AJ’s legs, holding his hips, before digging his tongue into him, then smoothing it out and over AJ’s entrance; holding the cheeks apart while AJ tries to writhe away from his wet tongue.

I’m shocked at seeing this, but still can’t look away. AJ’s back undulates as Shane grasps and slaps him over and over while he kisses and licks, opening him up, tearing cries and shudders out of the man under him.

Each time AJ pushes into the bed and away from Shane’s mouth, or struggles from side to side in a bid to get away from his tongue, Shane slaps one of the thighs under him and pulls them further apart to dig in deeper. AJ’s skin is flushed and slick with sweat, his black t-shirt still wrenched up under his arms, sticking to him. I can see his hands clenching into the pillow he’s hiding his face in, fingers opening and closing as Shane moves his tongue in and out of his young tight body.

Shane works in earnest to open him up, and AJ’s hips start to move faster down into the bed with urgency, fucking the bed while Shane tongue-fucks his hole. At this, Shane quickly drags himself away and hits AJ one more time across his thighs, hard. I can faintly hear AJ cry out and see him jolt as a deep red hand print spreads angrily across his skin.  

I’m panicked at what I’m seeing, but Shane pulls him over onto his back and firmly rubs up and down AJ’s body, murmuring passionate sweetnesses to him, kissing away the tears that streak AJ’s face. AJ clings to him; dick still stiff with arousal, redder at the tip. He’s been leaking down onto the duvet; his upper thighs, hips and belly are smeared with his own pre-cum, and his inner thighs are shiny with Shane’s saliva, which Shane touches with his fingers. AJ forces the hand further between his legs and back, and Shane looks at him in question.

“Touch me,” AJ throatily croaks out, squeezing his eyes closed in shame at what he wants so badly.

“Yeah,” he hisses as Shane pushes fingers against his opening, hard.

“Tell me, AJ.”

“I want it, Shane. Want your thick dick in me, not just in my mouth this time.”

He looks up at his older lover like his own words about the sex they’re going to have are turning him on even more. It has the same effect on Shane.

“You want me to fuck you tonight, AJ?” he breathes over AJ’s mouth, sucking his full lower lip and biting it when AJ moans.

AJ turns his head to the side with a grimace at the naughtiness he’s about to let out.

“Yes please, Daddy,” he forces out as I gasp at his words, “I want you to fuck me tonight.”

...

[dustingrayves]

clean slate (7/?)

previous | next

Pairing: (eventual) addcest [LPDE] & elsain [LKATh] WC this chapter:  Rating: T+ TWs: (past) abuse, talking about it  AU: modern/single parent Lusa (with his tiny son Arc) + runaway Esper Notes: this took a long ass time im sorry but i wanted to make sure it was, soft and reassuring as it should be. this fic is rly close to my heart and writing it is very tiring in a certain way

anyway. esper & lusa talk it out! 

ao3

Lusa had thought Esper would be uncomfortable, but much to his surprise (and elation), he isn’t. Then again, he hadn’t been that uncomfortable around Knight or Arme.

At least the second time around.

Esper had taken to cooking lunch for them all, the biggest pot sitting on the stove, filled with rice. A saucepan rests next to it, thick sauce with pieces of meat slowly cooling down from its boiling point. The scent permeates the whole house; it had lulled Arc downstairs from where he’d been preparing his room for the other boys.

“No, dad! I have to make it into a fort!” Arc had cried in the morning, stubbornly pulling along all the blankets and pillows that weren’t in Lusa’s own bed. As an afterthought, Lusa made him return a set to the guest room. Esper needs somewhere to sleep, too, after all.

The Sieghart-Ishmael family arrives right on time, not that Arme’s punctuality would allow for anything else. They come in like a hurricane, Shea chasing Anpa as soon as they’re out of the car and backing him right into the living room. Arc joins in, siding with Anpa, and soon enough, they tickle Shea back into being nice, the redhead pleading with them to let him go.

Lusa turns to offer Esper an apology, but is stunned to see the man laughing and making his way over as if it were the most natural thing, kneeling down and stopping the boys before Shea’s laughter could turn into tears.

“Great with kids, isn’t he?” Knight says, watching the scene from besides him. Lusa nods absently, his expression softening.

“He’s great in general.”

Knight snorts, casting the taller man a look, but doesn’t bother commenting. He follows Esper’s beckoning and goes over to the kitchen; Arme is right on his tail.

The table in the kitchen is way too small for all of them and soon enough there’s Esper, holding two too many plates. He seems to manage them all, though, setting them onto the coffee table with ease. Knight follows with a bottle of cola and his own plate, Arme with the other plates, and the kids with cutlery.

A heated debate starts between the boys and Esper about which superpower is the best and would win in a fight. In the end Esper convinces them that stopping time would be better than any magic. By the time they conclude this, the food is set out.

“Arc, why didn’t you tell us you have a new dad?” Anpa asks as Arc takes a mouthful — his timing is always impeccable.

“Yeah, Esper’s so cool!” Shea agrees enthusiastically.

Esper almost chokes on his food, coughing loudly to try and clear his windpipe. “I’m not Arc’s dad, guys,” he says, nervously looking at Lusa. He, however, didn’t seem to notice the remark. That, or he’s pretending not to have heard it, though Esper can’t fathom up a reason why he’d do that.

“But you cook and help me with homework,” Arc pipes up, having finally properly chewed and swallowed. “That’s what dads do!”

Esper doesn’t know how to reply to that, and Lusa is of no help whatsoever when he looks over again. In fact, he’s pointedly ignoring everything and switching through the TV channels faster than he can even notice what’s on them. But when he looks closer, Esper notices the prominent blush creeping into his tan cheeks.

“Does that mean Esper and Lusa do stuff like dad and papa?” Shead ponders, barely legible through the food he keeps cramming into his mouth.

“Like kissing and stuff?” supplies Anpa, at which Shea nods.

Esper’s heart skips a beat. Or a bunch of them. “I— I don’t—”

“Okay, that’s enough. You’re not supposed to talk with your mouth full, it’s rude,” Arme interjects, and his look makes Shea shy away in guilt, silently chewing through his next mouthful.

Esper stays silent for the rest of the meal, even when Lusa makes banter with Arme and Knight. The kids don’t seem to notice his detached state, but Lusa sure does, sending him concerned glances.

“What’s for dessert?” Arc whines when everyone but Arme is done with their food, looking at Esper with those big doe eyes. “Is it ice cream? Do we have ice cream, Es? Ice cream, ice cream!”

Anpa and Shea join in, equally as enthusiastic, voices whiny and prolonging the words. “I want ice cream, too!” “Me too, me too!” “Esper, please!”

Who is Esper to say ‘no’ to three matching pairs of pleading eyes? Plus it gives him the excuse to escape the stifling atmosphere in the living room that he couldn’t find on his own.

“I’ll go get you some. Wait here, I’ll be right back,” he says, smiling at the boys. He collects the empty plates and cutlery and retreats into the quieter and safer, less confusing kitchen.

“I want the ice cream!” Arc whines, kicking his feet up where he sits. The couch makes dull thuds as his tiny feet hit it.

“I’ll go help him,” Lusa says finally, pushing himself up and going over to the kitchen.

He finds Esper nervously shifting in front of the counter, three bowls of ice cream neatly arranged on it. But the container hasn’t been put away and Esper’s eyes are glued to it as he tangles and untangles his fingers sporadically, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Esper?” Lusa calls out, and immediately winces, because the lanky man quite literally jumps three feet up, shoulders going stiffer than Arme’s work face.

“Ah, Lusa— I—”

“What’s wrong?” Lusa asks, to stop whatever excuse Esper has bubbling up from within him.

“Well, I…” Esper’s shoulders sag and he jerks his head to the ice cream container on the counter. He looks unjustly guilty and Lusa can’t figure out why. “I also… wanted ice cream,” comes out of Esper finally, quiet as ever. “I— Can I?”

So that’s what happened.

Lusa’s stomach makes a very uncomfortable flip at the familiarity of such uncertainty. He steps closer, but tries his best not to be too up in Esper’s personal space.

“Esper,” he says, but the other man keeps his gaze pointedly trained to the floor. “Hey, can I touch you?”

After a moment, Esper gives a hesitant nod.

Lusa’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, just a gentle pressure. It moves up and his fingers curl around Esper’s chin, only putting slight pressure, and ultimately it’s Esper himself who yields and lifts his chin, looking at Lusa with wide eyes.

“Listen to me, Esper, okay? There’s no— okay, are you listening, listen closely, there’s no circumstance where you couldn’t. You can eat the whole damn thing if you want to,” Lusa tells him, making sure Esper is looking right at him. “You don’t have to ask these things.”

He lets go of Esper’s chin, but he doesn’t move back yet, waiting until Esper says something, until it sinks in, anything. He’s surprised when Esper’s hands come up and wrap around him, giving a small squeeze, but as quick as that, they’re gone; Esper steps back a little, scanning Lusa’s expression for any signs that that had been wrong.

He doesn’t find any.

“I— thank you,” he forces out, feeling like there’s a lump lodged right inside his throat. Lusa’s lips stretch out into a wide smile.

“You can have all the ice cream, but,” he says, moving to the cooking cabinet. “not without sprinkles.”

Esper is bewildered when Lusa produces a colorful box and scatters some (way too much) of the sprinkles onto all four of the bowls. Lusa notes Esper gave himself less ice cream than the kids. Baby steps, he reminds himself. It’s a start.

Lusa pops up back from work while Esper eats dinner and watches something that looks awfully like a cat vine compilation.

“Hey,” he greets, and feels more worried than reassured when Esper hums in return, shoveling the reheated leftovers into his mouth. He doesn't even raise his gaze from the laptop. Lusa sets his bag down and plops himself next to the lankier man. “You’ve been… not yourself since the sleepover. If there’s something bothering you, I wanna talk about it.”

His tone — maybe a little more forceful than he’d intended — makes Esper pause, but he doesn’t tense up or do anything else to indicate he wants to get away from the situation.

“I—” Esper stares down at his plate, fork tapping against the blue plastic. “Sorry, it’s stupid, I just— keep thinking about what he kids said.”

Lusa reaches over and pauses the video with a tap, making sure they aren’t interrupted. “It’s not stupid,” he declares, stretching an arm. “Touch okay?” he makes sure to ask and only when he receives a nod does he put it around Esper’s shoulders. “If it makes you worry, it’s important.”

Esper laughs, though he seems to lose his appetite and sets the half-eaten meal onto the coffee table. “You think I’d make a good father?” he asks out of nowhere.

“Dude, you’d make a great dad! You can deal with kids really well and they like you too!”

Esper’s lips curl into a wistful smile. “Thanks. I… used to think dads were totally different, and I vowed I’d never ever be like him and— oh. I shouldn’t talk about that, huh?”

Lusa’s arm pulls Esper closer, almost unconsciously. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. But if you wanna, I’m all ears for you.”

“He was a really bad father. I mean, I knew it wasn’t really normal, I just— I never realized how not normal it’d been. Not until… I met you. And I— I really don't want to hurt Arc, but he thinks I’m staying and I don’t know how to tell him I’m not without hurting him and being like him—”

“Hey,” Lusa says, stopping Esper as he starts going down a spiral. He doesn’t even realize tears have sprung into his eyes — or that they started rolling down his cheeks — until Lusa moves to wipe them with a thumb. “Do you want to leave?”

“I— I don’t know?” Esper answers, though his inflection warps it into more of a question than anything. “I don’t want to freeload you, I already owe you a lot.”

A flash of uncontrollable rage bolts through Lusa.

Not at Esper, god no, but at the fucker who made this his first thought process.

“You’re not a freeloader, and you don’t owe me shit.” Lusa takes a deep breath to stop himself from growling. Esper looks away, hiding his worried look. “Listen, you staying here? That’s me paying you back. Y’know, for sending you to the hospital?”

“You said it’s a polyclinic—”

“You never had to cook or clean or anything, but you did, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by saying something. I know you feel obliged to, I know that feeling, but I promise you aren’t. Plus it’s not like I’m gonna kick you out, if— if you don’t wanna leave. It’s nice having you about, y’know?”

“Wait—” Esper cuts him off again — the first time that has happened, he thinks — looking at him with a frown. “You— how would you know about this feeling?”

Lusa starts, but laughs. “You told me about yourself, so I’ll tell you too. Arc’s mom, her name’s Sera, and… y’know, she wasn’t the best person. We met at the university, we were in the same course, and I, I idolized her. She was pretty, she was smart and skilled and resourceful. I thought she loved me back, I really did. We worked together, but for her, the work was always a priority. We’d pull allnighters and she’d get me to bring her whatever she needed or wanted. I was more of an errand boy than anything partner-like. And her slaps were legendary. I’m serious, she could send me sprawling halfway across the room with one if I did anything to get between her and her latest creation. I haven’t seen her since Arc was born; she just packed up and left. She never wanted a kid, but she used her pregnancy to wind me around her finger even more.”

“How…?” Esper asks, shakily. His brows are so drawn up that Lusa thinks they might stay like that if he keeps it up longer.

He shrugs. “She’d always go ‘I can’t bend over like this, you do it!’ or saying things like ‘You put the kid in me, but only I can get it out, one way or the other.’ That one was terrifying.”

“Wait, no! I meant… how can you just… talk about it like this?”

Lusa seems perplexed. “It was a long time ago.”

“But that— sounds horrible!” Esper almost cries out, “How can you be… so normal? I’m a— I’m a wreck!”

Lusa pulls the slighter man closer, so close, in fact, that Esper ends up leaning on his shoulder. He doesn’t complain because he appreciates the option to hide his face.

“As I said, it was a long time ago, and I had help. It took years, you’re not supposed to be okay. Whatever happened to you is gonna leave a mark,” Lusa says, carding his fingers through Esper’s short hair.

Esper mumbles something into the fabric of his shirt, but it’s too quiet to make out.

“What was that?” he asks, coaxing Esper to repeat himself.

“I said, do you think I could be like you? Okay?” Esper says, still in a low voice. His expression is utterly begging as he looks up at Lusa.

“Of course, Es,” Lusa answers, doing his best to sound sure of himself. “It takes time, but you’re away from him now. If you want, I can help you. Me and Knight and Arme. They were there for me when I was at my lowest.”

Esper chokes on a sob, “Why would you do that, though?” He sounds like he wants to believe him, but just needs the reassurance.

Lusa offers it with a big grin. “Because you’re my friend.”

Esper’s features melt into an unsure smile, like the liquid relief just flooded through him. “So you make friends by punching people’s lights out?”

“Not all, just the best ones.”

Esper snorts and takes the ensuing silence to play the video again. A cat falls off of the fridge only to land perfectly in a glass bowl. Its face is priceless.

“He was really awful, you know?” Esper mutters. Lusa keeps quiet to let him get whatever he wants off his chest off of his chest. “Made me clean the house every day, screamed if he found one speck of dust. Always wanted everything perfect. It’s all different here,” he says always wistfully. “It’s fun cooking here.”

“You can cook all you want. But I think the pantry needs to restocked for that.”

“I can go shopping tomorrow,” Esper offers immediately.

“How about we all go shopping tomorrow? Believe it or not, Arc actually loves shopping.”

Esper’s eyebrows raise. “I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, he always gets me to buy him a toy.”

“I’m no longer surprised.”