#me sitting all smugly on a chair while watch my lawn grow

[ghostbsuter]

"SHIT!" Jumping 5 feet into the air, Danny scrambled away from the bat costume wearing man, hair on every body part standing, and he's hissing like a feral cat.

"Can you not! I could have died from fright!" He complains, glaring.

Batman doesn't take the complaint to heart, instead focusing on him.

"Why are you here? This is a goverment funded stronghold, you aren't supposed to be here. Leave for your own safety."

Danny's shoulders drop, and he rolls his eyes. "Relax, bat guy, I'm here for something. Different reasons."

Batman doesn't take that and instead turns to his comm. "Red Robin, Nightwing, positions?"

"Close, B, just left RR to the monitors. ETA 5 mins."

He turns back to the boy.

"You want to come along?" Said boy asks after the moment of silence, idly fiddling eith his fingers.

Batman took note of that.

"Once my partner arrives, you'll be escorted out—"

"Yeah no, I'm not leaving."

[skullrock]

the swimsuit - Steve x Reader

Pairing: Steve x Reader

request: heeeey! so i was thinking about steve calling phoebe cates hot and him running into that cardboard of her, so, can you write something where steve is at a pool party and he sees reader coming out of the pool and walking up to him in a red bikini like in fast times and he’s totally heart eyes. so they end up making out in the bathroom next to the pool. thanks!

word count: 1.5k

warnings: steamy! and swearing

a/n: feeling HOT 

===

Steve hasn’t used his pool since Barb died Junior year. So when Dustin wants to go swimming, he takes him to the community pool.

It’s gross, and people almost certainly pee in it, but it’s something to do on a hot summer day, and there are plenty of women to look at and flirt with.

“You’re pathetic,” Dustin says beside him, lounging on a lawn chair.

“I’m pathetic?” Steve scoffs. “Why?”

“You’re trying to find a girlfriend at a public pool.”

“Yeah? Yeah, and you found a girlfriend at a camp no one has ever heard of. Shut it, pipsqueak.”

Dustin scrunches his face up in offense. “For your information, Steven, my girlfriend is –“

Steve slams his hands down on the arm rests of the chair he’s in. “Hotter than Phoebe Cates. I get it, Dustin, Jesus. But here’s the thing, buddy: there’s no girl in real life that’s hotter than Phoebe Cates. You hear me? There is no girl that is –“

You step out of the pool directly in front of Steve. You’re wearing a red bikini and your hair is slicked back on your head from the water. Steve’s breath hitches in his throat and his face turns red just at the sight of you, matching your swimsuit. You lock eyes and it’s your turn to blush now, looking down at the concrete as you hurry off to your chair for a towel. Steve watches you, doing that cliché thing where he pulls his sunglasses off as he watches you go.

“There’s no girl that’s hotter than Phoebe Cates, right?” Dustin says smugly beside Steve.

Steve can’t reply – he’s too entranced. He watches you, eyes maybe a bit too keen on your ass, as you dry yourself off. He cannot comprehend how someone as gorgeous as you is in Hawkins, Indiana. He continues to stare as you lounge in the sun, completely ignoring Dustin talking to him about who knows what. Some stupid science stuff, probably.

You make eye contact with him again and you bite your lip – why is this cute boy looking at you like that? You look away, eyes directed towards the locker rooms, and you look back at Steve. He looks towards the locker room, too, and he furrows his brows in confusion. You jerk your head towards them and stand up, walking in their direction. Steve stumbles off of his chair quickly and nearly runs towards you.

“Hey!” Dustin shouts. “Where are you going?”

“Uh,” Steve says, drawing it out as he racks his brain for an excuse. “I’m – bathroom.”

Dustin scrunches his face up again but rolls his eyes at Steve and pulls out a comic book.

Steve rushes to the locker rooms, sandals slipping slightly on water. He composes himself as he struts in, shoulders back, posture poised. He doesn’t want to seem too needy and desperate – although that’s exactly what he is. He finds you in a corner by the showers and he approaches, giving a signature lopsided grin.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” he says, leaning up against the tile.

“I’m from the town over,” you explain, looking him up and down, soaking in his broad chest and toned arms. “But our town pool is closed.”

“Needed a swim that bad, huh?”

“I was feeling a little… hot.”

Steve falters at the phrase, eyes widening and knees buckling. He licks his lips and runs a hand through his hair, and your eyes fix on it. He’s cute. He’s handsome. He’s hot. He’s sexy.

“But, as it would turn out,” you sigh, “I’m still feeling pretty hot.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks lowly, licking his lips again. “And why’s that?”

Your eyes fall to his trunks, his bulge prominent under the thin fabric, and his train on your bikini top, enjoying the cleavage. You bite your lip and look up at him, locking eyes. “Because a guy like you shouldn’t be allowed to wear trunks like that.”

Steve groans and then his mouth is on yours in an instant. Your back is pushed up against the wall and you kiss back roughly, hands winding up through his hair. Steve’s hands fly to your ass and he grips it tightly, making you laugh slightly. It’s teeth and tongue, sloppy and rushed, but it’s thrilling and makes you way too hot for a summer day. Your head spins and you grip onto him tighter, pressing back firmly into the wall now, and Steve wraps one of your legs around his waist. He pushes himself against you and you both groan. You circle your hips and grind on Steve, making him gasp. His hips sputter against yours and you feel his hard-on right on your core. It makes you moan loudly, and it spurs him on – he does it again and you swear you can see stars.

You both hear someone come in and he pushes himself off of you, a hand flying down to cover his hard on up while you both stand and pretend to talk. Your eyes sparkle with mischief and Steve smirks, the tips of his ears pink.

“Do you always seduce men into locker rooms to kiss them?” he teases.

“Only the cute ones,” you reply, bouncing on the balls of your feet. You glance behind him and watch the intruder leave once again before pulling Steve to you, kissing again. His hands go back to your ass and he feels you up, making your breath catch. His lips go to your neck and your eyes roll back, a smile growing on your face.

“What’s your name?” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders as he sucks on a sweet spot.

“Steve,” he says into your skin. “Yours?”

“Y/N.”

“Had me fooled,” he says, kissing back up to your lips. “Thought you were Phoebe Cates for a second.”

“Oh, I’m not that hot,” you laugh.

Steve cocks a brow, challenging your assumption. He presses his hard-on against you again with a wicked smile. “I beg to differ.”

You push him backwards so that he’s sitting on a bench and you straddle him, resuming your makeout. You grind down on him, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths at the friction. Steve can’t believe his luck, truthfully – it’s been a minute since he snuck away with a girl to fool around. You can’t believe yours, either – a man as charming and as cute as this sitting beneath you, hands cupping your ass and you glide back and forth – it nearly too much to handle.

“Are you okay?” he asks suddenly, stilling your movements with his hands on your hips. “Like, this is okay, right?”

The ask of consent makes you even more turned on and you nod furiously, curling a strand of his hair. “Are you okay?”

“More than okay,” he replies, bucking his hips up, making you gasp. “Do you maybe – like, if you want – maybe we can – go somewhere? To… finish this?”

You giggle and nod. “Meet me here tomorrow evening – seven? And we can go somewhere to… finish.”

He nods furiously and you kiss a while more, caressing each other, you hopping off when someone would come in as Steve covered himself with cupped hands. Eventually he decides he needs to go before Dustin tells the group that he had sex in the locker room – which isn’t necessarily wrong, but it’s not true, either.

“Gotta go,” he breathes, kissing all over your face before planting one more on your lips. “I came with my friend – I mean, this kid I babysit – and I need to take him home.”

You smirk but let him up anyway, and he takes a moment to gather himself, cheeks puffed out as he smiles dorkily at you. You furrow your brows and grab his hand. “You can be a dork, you know. You’re allowed.”

He scoffs. “I’m not a –“

“Dorky guys who lean into it are really hot, Steve.”

Steve’s brows raise. “You mean it?”

You nod.

“Consider me sexy, then,” he says, and shoots finger guns. “Because I’m the dorkiest bastard alive.”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it,” you tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Tomorrow at seven.”

Steve walks back to Dustin with a spring in his step, which immediately deflates as Dustin turns to him, pupils flaring. “You were gone for forty-five minutes, man!”

Steve freezes. “I had to pee.”

“With her?” he asks, pointing towards you, packing up your things. “What, did you need her to hold your hand or something?”

“Alright!” Steve says, shaking his head. “You tell anyone, you’re dead.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you admit that there are people out there who are hotter than Phoebe Cates.”

Steve sighs heavily, glancing over at you with a faint smile. “Okay. There are definitely people out there hotter than Phoebe Cates.”

===

taglist: @harrington-ofhawkins​ @comedy-witch​ @harringtonisadingus​ @sassisaluxury​ @gothackedalready​ @willowrose99​ @pxtrickhxckstettxr​ @wolfish-willow​ @harringtown​ @m-blasterrr​ @anerroroccurrrrred​​ @marvels-gurl​ @the-almond-dinger​ @ssanjuniperoo​ @darth-el​ @sourapplebaby​ @yall-wildin-like-siriusly​ 

[imagine-loki]

Trust, Chapter 17

TITLE: Trust CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 17 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki kidnaps Darcy Lewis, in hopes of getting the tesseract in return for her. Imagine his surprise when he grows rather fond of the mortal, finding that she understands him better than anyone else ever has.  RATING: M

Thor and Jane looked surprised when Loki appeared to head to Asgard, with Darcy in tow too with a suitcase.

‘Where’s the Bifrost then?’ Darcy asked excitedly.

‘I did not realise you were joining us, Darcy.’ Thor said, but smiled widely as he then looked at Loki.

Loki grinned. ‘She is going to save me from having to deal with any boring commoners. And will likely lighten the festivities greatly.’

‘Ah excellent!’ Thor beamed happily.

Jane looked slightly irritated. Not overly happy about Darcy going too, knowing the pair of them would likely cause too much mischief.

The group all headed outside onto the green, Thor looked up and called for Heimdall to open the Bifrost. Tony ran out towards them screaming like a mad man at them not to do it on what was essentially his front lawn. But it was too late.

All that was left when he got there was burnt grass again. ‘Bloody Asgardians!’

Darcy was in complete awe as they were whisked through space in the rainbow Bifrost. Then before she knew it, they were on Asgard, stepping into the observatory.

She noted Loki’s arm around her and she looked up at him with a smirk. ‘What’s with the death hold on me?’

Loki rolled his eyes as he let her go. ‘To make sure you didn’t fall out at the wrong place. I don’t exactly fancy spending years looking for you on some unknown realm.’

Darcy shoved his arm playfully. ‘N’awwww you’d come looking for me? How sweet!’

He chuckled and ruffled up her hair in return. ‘I wouldn’t trust you not to cause chaos on some poor unsuspecting race.’

‘Yeah, cause that’s your job.’ She grinned and Loki grinned back at her with a wink.

‘Welcome to Asgard!’ Heimdall said, tearing Darcy’s attention away from Loki.

‘Oh wow, cool sword. You’re the all seeing Himdall, right?’ Darcy asked.

Loki sniggered and bumped her with his hip. ‘Heimdall.’ He corrected.

Heimdall smiled slightly and nodded once. ‘Nice to meet you, Darcy.’

Then the sound of hooves pounding the ground towards them was heard. Odin, Frigga and a guard with some spare horses came riding across the bridge to greet them.

Loki did the introductions for Darcy, since Jane had already met them before. Jane bowed her head to Odin and Frigga, greeting them politely.

Darcy’s mouth fell open as she looked at Frigga.

‘Jesus, Loki. You never told me your mother was so beautiful!’ She said in a slightly high-pitched tone to Loki, then she turned to Frigga and curtseyed. The best she could anyway without actually wearing a dress. ‘It’s so nice to meet you, Loki’s told me all about you.’

Frigga smiled widely at Darcy as she reached out to shake her hand. ‘Nice to meet you too. I heard from Thor that you’re responsible for bringing Loki back to Earth. Figuratively and literally.’ She smiled kindly at her.

‘I kind of am.’ Darcy said smugly, holding her head high.

Loki just cringed awkwardly beside them and put his head in his hand.

‘Although, we didn’t know you were coming till last minute. We don’t have any spare chambers left, so we are in a pickle of where to put you.’ Frigga said regretfully as she looked at Loki.

‘I’ll just bunk with Loki.’

Loki raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Oh really?’ He folded his arms over his chest.

Darcy shrugged. ‘I’m not sleeping on the floor. Besides, we’ve shared a bed before.’

Frigga looked between them both in amusement and curiosity. ‘That’s settled then.’ She said quickly before turning around and heading back to her horse.

‘I am going to have to deal with your snoring for two whole nights?’ Loki groaned.

‘Hey, it’s not going to be a barrel of laughs for me either.’ Darcy said as she poked him.

She was then introduced to Odin. She could feel the tension between him and Loki, it was thick in the air. She didn’t say much to Odin, just bowed her head politely.

The group headed out to the horses and Darcy was handed the reins of one of them.

‘Loks. You better give me a leg up, I have no idea how to ride never mind get on.’ She said as she looked over at him, just as he was about to mount his horse.

‘You mean you’ve never ridden before?’ He chuckled as he wandered over to her and swiftly grabbed her leg, not even checking if she was ready, he hoisted her up and onto the horse.

‘Nope!’ She squealed a little as she sat up straight and gathered the reins.

‘Sit up straight, keep your heels down and don’t tug on the horses’ mouth if you can help it.’ Loki said as he put her feet into the right position and moved her fingers into the right place for holding the reins.

Thor had Jane ride with him on the same horse. She hadn’t ridden before either, even on her last trip to Asgard she didn’t ride.

Loki got on his horse and rode up beside Darcy. ‘Your horse is rather attached to mine, so you don’t need to worry about steering right now.’

Darcy only just noticed a hint of mischief cross Loki’s face, before he suddenly kicked his horse on into a canter. Darcy screeched in surprise as her horse cantered straight after his. Loki laughed as he looked over his shoulder and saw her bouncing around in the saddle, but laughing too. He knew she was perfectly safe on that horse and would be up for a bit of an adventure.

Thor chuckled at their antics as they went racing across the bridge ahead of them, Darcy holding on for dear life.

‘Don’t even think about it!’ Jane said to Thor quickly as she held onto him from behind, he just grumbled in response.

Loki and Darcy were long at the palace before the others were. He helped her off the horse and they made their way inside.

‘Holy shit! This place is incredible.’ Darcy said as she looked around herself with her mouth hanging open.

‘It’s alright.’ Loki drawled.

‘Come on, Loki. I know this place doesn’t exactly bring back good memories, but surely even you can tell this place is more impressive than the compound back home.’ Darcy said as she stopped walking and faced Loki.

He shrugged. ‘I guess so. There are some good memories too, I suppose. Racing Thor on our horses across the land, causing mischief to the maids and guards when we were younger.’ Loki gave a very slight smile that made Darcy smile too.

‘See, there’s always good too. Odin does seem… not so great, but Frigga seems wonderful.’ Darcy said sincerely.

‘She is, probably the only wonderful thing about here.’ Loki nodded and continued walking, Darcy followed.

Loki took her to his chambers. She couldn’t believe the size of the room.

‘Bloody hell, this is like the size of a house back on Earth!’ Darcy said as she looked around, checking out the en-suite too. ‘Am I dreaming? Is this for real?’ She said as she jumped onto the bed in a star fish, but still wasn’t even taking up half of the bed because it was that big.

Loki chuckled and used his Seidr to get the fire roaring to life. ‘Anything you need, just ring the bell by the door and a maid will come to see what you need.’

‘What, like, anything and anytime?’ Darcy quickly sat up straight.

‘Yep.’ Loki smirked, sitting down on a chair by the fire.

Darcy slipped off the bed and ran over to the bell, ringing it twice. Loki watched in amusement as not even two minutes later there was a knock on the door. Darcy opened it and was amazed to see a maid.

‘Good evening, anything I can get you, miss?’ She asked with a smile.

‘Some snacks would be nice please… Loki, what kind of snacks do you have here?’ Darcy looked over her shoulder to him.

Loki smirked. ‘Matilda, if you would be so kind to get us the cheese board selection.’

‘Of course, Prince Loki.’ She gave a small bow and smiled at Darcy before disappearing down the corridor.

Darcy stuck her head out of the room and watched her heading off. ‘Is there really someone on standby all the time? Even in the middle of the night?’

‘Yep. Cooks are always in the kitchen too, ready to make whatever you want. Within reason.’

She then snickered. ‘Prince Loki.’

‘What?’

‘Just funny hearing someone call you that. I forget you are a Prince.’

‘Maybe you should start remembering it.’ Loki grinned.

While waiting for the snacks, Darcy disappeared into the bathroom to put on her comfortable pyjamas, which was actually a Rolling Stones t shirt and plain black shorts, just in time for Matilda retuning with the biggest selection of cheese Darcy had ever seen, with crackers and some grapes too.

‘Oh my god, this is definitely heaven!’ Darcy climbed onto the bed with the board and got comfortable.

‘You’re not eating on my bed.’ Loki stood and made his way over, but Darcy was already tucking in.

‘Come on, chill out. Are you going to join me or not?’ Darcy patted the bed next to her.

Loki rolled his eyes. He knew that there was no point arguing with her, so he decided to just admit defeat and join her.

After stuffing themselves full, Loki read for a while by the fire while Darcy played a game on her iPad. There was no WiFi but she was still able to use some game apps without. She was so engrossed in one game she never noticed Loki disappear into the bathroom, until he reappeared.

‘Lights are going off, I want to get rest before tomorrow’s antics.’ Loki said as he made towards the bed.

‘Not like you to need ohhhhhhhhhh my god! LOKI! PUT SOME DAMN PANTS ON!’ Darcy screeched as she glanced up at him, only to see he was completely nude. She quickly averted her eyes like they were burning.

Loki smirked as he got into bed. ‘What? You are the one who said you would share a room with me. I told you before I sleep in the nude.’ He chuckled and got comfortable. He turned the lights out with a snap of his fingers.

‘Well don’t blame me if you get kicked in the bollocks in the middle of the night.’ Darcy said as she rolled onto her side and put her iPad down.

‘Goodnight, Darcy.’

‘Goodnight, Prince Loki.’ She teased, but that earned her a poke in the back. ‘Owww!’

‘Go to sleep.’ He growled.

‘Bossy boots.’ Darcy grumbled quietly.

[dmitri-writes]

Voice~Intrulogical

INFO -trans guy logan -side royality -familial analogical -based on a prompt i saw somewhere

TRIGGER WARNINGS -

***

Remus opens his laptop and checks a group chat for his friends, adequately named 'No Braincells Here'. He grins, seeing green dots next to all four of his friends and his brother; PappyPatton, AnxietyAttack, JekyllHyde, SpaceJam, and PositivelyPrincely. He turns on his mic, excited to wreak havoc as always and annoy his brother.

JeffreyDahmer: "What's up bitches one, two, three, four, and five."

The chat is filled with four voices; Roman groans, Virgil laughs, Patton says to watch his language, and Deceit says "Goodbye" and leaves, logging right back on. Remus also reads the texts sent by the only one never on voice chat, SpaceJam.

SpaceJam: Hello, Remus. I was starting to wonder where you were.

Remus smile grows, pleasantly surprised someone actually expects and wants him to be there. "Thanks, Space," He says through voice chat.

PappyPatton: "Now that Remus is here, we can talk about The Thing (TM)." PositivelyPrincely: "What is it this time Padre? Are you in need of spider killing? I'll run to your house now." PappyPatton: "No, Roman, It's- and he's gone..."

Remus hears his brother in the other room rummaging around for his sword. He doesn't stop him as he races out the door.

PappyPatton: "Remus, did he leave?" JeffreyDahmer: "Yeah." AnxietyAttack: "At least he's not knocking down my door this time." SpaceJam: Should we wait until he's back? PappyPatton: "I hear him knocking on my door... Be right back." SpaceJam: Does this happen often? Virgil, you didn't tell me you moved close to Roman and Remus.

Remus smiles, heart a little fluttery Space didn't just say Roman. It feels great to not be forgotten for once. Space always remembered him. Always.

AnxietyAttack: "Yeah, Patton is scared of spiders and since I own a few, Roman sometimes thinks they're mine and makes me check that they're all there and not fakes they replaced themselves with."

Remus' smile turns into a mischevious grin, knowing he caused the scene. He told Roman about Virgil's spiders, which he knew about since kindergarten. He also sometimes loosens their cages or catches wild spiders to put on Patton's lawn.

SpaceJam: Seems... Interesting. PappyPatton: "Okay Roman's next to me so I'm just gonna talk about it with him here, sorry for stealing your brother Remus." JeffreyDahmer: "Keep him." JekyllHyde: "I can't wait to hear what Patton has to say." PappyPatton: "What I was saying is... I got a boyfriend!" AnxietyAttack: "It's Roman, isn't it?" PappyPatton: "Yeah it's Roman." SpaceJam: Thank you for trusting us enough to tell us, Patton. SpaceJam: If it is alright, I would like to follow that up with my own announcement.

Remus' interest is piqued. Is Space going to announce their name? Gender? Sexuality? Romantic life? He's bouncing in his chair with excitement.

PappyPatton: "Go ahead Space!" SpaceJam: I am moving in with Virgil, now that his parents have formally adopted me. JekyllHyde: "ADOPTED?" JeffreyDahmer: "MOVING?" SpaceJam: Perhaps I should tell you more... PappyPatton: PLEASE -Roman

That was... NOT what Remus was expecting... but he's still excited! Space! Moving! Here! Okay, Remus needs to calm down before he falls out of his chair again.

SpaceJam: My name is Logan. I am a trans male and my parents were not too happy about it. While Virgil lived near me, he became worried about me. Once he knew of my situation, he told his parents, who have been fighting to adopt me. It has been finalized today, and I am currently packing.

Remus' head spins with the new information as he also hears Roman enter the house again. His bedroom door opens and Roman peeks his head in. "Good, you're still alive. You should take a shower since Space- er, Logan, is moving here." Remus absent-mindedly throws a pencil at his brother who dodges it and laughs.

JekyllHyde: "How are you getting here?" SpaceJam: I will be taking a plane. I'm very excited, planes are fascinating and I have wished to be on one. I do prefer spaceships though. PappyPatton: "Uh, Logan, I'd hate to push it so ignore me if you aren't comfortable with it but... could we hear your voice?" JeykllHyde: "Oh I would hate that." JeffreyDahmer: "Oh yes!" AnxietyAttack: "Guys shut the fuck up! It's stressful for him!" AnxietyAttack: "Logan if you don't want to its okay."

Remus watches the screen intently, glaring holes into to speaker icon next to Logan's username. He fills with delight as it's activated.

SpaceJam: "I-it's alright, I'm just... a bit nervous."

Remus accidentally slams his keyboard as he falls out of his chair, speaker locked on. He manages to get up and walks to the other side of his room, "HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK I AM IN LOVE!" Remus hears Roman's voice from the speakers and through the wall, "This dumbass fell out of his chair!" "Fuck off Roman I'm having a moment here!" Remus' face heats up as Logan's voice follows, "Remus are you hurt?" Why is Logan so nice? Remus can't handle this. "I'm alright Logan." After a few hours of bullshitting on chat and Remus freaking out over Logan, Logan advises all of them to go to bed. "I'm going to the airport now, if you get to sleep then you could see me as I arrive at Virgil's house." Remus happily replies, "Good night then, I want to be the first to get a look at you." He logs off and goes to read on his bed, knowing the excitement and his insomnia wouldn't allow him to sleep.

Remus is the first at Virgil's house in the morning and Virgil's mom offers to let him come with them, to which he happily and smugly agrees. He texts the chat smugly, excited to see Roman's reaction.

JeffreyDahmer: losers im going to the airport with virgil im gonna see logan first positivelyPrincely: OH THATS CHEATING YOU DIDNT EVEN SLEEP JeffreyDahmer: how was i supposed to? insomnia AND cute boy in the morning?

Remus waits by the gate with Virgil, who holds a sign reading 'Logan' in blue marker. Remus grins and asks Virgil to add something. Virgil rolls his eyes, "What do you want me to add?" "Space cutie!" Virgil laughs and lets Remus write it on underneath with a green marker. After a few minutes of waiting, Virgil points out a figure. He's wearing a blue tie over a black polo tucked into black jeans. He's pulling behind him two galaxy-themed suitcases. Virgil waves for his attention and gets it, sign being read. His face heats up and he walks over. "Lolo, so good to see you!" Virgil's mother hugs him, then Virgil does too, "I missed you L." Once freed from the hug, Logan looks over at Remus and gives a small smile, "Remus, right?" Remus' face lights up and he bounces on his feet, "How'd you know Spacey?" Logan laughs a bit, "You look exactly as I thought you would."

Virgil groans, "You two can flirt later. Let's go home so the others can meet you too." Logan and Remus talk on the way back to the car, keeping it more PG in front of Virgil's- and now Logan's- mom. As soon as the car pulls into the driveway, Roman and Patton run up to the car. Dee follows slowly behind. Logan goes to greet them all with a wave but Patton tackles him in a hug. "Oh, uh, hello Patton." Patton lets go of Logan so Roman can sling an arm over Logan's shoulder, "You're more handsome than I thought pocket protector. Still not a match for my princely charm, however." "Ah. You must be Roman." Dee walks up closer, "I know, Roman is so charming." Logan laughs a bit, "Good to see you, Dee." Dee breaks after a moment and gives Logan a hug while smiling." Virgil's mom gently tells them that Logan needs to unpack and the others groan but say goodbye and leave for their houses.

Remus goes to his room and sits in front of his computer, bouncing his leg as he stares at Logan's icon. After a few minutes, there is a ding, notifying a message and Remus smiles as he sees it's a private message from Logan.

SpaceJam: Remus, I am still packing but I wanted to ask you something before I 'chickened out' as Virgil says. SpaceJam: Would you like to accompany me to a museum of forensic anthropology?

Remus slides out of his chair and onto the floor, creating a small thump. Roman peeks his head into the room, "What happened? Did Logan say your name or something?" Remus points at the screen and Roman reads the messages, the nudges Remus with his foot, "Say yes you disaster! He's asking you on a date!" Remus lightly kicks Roman's leg, "Yeah, I know that!" He gets back up and types out a response but stares at it instead of pressing send. Roman sighs and hits send then goes back to what he was doing, leaving Remus to metaphorically die.

JeffreyDahmer: abso-fucking-lutely

[mostfacinorous]

Stoki Whumptober Day 16: A Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15]  

When Loki woke, he was stretched out on the floor, and he couldn’t remember what he’d been doing before this.

More pressingly, he didn’t know any of the faces peering down at him. 

“So, did it work?” Asked the dirtiest looking of the three. 

“Are you alright?” Asked the fair haired one, shooting the other a fondly reproachful glare. 

The one with the foppishly shaped facial hair frowned. 

“What the hell happened, there, shimmers?” 

Loki blinked and frowned. 

“Do I… know you?” He asked slowly, reaching up to grasp his aching temple as he sat up. He took the opportunity to look around, and it did not help him to determine where he was at all. 

A faint sense of wrong began to make itself known as the three men traded looks. 

Loki got to his feet and swayed a little as he registered that he was a good deal further… up… than he was used to being. 

“Where have you taken me? And what have you done to me? Wha--” He reached up to touch his throat. 

His voice had deepened. He was taller. Had they-- had they stolen years from him?

“How-- how many?” He asked, voice shaking appallingly. He felt close to tears, and the three men looked confused. 

“Hey, Loki…” The blonde one spoke again, and Loki registered how odd it was that he seemed adult, and yet his face was clean. He reached up to touch his own chin, and was disappointed to find he was similarly clean shaven. 

“What do you remember?” The most bearded of them asked. 

Loki tried to focus on the question, tried to cut through the panic he felt that threatened to overwhelm him. 

“I…” He began, and then stopped. He could tell there were a great many memories, but they seemed out of reach. 

The dirty one thrust a metal arm forward, and Loki sprang back, ungainly on his too long legs and forced to flail his arms wildly to regain his balance. 

“Did you get it all out?” the man seemed to be growling more than speaking. 

Loki shook his head and continued backing away, unsure where he was or who they were or what they wanted. He just wanted to go home. 

He spun on his heel and took off at a run, out the first doors he saw and across a green lawn. 

“Heimdallllllll!” He called, only hoping he could outpace them long enough for the gatekeeper to send help or bring him back. He wondered where Thor was, their guards, their tutors, wondered how these men had gotten him away… 

And then he was sprawling face forward into the turf, arms wrapped around his middle and pulling him down. He kicked and thrashed, well aware that he was outmatched as always when it came to wrestling, but unwilling to be taken back without a fight. 

“LokI!” Grunted the blonde one, and Loki found himself pinned down. 

“What do you want of me? Do you think my father won’t have your heads for this?” He demanded. 

“Loki, something went wrong with the time stone. Do you remember trying to pull the power out of Bucky’s arm?”

Loki stilled, unspilled tears filling the edges of his vision. 

“Timestone?” He repeated, sensing at least some answers. 

“Yeah, the… the time stone, Bucky had it in his arm, and it left some power behind. You were trying to pull it out and you fell down. Does any of this sound familiar?” The man let go of his wrists and sat up as the other two arrived behind him. 

Loki shook his head. 

“This is going to sound dumb as hell…” the dirty one muttered, then cleared his throat. “Loki, how old are you?” 

The facial hair one looked sharply at the arm guy. Bucky. 

“Are you saying--?” 

“Four Hundred, eighty-nine.” Loki said firmly. 

They all stared, then the light haired man shook his head and stood, offering his hand to Loki to help him up. 

“I don’t know how old you were when we started, so I have no idea what that means.” He spoke softly, as if trying not to scare Loki any further. 

“So we’re buying this?” The bearded one asked, sounding incredulous. “Need I remind you this is Loki? He could be acting.” 

“What good would that do?” Barnes asked. “What possible benefit would this give him?” 

“It’d get your guards down, for one. Make you defensive of him for another.” Loki was really starting to dislike the man with the beard. But he took the blonde’s hand and stood, just the same, crossing his arms over himself protectively. 

“I uh-- want to know where we are.” He asked, this time more of a request, his voice quieter. 

“Northern New York.” The beard guy said. 

“Uh, Earth. Midgard.” The blonde filled in, somewhat more helpfully. 

That, at least, made some sense to Loki, and he looked around, stunned. 

“This is-- but, I was just on Midgard, and it was so…” He gestured, trying to find the right words, something less rude than the few that sprang to mind. 

“I think, if we’re guessing right, you’re actually much older than you remember being. So yeah, we’re not as um. Primitive? As you probably remember.” 

Loki nodded mutely. 

“Can we go back inside, sit down, and talk about this?” The kind man asked. The other two looked between themselves, and Loki found himself stepping closer to the light haired one, unsure what such glances meant. 

“Who are you?” He asked, instead of answering, and was mildly alarmed when the kind one reached up and knocked himself on the head. 

“Of course, sorry-- I’m Steve, this is Bucky--” He gestured at the dirty one with the armoured arm, and then at the other, “And this is Tony. We’re uh-- we were working with you before your accident.” 

Not, Loki noticed, ‘friends’. But then, why should he have hoped that his elder self had any better luck on the front? 

“Alright.” Loki said, then swept his hand forward. “Lead the way. I will come with you.” 

It wasn’t until just that moment that he wondered why Heimdall hadn’t answered him. Had something happened to Asgard? To Thor? His mother and father? Their people? 

He bit his lip against more questions, and let Steve lead him back into the building he’d made his escape from. 

They got him seated on a chair that was considerably plusher than the last Midgardian seat he’d experienced, the dirty-- Bucky-- had pushed a warm cup of tea into his hands, and they had waited for him to take a few sips before they began talking. 

“Do you know how old you are in relative Midgardian years?” Tony asked, and Loki made a face. 

“Not off the top of my head. How old do you grow to be?” 

Tony stared for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Let’s say a hundred, just to make it nice and round.”

Loki looked down and away. 

“Ah, I’m sorry.” He said softly. 

The other three looked between themselves, and he wondered if they understood how short their lives were, truly. 

“Asgardians may expect to reach five thousand years.” Loki explained, speaking gently. 

Tony let out a low whistle, then did a double take. “So you’re-- what, ten? Roundabouts?”

“I’m four hundred, eighty-nine.” Loki repeated, a touch defensively. 

“You’re a child.” Bucky responded, more forcefully, leveling a look in Tony’s direction. 

Loki had had enough of that instantly.

“I am a prince!” He insisted, standing while careful not to spill his tea. “And I’ll have you know I am already a magician. Which is more than any of you can say!”

He saw a smile grace Steve’s face, and felt a small warmth high up in his chest from it. 

“I’m glad to hear that. Do you think you could figure out how to get back to being an adult?” 

Loki chewed on his lower lip while he thought, then shook his head. 

“Not on my own. My mother will know what to do, though. I just need to reach her. Uh… speaking of…” He trailed off, afraid to ask. “Earlier I called for Heimdall, and he didn’t answer. Do you know… why that might be?” 

Another exchange of glances, this time between Tony and Steve. Loki hated that his body was apparently grown, and still he was being treated like a yearling. 

“You uh, might want to sit down your highness.” Tony said, and Loki felt his stomach drop, but he did as he was told. 

“First off-- I’m real sorry Loki, but according to Thor, your mom died a few years ago.” 

Loki felt his mouth fall open, but he couldn’t begin to name the sound that came out. 

“And Heimdall?” He asked at length, followed by, “My father? Where is Thor?”

“I uh, don’t think you’re on good terms with Asgard.” Tony said, as delicately as he could. 

Loki swallowed. 

“And Thor?” Thor wasn’t Asgard-- surely whatever he’d done, Thor, at least, would-- 

“Thor’s king now.” 

This time, Loki couldn’t stop the tears from coming to his eyes. 

“Thor banished me?” Loki felt so betrayed, so lost and alone, of a sudden. 

“No, I think that was on your dad.” Tony said, as if that were any consolation. 

“But  I can’t go h-home?” 

“Tony!” Steve warned, and Tony shut his mouth, obviously thinking better of whatever he had been about to say. “That’s probably enough for now, Loki. I’m sorry, I can tell this has all been a shock. Tony, are there rooms here? Loki probably could use some time to himself.” 

“Some time…” Loki murmured, then snapped. 

“Time! Which of you has the time stone?” 

“Annnd there it is.” Tony said, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair smugly. 

“What?” Loki asked, watching as again, Adult Glances were traded. “Did I say something wrong? It’s just-- I can maybe make this right. I have to learn how to use the time stone. Then we can go back, save my mother, get her to help make me big again--” Loki could feel his spirits rising, some hope restored. They had the means to make everything right. He’d just have to apply himself to it, something his teachers said he was marvellous at, when he cared to try. 

“Woah there, hold up.” Bucky raised his hands. 

“Older you said that we had to be careful-- no long jumps, no frequent jumps. Going back like that could tear up… the fabric of time? I think?” Bucky looked to Steve for confirmation, and he nodded. 

“And even with a healthy fear of the thing, you ended up getting turned into a kid again--”

“Supposing he really is a kid again.” Tony interjected, and Steve gestured at Loki’s face. 

“I guarantee, you never saw him make any of those expressions as an adult. Now shush, Tony.” 

Loki wondered what expressions he did make, if not these, but let that one go. 

“I’m not afraid of the time stone.” He insisted, jutting his jaw out stubbornly. 

Steve just sighed and ran his hand up his forehead and back through his hair. 

“Yeah, Loki, I know. That’s the problem. Look, let’s-- why don’t I set you up in a room, you can just relax for a minute while we figure out what our next steps are. Okay?” 

“You aren’t my boss. I outrank you.” Loki insisted. 

“Not on Earth you don’t.” Bucky countered calmly. “Now come on. We’re gonna get you a room, you have a nap, we’ll reconvene when you wake up, okay, your highness?” 

Loki firmed his jaw, but didn’t protest any more, because he was pretty sure they would only call him childish if he did. 

He let them lead him down a hall and to a room, then duplicated himself while their backs were turned and made the real him invisible, letting them lock an illusory version of himself in the room. 

It was the first full look he got at his own adult face, and he was so shocked that he forgot to pay attention, and he almost let Steve walk into him. He got out of the way quickly, and let them go wherever they were headed, taking a moment to study himself. 

He wasn’t sure how much older he was but… it didn’t look as if the years had been kind. 

He looked tired, and thin. He had the fading signs of a bruise across his face, and small scars… but more than anything, he looked… oddly haunted. 

He wondered what had happened between himself and Asgard, wondered if that might be the cause, and decided to find the other men to see what he could learn. 

It wasn’t hard to track them, all things considered. They were not quiet. 

“--seems pretty legitimate to me, Tony. Have you ever seen him cry before?” Steve was saying as he approached, silently as his much practiced sneaking could be. 

“You think he can’t cry on cue to get what he wants? He’s trying to get us to let him have the stone, same as before, only this time with an ‘I’m so innocent, look at me, I never invaded anyone’ mask over the whole thing, just to make you more willing to part with it.” 

An invasion? Well, he supposed that would explain some of the hardship on his face. He’d never really seen himself as a general, but if life led him there, well, he would take it. 

“You think his first thought of a cover story would be ‘we should bring back my mom to help me out’ if he wasn’t a kid?” Bucky asked, and he saw Steve look at him gratefully. “Anyway,” Bucky continued, “this isn’t an ‘us’ thing. I have the stone, it’s my call. And I’m sorry, Stevie, but much as I do believe his brain might have gotten zapped back to baby, that doesn’t make me more confident in his ability to use it, and not make things somehow worse.” 

“Okay, fair, but what else do we have, options wise? Do we take him to Strange?” Loki wondered who that was, but Strange was clearly an unfavorable option; Bucky dismissed that with a single sharp jerk of his head.

“Well, what about Thor?” Tony asked. “If anyone can tell if he’s faking, it’d be Thor. And maybe he’s got someone there who knows what we’re dealing with.” 

Loki drew his breath in, the sound sharp enough to apparently alert Steve and Bucky to his presence. 

“Damn it, Tony!” Steve said, even as Bucky reached out and caught him blindly, the contact dispelling Loki’s invisibility.

“I want to see Thor. If you can call him, do it. I want my brother.” Loki pointed at the floor and stomped, an order turned halfway into the threat of a fit. 

“I don’t know, is that a good idea, you think?” Steve asked. “Loki, I don’t know how to explain-- he might not be happy to see you.” 

This was unfathomable to Loki, and he felt his eyes beginning to water again. “Then I’ll fix it! Whatever I did, I can make it right. But I need Thor here to make that happen, to help me put everything back the way it’s supposed to be. Please?” 

Loki was not, he realized, above begging. His whole world was lost to him now, his home, mother-- dead? --it seemed impossible. Heimdall wouldn’t answer his calls, and these men treated him like some combination weapon to be feared and child to pity, and he just wanted to understand, and fix things, and bury himself in the arms of his family. 

They hadn’t even told him what had come of his father, he realized. 

“Please, call my brother. I just want to go home!” The last word came out a wail. 

“Hoo boy.” Tony said, standing and edging his way out of the room. 

Steve came forward and wrapped Loki in a hug, and as he sniffled into Steve’s shirt, he heard Bucky saying what he’d hoped to hear. “Go on, call the guy’s brother. Like you said, if anyone can sort this out…” 

Loki clutched at Steve like a lifeline and let himself hope that things would be alright.

[bellakitse]

Cowboy for sale

Isobel is hosting a costumed date auction and she puts Michael in a sexy outfit, Alex comes in to save the day.

Thanks to @gra-sonas for the picture!!

Alex sits back on one of Michael’s lawn chairs, a beer loose in his hand while Michael, on his second beer, sits comfortably next to him. It’s quiet between them but not awkward. It’s taken months, it’s taken fights, screaming matches, and tears, but they’ve finally found a sense of peace between them. Something comfortable between the love they’ve always had for each other and the friendship they have been building. For the first time since they were 17, he can honestly say that he and Michael are friends, and there is a comfort in that knowledge that leaves him at peace. They can just sit here outside Michael’s airstream after having the burgers he brought over from the Crashdown, share a beer, and share some silence as the sun starts to set behind them.

“Did you hear about this charity thing Isobel is running for Halloween next weekend? A date auction?”

Alex’s lips tilt up at the question, but he doesn’t say that not only has he heard about the auction but that he had jokingly given her the idea the last time they were out shopping. It’s not like he was actually serious. He’d just commented on not dating for a while and joked about buying a date. Isobel’s sassing him about that being prostitution should have been the end of it. But there had been a glint in her eye, and two weeks later flyers around town started showing up, announcing an all-male date auction with a Halloween after-party, costumes required. Rumor had it that the housewives of Roswell were eating the idea up and that the event was already sold out.

“Yep,” he says with a smirk. “I’ve heard rumblings.”

Michael, who has been looking up at the sky until now, turns his head to shoot him a look. “And did you hear that she is blackmailing me into participating?”  

Alex quirks an eyebrow. “And just how is she accomplishing that?” His grin growing when Michael lets out a huff while taking a pull of his beer instead of answering. He laughs softly, smirking when Michael shoots him an annoyed look. “It’s that embarrassing, huh?” he comments, only imagining just how much dirt Isobel must have on Michael, on either of her siblings, really. “I wonder if I can get it out of her next time she and I go for drinks,” he teases, raising his hands in a sign of peace when Michael scowls at him.

“Okay, relax,” he continues appeasing, shaking his head. “You can keep whatever embarrassing thing Isobel has on you a secret, it’s fine. So, are you going to do it?”

Michael shrugs. “It’s Iz; there’s nothing she’s threatening me with, no matter how much it amuses you to think so. It’s just I don’t like to say no to her. To rile her up sure, but she’s my sister and if she wants to put me in some ridiculous and in her own words ‘demeaning’ Halloween costume, to raise money for the Immigrant rights fund, who am I to say no? One, I get to show off the goods, which I have no problem with-“

“That’s because you have no shame,” Alex cuts in, with a quirk of his lips.

“Thought you liked that about me,” Michael drawls out, his eyes hooded in Alex’s direction.

The look sends warmth directly to Alex’s belly, and he finds himself holding his beer bottle tighter to keep from reaching out to Michael, pulling him out of his chair and settling him on his lap. Michael has a sly grin on his face as he watches, letting him know that while he might be controlling his impulses, he might not be doing as well controlling his face from showing what he wants.

“Among other things,” Alex answers, unable to keep from rising to the challenge. It’s a game he and Michael have started to play now that their friendship is established, and there is a quiet understanding that more is inevitable, underneath. He gives Michael a heated look, the kind that Michael has always responded to by pushing him against the nearest flat surface. The way Michael swallows now, his eyes on Alex's mouth as he licks his lips, tells Alex he's thinking about it. "What's two?"

"Huh?" Michael grunts, obviously lost in thought. Alex bites down on his bottom lip to keep from pushing for more.

They're taking their time with this.

"You said one," He continues, going for safer ground, instead of pushing the subject. "What's two?"

Michael's face brightens, taking on a wickedly amused expression. "Two, it will be hilarious to see the faces of the bigots as Isobel raises money for immigrants just because people are thirsty in this town."

Alex smiles, sharing Michael's amusement. "Almost makes me want to go."

Michael frowns. "You're not coming?"

Alex scoffs. "It's not like I'll be bidding on some straight guy, and I'm smart enough not to let your sister get dirt on me to blackmail me into participating as part of the auction. I'll just give Isobel a donation check."

"Don't you want to see what horrible costume Isobel puts me in?"

"And watch the real housewives of Roswell start a bidding war over you?" Alex frowns back at him. "I'm not actually a masochist."

Michael throws him a smirk, but Alex can see underneath the façade, a tiny bit of insecurity. “You think I’ll start a bidding war? Is that your way of telling me you think I’m pretty, Manes?”

Alex rolls his eyes, using every bit of his military hardass persona to keep from blushing. “Don’t fish for compliments, you have a mirror in that tin can you call home.”

Michael shakes his head as he lets out a laugh, and Alex can’t help but grin back at the man as he gives him a soft look.

“Fine, don’t come,” Michael gives him a fake pout, he bends his head down and looks at Alex through his lashes and the curls that have been getting longer. “Maybe we can meet up after Isobel is done objectifying me. Dinner at your place?”

“You might have to stay with your bid winner,” Alex reminds him, hoping his face doesn’t show how much he dislikes the idea.

“Alex,” Michael says his name gently, tilting his head to the side. “Meet me afterwards, okay?”

Alex licks his lips and finds himself nodding, helpless to say no. “Okay.”

 ***

 Isobel’s Halloween event rolls around, and Alex tries to pretend it hasn’t been putting him in a foul mood to think about it. He had lunch with Isobel a few days prior, and she had shown him pictures of some of the costumes she was going to put the volunteers in, they were brow-raising to be sure, but she had refused to show him what she was going to put Michael in. The downright devilish smirk on her face told him everything he needed to know.

“You could come and actually see for yourself, you know,” she had countered when he asked again to tell him. “Maybe bid on him and finally get your man.”

Alex shook his head at that, that’s not how he wanted Michael and him to reunite. They were building towards something real; he wasn’t going to let his impatience or his jealousy get the better of him. Michael deserved better than that. They both deserved better than a trashy town event with small-minded people.

Isobel just rolled her eyes at him as she dug into her salmon and warned him not to call one of her events trashy, though she didn’t argue the small-minded people part.

No, instead of going, he was going to stay in his cabin and wait for Michael. He has steaks marinating and a nice pasta side planned. He wasn’t sure how Michael was going to get out of having to stay with his bid winner, but Michael had asked him to wait for him, and that’s exactly what he planned to do.

He’s in the kitchen, making sure he has everything for dinner when his phone buzzes with an incoming text, followed by a couple more in rapid succession.

‘Change of plans.’

‘Isobel has lost her damn mind.’

‘I didn’t think I was capable of feeling embarrassment, but damn was I wrong.’

‘Alex, if you ever loved me, you’ll get here now and get me out of this.’

Alex raises an eyebrow at that last text, for all their talking and acknowledgment of their feelings; both a skittish of using the L-word.

Without a second thought, he grabs his keys and his wallet and heads for the car.

He gets to where Isobel is hosting the event in under 30 minutes, not even pausing when one of the door people ask him for his invitation. His stone-cold stare more than enough to shut the poor guy up, he’d feel bad, but he has something more important to worry about then his lack of manners. He looks around at the mostly female gathering, all in costumes, some more revealing than others, and in cheerful moods anticipating the night's entertainments.

He spots Isobel by the bar and makes a beeline for her. She sees him before he gets to her, and the smirk she sends his way makes even his harden Air Force ass nervous for a moment, and he wonders not for the first time if it was a wise move to become friends with her.

“I knew you’d cave,” she says smugly.

“I came because I got a series of alarming texts from Michael,” he starts, giving her an unimpressed look, because no one, not even Isobel Evans is going to out bitch him. “What monstrosity did you put him in, Isobel?”

Isobel’s grin widens if possible, and it’s obvious she’s trying hard not to laugh. “You want a sneak peek, Alex? That way, you’ll know just how much you are going to have to spend tonight to win him?”

Alex doesn’t answer, just shoots her another look and starts to follow her when she beckons him with a curl of her index finger, making her way toward the back behind the setup stage and down a narrow hall.

She knocks on a black door, letting out a huff when it’s met with silence.

She knocks again, harder.

“I’m not coming out like this, Iz,” Michael yells from behind the door. “I don’t care what I promised, you suck.”

Isobel snorts, her eyes twinkling with glee.

“Damn, Isobel,” Alex comments softly. “Just how bad is it?”

Isobel just shakes, and Alex realizes that it’s with silent laughter.

“Oh, Alex,” she breathes. “Wait till you see him.”

Alex stares at Isobel for another moment, before he knocks on the door himself. “Guerin, open up, I’m here.”

“Alex?” Michael asks tentatively.

“Yeah.”

“You came,” comes back through the door, his voice surprised and hopeful as he turns the knob.

“You said you needed me,” he starts as the door opens. He trails off as Michael comes into view. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, not when Michael is standing there, in that. He looks back at Isobel, who is practically vibrating with satisfaction.

"Isobel,”  he hisses as he takes in Michael's appearance, the leather straps, the tiny blue fabric, all that skin.  He doesn't know if he should throw a blanket over Michael or throw him down on the floor. "Have you lost your damn mind?"

“No,” Michael answers for her, a sour expression on his face. “She’s just a horrible sister.”

Isobel scoffs, lacking any remorse. “If anything, I’m paying you a compliment! That I actually think you can pull this look off.”

Alex watches as Michael stares down his sister for a couple of more seconds before he rolls his eyes, his lips twitching as he gives her an exasperated look. “You’re such a brat, Isobel,” he mutters, his voice fond, the smile Isobel gives him no longer smug but equally warm.

“You two are so weird,” he comments, realizing that this is a part of sibling relationships he’ll never get because he doesn’t have it with his brothers. The closest he’s had to this sibling need to rib each other is his relationships with Liz and Maria. He rolls his eyes when they both grin at him.

“He’s not going out like this,” he continues, holding up his hand when Isobel goes to argue and pulls out his wallet and the blank check he had put away for his donation, handing it over to Isobel. “Fill it with the amount you feel is best.”

He turns to Michael. “Pants, Guerin,” he orders. “I have steaks marinating back home, and I need a drink. I’ll be in the car.” He doesn’t wait for either of them to say anything and instead walks away, muttering to himself about crazy dramatic aliens.

 ***

 They get back to the cabin a little over an hour since he first left his home, Alex heads straight for the kitchen, confident that Michael will follow him. He pulls out two beers, placing one in front of Michael as he lifts himself to sit on the kitchen counter. Alex leans against the sink across from him and takes a good gulp, drinking half the bottle before pausing.  Michael, who thank god is back in his usual cowboy clothes, watches him, his beer hanging off his hand that rests between his knees. Alex takes a moment to study him, he looks comfortable in Alex’s kitchen, but that’s about as comfortable as he looks right now. The car ride had been pretty quiet, and now the silence has gone on too long, and awkwardness is starting to settle in between them. Alex hates it.

“What I don’t get is why you agreed to put on the outfit in the first place if it made you uncomfortable,” Alex questions. “Isobel was teasing, but she wouldn’t force you to go out like that if you didn’t want to.”

Michael shrugs, peeling at the label of his beer. “I wasn’t uncomfortable at first. I thought the costume was hilarious when she first showed it to me.”

“And very on brand, you even have your own hat,” Alex comments, making Michael chuckle.

“A cowboy, through and through,” Michael jokes, there is a boyish playful look on his face that always riles Alex up.

Alex clears his throat, trying to clear his thoughts too. “It works for you.”

Michael raises an eyebrow at him, a slow smile making it’s way to his face. “Guess that answers my question from the reunion. It didn’t get old for you,” he states, challenging.

Alex pushes off the counter and walks towards him, his pulse racing as Michael spreads his legs some more to let him in. He places his beer next to Michael, his hands gripping Michael’s thighs, smiling when he lets out a shaky breath. “I think we’ve established that it’s always worked for me.”

Michael gives him a grin, his eyes bright and Alex decides that they’ve wasted enough time, he lifts a hand to Michael’s hair and starts to tug him closer. For once, they seem to be on the same page because Michael is more than ready for him, leaning down and pressing his lips against Alex’s with a relieved sigh passing between them.

Alex savors the taste he’s gone too long without, his hands slightly shaking as he cradles Michael’s face and pours all the love and longing he’s been carrying around into their kiss. He can’t stop the wet laugh that escapes when they part as Michael continues to touch him, a happy grin on the face Alex loves ever so much.

“I didn’t want anyone else to see me like that,” Michael whispers as he touches his forehead against Alex.

He frowns confused, and Michael must feel it because he lets out a small laugh before continuing. “The costume was ridiculous,” he starts to explain. “I wasn’t embarrassed by it, but when I put it on, I knew I didn’t want anyone else to see me in it but you. I didn’t want to go on a date with anyone but you, I wanted to just come straight here and have dinner as we planned.”

Michael pulls back to look at him, those whiskey-colored eyes of his, shiny and wet.

“I don’t want to be with anyone but you, Alex,” Michael says, holding on to his hands. “So, can we just be together now?”

Alex nods, swallowing over the lump in his throat, his heart thumping hard against his chest at Michael’s words.

Michael lets out a relieved exhale, and Alex just has to kiss him again.

They get lost in it, no rush as Michael sits on his counter, and he leans against him.

“The costume wasn’t so bad,” he says between kisses.

Michael pulls away, laughing.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you in it again,” he teases, feeling his cheeks go hot at the memory of the outfit and the smirk that Michael gives him now.

“You’d have to ask Isobel for it,” Michael warns, the grin on his face so smug.

Alex makes a face because no, he doesn’t want to do that.

Michael chuckles again at the face he makes. “Well, we don’t have the cowboy outfit, but I do have a hat…” he trails off, his hands going to the top button of his shirt, popping it open.

Alex pulls him off the counter as Michael opens another button, still laughing as Alex leads him to the bedroom. “The steaks can wait.”

[ferryboatpeak]

Can you share a lil snippet?

anon, i’ll give you the whole damn meal

tom/harry/ben/meri, chapter 5

[previous installments gathered here]

Harry’s at work all the time now. He’s on his laptop by the pool, or pacing around the garden taking calls at odd American or Japanese hours, or in the office with the door closed to dampen the squawking of a Skype meeting. Tom can’t quite reconcile it with the Harry of the first couple of weeks, lazing serenely by the pool like he was docked, recharging, and now he’s back in service.

Tom can hear his voice in the office after he puts Ruby down for her afternoon nap. Meredith’s, too, so Harry’s not on a business call. Over the last few days, Tom’s been good about heading straight up to his room to dig into his thesis while Ruby naps, as if Harry’s setting some kind of productivity standard he has to live up to. Today, he detours into the kitchen. There’s laundry to get out of the dryer, anyway. He leaves the hissing baby monitor on the island, facing his direction.

The dull background of white noise doesn’t quite muffle the footsteps in the kitchen. Tom leans back to peer out from the laundry alcove as he rolls a pair of small striped socks together. Harry’s filling one of his ubiquitous plastic water bottles at the sink. A clip perched on top of his head doesn’t quite manage to hold back his hair, leaving stray pieces sticking out behind his ears.

Tom stacks up the folded laundry and goes to grab the monitor. He resists the temptation to poke at the battered leather notebook that’s now sitting on the countertop next to it. The edges of the pages are unevenly worn, and the covers bulge slightly, as if it’s pregnant with something.

Harry downs half the water bottle and screws the cap back on. He tilts his head in the direction of upstairs. “Ruby down?”

“Yeah, just went down.” Tom hooks the loop of the baby monitor with his finger, balancing it with the stack of rompers and sundresses in his arms.

Harry boosts himself up to sit on the counter next to the sink. “What are you up to today?” 

The era of tea parties seems to be over. Harry’s not hanging around with them on the lawn during Tom’s shifts with Ruby any more, although his presence is still inescapable - an emphatic phone conversation heard through the open office window, or a fragment of melody floating back to them from the far end of the garden, where Harry spends hours hunched over his guitar, stopping to make notes in the fat and mysterious leather book.

“Went to the playground this morning.” Tom shifts the laundry to catch a pair of socks in the crook of his elbow before it falls to the floor. “Probably just stick around here later.” 

It’s too hot to bike anywhere in the late afternoons. And anyway, when he and Ruby stay around the house, sometimes they’ll get pulled into cocktail hour instead. Harry will beckon them over to where he and Ben and Meredith are drinking gin and tonics under the trellis, making grabby hands for Ruby until Tom gives her up. There’s enough time, sometimes, for Tom to pull up a chair and join them. With no drink in his hand and the clock ticking away toward Ruby’s bedtime, Tom’s role as the hired help is prominent in a way it won’t be at dinner, or after. But it’s nice, to see Harry toss her around until she’s giggling and then set her on the terrace to run back and forth between the four of them. It must be nice to grow up like that, surrounded by so many people ready to take care of you.

He gestures at the notebook. “What are you working on?”

“Little bit of this and that.” Harry flutters his hand vaguely, brushing the question away like it’s a gnat. 

“Is it hard?” Tom doesn’t know how to put it, exactly. Harry’s got so much going on… movies to be in and music to write and this television project with Ben and the packages that keep arriving with fabric samples and photos and sketches… and he seems to throw himself at all of it with his whole focus. How are you doing all of this at once, is what Tom really wants to ask. 

“Writing an album?”

“If that’s what you’re doing.”

Harry half-laughs. “Doesn’t always feel like it,” he says wryly.

“Like what, then?” It’s so hard to figure out the right question to ask Harry. The more specific the question, the vaguer Harry answers it.

Harry uncaps the water bottle and takes another drink, tipping his head up and away from Tom. Tom waits. After he finishes, Harry gestures wordlessly, bottle in one hand and cap in the others, before a slow answer finally starts to come. “I guess I wouldn’t say it’s exactly hard.” He bounces the heel of one of his trainers gently against the cupboard door. “Or it is, sort of, but hard like a workout, or, like, getting a tattoo. Where it hurts but it feels good, you know?”

“Sure.” Tom doesn’t know, not exactly, but it’s the closest thing he’s ever gotten to a straight answer from Harry.

Harry hops down from the counter. “They always say you’ve got your whole life to write your first album and a year to write your second.” He scoops up his leather book on his way to the back door.

“When was your first?” Tom asks the first thing that pops into his head, willing Harry to keep talking.

Harry pauses with his hand on the knob of the back door. “More than a year ago.” It sounds like this isn’t the first time someone’s reminded him of that timeline. 

“Pressure.” Tom says, shifting his arms around the stack of clothes again.

“Eh.” There’s a shrug in Harry’s voice. “Hey, Ben’s shooting tonight.”

“Okay.” Tom looks back over his shoulder, already halfway to the stairs with his load of laundry. He envies the easy access Harry seems to have to Ben’s schedule. Tom never knows what kind of an evening to anticipate until cocktail hour rolls around, and Ben’s either home or he isn’t.

Well, at least he can use tonight to make up for dragging his heels on his thesis this afternoon. And it’ll be a nice companionable dinner with Meredith and Harry and Ruby, anyway. Everything’s a little louder and looser with Harry involved, but Harry’s clearly in on the unspoken understanding that nothing happens with Meredith without Ben involved. It’s one of the rules that comforts Tom, one of the gridlines he can follow to assure himself that there are boundaries, that he’s not navigating through dangerous lands without a map. 

“Meredith and I were going to watch a rom-com, if you want.” Harry’s all the way outside now, leaning back into the kitchen with his elbows on the bottom half of the Dutch door.

“A rom-com?” This is unexpected, and therefore treacherous. It’s not going to be the usual evening of slotting himself into the occasional spaces in Harry and Meredith’s banter and convincing Ruby to eat green beans. He’s going to have to be on alert, trying to decipher a new set of rules.

“Yeah,” Harry says, breezily, as if there’s no explanation necessary as to what film he has in mind, or what Tom should be prepared for, or what Ben would make of any of this.

***

It doesn’t turn out to be so hard. Dinner’s the same as it always is with Ruby, one long series of interruptions as she drops her cup onto the floor or demands more bread or wants to jabber half-baked sentences at them. Tom carries her off for her bath afterwards, and brings her back downstairs to say goodnight once she’s shampoo-scented and cuddly in her pajamas. By the time he finishes putting her to bed, the others have cleaned up the kitchen, and Meredith’s carrying a mug of tea into the main room.

Tom claims a spot one cushion out from the end of the sectional, not so far that it looks like he’s fleeing, not so close in that it looks like he’s expecting anything. Colin immediately jumps up next to him and curls up in the space between the arm of the sofa, resting his head on Tom’s leg. Tom scratches his ears. The dog chose him. The dog’s on his side.

Harry’s at the intersection of the sofa’s two halves, settled into the corner with his bird feet tucked underneath him. “You traitor,” he says to Colin, with indignation that might actually be real. “You’re supposed to be paying attention to me.”

“Sorry,” Tom says smugly. Colin has clearly discerned that he needs a lapdog more than Harry does. Brilliant creature.

Harry shifts onto his hands and knees and crawls down the couch toward Tom. Tom curls both arms around Colin. “You’re not taking the dog.”

“I’m not,” Harry says cheerfully, flopping on his side to face the television with his head on the remaining half of Tom’s lap. “Scratch my head,” he demands.

“You’re worse than the dog.” Tom flicks Harry’s ear. Harry just asks for what he wants, with a straightforwardness that Tom reacts to with an uneasy combination of awe and horror. His head is warm and heavy on Tom’s leg.

“Not at all.” Harry swats at Tom’s hand and wriggles into the sofa until he’s found what looks to be a comfortable position. Maybe it’s easier to ask for what you want when the world’s answer is always yes. It doesn’t seem like people tell Harry no very much. Only Ben, and only because he knows it’s what Harry wants to hear.  

“Let’s search romantic comedies on Netflix and see what we find,” Meredith says from the other end of the sofa, brandishing the remote. Harry’s shoulders shake with laughter. Some inside joke Tom can’t ask about without underscoring that he’s outside of it.

Tom scritches at the crown of Harry’s head just behind his hair clip, the same way he’d scratched Colin’s ears. Harry sighs. Tom gingerly releases the clip and clamps it to Harry’s sleeve so he can rake his fingernails all along Harry’s scalp. His fingers find the edge of Harry’s ear, the contour of his hairline, the base of his skull, all the inconsequential places he’s never touched before. The rom-com that Harry and Meredith decide on might as well be the white noise from the baby monitor.

Harry doesn’t move out of his lap, not when Tom starts to work the tangles out of his hair from roots to ends, not when Tom runs out of reasons to prolong the headscratching and settles his arm on top of Harry instead. Later, Tom washes his hands in the hottest water he can stand, but it doesn’t stop him from unconsciously brushing them past his nose, as if they might still hold the scent of Harry’s hair.

***

Ben’s on set again the next night, and several others after that. It’s almost enough time for Tom to get used to a weird new normal where the three of them put off dinner until the baby’s down, and carry their plates to the sofa to eat in front of a movie. It’s an unexpected halfway point between the ease of the dinner ritual with just Meredith and Ruby, and the late-evening adult dinners that Tom’s lived for. 

There’s work he should be doing on his thesis, but he can’t stop testing the strange suspended feeling of Harry casually leaning against him on the sofa or propping his skinny calves across Tom’s lap while yet another rom-com spools out predictably on the screen. Touching Tom without expectation. Touching him, Tom assumes, because Harry’s not supposed to touch Meredith. He rests a hand on the uneven handwriting inked over Harry’s bony ankle and concentrates on keeping still, fighting the impulse to rub his thumb along the smooth depression behind Harry’s anklebone. 

Tom’s reading Ruby a bedtime story the next time he hears the Range Rover pull into the gravel driveway before dark. He turns the board book face-down on the arm of the nursery chair and stands up to hoist Ruby onto his hip. “Let’s go say goodnight to your dad, all right?”

She’s wide-eyed at the unexpected interruption to her routine as they descend the stairs and follow the cacophony of Colin’s joyous welcome toward the kitchen. When they round the corner, Tom realizes too late that the commotion muffled the sound of his approach. Ben’s leaning back against the kitchen island with Meredith in his arms, kissing her in a way that doesn’t seem meant for Tom to see. Colin’s barking at their heels, ignored.

Tom freezes. He ought to back out of the room before he’s seen, but he’s held to the spot by the fear of missing out, the possibility that he deserves to be included. Ruby squirms in his arms.

Colin starts to jump and paw at Meredith, and she opens her eyes to look at Ben with fond exasperation, her arms around his neck and her face still close to his. 

Ben smirks at her. “Guard dog.”

“Cockblock.” Meredith pushes the dog back onto all fours and toward the door. “Go!”

“Mama!” Ruby squeals, just as Tom speaks up, a little too loudly. “Ruby wants to say good night.”

“Oh…” Meredith pulls back from Ben as he straightens up, opening space between them even with his arms still around her waist. “Thanks, Tom.”

She and Ben each hold out an arm. Tom hands the baby to them and they fold her into their tight circle. “Hiya, sweetheart,” Ben says, kissing Ruby’s head.

Tom takes an awkward step back. Every time he shepherds Ruby through cocktail hour, there’s a moment when she’s handed back to him so he can whisk her upstairs to go down for the night. Maybe he’s supposed to wait. But he feels frustratingly unnecessary.

Meredith glances at him. “We’ll put her down.” She’s smiling, but the dismissal’s as clear in her tone as it is in her words. Her attention’s back to her family before Tom can even react.

“Thanks,” Tom says. None of the Winstons acknowledge him. He bolts for closest exit. On the back steps outside the Dutch door, he pauses, a little dazed. Harry’s on a lounge on the far side of the pool. He’s got a paperback book in one hand, folded around on itself. Tom wanders toward him, his feet not knowing what else to do. “Ben’s home,” he says, as Harry looks up at his approach.

“Oh yeah?” Harry swings his feet over the side of the lounge, poking his toes around in a search for his loafers. His sunglasses slide forward off the top of his head, landing crookedly on his nose. He pushes them back as he stands up, keeping his hair at bay.

“Um.” Tom doesn’t know how to warn him. Danger: kissing. “Maybe not right now…”

Harry’s already halfway to the kitchen door as Tom searches for the right words. “I think they took Ruby up,” Tom finally says, just as Harry looks into the kitchen.

“Yeah, they’re not in here.” Harry looks back at Tom, his hand on the door. “Want a drink, then?”

Tom shrugs. “Sure.” It’s all topsy-turvy for him to be starting cocktail hour with Harry, but it’s clear he’s done with Ruby for the night. No reason to wait on a drink now that he’s off duty. No reason at all, and god, could he use one.

Harry’s looking into the refrigerator when Tom catches up to him in the kitchen. “White OK with you?”

“Sure, fine.” As if Tom’s said no to anything anyone’s offered to pour him this summer, every last drop of it better than anything he’s ever drank on his own budget. He retrieves two wine glasses from the cupboard and lines them up on the island across from Harry.

Harry works his way down the island, opening and closing drawers. “I can’t ever remember which one the corkscrew’s in.” 

“Other side, under the glasses.” Tom points out the right spot. Harry tucks the wine bottle under his arm, and Tom watches his hand as he twirls the corkscrew expertly and tugs out the cork, the flimsy wine key tucked in his palm. He leaves the tool on the counter with the cork still screwed in, and adds a modest pour to the first glass before he slides it across the granite to Tom. 

Tom takes a drink even before Harry’s filled his own glass. The wine is crisp and cold and doesn’t do anything to stop his head spinning.

“Chin-chin,” Harry says, holding out his glass toward Tom in an unspecified toast.

“Yeah, cheers.” Tom chimes his glass against Harry’s and takes another sip. It’s a strange state of suspended animation, drinking alone with Harry, waiting for Ben and Meredith to appear. He reaches for the corkscrew and works the speared cork loose. With his fingernail, he pushes the divot on the end of the cork back into place and tries to stand it on end. It tips over and rolls toward the edge of the counter. With a loud smack, Harry slaps his hand down on the countertop to catch it before it goes over.

Tom jumps. “Jesus.” Harry flicks the cork across the counter toward him.

“Have you ever…” He trails off. Have you ever seen them kiss, he was about to ask, but of course Harry has. Tom must have too, casually passing each other in the kitchen or Ben arriving home at the end of the day. He can’t understand why it’s never registered until now. Have they ever left you out, more like.

“Have I ever what?” The wineglass seems small against Harry’s mouth. 

Tom looks away. “Never mind.”

Moisture beads along the sides of the wine bottle. It’s been long enough to put Ruby down. Tom was already at the end of her bedtime routine, just needed to finish up her book and turn out the light. Maybe she’s fussy. Maybe they need help. Maybe he should go upstairs and see.

“You okay?” Harry’s looking quizzically at him.

“Yeah.” Tom turns the stem of his wineglass between his thumb and forefinger. The glass scrapes against the countertop.

Harry glances around the kitchen. “We should start dinner.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“There’s this fish.” Harry’s peering into the refrigerator again. “And stuff for salad?”

They work in silence. Tom sets out salad plates and heaps arugula on them, Harry chops rosemary and slices lemons. Tom rummages in the cabinets for another cutting board, but the broad wooden board that Harry’s working from is the only one. When Harry scrapes the pile of rosemary into his hand, Tom holds up a pear from the fruit bowl. “Okay if I…”

“Sure.” Harry pushes the lemon slices to one side, leaving Tom a patch of space on the cutting board.

Tom moves next to Harry, shoulder to shoulder over the cutting board. The fragrance of the chopped rosemary mingles with Harry’s cologne. He slices the pear and divides it among the salad plates, hoping it won’t go brown before Ben and Meredith reappear. What are they doing? Is everything all right?

They hear Meredith’s light footsteps on the stairs first. She slouches into the kitchen in the pajama pants and tank top she’s been wearing for their movie nights, instead of one of the summer dresses she’s usually got on for dinner.

“Oh, you got dinner started.” She tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Thanks, guys.” She leans an elbow on the island with a casualness that seems forced. “What have you got going, Harry?”

“I thought the fish, is that all right?”

“Perfect,” she says, with a bit more enthusiasm than a piece of halibut warrants.

Ben comes up behind her an rests a hand on her shoulder. He’s shower-damp around the ears, and the sport coat he came home in has been swapped for an untucked t-shirt and shorts. Meredith leans back against him. 

Tom’s stomach swoops as he realizes: they’ve just fucked. Just the two of them, while he obliviously sliced fruit in the kitchen. He tries to catch Harry’s eye, wondering if it’s as obvious to him, but Harry’s focused on arranging slices of lemon on top of the fish. Why couldn’t they wait? Or come downstairs to get them? Why leave them out?

“Ready to go?” Ben moves to slide the pan of fish out from under Harry.

“Hold on.” Harry twists the peppermill over the top of the fish. “And, you’re good. Want a glass?”

“Bring it to me?” With the fish in one hand and the grill tongs in the other, Ben uses his elbow to nudge open the Dutch door. “I’m going to get this on.”

Harry fills another wineglass from the cupboard and follows Ben out the door, with his own glass in his other hand. Tom gathers up placemats and silverware and trails behind them. He furtively watches Ben and Harry at the grill as he lines up the place settings on the table.

“Get right after it, eh, tiger?” Harry leers.

“Shut it.” Ben pokes him in the arm with the tongs. “You’ll get yours later.”

Harry drapes himself over Ben’s back and says something into his neck. Tom can’t quite hear, but he can only assume it’s something like, “I better.”

***

Tom thought that Ben’s return would feel like finishing one of Ruby’s stacking toys, the last missing layer sliding into place so that all the pieces fit smoothly. Instead, there’s a bright sharp edge to the evening, as if Ben’s making up for lost time, or reasserting something. 

“Arse up for me.” With a hand between Harry’s shoulder blades, Ben bends him over the foot of the bed. 

Tom scoots back until he’s up against the headboard next to Meri. She’s still in her pajamas, self-satisfaction radiating off her. Tom’s clothes have come off somewhere along the way, but to what end he’s not sure. Harry’s the center of attention, even more than usual.

As Ben rolls on a condom, Harry gets his knees up on the mattress and buries his face in his arms.

“Slut.” Ben says it fondly, but the hairs on Tom’s arm stand up. Harry’s posture goes a little more melty and he presses his hips back into Ben’s grasp. With his mess of hair obscuring his tattoo-scrawled arms, all that’s visible is the clean line of his back, laid out over the white sheet like a sacrifice.

Ben’s fingers leave dents in Harry’s skin as he pushes slowly inside him. Harry groans, deep and fulfilled, when Ben’s hips are finally flush with his own. The sound goes straight to Tom’s dick. He shifts incrementally against the mattress, almost squirming with the need to be touched, to touch himself. But Meredith’s leaning lightly against him, and if he was supposed to be doing anything, she’d be telling him. So Tom waits, and watches. 

If he was Harry he’d probably have his fingers inside Meredith right now, or his tongue. But he feels a guilty relief at being excused. It’s obvious that Harry’s better at it, coaxing the kind of blissful sounds out of her that Tom had never heard before Harry’s arrival. He wonders if Ben even bothers to go down on his wife any more, or if he just leaves it to Harry. Harry’s got the kind of enthusiasm for oral sex that Tom hasn’t experienced since his first teenage boyfriend, drunk on each other and half-convinced they were the first boys in the world to discover that sucking cock could feel like this.

Ben rolls his hips for another slow thrust, forcing another noise of primitive satisfaction from Harry. Harry pushes himself up, arching back into Ben’s rhythm, getting his hands under him. Lips parted, eyes closed, every exhale a noise of pleasure. The more Tom sees of Harry, the more he realizes Harry is the same in bed or out of it. Wanting everything, wanting it all at once, opening his arms wide and joyously pulling it all in. It would seem selfish or greedy if it was anybody else, but on Harry it just seems scaled, like the bigness of what he wants has to match the bigness of what he is.

“Tom.” Meredith lips brush his ear. “Harry needs something to do with his mouth.” Harry opens his eyes at that and looks up at Tom and Meri. The tip of his tongue drags across his bottom lip, slow and obscene. Maybe that’s Ben’s plan, to make Tom come just like this, his charred remains burning a hole into the headboard as he immolates at the sight of Harry, gorgeous and filthy.

Meredith nudges Tom’s shoulder. He shifts forward, bending until he can meet Harry’s mouth with his own, an awkward missed connection of a kiss as Harry rocks with Ben’s thrusts. Their chins collide and Harry’s mouth smears the corner of his. Tom leans in further and further, chasing Harry, dark-eyed and wanting. Ben stills for a moment to let Harry press forward, tongue plunging hot and wet into Tom’s mouth, before hauling him backward into a rough thrust that makes Harry gasp.

Without warning, Ben smacks Harry’s arse. For a panicky second, Tom doesn’t know how to react. But Harry dips his head, lowering himself, inviting Ben to give him more. The part of Tom’s brain that’s still trying to keep score starts tallying the balance, testing for the jealousy that’s always there when Harry’s given something he’s not. He straightens up onto his heels, instinctively taking space to size up this new strangeness.

“I’m going to make you come with a cock in your mouth.” Ben’s palm connects again, deepening the red mark flushing Harry’s skin. “Your filthy… slutty… mouth.” He thrusts into Harry to emphasize each word. Harry moans from some deep secret place that Tom’s never glimpsed before.

The hot rush through Tom’s body has nothing to do with jealousy. This isn’t the firm authority he gravitates to. He wants to be directed, not degraded. But it’s desperately, shamefully hot to watch it happen to Harry. To see the way it makes him dip his head into the mattress, set his teeth against his forearm, arch back into the sting of Ben’s hand.

“You want to suck Tom’s cock?” Ben looks up at Tom as he says it, checking for permission.

Tom burns. Yes, yes, oh god yes. He inches forward on his knees, into Harry’s space. 

Harry looks up at him, face transparent with want. “Yeah,” he breathes. Tom moves closer, closer, until he can feel Harry’s hot breath on his thighs.

“Say it,” Ben demands. 

“Yes, please,” Harry keens through gritted teeth, and Tom can’t tell whether the supplication is to him or Ben.

Ben fucks Harry forward until he almost lands in Tom’s lap, his nose colliding with Tom’s crotch. Harry feels out Tom’s cock like a blind person, lips and tongue messy and tantalizing until he presses his forehead against Tom and takes him into the wet heat of his mouth, and Tom wants to cry and gasp and yell all at once at how impossibly good it feels.

He tries to cup Harry’s head in his hand, to steady him against the force of Ben’s thrusts, but he’s got to lean back on both hands to hold himself in place as Ben keeps forcing Harry forward. Ben fucks Harry harder and faster, driving his face into Tom’s belly and his cock down Harry’s throat. It’s uneven and messy and so, so hot, to have Harry caught between them, to watch him split on Ben’s cock as he swallows Tom down, Ben’s strong hands on Harry’s hips and his face screwed up with the effort and pleasure of fucking Harry just right, of making him moan around Tom.

There’s too much sensation to parse out, the ache in his bent legs and the softness of Harry’s hair in his lap, the scrape of Harry’s teeth interrupting the perfect lushness of his mouth when Ben jolts him unexpectedly, Ben’s grunts and Harry’s muffled cries and the broken moan, the gasping incredulous jesus, fuck, that Tom realises are his own, pulled from him without consciousness or intention. 

Tom could get lost in this, could drown without even trying to come up for air. He’s been close, achingly close, since the first brush of Harry’s lips, and now he’s gritting his teeth and clinging to the edge, determined not to let go until Ben and Harry are done with him.

“Ben,” Meredith’s saying, and it takes a moment to reach Tom inside the entire world that is Ben and Harry. “Ben.”

Ben looks up at that. Understanding crosses his face. Harry, stilled for a moment, curls his tongue along the back of Tom’s shaft and Tom comes as if it’s being exorcised from him, pulled from his body by Harry’s inhuman mouth. 

“Sorry,” he gasps, “sorry,” but Harry’s coming too, streaking the inside of Tom’s thigh as Ben pulls back on his hips with one hand and works the other around Harry’s cock. Harry lets Tom fall from his mouth and rolls away, breathing hard.

Tom stretches out alongside Harry, letting feeling seep back into his numb legs. He rests a hand on Harry’s chest. Okay? he wants to ask. Harry reaches a hand over his head toward Meredith, and Tom realizes she’s not there.

“That’s it for tonight.” Ben’s standing at the foot of the bed, stripping the condom off his still-stiff cock. Orgasm-drunk and still breathless, Tom can’t process the contrast between Ben’s words and his erection. As he lets his head fall toward Harry’s shoulder, he catches sight of Meredith, next to the bed, one knee resting on the mattress. It takes him a moment to connect the neat triangle of her bush with the realization that she’s shed her pajama pants.

“Take yourselves to bed, boys.” Meredith touches Harry’s shoulder. He opens his eyes, and immediately gets to his feet.

Tom’s left on the mattress alone, cold and abandoned. “What?”

“Come on.” Harry beckons to him.

“Why?” They’re all supposed to be recovering with him, piled into the bed warm and crowded and drowsy. Come back.

“Let’s go, c’mon.” Harry’s talking to him with the patient encouragement he’d use with Ruby. Tom pulls himself to his feet, confused and embarrassed. He looks to the floor for his clothes, but they’re gone.

“Got them,” Harry says, bundling shirt and shorts and sandals into Tom’s arms. He guides Tom toward the door with a hand on his bicep. Tom’s half tempted to dig in his heels like Ruby would. He looks over his shoulder. Ben’s on his back, pulling Meredith on top of him. He pushes at the hem of her tank top, and she crosses her arms to tug it over her head as his hands slide up to her breasts.

Harry reaches past him to pull the door closed, bumping Tom’s heels so he stumbles the last few inches out of the room. One of Tom’s sandals slips out of his hand. When it hits the floor, it takes him a moment to recognize the source of the thud. Harry picks it up and tucks it back under Tom’s arm. “Come on,” he says, again. His own clothes are wadded up in one hand.

Tom watches wordlessly as Harry pads down the hallway with the careful gait of the well-fucked. He’s still standing there, dazed, when Harry reaches the door to his room. He looks back at Tom. “Sleep in mine?”

Tom can’t think what else to do. He’s unsteady on his feet as he follows Harry, queasy with the hairpin turn from orgasm to eviction. In Harry’s room, he crawls gratefully under the duvet and curls onto his side. He’s still damp between the legs; he should have put on his boxers instead of mindlessly dropping them on Harry’s floor with the rest of his things. For all the motivation Tom has to get them, they might as well be in London. He stays where he is, eyes closed, trying to let his heart rate slow, while Harry cleans up in the bathroom.

He can’t believe it’s never occurred to him. Tom’s been having sex with them for weeks now, and somehow he hasn’t noticed that they never have sex with each other. Or never when he’s with them, at least. He thought they’d let him into their life, but he’s barely stood on the front porch. There are rooms and passages he’s never known existed, whole levels of intimacy he was never meant to see.

Tom thinks back, suddenly, to the first time Ben touched him. Got him off right there in the kitchen, his hands braced on the granite, exposed and wanting and desperately glad that the thing he could hardly believe was building among the three of them was finally bursting open. Meredith watched from the other side of the island with the corners of her lips tucked into a small smile. And then she’d kissed his cheek and said good night before she led Ben upstairs, sending Tom off to bed confused and elated.

He hadn’t understood then. He’s just an appetizer, a wholly optional accessory to whatever they have together. Him, and Harry? The scale in Tom head tilts back and forth, enviously weighing. What’s Harry been allowed that he hasn’t?

The light in the en suite clicks off. A moment later, Harry slides into bed. Tom watches his dim silhouette as he prods pillows into place, tucking one under his arm to sleep on top of. He sighs into it once he’s got everything arranged. The line of his body relaxes.

Tom’s never once asked Harry about the Winstons. Asking would be a concession that he cares, that it’s relevant, that Harry knows something he doesn’t. He’s never needed to know any of it badly enough that he’s been willing to ask. But it’s easier to ask questions in the dark, or else there’s finally something he can’t live without knowing. “So,” Tom starts quietly, half-hoping that Harry’s already passed out. 

“Hmmm?” Harry opens one eye, on the side of his face that’s not pressed into the pillow. 

“Has that ever happened before?” Tom asks softly in the dark. It’s too embarrassing to name it, to say out loud that he was dismissed, discarded.

Harry shifts so that his mouth’s not completely buried by the pillow. “Has what ever happened?”

Oh. A whole lot just happened. All Tom can think about is their banishment. It’s an effort to summon the memory of Harry caught between him and Ben, Harry’s forehead forced into his belly, the messy urgency of Harry’s mouth. Ben and Meredith are cheating him out of the hottest thing that ever happened to him. The latest hottest thing, at least. So many moments this summer have held that title fleetingly, barely long enough for Tom to knead at the memories before they got flattened by another night, another invitation upstairs, another pleasure he’d never even thought to fantasize about. This summer just keeps setting the bar higher. Tom sees the end approaching like a brick wall blocking a car chase in a film; no choice but to crash though full speed.

He’s got to say it now, even though Harry’s wary tone makes it harder. “Have they ever kicked you out before?”

“Oh,” Harry says, sounding relieved.

Tom remembers the sound of Ben’s hand connecting, and flushes at the realization of what Harry may have thought he was asking. “Yeah, that… not…” The last thing he wants to do is review Harry’s sexual resume.

“Um…”. Harry gives the question some thought, as if it might not have registered if Ben and Meri had cast him aside before. As if something like that wouldn’t even matter to him. “No, I don’t think so,” he says eventually, sounding unbothered.

Harry’s answer is actually the inverse of what Tom’s afraid of. If they’ve never kicked Harry out to have sex, there’s another possibility. “Have you ever seen them…”

“Sort of.” Harry laughs, sparing Tom the rest of the question. “There was one night, while I was sort of still living there, but I was supposed to be staying” – he pauses – “some place else.” Tom immediately wonders where that might be. “But I ended up coming home, and they were on the sofa…”

Tom waits, hungry for the story. Maybe this is how it started with Harry.

“I didn’t, like, see anything, but obviously I interrupted something.” Harry kicks at Tom’s ankle. “It was a little bit awkward at dinner for a few days.”

“Just, like, a roommate fuckup?” It’s so hard to picture Harry having roommates, the way Tom has roommates. Hard to imagine Harry, who takes up all the space in any room he enters, sharing space with anybody. Navigating the unspoken ways roommates pretend that there’s some semblance of privacy around everyone’s sex life. Making extra noise with the key in the lock when he comes home early; lining his bed up with a wall that doesn’t border George or Carl’s bedrooms; knowing when their class schedules will give him two hours with the flat all to himself. Tom imagines Harry and Ben and Meri arguing over who took the last of the milk and who’s going to do the dishes and who used somebody else’s bath towel to wipe up something nasty. “Not, like, with you?”

Harry’s response is puzzled. “No, why would they?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” He’s done everything with them, things he never even thought he’d want to. Why wouldn’t they let him in?

Tom rolls onto his back abruptly. He rubs at the stiffening streak on his thigh, flaking off Harry’s dried come. He can feel Harry watching him, one-eyed.

“It would be weird if they didn’t have some stuff that was just them,” Harry says after a while.

Tom stares at the ceiling silently, clinging to a position he doesn’t understand how to defend. The end of the summer seems perilously close, the brick wall filling his windscreen, no alleyways in his peripheral vision. He should have hit the brakes when he had the chance.

“I always used to get asked who my relationship role model was.” Harry’s voice is slow in the dark. “I’d always say Ben and Meredith. I like what they have. I wouldn’t want to, like, be in the middle of it.”

Relationship role models. Tom closes his eyes. He wonders if that was before or after Harry started fucking them. “That’s what you want?” 

“Sure.” Of course it is, of course that’s what Harry wants, Harry with his French girlfriend and his tongue in Meredith’s pussy, of course it is. A wife and a baby and a dog and the possibility of some dick on the side. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not me.” It’s a clipped, emphatic end to the conversation. Tom wants what Ben and Meredith have, directly, a share of their life, not some hypothetical where he builds his own castles with an unfathomable future wife. Not any kind of future with a wife.

***

Tom’s finally trapped just the way he longs to be, belly down against the mattress, breath pressed into shallow gasps. Harry moves inside him without letting his weight off Tom’s back, small rolls of his hips that keep Tom pinned down and filled up.

He didn’t know to want this but it feels so good, Harry’s body heavy and close and warm, crowding him, constraining him. Tom ignores the faint sounds of Ruby crying in the distance. Just a little longer, he’s so close, she can wait just a moment or two.

The sheet under his nose smells of soap and vanilla and a musky tang that Tom recognizes as Harry, sex with Harry. He can’t move against the mattress under Harry’s weight; pressure more than friction filling his belly with warmth. Why is the baby crying, why now of all times, why can’t she give him just one more minute?

Harry’s slowing, fading. Tom spreads his knees out over the sheet, stretching his legs open for him. Just once more would be enough, he just needs Harry to slam into him once, hold himself deep inside, finish them both. Tom strains his hips back, and doesn’t meet any resistance. Harry’s gone, dissolved, and Ruby’s lonely cries are getting more insistent.

Why is he able to hear Ruby? Tom startles awake into a defensive curl. Pleasure evaporates into sickening adrenaline. His cock throbs painfully, and Tom recognizes the small mercy: Ruby’s kept his humiliating sex dream from turning into the waking nightmare of nutting all over Harry’s sheets. 

There’s no sound from Harry’s side of the bed. Tom waits before turning toward him, hoping desperately that he’ll find him deep asleep. He’d settle for plausible fake sleep, if it signaled an intention to pretend Harry doesn’t know anything about this. 

Ruby’s still crying, muffled but unmistakable through the thin walls of the old house. He wonders why Meredith hasn’t gone to soothe her yet. Maybe it’s harder to hear from their side of the hallway. Or, he thinks bitterly, maybe she and Ben are preoccupied.

Well, it’s not his job. Not now, not in the dark of the night. Ruby’s not his to tend to until tomorrow morning. Meredith can get her.

The mean satisfaction he feels at the idea of Ruby interrupting their night, forcing Meredith to leave Ben alone in bed, is immediately replaced by guilt. He can’t root for Ruby to come between them. And now that he’s awake, he can’t just lie here and let her cry, alone in the dark, far from home. It probably wouldn’t take much to get her back down. He could sleep in the bed in her room, if she wants company. It’s the right thing to do. Ben and Meredith will be grateful, maybe, that he let them sleep.

Tom slides out of bed slowly, trying not to disturb Harry, and then realizes that Harry’s gone. His stomach falls. What if Harry heard something, saw something, while Tom was dreaming? Has he been making noises, twitching his hips against the mattress? Did Harry guess what was happening inside his head and flee the room in horror? What if he’s back in Ben and Meredith’s room, telling them how he had to take refuge from Tom’s creepiness? He almost hides back under the covers thinking about it.

But that’s not fair to Ruby. He finds his boxers and t-shirt on the floor, and takes the few steps down the dark hallway to Ruby’s room. He opens the door slowly, so as not to startle her, and the dim glow from the nursery lamp spills out to greet him. The stars and planets cast by the lamp wheel slowly around the room, drifting bright spots over the empty crib. 

Harry’s standing at the window with his back to Tom. Ruby’s in his arms, her tears slowing to whimpers as Harry sways back and forth. He’s singing something to her, too low for Tom to tell what it is over the fuzz from the white noise machine. She lets her head fall into his neck. As Tom watches, frozen, a single star from the lamp traces a bright path over Harry’s bare shoulder.

Tom backs out of the room and keeps his hand on the doorknob, letting the latch slide into place slowly and soundlessly. He leans his shoulder against the wall. He can’t get any of it out of his head, not the heavy satisfying weight of Harry from his dream, not the image of Harry tender with Ruby in the starlight.

Only the fear of being caught in the hallway forces him to propel himself back to Harry’s room. It’s like walking through quicksand. He’s stepped beyond his limits into a hazard he didn’t know was there. Now it’s pulling at his ankles, climbing up his body, dragging him into depths he never had a chance to avoid.