#not like his brother virg but still

[bonsaiiiiiii]

the picture not it, but the vibes are it

[iwaasfairy]

kenma IS a twink. but hes my twink <333

anywayss love the idea, fairyyyyy. i adore your juicy big brain

tw incest, voyeurism, dubcon, virg!kuroo can’t catch a fucking break I wanna keep writing this but it’ll have to be in a different ask

wc. 1.9k

kozume kenma x fem!reader x kuroo tetsuro

“It’s really not a big deal,” Kenma assures him again as he forces his normally blank face to show an ounce of understanding, something like a smile painted on his lips. “She won’t mind.” His long, slender fingers wrap around the door handle to push down without knocking — shoving the door to swing wide with a clean arc and reveal the slightly messy, but clean, fresh room. It isn’t obvious upon first glance that a girl lives here. At least not in the overtly girly way, a far cry from all the frilly, pink overly curated rooms he imagined being invited into when he was a teen boy in the midsts of high school.

This is the room of someone a little more grown, with books and candles and pillows with blankets stacked upon an overly thick mattress. A bed you’re sat on the edge of, scrolling through your song playlist when they barge in and your head snaps over your shoulder to make you put on a pout. “Niichan, don’t just come in! Knock first! I ask you a million times,” you snap, putting the phone down to let your gaze shift to the taller man by his side.

Kuroo’s eyes can’t help but slip down the thin camisole you’re wearing, plain undies and exposed legs as you uncross them. You’ve got the overly girly thing down in the way you lean onto one arm though, and the way your lips jutt out do something weird to the base of his skull. Tickle, send heat downward. “I could be naked, niisan.” You say it pointedly, stare at Kenma a bit longer than is necessary.

Something unspoken sits in his friend’s eyes.

After a moment, you push yourself up more to raise your eyebrows and turn your chest to face them both. And your big brother messily scratches under the tiny ponytail that’s tied in his hair, before going to sit on the other side of your bed. “Kuroo has something he wants to ask you.”

His tongue sits too fat in his own mouth. Your pretty eyes flick up to his where he still stands in the doorway, and instead of dismissing them both like he kind of expects you to, you turn around completely and put both feet out onto the bed so your toes basically brush Kenma’s thigh. Who absentmindedly strokes your shin as cat-like eyes point up. Kuroo’s always been pretty easy to get along with, talkative enough to do it for the both of them. A natural way with people, or something.

This is entirely different. Here, he’s made a spectacle, two matching gazes studying him as he tries to chuckle. He’s eyed down as he walks three big steps forward to reach the bed, and slowly lets himself sink into the plush covers too.

He wasn’t always crushing on you like he is now. You were a bit of a little tike when he was still in high school, ran too hot for proper girly clothes and liked sitting in your pjs on the couch as they gamed. It’s entirely different now that you’ve been away a few years from college and walk around the shared apartment in shirts that barely cover your ass when you make breakfast. Hickeys blooming all over your throat and collar and up your thighs that he always ends up catching a glimpse of when you bend at the waist and your skirts slide up enough to reveal the curve of your ass.

He was sure it wouldn’t bother him as much to live with a girl. It’s different for your brother. He doesn’t have to notice. To Kuroo, you’re not any girl, and the way your tits rise and fall in those stupid little things you wear is making it too hard. Him, too hard, too.

As he chews on his words trying to find the right ones, you lull your head to the side cutely.

“Come out with it already, you two perverts.” You don’t mean it judging by the mirth in your eyes, but it still makes him fluster. Can’t help himself, giving Kenma a desperate glance to please help him out. You click your tongue. “Seriously… I was just about to go to bed.”

Kenma’s thin brows furrow slightly. “You can rub your little pussy later, can’t you?”

He almost chokes on his spit. The heat burns up his neck as he watches how Kenma wraps a hand around your wrist to keep you in place, and your mouth drops open. That’s not— he wasn’t gonna— your reaction baffles him too. Instead of getting ashamed at having your sexual proclivities discussed by your brother, you only give him a little sneer, and grab his wrist back so you’re both clinging to each other. There’s a little glitter in your eyes when you pout, then get onto your knees to get a bit closer to your big brother.

Close enough to lift yourself over him and straddle his lap. “Don’t be a pervert in front of your friend, nii—chan.” You chastise, but in a soft admittance sort of way that doesn’t sound all that sorry, or apologetic. “Don’t talk about my pussy either.”

“It’s fine.” You get so close that Kenma has to let go of your arm to instead wrap both arms around the small of your waist as he gets nose to nose with you — and Kuroo admittedly struggles to process anything. Your ass is planted right on Kenma’s lap who’s only wearing some boxers, and if it was him… he can’t think too hard about if it was him because he can feel himself start to stir in his own sweats. Kenma basically brushes lips with yours, before he straightens up to pull you closer. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“You,” your breathing hitches, and now your cheeks start getting hot when Kenma moves below you, “you haven’t told me yet.” Moves- below you? Yeah, Kuroo’s sure he can see Kenma roll his hips against your barely clad body. What the fuck. “Stop doing that.” You’re whining, and looking away from them both, before Kenma casts a glance over your shoulder to watch his friend. First Kuroo, and then the way he’s very uncomfortably trying to hide his chubbing cock by planting his hand in front of it into the blankets.

“Aren’t you gonna ask her?” Kenma asks. Hands sliding lower to grip both sides of the meat of your ass, obviously squeezing his fingers into it.

“Yeah- I- I uhm,” you make an effort to look back at him, so sweet, polite, but his attention is dragged to the way your panties are pulling around the globes of your ass and he swears he can see a wet patch starting to stain your undies where they cling to your pussy. And he’s really trying so hard, “Kenma thought -Kenma thought that I should ask you if you want- or not want-” Sweat prickles at his collar, as he stares resolutely into your pretty eyes and nowhere else.

“What he meant to ask,” Kenma helps out, hiking you up a little higher to basically press his cheek to yours when he places his chin on your shoulder, “-and stop grinding for a second- he’s already noticed you’re a bit of a sex fiend. Keep having your brains fucked out and moan like a whore through the walls and it’s keeping him up.”

Your face scrunches like you’re being treated entirely unfairly, a look shooting to your brother out of the corner of your eyes— but he refuses to let you go. “What the hell, niichan… you’re such a- you’re so mean, you freak.” Your eyes go all big and teary and flustered when you catch Tetsuro’s, and the way you stare at him with a mix of embarrassment and guilt is hot too. He’s not sure what’s happening. These last five minutes have been a blur. Why are you in Kenma’s lap in the first place? “D’you just bring Kuroo here to embarrass me or what?” You ask, voice pinched.

“-That’s not it, I swear.” Kuroo quickly chants, reaches out to grab your balled hand to rub a comforting hand over it. He lets go quick enough not to be overstepping, he hopes. He wants you to like him, if anything. Wasn’t that why Kenma dragged him here? “Don’t cry, please. You know Kenma doesn’t mean it.”

Kenma looks barely bothered at your distress, but does place a quick kiss on your neck and your collarbone. “We can tell him the whole truth now, I think.”

Kuroo watches how you push yourself back against Kenma’s face with two hands and drop back into the bed, thighs spread and wet, sticky panties clinging to your folds exactly like he imagined, and it makes his cock twitch. Hard cock, annoyingly pressing against the fabric of his boxers and feeling so fucking obvious in his sweats. It doesn’t really register that well that you’re wet from rubbing yourself in your big brother’s lap, only that you look weirdly adorable sucking up your tears to grimace. “I’m not telling anyone anything.”

Kenma’s hard too. He only notices it because Kenma doesn’t make any attempt to hide the way he shifts himself up in his boxers and stares you down too, eyes lingering on the way your tits rise and fall as you breathe. “You’re cute,” he adds, before eyeing Kuroo. It’s about just as embarrassing to be caught staring by him, as how his cock twitches again at the way you mewl at the praise. What the fuck is happening? Kenma’s smile when he glances back down at you is so sickeningly sweet and genuine, trailing fingers over your panties and sliding the camisole up to reveal more marks. “Y’see, Kuroo, my little sister isn’t actually some slut. These are mine.”

The room feels much too tight for three people to fit.

“When she’s moaning like that, that’s because I’m fucking her good, like she wants. Begs for it.” You look away embarrassed, place both hands on your face as you place a foot on Kenma’s hip and push a little, and your big brother grabs your ankle to push your knee back to your chest. “Don’t get so shy. I’m right.”

“Tetsuro didn’t know that though,” he wants to melt at the way you say his name. “Don’t be so casual about it. Pervert.”

“He doesn’t care.” Kenma assures back, and Kuroo suddenly feels like he needs to prove different. He stands from the bed to stare at you both, but that’s about as far as he gets. He’s so hard, and gobsmacked, and he feels like he might pass out from the heat that’s running through him. “He came in here to ask you to fuck him too, you know. That’s why he’s hard. Got hard thinking of your little, sweet, brotherfucking pussy.” Kenma’s only adding oil to the fire when he rubs his fingers through the mess hidden by your slicked undies, and making you shudder.

Your eyes find his again, now upside down from the way you’re leaned back in bed. “You’re quiet, Tetsuro.” You’re not nearly as shocked by Kenma’s statements as he expects you to be, so it must not be new. Fuck, how long have you two been doing this? Every time he heard you mewling whispers through the wall, moaning and the bed creak, stroking his cock in a cold sweat… wishing it was him. He barely mustered up the courage to ask, when Kenma cornered him about his crush.

Your mouth’s so pretty when you form the sounds of his name. “What do you want to do, Tetsuro?”

[gumnut-logic]

Water ran down the glass windows.

The thing was that it wasn’t raining, it was just all condensation caused by horribly hot weather and their sudden lack of air conditioning.

“I don’t know if I can take this anymore.” Alan flopped dramatically on the lounge.

Gordon rolled his eyes. “You could go down to the hangars. It’s much cooler down there.”

“No way. Virgil and Brains would snag me to help them and I barely have enough energy to breeeeathe.”

“A bit dramatic there, little bro. Go for a swim. We have an entire pool and Pacific Ocean.”

“Pool’s in the sun and the ocean is full of things that want to eat me. You’ve proven that multiple times.”

Gordon groaned. “Fine. Sit your lazy ass there. I”m going to go find Virgil to see if he needs any help.”

“He’s cool. Got Brains and Scott as his slaves.” A pause. “Maybe I’ll go keep John company.”

Gordon dismissed him with a hand as he strode from the room.

The villa was not itself today. The entire air conditioning network had burnt out, plunging the house into relying on the weather. Which was failing them miserably. Due to the effects of climate change sometimes the tropics weren’t as fun as they could be and today was one of those. Gordon’s shirt was soaked with sweat.

He knew where he would find Virgil and his work crew. When they had initially split up - Gordon to take Grandma down to Aotearoa and Virgil to tackle the issue at its root – his brother had already been grumbling.

The profanity from the control room was not a good sign.

They had a massive network of temperature control mechanisms on the Island. If one thing was an identifier of a civilisation, it was its ability to manipulate temperature. Tracy Island needed all the controls. Habitability was only a small part of the equation. Heat controls for launching Thunderbirds was a major thing, airflow to the hangars and more hidden areas of the complex was another. And somehow all of them were down for the count.

The hangars were definitely warmer than usual - more to do with residual heat from machinery and humidity than the sunny 38C day outside.

He ran into Scott in the main doorway. His expression wasn’t a good one, but it lit up at the sight of Gordon.

“Grandma, okay?”

“Set her up in the house. She’s stress baking.”

“Oh.” There was so much to be said after that statement. “I can see why you didn’t stay.”

Gordon shrugged and grinned. “What can I say? I’m a survivor.” He peered into the room. “How’s Virg?”

Scott sighed. “Not happy. Still hasn’t found the source of the problem. Not even backups are behaving. Has to be systemic. But first step is to get minimal service running so we can launch. Brains is working on it.”

Gordon stared at his brother. Launching One or Three without heat dissipation was very much not a good idea. Two, they could get away with. There was a reason she didn’t launch inside the facility like the rest of them. She was the safety factor.

But without One and Three their ability to respond to a situation was not great.

But a sudden crash and yelp inside the room had both brothers moving, all other thought discarded.

They entered to chaos. Virgil was huddled on the other side of the room, a bright and raw arc of electricity bouncing from point to point in front of him. The lights had blown and the only illumination was the eerie blue white lightning.

“Virgil!”

Electricity danced around the room.

Scott’s arm held Gordon back.

“Thunderbird Five, kill all the power on the Island!”

John didn’t say a word, the command in Scott’s voice requiring immediate action.

Everything fell into darkness.

John’s voice was eerily calm in the sudden silence. “All switches thrown. All generators disconnected from the grid and winding down.”

Smoke and ozone tangled in Gordon’s nostrils. “Virgil?” Down here it really was pitch black when the lighting was out.

Beside him Scott was scrambling around in the darkness, likely looking for the emergency kit in this room. That covered, Gordon was going for Virgil. “Virgil? Answer me.”

The groan that answered him was wonderful.

The room was suddenly flooded with light and Gordon jumped, for a split second fearing the lightning had come back. But Scott had found the kit and the torch inside it.

They both beelined for Virgil who was still on the floor.

“Virgil, talk to me.”

Their brother turned his head to look up at them, and Gordon was convinced Scott could make anything happen just by issuing a command.

But Virgil didn’t speak. He opened his mouth but then looked back down at his hands.

Gordon’s eyes followed.

Oh, hell.

Scott was already moving, the emergency kit in his hands opening as he dropped down beside their brother. The torch was handed to Gordon and the mediscanner lit up the room.

Moments later, Scott was spraying burn foam all over Virgil’s hands.

Scott caught him as he slid sideways into his arms, his relief a physical thing.

“Thank you.” It was rough and more breath than voice. “‘xploded in my face. Wasn’t supposed to be live.” Virgil groaned and dropped his head against Scott’s shoulder.

A pair of lights bobbed into the room revealing Brains with Alan panting beside him. “What happened?” His eyes widened when he saw Virgil.

“Brains, don’t touch it. Keep away.” Virgil flopped one injured hand as if to swipe the engineer away from the console, but flinched. Scott caught his wrist and gently brought it back together with the other injured limb. “C’mon, let’s get you up to the infirmary.”

Gordon jumped in to help get his big brother of the floor.

Virgil’s groan hurt.

But they got him up and moving.

Unfortunately, the infirmary was quite a distance without the elevator network.

Behind them he could hear Brains talking with John a mile a minute. No doubt they would work out exactly what happened.

Alan was hovering behind him.

“Allie, go get a hoverchair.” Gordon didn’t need to repeat himself. No doubt his little brother was just happy to do something.

Helping Virgil out into the main hangars brought them all into the natural light from the massive skylight high up in the cavern. His brother straightened a little more as if he was a plant or something. “It wasn’t supposed to be live.”

“Don’t worry about that now, Virg. Brains will work out what happened.”

“No, you’re not getting it. My hands were on the console, not inside it.”

Scott stared at Virgil a moment. “Noted. John and Brains have it in hand.”

Virgil shook his head as if in denial, but groaned and closed his eyes.

Gordon gripped him a little tighter, his fingers fisting in flannel as his brother wavered. “They’ll work it out. You need treatment and rest.”

The swear word Virgil hissed was ever so appropriate.

-o-o-o-

[tagsecretsanta]

From @littleoldrachel

From @littleoldrachel to @sofasurf

Let your heart be light

“I just don’t understand why you leave it to the last minute every year, Allie.”

Alan’s bedroom is an explosion of wrapping paper in a garish glitter snowman print. Every attempt to manoeuvre it has only cascaded silver glitter into every crevice of the fluffy carpet—or worse, burrowed into Alan’s palms, no matter how many times he’s scrubbed them. Strings of gold ribbon, webs of sticky tape, and an assortment of gifts lie tangled at the centre of the mess, with at least four pairs of open scissors perfectly positioned to do some damage. 

The paper he’d thought was so cute when he ordered it online is now haunting him—most disturbing were the trails of glitter that swilled around his shower water earlier. (He also doubts that it fills his rescuees with reassurance when he leaves sparkly handprints on them as he lifts them out of whatever horrifying situation they’ve found themselves in. Although… the little girl who’d asked him very earnestly if he was a fairy since he was leaving such a shimmery trail made the whole thing rather more cute than annoying.)

Still, curse Gordon for encouraging Alan's poor wrapping paper decisions. 

“Please, Scott,” Alan wheedles. He hesitates, then pulls out the big guns and widens his eyes to pouting proportions. “I'll never get this done in time without you.”

Scott rolls his eyes, but he does inch forward from where he's leaned against the door jamb, his crossed arms loosening slightly. 

“It's ten to midnight. Christmas Day is literally minutes away, Allie,” Scott says, and Alan can tell he's trying to channel Commander Tracy—if only he could contain his fond smirk. 

“It'll be faster if we work together!” Alan blinks slowly and deliberately, puppy-dog eyes unwavering. 

“Quit trying to be cute.” 

“It's a lost cause!” Gordon's voice calls out from the hallway, and Alan is so intent on flinging himself across the room to hide the squid's present from view that he doesn't even have the time to be indignant. 

Scott frowns and turns. “Why aren't you in bed?”

Gordon's unruly mop of golden curls appears in the gap. “The mother-henning again, Scotty? Really?”

Scott ignores this. “You're usually first in bed on Christmas. I remember this because you were always the first one to come bounding into my room at four in the morning, shrieking about what Satan had brought you.”

“Satan?” Alan yelps.

“Hey, dyslexia is a cruel mistress!” Gordon scowls. “I liked it better when we were making fun of Allie-”

“I didn't-”

“But if you must know, I was checking on Virg.”

Scott straightens at once, every bit the soldier he once was. (Alan sort of hates it, if he's honest; it feels painful how easily the Commander comes out, even in the one place they are supposed to get to be soft and safe.)

“What's wrong with Virgil?”

“Stand down, soldier.” Gordon yawns so hard his jaw crackles. “Virg is fine. He took a few knocks on this afternoon's rescue, and I just wanted to check he wasn't doing his usual stoic thing.”

Scott frowns. “He didn't mention that in the debrief-”

“Virg hiding injuries? Gee, I wonder where he learned that,” Gordon says dryly, and Alan snorts. “He's fine, Scott. Just bruised and cranky.”

“I'll check in on him in a bit,” Scott says, more to himself than anyone else, and Gordon shoots Alan an exasperated eye roll that has him grinning. Then, Gordon's eyes rove over the disaster site that is Alan's room, and his eyes widen. It's a mark of how tired he must be that he doesn't even quip, just slowly backs away from the mess. “On that note, g’night!” 

Alan waits till Gordon's door has closed before he clambers up off Gordon's gift: a truly hideous Christmas jumper decorated with a Santa Claus riding a flamingo float. 

Alan's gifts to his brothers are always the most heinous jumpers he can find - after all, what on earth do you give a family made up of billionaires? - and the public loves the annual auction of the jumpers as part of the Tracy family charity drive. He's pretty proud of himself for this year's effort. 

“The sooner you help me, the sooner you can go and bother Virg,” Alan says sweetly, holding up the scissors to Scott. 

Scott lets out a put-upon sigh, but he's never been able to resist his littlest brother – as Alan well knows – and he takes the scissors reluctantly. 

“Fine, but I'm tagging you in on helping Grandma with the lunch tomorrow.”

Alan pulls a face. He adores his grandmother with his whole heart and soul, and yet her incompetency in the kitchen is nothing short of deadly. Still, if it means an end to the scratchiness of glitter on his skin, he'll go for it. 

“Deal.”

*

Twenty minutes later and faced with a wrapped jumper that looks more like a piece of crumpled trash than a gift, Alan is regretting his recruitment choices. They’d massively underestimated the size of the paper they would need and had been forced to attach another sheet at a strange angle to cover the gift, leaving the snowmen oddly distorted.

“I thought you'd be good at this,” he says despairingly, poking at where the wrapping paper has bunched and torn. “Isn't the army big on neatness?”

Scott slaps his hand away. “You're making it worse! I'm just out of practice.” He has glitter smeared in his eyebrows from his constant head-in-hands-exasperation, and it's the kind of ridiculousness that pours warmth into his chest; they may all be public figures, and they may have had their grief made an aching, public thing, but only Alan and his brothers get to witness Scott Tracy being silly. 

“Scotty, you have five siblings; how can you possibly be out of practice?”

There's an awkward pause as Alan tries – to no avail – to fold down the corners of the lumpy package. When it finally clicks that Scott hasn't come back with a witty retort (and Alan's tired, okay? Three back-to-back rescues and his brain has turned to soup), Alan looks up sharply. 

“I usually get Virg to do mine,” Scott admits grudgingly, and Alan gapes. “He likes it!” Scott adds defensively, shuffling his stance in a very un-Scott-like move. “Says he finds it ‘mindful’ or whatever.”

“Great! Then I'll ask him to do mine!” Alan scoops up an armful of crumpled wrapping paper and tangled ribbon, making to stand. 

Scott laughs. “Not so fast, kiddo. Virg may or may not be injured—and even if he weren't, he has a strict deadline for wrapping applications.”

Alan's mouth moves silently, trying to catch up. “How long has this been going on?”

“About… five years?” Scott scrunches his nose. “Maybe longer?”

“And why am I only hearing about it now?”

Scott shrugs. “It didn’t start as a whole thing; I was getting more and more stressed about not being ready for Christmas with all the Tracy Industry stuff, and it was when he was following me around like a shadow because he was worried, and then he just helped… and kept helping.” Scott shifts his weight again and places the next jumper – John’s – in the centre of a fresh sheet of paper. “And then Gordon cottoned on, and–"

“What?!” Alan’s outrage is like the sharp sting of a torn-off scab. “Gordon knows and he didn’t tell me?”

Scott blinks at him. “We all know, Allie. John found out… somehow, because he’s John. Kayo walked in on Virg wrapping all her birthday presents. Didn't you always wonder why the presents we give Virg are wrapped like shit, and ours belong in a gallery?”

“I can't believe there's been an underground present-wrapping operation this whole time.”

Scott grins and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out, Mr Built-A-Damn-Rocket-At-Twenty-Years-Old.” He’s folding the paper around the jumper more carefully this time, creasing sharp folds instead of simply rolling it. “Hold,” he says, and Alan obediently presses his hand over where the paper meets. Scott places a tiny square of tape over the join, and Alan frowns.

“We’re going to need more than that, Scotty. You know we can afford more tape if we run out?”

“Do you want my help or not?” Scott says, elbowing him. He does grudgingly place another piece alongside it, though.

There’s a brief lull between them as they focus their efforts on the present, which is looking considerably less Frankenstein’s monster-like than their first attempt, even if they have reams of paper left over.

“You’re right, though, I did use to be better at this,” Scott says quietly. “Someone had to be after mom—well… let’s just say that dad wasn’t exactly great at being there to pick up this kind of thing.”

Alan’s heart clenches, the familiar wounded creature that it is. Scott rarely talks about the time after mom’s death—and usually, only in relation to the impact it had on Virgil (an all-consuming, terrifying depression) and John (vicious intrusive thoughts and anxiety). He and Gordon had been too young to remember things being any different, but with the benefit of hindsight, Alan can recognise how tough it must have been. It’s uncommon for Scott to talk about what that was like for him: the lynchpin to bind them together with too young hands for such a burden. Alan feels a little like he’s handling a frightened animal in the face of Scott’s pain, but he makes an interested noise in his throat, allowing Scott to shift his hands wherever he’s needed.

“It was rough, sometimes,” Scott allows. His voice is soft and his expression distant. “I didn’t want you and Gords and Johnnie to miss out on any of the Christmas build-up stuff – and Grandma tried to be there – but I was only a teenager. Sometimes, even now when I’m wrapping gifts, I can feel that stressed boy, juggling nativity plays and gifts for teachers and Christmas jumper days–" He cuts himself off sharply. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear all this.”

“I do,” Alan says, and the desperation bleeds into his tone more than he wishes. “I do want to hear it—I’m… I’m sorry we didn’t realise how much it was for you to manage.”

“You were four, Allie, I didn’t want you to realise.”

“Still.” His arms tingle with the urge to fling them around his oldest brother, to brush his thumbs under the eyebag-crevices he’s too young to have, to smooth the crinkle of his brow. Instead, he stares down at the paper beneath his hands and swallows.  “I wish you talked about it more.”

Scott pauses, fingers hovering over where he’s poised to place the final strip of tape. “I’m trying to. Virg tells me I shouldn’t keep it all bottled up.”

“Yeah well. He’s pretty smart, you know?”

Scott laughs, and the movement softens his forehead and creases the lines around his mouth. It’s lovely. It’s as it should be. “I know.” He sits back on his haunches and the two of them survey their handiwork.

It’s a great improvement on their first attempt, even if all the extra paper ended up bunched and bulky around the edges. Scott ties a ribbon around it lengthways, and Alan slaps on a sparkly bow.

“I think we nailed it,” Scott says, eyes twinkling.

The bow promptly falls off the parcel.

Alan scowls, reattaching it more forcefully—enough that he feels the centre of it click and then a horrid, tinny version of Jingle Bells starts playing. Alan and Scott stare at it in horror as a children’s choir begins yowling over the top of the music, and Alan reaches out to try and stop the caterwauling.

“No!” Scott seizes his wrist, eyes wide. “Don’t make it start again!”

As the final line rings out, the bow plops off the parcel again and Scott’s eyes narrow. “It’s fucking with us.”

“Language!” Alan says gleefully, and Scott nudges him.

“It’s cursed, Allie, I’m telling you—”

“Don’t be silly.” He applies featherlight pressure to the bow this time, but as his hand moves away, the song starts up again. “I didn’t even press it!”

The music plays through once… and then immediately starts up again.

Scott and Alan exchange a look, and then the corner of Scott’s mouth twitches and it’s enough. Alan bursts out laughing – loud, hysterical sounds that frankly improve the awful music – with Scott close behind him. The music chunters on cheerfully in the background, but Alan is warm with sheer delight at the expression on Scott’s face, the way he’s bent double with the force of his laughter, how light he seems for the first time in months.

“You’re right – it’s haunted,” Alan manages, which only sets Scott off again. In the background, the song stutters on way-ay-ay-ay-ay, like some crazy club remix.

“Why – did you get – singing ones?” Scott wheezes through laughter, and all Alan can do is shake his head.

Eventually, as the music grows tinnier and tinnier, Scott staggers up and flings the cursed decoration through Alan’s balcony doors, until it lands with a plop in the pool. He turns back to Alan, grinning so wide and wild that Alan feels giddy all over again.

Seeing his brothers happy fills his heart to the brim, but seeing Scott happy—it’s molten gold flowing into every last crack and chip in his chest, leaving him warm and light and whole. He wants to capture this moment in a glass jar and hold it close on his darkest nights. He wants to lock away this memory and protect it against the future versions of Scott who will be stern and burnt out and beaten down. He just wants Scott to be happy.

It’s an impossible dream. Or at least, an impossible consistent dream; after all, Scott has surely the most stressful job in the world and sends his brothers out into the field every single day without being able to know for sure that they will return. He plays both mother and father, presents the perfect CEO, offers the ideal PR needed—it’s too much for anyone to hold and be happy. Scott is the first to admit that there are always people they can’t save, always situations they can’t control, and always moments that are missed (even if his hypocritical arse won’t accept that itself).

But Alan can start with this—with Christmas. With family and presents and ridiculous wrapping paper. And maybe – maybe – it will be enough for now.

*

BANG!

Alan jolts awake so fast that black spots burst in his vision as he sits up. Scott is already on his feet beside him, ever the soldier, tiredness cast off like a cloak.

“Whoops.” Their grandma’s voice floats up to them, and the brothers exchange a look before Scott offers a hand to Alan.

“My money’s on a cooking disaster,” Scott says conspiratorially, and Alan sort of hates him for being so awake at this moment.

Alan groans as he accepts the proffered hand, his own free hand rubbing at his aching neck. The two of them had finally fallen asleep around two in the morning, slumping into a messy pile surrounded by wrapping paper and decorations. Alan feels considerably worse for wear as he rubs glitter from his eyelashes, but he allows Scott to pull him from the room in the direction of their grandma’s mumbled cursing.

“What time is it?” he yawns, wincing as his thumb hits a particularly sore knot in his neck.

Scott casts him a pitying look. “You’re too young to be aching like this, Allie.”

“Yeah, Allie. Spare a thought for the old man over here,” Gordon’s voice is gleeful as he slings an arm over Alan’s shoulder and nods at Scott. “And it’s just gone eight.”

Scott flips Gordon off over his shoulder, which only makes Gordon grin wider still. He’s just in swimming trunks and still drips pool water across the corridor, skin cool against Alan’s sleep-sensitive arms.

Their smiles fade as they round the corner to the kitchen, where they see Grandma staring helplessly at the oven – a scary enough prospect on its own – from which black smoke is pouring. The glass has shattered inwards, and a thick, acrid stench fills the air. The three boys freeze for a fraction of a second before Scott and Gordon leap into action, flinging open the oven door and yanking out a charred and blackened unidentifiable mess.

Grandma blinks in confusion. “I was just preheating the oven for the turkey,” she says. “What’s my Christmas cake doing in there?”

Gordon widens his eyes at Alan from behind Grandma’s back, his message clear: DO NOT SPILL THE BEANS. Alan does his best to blink innocently back at Grandma—to pretend that he and Gordon didn’t hide it in the oven earlier this week to avoid having to eat any and risk their stomach linings.

“Well?” Grandma turns to look at Gordon, who quickly schools his features into something bewildered. “Care to explain?”

Thankfully, Virgil chooses that moment to stumble into the kitchen, beelining for the coffee machine. He stabs blearily at the buttons before Scott takes pity and sorts his espresso. Virgil blinks dopily at Scott in response, patting his head tiredly and slinking over to the island stools.

“Morning, Virg,” Gordon says brightly, and Virg grunts something in response.

“I’m very well, thank you so much for asking. And a merry Christmas to you, too!” Gordon continues, and Alan sees Scott bite back a smile.

“What happened to the oven?!” John joins them, pale and sleepy-looking but far more awake than his older brother.

“Someone ruined my Christmas cake—and now the oven is broken!” Grandma says, and her gaze flits to the turkey sitting on the side, ready to be roasted.

Alan frowns. “But how will we roast the turkey now?”

There’s an awkward pause. “Are you sure it’s broken?” Scott asks, crouching to examine the nobs and dials. He twists a few experimentally, and the oven belches out an almighty groan of more black smoke. “Okay! Message received!”

Scott stands and glances over at Virgil. “Virg, can you take a look at it?”

Virgil shoots Scott a look over the rim of his mug. “You want me to glass-blow a new oven door?” Alan had forgotten how sarky early morning Virgil can be and he loves it.

“Virg.”

Virgil downs the remainder of his piping hot coffee and stands. It takes him all of two seconds to declare the oven out of action: “It needs at least three replacement parts, even if the door were reparable,” he tells them, the wonders of coffee returning a sharp precision to his tone. “I can make a version of those parts, but it’ll take too long for today.”

“What are we going to do?!” Alan yelps, flushing as everyone turns to look at him.

“We could… have a barbecue?” Gordon suggests, squinting at the prepared turkey. “We could slice it into strips, set up on the beach…”

Scott snaps his fingers at Gordon, smiling wide. “Yes! Great plan—”

“What can I say? Here to save Christmas,” Gordon smirks, grin only widening when his brothers roll their eyes in unison.

*

Several hours later, they have hauled the barbecue down onto a quiet strip of beach, with Brains and Virgil talking quietly as they man the barbecue and bicker about the most effective use of space on the grill. Almost everyone else, bar M.A.X and Grandma (who are lounging on blankets on the sand), has been recruited for a game of chicken fight, with the added challenge of battling the current of the tide as it sweeps in and out.

From atop Kayo’s shoulders, Alan takes out John with ease, grinning as his brother falls off Scott like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Grub’s up!” Virgil yells, and the four of them scatter, hurrying towards the shore. Alan can’t help the bubble of laughter that escapes him as Kayo and Scott become entangled and flop together in the foamy edge of the water.

By the time the two of them are back on dry land, everyone else is tucking into their Christmas lunch, appreciative hums echoing across the group.

“There’s sand in my turkey,” John says with a frown, and Scott laughs.

“Better that than Grandma’s special stuffing recipe. Nearly cracked my tooth with that a while ago.”

John rolls his eyes, but obediently chomps down on the sandy turkey sandwich. He’s a little paler and thinner than his brothers like him to be, but his smile is bright and lovely even through a mouthful of chewed bread and meat.

By nine, the sun has begun to creep towards its bedtime, pouring pink and gold across the sky in a beautiful cascade of colours. The smell of barbecued meat blends with the salty sea air, undercut with the coconutty scent of John’s suncream.  

The Tracy family shows no such sign of calling their celebration to an end—Gordon and Scott have roped Kayo and M.A.X into a game of volleyball, with the little robot strangely nimble across the loose sand, whilst John, Brains and Grandma alternate between roasting marshmallows and playing increasingly competitive card games.

It’s nothing like the Christmases Alan grew up watching in movies and on TV, nor is it like the ones his schoolfriends used to wax lyrical about.

Somehow, it’s even better.

(Alan thinks that has a lot to do with how loud Gordon’s laughter booms across the beach, how bright Scott’s smile is, and John’s playful smirk that only ever comes out around those he’s truly comfortable with.)

And yet, despite how pleasantly full he feels and how much happiness sings in the air, there’s a weight on his chest that he cannot shift. It prickles with wrongness in the face of so much joy, and Alan feels like he’s dragging their celebrations towards misery as he sits by himself and gazes out at the ocean.

At that moment, as if he can sense Alan’s rising distress (and perhaps he can; Virg has always been weirdly perceptive about these things), Virgil plops down beside Alan and offers him a soft smile. “You good, Allie?”

Alan nods, then leans his head against Virgil’s shoulder, allowing his older brother to tuck him tighter into his side. All his brothers hug differently, but none of them truly envelop him as Virgil does. “Just thinking.”

“Warned you about that,” Virgil murmurs and Alan can hear the smile in his voice even though he can’t see it. His hand comes up to the back of Alan’s neck, and he begins massaging out the knotty tension in Alan’s neck. The relief trickles warm and grateful down Alan’s spine and he sags further into his brother, trusting and knowing that he will be held.

“I wish it could always be like this,” Alan says after a beat or two.

Virgil pauses. “Like this?”

“Like…” Alan waves a hand. “I wish Scott could always be this relaxed. And John could always be here. And we could always be this happy.” A sharp longing ache lodges in his throat, and he has to fight to get the next words out without it catching. “I wish we didn’t have to give up so much to have these moments.”

Virgil is silent for a long time, his grip tighter around Alan. “Me too,” he says at last, and it’s so un-Virgil-like to admit something even vaguely selfish that Alan would pull away to stare at him if he weren’t so damned comfortable. “But Allie—I think that’s also what makes these moments so, so precious. That we know what it is not to have them. That we know what they cost.”

“That doesn’t feel fair,” Alan says, hating the petulance in his own voice.

If Virgil were replaced by Gordon, there would be a quip about life’s not fair and a joke to distract him from the ache of it. Scott would be frantic to try and fix it, and John’s analytical mind would identify all the illogical and untrue aspects of that statement.

Virgil just holds him impossibly tighter still and meets him with an empathy Alan didn’t know he needed. “I know.”

Virgil holds him together as the aching grief of all that has been lost – all that continues to be sacrificed, and all the moments to be missed in the future – spreads and crashes over Alan—

Then all at once, the grief ebbs away like the tide retreating.

Virgil presses a kiss to Alan’s crown. “You good. Allie?” His voice is soft and warm, and Alan knows that he’ll stay as long as Alan needs him to—that he doesn’t even have to ask.

This is what makes it easier for him to nod and mean it this time.

“Want a marshmallow?”

Alan hesitates and nods, allowing Virgil to pull him up and tug him back towards the makeshift campfire. Scott, Kayo, Gordon and M.A.X have abandoned their game at last, and have squished themselves around the fire too, though they shuffle over to allow room for Virgil and Alan to squeeze in beside Scott.

“Alright?” Scott murmurs to Alan, and Alan nods. The prickling fades, tucked between his two oldest brothers, across from the jokey antics and quiet intelligence of his other two brothers, beneath the protective gaze of his sister and grandmother—and under the twinkling light of his mom’s star. He’s so damned lucky, despite it all, to be so loved like this.

“Happy Christmas,” he says softly, and Scott smiles.

“Happy Christmas, Allie.” He ruffles Alan’s hair and Alan laughs.

Christmas may not look the way he thought it would be growing up, and it may be a long time before they get to be together like this again. Another Christmas may be full of injuries or loss, and it may feel harder still to rise above the weight of their collective grief.

But Alan vows that he will do everything in his power to keep giving them Christmases like this, full of light and laughter and love.

For this Christmas is theirs and Alan will hold it tight and precious against his heart.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 31 - Review

Happy Birthday Virgil 💚 I didn’t get you a present but I finally got you and your brother back on the path to Best Brodom. Just, um, bear in mind it’s just the start of the journey and maybe don’t read the last paragraph until tomorrow?

I hope this is ok, I have agonised because this chapter contains Virg headcanon that is dear to me and I just hope I did it (and his inner voice) justice. It’s probably too long but… well… here it is. Thanks to @sofasurf and @astranite for the encouragement / chivvying / poking with stick to just get this done and out there.

Story so far

They had to start somewhere… literally at the top is as good a place as any, right?

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“You’ve dyed it! You’ve dyed your hair!”

Scott blushed and his hand returned to his forehead, as if to hide the evidence.

“Uh, yeah… thought I might give it a go…” he cleared his throat awkwardly “I couldn’t find exactly the right colour it was kind of hard to tell on the website… who knew there were so many types of brown, huh?” He paused and grabbed a dishcloth to rub irritably at the gel residue on his fingers before glancing over at his brother. “I mean, obviously YOU would.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. Scott wasn’t kidding, the former greys were a much redder shade of brown than the rest and on close inspection looked a little… odd… but he wasn’t about to make his brother even more self-conscious by pointing it out. He picked up his coffee with both hands and took a long sip to buy himself some time to work out what to say.

“You don’t approve?” The chuckle was more than a little forced.

“You don’t need my approval, Scott. I’m just… surprised, I guess? You’d always swore you’d never dye it. Didn’t you say you’d earned every last one of them and had nothing to be ashamed of?”

His brother snatched up his own coffee and feigned a sudden interest in the view from the window.

“Is no big deal… you were bothered by it so I just sorted it out.”

“I was bothered by it?”

“Uh, yeah. When… the other day when you were really… err…” Scott cleared his throat “… upset, you said so and I figured maybe you were worried I was getting old or… or maybe I was looking too much like… uh, well…”

“I complained… about your hair?” Virgil was baffled. The silver streaks were the subject of much banter in the Tracy household but for a long while had been a part of who Scott was. While in theory Virgil might have said almost anything in his state of confusion, he had still been himself even while his perception of the world around him had been faulty. He just couldn’t imagine being negative about a feature he’d always felt rather affectionately for.

“Well, not in so many words but…”

“Can you remember my exact words?” Virgil knew full well that if Scott had been worrying about this enough to break his avowed hair dye abstention he’d have gone over what had been said again and again and again. And then probably again just for good measure. Sure enough, the response was immediate:

“You said you didn’t want me to be grey. And then you literally begged me not to go grey. So I decided not to. It’s not a big deal.”

Virgil closed his eyes.

Ah.

Sometimes it would be handy to see the world in the simpler, more solid way other people did, as if everything was a hollow photograph existing in straightforward three-dimensional space. He’d never choose to live life without the full range of his sensory experiences and feelings overlaid in glorious technicolour… but he learned very quickly other people, even artists, did not see the same and thus he tended to avoid any accidental references to it.

Obviously he was less careful when he was out of his mind.

He suppressed the sigh and took a measured breath.

Virgil opened his eyes to see his brother had already drained his coffee and was almost vibrating with the effort of maintaining his fake casual stance leaning on the kitchen island. He’d have expected pacing by now except that this was his big brother’s way of showing that not only did he want to hear his brother out, he wanted to reassure Virgil he was, definitely, listening.

He grabbed Scott’s hand which was discharging some of the discomfort via quiet but incessant tapping on the work-surface and interlaced their fingers. The relentless movement continued more softly and for a moment Virgil allowed himself time to notice the vibrations travelling through his knuckles and up his arm and for his mind to quietly acknowledge the subtle shift in rhythm from need-to-explode to need-to-connect. He mirrored it back and Scott squeezed his fingers in response.

“Let’s walk for a bit?”

Virgil knew it was the right call even before the relief flooded Scott’s face and he made a beeline for the door.

They made their way down on to the deck and then up the stone staircase via the roundhouse and took the path towards the caldera.

“I didn’t mean your hair, Scooter.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I don’t think so. I reckon I can explain but you’ll need to give me a minute and try not to be too… literal about it?”

“I can do that.”

“Right.” The path narrowed and demanded single file. Virgil gestured for Scott to lead the way and smiled wryly to himself as the steep incline accentuated the slight height difference between them to the extent that his current view of his brother was very much the waist region. Nevertheless, he could see from the slightly uneven movement of his hips that the leggier man was moderating his stride so as not to get too far ahead to hear.

Ha, he was so familiar with his brother’s body language he could even read his…

“So…?”

Oops.

“Sorry, got lost in my own head there.”

“It’s not a problem.” Scott’s hurried response betrayed his even-worse-than-usual anxiety for a brother and Virgil really needed to fix that asap. But first he needed to sort out the immediate confusion.

“Ok… you know I see a lot more things in colour than most people do?”

“Two makes forest green noise and One makes gold and light blue.” Scott immediately confirmed and Virgil experienced a little rush of warmth at the thought his big brother had felt the detail important enough to commit to memory.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s the kind of thing. Well it isn’t just sound it’s… everything? Smell, taste, heat… and err… kind of… mood? Not exactly mood… um... The way people are? Their personalities, almost?” Virgil faltered a little, desperately searching for better words to form a neat box around the web of overlapping sensations in his head, but it felt much like the time he’d tried to explain to Alan why magenta made his teeth fizz. Some things just… were. Maybe if he tried to tie it to something easier to pin down:

“Ok, maybe the best way I can explain is - you know it was me that picked the colours of the birds? Well, One, Two and Four anyway…”

“I didn’t!” Scott was evidently curious “I never thought to wonder who did.”

“Well, it was me. Mostly. Well a bit. Brains was going to have them all in silver and I suggested that some form of colour coding might be a plan, for easier recognition compared with other organisations’ ships and machinery and bright colours are a more friendly sight for scared rescuees, you know?” Virgil paused to use his breath to navigate a particularly steep part of the track. Scott, possibly misinterpreting the pause for uncertainty sent encouragement over his shoulder: “Makes sense to me. Our public face needs to be unthreatening.”

“Yeah, exactly and in that time just after the… um, well it needed to be clear they weren’t military ships…” there was a grunt of agreement from in front. “It took a while to decide which would be which colour. For Three Dad picked red because in little Allie’s mind rockets were always red and it was his way of reaching out to the little guy I guess. But it’s not right really, Alan is light blues and bright purple. And of course One should have been primarily Cerulean to contrast with the Maya Blue but he wanted silver to represent speed and so… we had to compromise on her design but I did win with Four because he thought she should be orange, like a life buoy, you know? But I said no - Gordon’s bird couldn’t possibly be anything other than sunshine yellow. John picked his own so I didn’t get involved there but…”

“Virg, you’re losing me a little. Alan is… blue and purple?”

“Light blue. Bright purple. When he’s cheerful, yes. He gets steely blue when he’s angry same as you.”

“So we all have a colour?”

“Yeah. Well, a palette of them. Kind of. It’s… I’m sorry it’s the best way I have of describing the presence you have. Words can be a bit limiting sometimes.”

“Maybe you should try painting it?” Scott‘s voice lifted a little and he was looking at him intently. “I’d like to see us the way you do.”

They had finally reached the top of the volcano and stood together admiring the view to the east. A vigorous breeze, sharpened by the bright metallic tang of salt, dried the moisture from Virgil’s lips and he pressed them together with a doubtful hum.

“I’ve tried before and it didn’t really…” the glimmer of eagerness dulled and Virgil hurriedly sought to breathe life back into it “but I guess I could give it another go?”

His big brother smiled and lit up again for a moment before the cloud crossed back over his face and his eyes dropped from Virgil’s.

“And I’m… grey, then?”

“No! Not usually! You’ve always been blue, like the sky… there are so many shades of it, with hints of yellow or gold…”

“There’s a but coming, I can feel it.”

Virgil grabbed Scott’s hand again as if to reassure himself his brother wouldn’t float away before he managed to express this.

“Sometimes it’s like you fade a little.”

“I fade?”

“You try to be a lot of things, Scotty and it’s admirable, it really is, and you do it so well but sometimes I worry there isn’t enough of you left to be you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re blue when you laugh at your own jokes, or smotherhen us and make a leaning tower of pancake… when you beat Gordy at his own prank game or act all melodramatic when you’re smuggling in the sweets Grandma doesn’t approve of. When someone says pie and your eyes gleam and when you randomly recite Shakespeare inaccurately and out of context or run up the stairs for no reason and surprise hug Allie… those times you’re a rainbow of blues. In the field when you’re problem solving at the speed of light and oh! That time you flew Shadow just for fun you came back shining so brightly…”

Yet again at the mention of Shadow, Scott had startled but recovered quickly and deflected:

“My Shakespeare is always in context.”

“Sure it is, Scott. And it’s very YOU.”

A flicker of resolve hardened his brother’s expression and Virgil was suddenly terrified as to how his clumsy explanation could have been interpreted by someone who was already chronically shackled to the ‘brave face’ impulse…

“But Scott, listen to me, this is important.”

He waited until his brother dropped his eyes from the horizon and met his own.

“I’m not saying it’s just when you are happy, you know? When you’re worried or angry or even sick or even… no, especially when you let yourself be vulnerable for one damn second, you’re you then too.”

“Then…” Scott sagged a little and an edge of indigo desperation coloured his voice “I don’t understand what the grey thing is meant to mean!”

“The grey thing… I guess it’s how my brain interprets the way I sometimes miss you when you are right in front of me. When you get hidden by everything else you think you are supposed to be. You lead so naturally, you do it without even trying but sometimes… sometimes you put on that damn grey baldric and it smothers you.”

“But the baldric is silver. My baldric is silver to match One!”

“It used to be blue though. Blue to match you.”

“Oh. And that’s what is bothering you?”

“No! No, I’m not saying the baldric needs to change. You can have salmon pink or zebra stripes if you like - that’s what I meant about not being too literal about this. I just… I wish you wouldn’t feel like you had to act like someone else. Just… be you, you know?”

A slight squeeze of the hand said message received but Virgil knew it might take a while to process. An unspoken agreement saw them taking the shallower broader path down towards the shore.

“Please don’t say that thing about the baldrics to Gordon, you know he’ll come up with something hideous.”

“He really would. It’d be burnt orange with pink polka dots within minutes.”

“I can just see it now.” Scott facepalmed melodramatically then ran his fingers into his hairline.

“So you weren’t worrying about the hair?”

“No, Scott. I don’t have any problem with your hair. I’m sorry I confused you. I just want you to be happy and be yourself. That’s literally all I would have meant by it.”

“I’m trying, Virgil, I really am.”

“I know. I’m proud of you.”

He really had been trying. Scott’s attempts to reconcile his past and present and figure out who he was again had actually been a source of real joy to Virgil. It had been so long coming.

Years of encouraging, nagging… in all honesty borderline-harassing his big brother to break out of his self-imposed exile from life, to take the opportunities to enjoy himself when they came… and finally, FINALLY there had been some movement. Previously there were deleted emails, invitation cards hidden in drawers… if it wasn’t for Penny’s sake or for the good of the business, Scott didn’t see it as worthwhile. But this time, Scott had pinned the gilded rectangle of card to the noticeboard with a hurried circle around the date and a carefully inked question mark.

It was bitterly ironic that after all that time… even after actually standing over Scott with folded arms and while he messaged his friend to RSVP in the positive… when he’d nearly actually succeeded in nudging his brother into the light somehow as a result Virgil himself had run headlong into the dark. A cold, slimy tendril of fear crept into his heart and asked who on earth Virgil thought he would be if Scott didn’t need him anymore…

He shook it off because it was ridiculous.

Not to mention selfish.

“Scott, I’m sor….” he began but his brother had not been party to the developing inner monologue and was still some way behind him, despite leading the way off the rocky track on to the beach.

“So I can get rid of this?” He gesticulated irritably at his own forehead

“YES, Scooter.”

“Thank heaven, I hate it. Will it wash out?”

“Eventually. I have to top mine up every few washes.”

“Yours literally obliterates light particles though.”

The affectionate shoulder nudge was brief but it heralded a return of the easy natural proximity he’d missed so badly. His brother was back by his side and Virgil realised with a shock that breathing was suddenly effortless again.

There were other things they needed to discuss, difficult things he knew were coming and no doubt even more difficult things he was still as yet unaware of. But for a few moments, Virgil was more than happy to enjoy the respite of their well-rehearsed haircare banter:

“That’s not the dye it’s the secret ingredient. I told you, quit the super shiny addiction…

“SUPREME shiny…”

“Pfft, you know it’s the same formula, you’re just paying for the fancier packaging.”

“Not true, it’s a far higher quality product.”

Virgil poked his brother in the side of the head “And yet by some miracle, chemically identical.” He made a show of wiping the tip of his finger off on Scott’s shirt while meeting the faux-glare dead on. His brother’s eyebrows said outraged, the sparkle in the blue said bring-it-on. “Ditch the dark side Scotty, leave the slimy stuff to the teenagers and join team pomade. More natural, less greasy. Best tip Dad ever gave me.”

His brother’s flinch was fleeting but sent a shockwave through the narrow pocket of air between the two of them. Scott’s eyes slipped from his, the pocket widened and the warmth suddenly drained out of the sun.

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[astranite]

CH1 Coming Home Loudly

John isn't okay because it sure is lonely up in space. Scott follows through on his promises; he's here for his brothers and nothing, not even the distance between Earth and Thunderbird Five could stop him. Gordon is also Making Sure This Happens. --After suffering in silence, John comes home.

This fic follows @janetm74 's Suffering In Silence which I love. So much. This is about the emotions and the hugs and coming home.

Also thank you to the amazing art and inspiration of @lenle-g !!!

---

Scott powered down Thunderbird Three’s engines as he docked with Five and the clamps engaged, anchoring the two Thunderbirds together. John's voice was calm over the radio when he granted them permission to dock. It was so perfectly calm, without even a tremble to break the illusion that he had everything together, to the point it came out flat. Scott winced. Beneath it all John sounded completely exhausted. 

Gordon had been quiet most of the flight but for terse navigational directions, focused to point of singularity on why they were here. Around them, the metal hull of the rocket ticked and snapped as it cooled, adjusting to the lack of engines firing as they were left floating in the cold, unforgiving, lonely void of space. Scott shuddered, averting his gaze from the viewports to the stars. Nope, give him his blue skies any day of the week.

He jiggled his foot beneath the dash in a rapid tempo, hand bouncing on his knee in time. The anger that had flared up at his father while defending John had fled, leaving him with only restless worry. It filled him to the brim where thoughts about their father and their discussion turned argument, about Alan, and most importantly in this moment of John intermixed with flight plans and overflowed into movement.

Gordon shifted in his seat, picking up on Scott's emotions, ever in tune with everyone else. His mission focus snapped as he twisted around in his seat.

Hey Scotty, are you gonna explode?" he burst out. "'Cause you seem like you're about to."

The tap tap tap of Scott's leg shaking sounded too loud in the rocket's cabin. He was probably driving Gordon mad with it like it did their father when Scott got impatient in a meeting. Scott pressed his foot to the floor, forcing himself to go still. 

"Sorry Gordo, I'm all good," Scott muttered as the airlocks clunked together and begun to pressurise achingly slowly.

At least picking at the outer leg seam of his uniform with his fingers was less disruptive and obvious when he couldn't help the need to move. 

Gordon rolled his eyes. "I didn't say you had to stop, I just want to know how you're going. Y'know with everything."

"So now you ask me about my day?" Scott snarked back as he resumed bouncing his leg. 

He wouldn't say it was a relief Gordon didn't care, but it was. His brother was now mimicking his jittering but bigger and louder because this was Gordon he was talking about. He was probably also doing it to show Scott that it was okay.

"You seemed pretty wound up after your chat with dear old dad even by the time I came in,” Gordon said.

"How did you—? I didn't tell you we spoke."

Gordon counted off on his fingers. "One, we're going to get John down from Five even though Alan has very conveniently extended his rota. Two, the back of your neck gets red when you're mad."

Scott rubbed at it self consciously. "No it doesn't."

"Ya, it does bro. How do think I get the message of when to steer clear with the pranking? It's the same with Virge but don't tell him I told you that."

Scott blinked in silence in light of Gordon's astute observations.

And three," Gordon continued, "You can't sit still anyway but it's like ten times worse when you're worried about a brother. That brother isn't Alan when he's tucked up snug as a bug in a rug in the sick room probably watching racing vids by now, it's John."

Scott put his head in his hands as Gordon gestured expansively. "Ergo, you and Dad fought because as usual he thought everything was peachy when John's been practically radio silent lately, so if it ain't broke no need to fix it. Plus you're pissed about the whole thing with Alan."

Gordon kept talking as Scott tried to process exactly how much his little brother picked up on because Gordon’s anxious tell was the inability to shut up. 

"Bonus lucky number four, John's been in space far too long and it's getting to him, and damn it to all hell but Dad was wrong and I'm really glad we're here."

They both let out a long breath after that, looking to each other. The airlock safety dinged.

Scott leapt out of the pilot's chair as fast as he could, pausing only when Gordon didn't follow.

Brown eyes watched him, as soft and sharp as the tangle of contradictions that forged Gordon. 

"Johnny will just want you. You're our big brother, he'll be a mess and you know he hates anyone seeing him like that. He’ll take it better from you."

Scott leant over the back of Gordon's chair to wrap him in a hug. "Thanks, Squid."

"Anytime. Now you bring our space-case home." That ridiculous nickname was said with all the affection in the world.

Scott saluted him, getting a casual two fingers flicked from a brow back as he pressed the door release.

The doors shifted open with their customary hiss-clunk, allowing Scott entry into Thunderbird Five. His brother's Thunderbird, just as clearly as One was his own. Maybe even more so when it came to it. It wasn't like Scott lived on his twenty-four seven without pause, even if after long rescue shifts sometimes he felt like he did.

John was waiting for him on the other side in his customary blue uniform and lilac baldric, looking smaller than Scott thought someone so tall and lanky could possibly make themselves. His arms were wrapped tightly around his chest. Hugging himself, Scott realised.

A step closer showed exactly how crumpled his clothes were, as if he'd pulled them off the laundry floor pile. Or slept in them. Or, if Scott was going to bet on it, spent a good amount of time crying his heart out while hiding in his bed, like Scott had found John too many times in their lives after he retreated. Their father would never allow anyone under his command and certainly not his sons to be seen with their uniforms in such disarray in any other circumstances.

Another couple of steps until he was standing right in John's space had him meeting his brother's over-bright eyes. It was impossible to miss how red and puffy the skin around them was. John glanced away down to their feet, blinking quickly.

His hair stuck out like a set of radio antennae, his fringe bent in no less than three different directions.

Scott had been right. Gordon had been right. John wasn't coping up here alone. 

"Hey, John," Scott said softly.

"Scott." 

Only now John's voice sounded utterly wrecked, like he had in fact spent the last hours sobbing.

Scott was ready to kick himself for not doing anything earlier. This would've kept on going, leaving John suffering in silence when he couldn't make himself say anything to their father for even longer, if Scott hadn't stepped in. 

Twelve weeks. John had been stuck up here alone, no one to keep him company, the time stretching out longer and longer as Alan put off or cut short his own rota whenever he could get away with it. It was a pattern, going back far longer than this round. 

Scott would've gone mad in about a day over his allotted month without room to run in the fresh air beneath the sky and more importantly, have his family by his side. John had had none of that for far longer.

This was why Scott didn't take rosters on Five very often without good reason. But if he was up here, he was damn well going to stick it out and do his job properly. He'd be having a long talk with Alan about taking responsibility for his own actions after he got John home and gave him a chance to settle before tempers blew up the house. The kid would take it hard being told that he'd hurt John, but this couldn't go on.

The reason why stood right in front of him.

John wobbled on his feet, rocking forward before hesitating as he reached out towards Scott. 

" Oh, Jay," Scott murmured near silently, just between him and John.

Scott opened up his arms and John fell into them. 

John didn't hug back; his arms remained pinned around himself, crossed protectively over his chest, but he leaned his body into Scott's before tucking his face into the crook of his big brother's neck.

Ever so carefully, Scott folded him close as John trembled. 

His brother felt far too... Scott refused to use the word fragile, his John was as strong as the rest of them, no matter what anyone said, and yet he also wasn’t the collected Thunderbird Five they usually knew. All Scott wanted to do was hold him, to keep the weight of the world off his brother’s narrower shoulders and stand between him and the storm. Right now that was what John needed; it didn’t make him any less of a Thunderbird though.

John would step out again from that shelter, quicker and cleverer than anyone or simply however John was in the moment, but that was his choice, not Scott’s to keep him. It was about whenever John felt ready to do so, Scott swore to himself: he would be there for as long as that took and be still there to come back to, yet when the time came he’d let go and cheer John on from the sidelines.

It had been the same with Gordon when after the accident the world had been screaming that he was fragile. In the early days Scott had been... overprotective too. He'd treated his brother like glass and stopped him from doing what he wanted to do out of fear, for his own sake, not Gordon's. They had a deal now: Gordon would tell him upfront what he could and couldn't do, and Scott would believe him. He’d call dad out when he refused to listen to Gordon too, backing his brother up when he wanted it.

Even when hard rescues turned recoveries had Scott wondering why the hell he was letting any of his baby brothers do this, he'd never take away being a Thunderbird from Gordon against his will. Nor from John. He’d fight the whole world kicking and screaming if it tried to, because being different didn't make any of his brothers broken. 

He held John, a hand resting on the nape of his neck to gently tangle in soft, blonde hair while John’s uneven breaths were warm against Scott’s collar bone, where his eldest little brother hid his face. 

Sometimes after nightmares Scott was left lying awake, staring at the blurry ceiling in the dark. The majority of his service held no happy memories; none of the promised glory was found in the senseless bloodshed of a violent conflict there had been no reason for but greed. When he was so shaken, so sick to the pit of his stomach that the tears he’d woken up with wet on his face flowed freely, Scott thought he wasn't as strong as Dad wanted them all to be either.

John was far too like him when you got down to it. So was Gordon. Alan was barely not a kid and still figuring out a lot of how things worked. He hadn’t had the easiest time of it growing up without Mum holding his hand like she had been there for the rest of them, not matter how they all had tried to compensate for the youngest. Scott had tried, he’d stepped up as the man of the house even when Dad checked out. He hadn’t known what to do with five motherless boys either.

Scott’s Virgil too had a sensitive artist’s soul, he always had. He was a bit of a hopeless romantic and an easy crier, but Scott couldn’t truly tease him for it. Virgil made the choice over and over to continue to be soft and to be kind no matter how many times he was knocked to the ground. He was the one Scott looked to when he felt he was forgetting how to believe in the good in people. 

Right now, John had forgotten how to take up room in the world. In Scott’s arms, it was as if he would shatter if he was dropped suddenly or grow smaller until he faded away invisibly. Even when Scott knew he wouldn’t , deep down he was still scared that his brother would disappear into space, becoming another part of the stardust and the big, empty void instead of being his John . He saw it in the silence that settled over him after so long away, where his usual quiet gaped like an open wound. He couldn’t bear to lose John to it.

But Scott would never let it happen, not while he still breathed. He would hold John up until he could stand on own his feet again and never leave him alone and forgotten. That’s why he shouted down their father, the echo of his palms slamming into the desk thrumming through his fingers in synch with his heartbeat. Proper meals, rest, sunshine and time with their brothers would do John good, then they would all hear John’s laughter ringing out across the pool decks once again. 

John let Scott take his weight. His brother was truly here, real and solid in his arms, Scott needed this to remember how it felt, that this was John not just the staticky waves of a voice down a radio channel or flattened 2D image from far away. Those weren’t warm and human, it wasn’t the same.

Scott froze when John wriggled after a minute, immediately loosening his grip to give John room to breathe, but John only let his arms drop to his sides so he could squish himself closer to Scott.

Using the few extra inches of height he had on his brother from how John slumped small, Scott wrapped himself around John more. He shifted so he could rest his jaw against John’s hair, taking a deep breath in. 

Oh Jay, dammit . Scott had missed him so much.

He smelt so familiar; he was space and John and home. Scott’s brothers were his home, beyond the island, beyond Kansas, or Earth or space or whatever the hell else the universe was made up of.

Home, home, home, home, home. Scott mouthed the words near silently, a reminder, a promise .

Scott swallowed hard as John nuzzled into his shoulder. Like he knew exactly what Scott was thinking at any point, like he saw straight through him clearer than windshield glass of a Thunderbird, no matter he was trembling, John got him. 

Scott tried not to cry over all of that either.

His brother shouldn't be a shaky mess from just getting a cuddle, he should be demanding them off of Scott whenever he wanted to without care that they were busy, and fighting over who got to sit next to him on movie night like the others. 

Scott rubbed a hand up and down his back, promising himself first and foremost that they were all going to do better by John. Stars knew John would never say anything when he was hurting until he drowned beneath the gravity of it, alone on Five.

[loopstagirl]

Virgil was leaning casually against the railings overlooking his 'bird, drinking in the sight of the powerful machine with appreciative eyes. It gave him something of the chills when he looked down on her like this, taking in the full scale of the giant green Thunderbird, knowing that he had complete control of her whenever she was in the air. When he was flying, there certainly was no way he felt her size; she handled like a dream, something he knew was only possible thanks to the island's resident genius.

"Hide me!"

Visibly jumping as Alan came charging through, taking shelter behind his brother, Virgil found himself snapped out of his musings, slowly turning to face the younger man with an expression that clearly said that he wanted an explanation. Luckily, Alan took the hint.

"Dad's in a business meeting with Scott."

"So?" Virgil prompted, still at a complete loss as to why Alan would be seeking safety down in the silos. After all, normally when Scott was tied up in Tracy Industry business - something that all of his brothers knew he hated, although the Field Commander still had not plucked up the courage to tell their father – Alan and Gordon took the advantage of the lack of older brother breathing down their necks. The look on Alan's face, however, told Virgil that he was somehow missing the point.

"Come on, Virg," Alan moaned, peering around his brother guiltily before ducking back again. "You know what Scott's been like lately; he keeps wanting me to take over."

"I thought you wanted to be more involved in the business side of things?" Virgil said, sounding more than perplexed. Only a few months ago, Alan had been bouncing at the opportunity to sit in on the meetings. Despite him not admitting it, it was just as obvious now as when he was a small child that he idolised the oldest Tracy brother. Even now, Alan looked up to Scott in a way none of the rest of them did, and all the brothers knew how much the youngest wanted to be like the oldest. If Scott couldn't make it onto a rescue – something that had not yet happened, despite their father threatening it more than once – then it would be up to Alan to fly One, if he was on Earth. Personally, Virgil believed that was why Scott was adamant about not sitting out any rescues - he himself knew that he hated the idea of handing Two over to Gordon. And their father had agreed that it wasn't fair on his eldest to supposedly be in charge of the boys' training and be expected to sit in on the meetings, meaning that once again, Alan had jumped at the chance of taking on a role his big brother normally undertook.

Read the rest ->

[skeefee-sky]

'Unplugged; round 2."

@thunder-tober Day prompt: 13 - Whiplash Characters: Virgil Tracy, Scott Tracy, (Thunderbird Two) Word count: 815

Earth&Sky whump? Earth&Sky whump-! >w< This one’s also outside of my ‘under 600-word limit for thundertober’ so, buckle up c: (anddd I’m maybe considering writing it into something longer <w<) Minor warning for a lil’ blood. An unexplained incident leaves Thunderbird Two downed in the middle of the ocean. With minor injuries, Virgil and Scott need to find a way to get her online, and call for help.

💙💚TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB 💚💙

He felt heavy. It wasn’t what he was normally used to, especially flying Thunderbird One. Something felt off…

As Scott slowly came to his senses, blue eyes groggily scanned the cockpit. Wait… He wasn’t in Thunderbird One. He was in Thunderbird Two… and he wasn’t alone! In a panic, he made to get up, but was abruptly stopped by a sharp pain in his neck, and the seatbelt still fastened around his middle. Hands slightly shook as he undid it, and he quickly got to his feet. The first things he noticed was something red flashing from multiple points in the corners of his vision, a dull ringing in his ears… and his younger brother slumped over the controls of his ship. Scott tried not to move too quickly to get to him; his neck pain shooting tingles down his spine with every step.

“Virg…? Virgil? Wake up,” he urged, shaking his brother’s shoulder with little force. “Virgil, can you hear me?”

A few beats of silence, but soon he got a muffled mumble in response, and that black head of hair moved as little brother came back to him. Scott let out a relieved sigh.

“Good. Are you-…? You’re bleeding.”

“Mhn?” With one hand, Virgil held himself off the flight yoke as he rubbed his other against his face, smearing blood across his cheek. The dark red was barely visible against the back of his glove when he checked. “Must’ve, knocked myself out…”

At least he was wearing his seatbelt… Scott straightened up and looked around them as best he could. The horizon was all wrong. Everything was blue…

Everything was blue.

“We’re down… We’re on the water…!” he observed, looking back at his brother in concern. “Virgil, why are we on the water?”

It had taken a moment for the heavy lifter to notice their surroundings too. He sat himself up and loosened his seatbelt, reaching over to tap at his ship’s equipment. She’d been awfully quiet since they’d come around…

“Did, Two say anything?”

“Dunno. I only woke up a few minutes before you. Haven’t heard her.”

“Thunderbird Two?” Virgil called; brown eyes scanning around him as he waited for some form of response. He then leant over to check the controls again. “All systems offline… Nothing’s responding. I think… I think Thunderbird Two’s been immobilised… Scott, we’re stuck.”

The first responder had been in the middle of massaging the pain in his neck when his brother addressed him, moving his hand to rest on his shoulder.

“Try backups?” he inquired.

“I did; nothing. Usually Two would have them up by now. Whatever’s shut her down, must have been really powerful.”

It would have been to trigger out her source of sentience… The heavy lifter had dealt with a situation like this before – the EMF power surge over London with those Luddite fellows. But, it wouldn’t have been possible to pull something like that off here; they were over the middle of the ocean, away from any sources of land. Virgil hummed into the back of his hand… and was promptly reminded of the blood dripping from his nose.

“Let’s, maybe focus on something we have control over first. Surely you didn’t wake up unscathed,” he commented, looking his older brother over as he got up, as if he’d missed something. “All okay?”

“FAB,” Scott confirmed, almost a little too quickly, but he hoped Virgil hadn’t picked up on it. He obviously hadn’t seen him soothing the strain in his neck earlier, and he felt he didn’t need to worry him about it just yet. As Virgil wandered to locate a first-aid kit, he scoffed softly.

“So, you weren’t just massaging the nape of your neck for no reason then?”

“… Fine. Guess I should probably put a pack on it.”

Virgil grabbed two packs, and a roll of cloth to clean himself up with. With the both of them taken care of, the brothers then returned to their seats, both slightly tense as the Thunderbird creaked around them.

“I was wondering when we were going to start sinking…” Scott dreaded, nursing the ice to the back of his neck. Virgil half-ignored him, trying all he could to get anything from his ship. He sat back momentarily to get a call out to Thunderbird Five, or even Tracy Island, but whatever had knocked out his Thunderbird, had knocked out their gear too. He couldn’t even bring up a schematic to see if his ship had taken damage. He almost slumped back in defeat, but was quick to be on his feet again, heading for the back door of the cockpit. That could work-!

“Virg?”

“Stay,” he commanded to his older brother, who shot him an eye roll, and disappeared through the door. Now he just had to locate them, and hope someone was close enough to see the call for help. . ~~~ TBC...? ~~~

[tracybirds]

Written for @thunder-pride and the prompt "Role Model" on the Week 1 Bingo Board!! Very quickly written, but hopefully you enjoy!

---

“Hold still,” said Virgil, his tongue poking out a little as he furrowed his brow in concentration. “I don’t want the paints to smudge.”

“I should have just asked John to do a flag,” complained Scott. “You’re taking forever.”

“John would have pulled out a ruler to check the dimensions were right,” retorted Virgil. He stepped back and studied Scott with a critical eye. “Okay, I think you’re done.”

Scott rushed to the mirror.

Blues and pinks and purples swirled on the left side of his face, coming together as they curled around his eye and faded into the eyeshadow.

“It looks amazing, Virg!” he exclaimed, turning his head back and forth. A shimmer across his cheekbone caught the sunlight and his smile widened.

He spun around, beaming at Virgil and then paused.

An odd expression flitted away as Virgil caught his eye and his brother smiled unconvincingly.

“What’s wrong?” asked Scott. Cold dread splashed over his previous euphoria as a catalogue of gnawing potential anxieties leapt to the forefront of his mind.

“No, no,” said Virgil softly. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just we made it. Through thick and thin, just like we promised, and we’ve come out the other side and your speech is going to be amazing, you’re incredible and a role model and, and…”

His eyes were shining, but Scott was too stunned to move.

“Just think of all the kids who are going to see you and know they can make it too,” said Virgil at last.

“That’s stupid,” mumbled Scott, hot embarrassment washing over him. “I’m not that special. A thousand guys did what I did decades before I did.”

Virgil shook his head. “You don’t see it,” he countered. “The way they look up to you. I’m not saying those who were first aren’t important, I’m saying you – right now – what you’re doing is important too.”

“What exactly am I doing?”

Virgil shrugged. “You’re being true to yourself. You’re showing people how to fight for a better world, how to hold themselves to a higher standard, how to build a community that works together to rescue one another and lend a helping hand.”

“I don’t do any of that.”

“You do,” said Virgil. “I know you do, because you inspire me to do that every day.”

Scott had only a second of quiet reflection before he was engulfed in a hug, a hug that had held him together in the past when he didn’t know if he’d get through life in one piece, a hug that had seen him through injury and illness and being orphaned and more besides.

“I only do all that,” he whispered, “because you inspired me first.”

Virgil’s arms tightened even further around him, and Scott tried not to wince.

“Careful, Virg,” he said with a lopsided grin. “You’ll smudge the paint.”

[scarleteyess]

Kinktober day 2

Cam boys (Logince: Double penetration/Voyeurism)

Roman likes to pretend he is a cam boy, today he decided to drag his ‘stream ASSistent’ Logan along for the ride and put both a dildo and a cock into his ass.

Patton and Virgil watch the stream, like the supportive boyfriends they are.

Read on Ao3 here

Or under the cut

Being imaginary made it difficult for Roman to life out his camboy dreams. It’s not like he could reach an actual audience consisting out of thousands of fans admiring him. So, his two light side friends and Virgil would have to do. The dark sides didn’t get the password to his secret website, for obvious reasons as one of them is his brother and the other his nemesis.

The sides who did get the password tried their best to be supportive so when each of them got a notification they were quick to drop what they were doing and log on only to see the waiting screen still on.

Virge: Princey? You there?

PatDad: he said he was planning something

PatDad: at breakfast

PatDad: you were asleep 💤

Virge: Shouldn’t he plan before going love?

Virge: *live

PatDad: shrug emoji

Virge: Did you just type shrug emoji?

Before Patton could type a punny response, the waiting screen disappeared. However this time, they weren’t greeted by Roman’s cheery smile. The camera wasn’t in it’s usual spot either.

Virge: Uhh… what? O.o

PatDad: is this logans room?

The room was well lit, yet it still felt dark as the walls were painted a dark blue. The furniture was made out of a dark wood. The camera was placed high in a corner of the room, making it look like a security camera, just with a better quality. It faced a desk, in front of it someone sat in the desk chair, their identity hidden by the back of the chair.

With the sound of a snap the live feed changed to show a different angle. Roman was sitting on the chair with a bright smile on his face.

“My dearest sub-jects and switches,” he started his monologue. “How kind of you to join me this fine evening. As you can see, we’ve had a bit of a change of scenery today.” Roman waved his arms around to show off Logan’s room behind him.

“However there’s no need to fret! Everything you’re about to see tonight is completely consensual and discussed in length with my dear assistant.” Roman chuckled, looking down between his legs. Leaving both Patton and Virgil to speculate where Logan currently was and what exactly he was doing there. “Tonight you’ll witness a scene as though you’re looking through the security footage of this room. Don’t you worry, we’ve cut to the best part. No need to stare at Logan working on this very chair all afternoon. Although he does look hot when he’s lost in his concentration, don’t you agree?” Roman waited for his chat to answer before continuing, it’s a shame he couldn’t let them wait longer, but he had been teasing Logan for a bit before he started streaming, so he should really go on with it, before Logan got too floaty from the excellent job of cock warming he was doing.

“My dearest voyeurs, my royal audience…” he couldn’t help pausing for dramatic effect one more time. “I must now bid you adieu. Please, enjoy the show.” He winked at the camera and switched back to the ‘security’ camera. Roman waited a couple of seconds to see Patton and Virgil go wild in the chat, before turning off the computer screen. The point of today’s stream was to make it seem to his chat that they were mere voyeurs. It wouldn’t do the delusion any good if Roman or Logan got distracted by the chat.

He rolled back the office chair, feeling Logan chase his cock for a bit, until he was too far away. A pitiful whine left Logan’s lip as Roman’s dick did the same. This was a tell tale sign that Logan was deep into subspace already, telling Roman that he didn’t need to expect any more brattiness from his stream assistant.

“It’s okay Logan,” he murmured sweetly. “They’re gone, you can come out from under the desk now. It’s just the two of us.” Logan crawled from under the desk, lacking his usual fluidity. He was stiff from sitting on his knees for at least half an hour. Drool dripped from spit soaked lips over his chin and his flushed skin was clear for everyone on the stream to see as he was only wearing his boxers.

“You were so good for me baby!” Roman praised his sub. “You did your job perfectly and didn’t make a sound during my stream! You deserve a big reward don’t you think?”

In response Logan nodded enthusiastically. “Yes sir, please! I followed your orders. I did good.” Roman just knew his viewers would eat this up! It was always a treat to see Logan this pathetic and desperate.

“Strip and bend over the desk.” Roman ordered, drawing a finger over Logan’s already naked chest, down to his abdomen, until he reached Logan’s boxers. He snapped the waistband, simultaneously snapping Logan into action. Logan pushed down his underwear, turned around and bend down over the desk.

As soon as Logan bend down the stream changed to show the few from a different camera. This one zoomed in a bit more so the sides watching got a nice few of the buttplug nestled between Logan’s cheeks. The plug was red, decorated with a fancy gold R, to claim Logan as Roman’s for the night.

“Let’s remove this to make space for your reward, shall we?” Even though Roman explained what he was doing and why, Logan still whined as he removed the plug. It made the poor sub feel empty after having it stretch him out for so long. “Aww don’t worry baby, the plug did his job, so you can get your reward quicker. I won’t even need to stretch you out before giving it to you.”

Roman softly spanked Logan’s butt, before grabbing a long, but not too thick, dildo from his desk. He subtly showed it off to the camera as he slowly and sensually lubed it up.

Logan squeaked as the tip of the toy touched his hole. “Wha-” He tried to ask what Roman was using on him, but quickly got overwhelmed as Roman pushed the entire length of the toy inside until the fake balls hit his ass.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you ogling the toys on my desk before.” Roman teased as he slowly started to move the toy in and out of his hole. “I decided to bring my longest one for my favorite little size queen.” He punctuated his statement by one hard thrust before moving back to his steady but slow rhythm. He made sure to stand slightly to the right so the camera would capture everything perfectly.

By now the stream had changed again, showing a split screen of Logan’s ass, his and Roman’s side profile, the first camera in the corner of the room and his face. Unbeknownst to Roman and Logan, Virgil and Patton had decided to meet up and watch the stream on the living room tv, so it was easier for them to see everything. It also added to the feeling of watching some security footage and gave them easy access to each other in case they wanted to do more than watch. Later while creating the VOD for Roman, Logan would blush as he noticed the chat going suspiciously quiet after Patton and Virgil discussed watching together.

Now however, he was too busy slowly, but deeply getting fucked by the dildo Roman was pushing into him. His whole body quaked as Roman managed to hit his prostate dead on multiple times in a row. He was breathing heavily as he slumped over his desk, having no doubt that he was painting the wood with the pre cum dribbling from his cock. Roman’s free hand drew ticklish lines over his hip and side as he admired the usually stoic man fall apart beneath him. He knew that the night was far from over, though.

“Ah… sir, please.” Logan moaned out after another rough thrust hit his prostate.

“What is it my loyal subject.” Only a slight quiver in his voice, betrayed Roman, telling his audience that he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be.

“Need you! Need your cock! please!” Logan pleaded breathlessly. Roman’s thrusts sped up in response.

“I go to all this effort to give you a nice reward.” He thrust the toy in with every word, while his other hand grabbed Logan’s hip in a tight grip. “And now you’re saying my gift isn’t enough? Don’t you love your reward?”

“No! Please sir! I love it!” Logan managed to stutter out between labored breaths. “I just- I am…“

“You’re what Logan?,” Roman teased. “You’re just a little cock whore who won’t be satisfied without your boss’ cock? Is that it?”

“Yes sir.” Logan grabbed the edge of the desk to ground himself as the pounding of the fake cock against his prostate continued. By now he was fighting against his upcoming orgasm, because he knew what Roman had planned for tonight.

“Say it.” Roman said darkly. “Say it and I’ll give it to you.”

“I’m a little cock whore, who needs your cock!” He almost screamed out, his voice going up in pitch as he was getting closer and closer. However, as soon as the words left his lips, Roman let go of the dildo, leaving it to slide back a little, but generally remain still in Logan’s ass.

The stillness of the object inside him felt like torture after he had gotten so close. He could already feel the need to orgasm die down. He groaned in frustration as Roman’s other hand left his hip as well.

Virgil and Patton were jerking each other off as they watched Roman step out of his own pants and underwear, but leaving his shirt on. He grabbed the lube and jerked his own cock a couple of times. With some more lube he coated his fingers. He pushed the toy in as far as it could go, making Logan’s breath hitch, then he started pushing one of his fingers in there next to the silicone. Logan keened loudly at the extra stretch, his fingers dug harder into the wood and his breathing sped up a bit.

“Relax specs.” Roman spoke kindly, in contrast to his commanding tone earlier. “You can do this, my sweet.” Another finger got pushed in besides the toy, he wiggled them around playfully before scissoring them open the best he could in view of the camera.

By the time Roman was working in a third finger, Logan was red in the face, begging him to hurry up, or he was going to come already. Who was Roman to deny him that.

Roman stroked himself a couple more times and lined up next to the toy. “You ready for me specs?” He asked rhetorically, before pushing in anyways.

It stretched Logan open almost impossibly wide and pushed the toy against his prostate again. He came hard, cum splattering against his wooden desk. He panted, but Roman gave him no time to recover.

“For a size queen, you’re so tight.” He groaned as he adjusted himself a bit. Logan was shaking now, already feeling the effects of overstimulation before Roman had even started moving, yet he didn’t tap out.

“Just move, please move.” He begged and Roman listened. He started pulling out and thrusting back in. It wasn’t rough like before, no, it would have been sweet and lovely if it wasn’t for the dildo being crammed in next to his cock. Roman had to be careful, but he didn’t mind. The pressure around his cock felt deliciously tight. He wouldn’t last long like this. Not that he had to, Logan was already shaking beneath him, moaning at every small thrust.

Roman thrusted a couple more times before he was pushed over the edge. He pushed in a little harder as came inside of Logan, filling him even more than he already was. He stayed there for a bit, the both of them panting from exertion.

Slowly Roman pulled out. He looked over Logan’s exhausted body, only to realize he had gotten hard again. Roman wrapped his hand around his dick and stroked him softly, while slowly thrusting the dildo, that was still in Logan’s ass, a couple of times. Logan came quickly. He protested as Roman kept moving for a bit, but luckily for him, their scene was over now, so Roman removed the toy.

“You did so well, mi corazon.” Roman kissed Logan’s shoulder blades between each word. “Let’s wash up, I’m sure they’re waiting for us downstairs.” Logan only groaned in response, he’d probably be non verbal for a while, something that only happened after sex. It’s alright though. Roman would take care of him, and he wouldn’t even do that alone. He stopped the stream with a flick of his wrist and got to work.

The two men who’d been watching from the living room had both finished a bit earlier. They had decided to get things ready for when the stream was over. They would spoil their (now two) favorite cam stars when they came down.

[forest-falcon]

🌊💚💛🩷🍓

It's Scone until it's Scone!

"Virgil Grissom Tracy!"

Virgil stalled his bite of cream tea; the confectionery mere moments from his lips.

What was it with him and cakes?

"Oooh you're being middle-named!"

Gordon bounced gently on his seat, his grin rivalling that of the Cheshire cat's.

"Jam then cream? Tut tut!" Penny tsked.

Virgil's brows knitted.

"Something wrong with that?"

Her ladyship sighed and took a delicate sip of tea.

"When we take cream tea, it is cream then jam. Scones were a Devonshire delicacy, darling."

Virgil grunted.

"But last time I was in Cornwall, they served it with jam then cream?"

"Devonshire is not Cornwall."

"Close enough though?" They're like...ten minutes from one another!"

"In a Thunderbird, maybe."

Gordon watched the exchange like a tennis umpire eating popcorn.

"I mean, even without our Birds, we could still travel there quicker than it takes Virg to use the bathroom!"

Penny attempted to disguise her chuckle with a small cough whilst Gordon felt the full wrath of his brother's brows.

"Be that as it may; it's cream then jam, Virgil. Can't have my boys learning poor luncheon etiquette."

Virgil studied the scone.

He couldn't believe he was even arguing about this, but found himself somehow invested in the jammy debate.

"But surely jam then cream would make more sense? Structurally speaking, the cream is less dense, so would benefit from being on top?"

Penny removed some invisible lindt from her jacket; a tell the Tracys had discovered signalled her ladyship's disapproval.

Gordon crouched down to examine Virgil's Cornish creation.

"Virgil, Virgil, Virgil! Whatever will we do with you?"

Gordon gestured for his brother's plate.

"May I?"

Virgil muttered something about it all tasting the same anyway before surrendering his plate.

"M'lady?" Gordon held out his hand to receive Penny's plate.

Penelope obliged.

Gordon held both up to the light, carefully rotating each plate in turn, before setting them down on the coffee table next to his own.

"I think I have the answer to your Devonshire-Cornwall-cream-tea-debate!"

"Please no."

Virgil hid his face behind his hands in anticipation of whatever mischief The Fish had planned.

Gordon used both Virgil and Penny's scones to sandwich his own.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present: The Tracy Island Triple Decker Scone!"

[gumnut-logic]

“Alan, calm down. It was an accident.”

It was said through gritted teeth. This was not something he expected to have to weather when training his youngest brother in basic mountain climbing.

But then there had been the incident with the hammer with Gordon...and John, while extremely athletic had absolutely terrified Scott with the mild hypothermia incident.

Virgil...well, Uncle Lee had taught Virgil with Scott so big brother escaped that.

Though come to think of it, Uncle Lee did have a scar.

But it wasn’t as big as this one was going to be.

“I’m sorry, Scott. I’m so sorry!”

He drew in a breath and let it out ever so slowly. “Calm down. We will handle this like any emergency. Scout’s oath, Alan?”

And he made his little brother recite it, thankful that it seemed to focus the fourteen-year-old.

“Accidents happen, it’s how we respond to the accidents that matters, now secure yourself and contact John.”

Scott did his best to attach himself to the ice face as well. It took him a few extra moments working through pain and the inability to move without it.

An ice pick through his calf did that.

It was an accident. Scott had moved unexpectedly and Alan had picked at the ice at just the wrong moment in time.

“Thunderbird Five, we need help.”

A simple, but concise message.

“Alan? What’s wrong?”

The tremor in Alan’s voice as he reported the incident hurt Scott more than the ice axe.

“It’s going to be okay, Allie. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.” It was a wail.

“It happens. I’ll be fine.” Looking down was awkward, and yes, his climbing pants were an uncomfortable shade of red, but he had confidence in his brothers. They would be off this mountain in no time.

Fortunately, Virgil and Gordon had stayed back on the Island while Scott both took a break on Aotearoa’s South Island and began some basic training for his youngest brother.

Apparently, he would be off rota longer than expected.

“Should I try to bandage it.”

“No.” Scott shifted a little and regretted it. “Virgil will be here soon.” It wasn’t like his brother was far away at Thunderbird speeds. He could imagine Virgil flying down that ridiculous chute of his this very moment. Five minutes, maybe.

“I’m sorry, Scott.”

“Allie, it happens.” A swallow. “Did I ever tell you about how I learnt to drive?” Distraction was the key.

“No? Didn’t Parker teach you? Gordon still raves about his lessons.”

Another swallow. “Yeah, he did. Had to repair a lot of pink paintwork for his efforts.”

“What? You smashed up FAB1?!”

“Kinda.” Yeah, now it was really starting to hurt. hanging from the side of a mountain with blood dripping into the abyss wasn’t his favourite past time. C’mon, Virg, hurry up. “Parker was not impressed.” Scott flexed his own axe in one hand and dug into the ice and secured an extra piton which he then looped into his harness.

Didn’t hurt to be extra secure.

“How? Did Parker actually let you drive FAB1?”

“Kinda. Not really. He has another pink car.” A grimace. “Still goes fast.” And it had hit that tree rather hard. Sometimes he swore he could still hear the echoes of the lecture he received from both Parker and his father about driving too fast.

Cars were not planes and did not respond quite the same way.

Didn’t help that England drove on the wrong side of the road. It was all cack-handed.

He tightened his fist and loosened his shoulders.

“Scott, you okay?” That tremor still hurt.

“Virgil will be here any moment.” And as if summoned, a streak of green tore into the sky above them.

And planes weren’t Thunderbirds. The sight of the big green behemoth was such a relief.

His comms. “Hey, Virg. Need a hand.”

“Coming down.” Two spun slowly midair and opened her bay doors. A moment and the rescue rig, complete with two frowning brothers descended from her belly.

“He’s going to kill me.”

Another sigh. “No, he won’t. He’s Virgil. He will just run you through climbing safety ad nauseam.”

“Gordon is never going to let me live it down.”

A blink. “Yeah, you may be right about that.”

“I’m sorry, Scott. I really am.”

“I know, Allie, I know.”

-o-o-o-

[tagsecretsanta]

From @thundergirl007

From @thundergirl007 to @arwensarboretum

John and EOS

All 5 brothers spending quality time together (With John on Earth??).

I'm glad we're in this together" - said by any of the brothers.

Preferences: No shipping please. Rating: General Favourite character: John.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

It’s strange, the way the heartbeat of Thunderbird Five almost blends into the nothingness when the space monitor is here constantly. A tranquillity that very few people will ever get to experience in the huge, wide universe.

The pulsing of the life support system, the humming of the radio, the hissing of the lights when the motion sensors activate as he moves around the space station.

Loud in its own right, completely silent in the best way.

And yet, from all the way up here - the vastness and emptiness of orbit - he can still hear the sound of what he believes to be Gordon blaring out Christmas songs around the Tracy Island villa.

“GORDON!”

The voice shouted down the radio grills, catching him off guard somewhat. Presumably to try and find the mischievous redhead through every available IR channel on our communications network.

“Scott sounds in considerable distress, John.”

“That he does, EOS.”

Weightlessly floating his way to the central control room, where the main communication centre is, EOS has already pulled up what appears to be Scott's irritated figure on the hologram.

The image was a bit hard to make out specifically what it was, but it looked like Scott was covered in dust. A fine white dust that caked him, like he'd walked into the worlds oldest building and fell right into a pile of old rubble.

A strange image for someone currently on Tracy Island.

"Everything ok down there, Scott?" John asked, doing his very best to suppress the laugh, as juvenile as that would be. He looked ridiculous.

"Can you find me our blond haired mischief maker from up there, John? I've got a bone to pick with him." He ruffled his hair and the dust flew off him in all directions.

"Scott appears to be covered in some kind of fine substance. For what purpose is unclear."

EOS' summary of the situation was apt, and he hoped that Scott hadn't heard her, although it would have been funny if he had.

"Why, what has he done now?" he asked, watching Scott's communicator signal move around the villa from Thunderbird 1's hangar to the lounge.

"Do you want to take a wild guess, brother?"

"Re-enacted the bathroom escapade from when he was 7?"

"Close, but not quite."

Scott's hologram then disappeared from the monitor, but John could practically hear him storming around on the island looking for the brother in question. Whether Scott knew he was in the lounge, "innocently" reading a book, is debatable. Either way, he was making his way there with a ruthless determination that he did not want to miss a single moment of. Gordon was certainly going to be in some serious brotherly trouble.

Now would be a seriously bad time for a distress call.

"Oh Scott!" said brother - sat on the lounge with his feet up - all smiles, was holding a comic book in front of him, "to what do I owe the pleasure this time?"

"Don't you act like you don't know!" Scott roared from the stairs.

"I swear, I didn't do anything -!"

"You made me look like the Ghost of Christmas Past, you stupid -!"

"Is this a situation that popcorn would be for, John?"

"Oh, yes it is EOS."

Virgil Tracy was just passing through Thunderbird 2's hangar to get to the lounge when he heard the sound of the space elevator docking in its place and decided to take a minor detour to greet the arrival.

As expected, John was still in his IR gear, with only a small bag of belongings brought down with him, and Virgil would bet money that they were books and underwear.

"Welcome home, John!" he greeted, opening his arms out for an embrace that John welcomed.

"Good to see you too, Virg. How was the journey back from Colorado?"

Virgil patted a hand on his stomach lightly. "Long, I'm definitely ready for some lunch. Running around a power plant really did a number on my appetite."

The pair made their way up the stairs and into the villa proper. The heat hit Virgil like a train as they entered the lounge on their way to the kitchen. It was something all of them had to get used to when they moved out onto the other hemisphere from where they were born and raised in Kansas. The scorching heat in the December months was something he just about managed to get used to in recent years, mainly because it was something of a family tradition to watch Home Alone and the Chicago snowfall was such a nostalgic sight that for just those moments, they forget that snow here in the South Pacific isn't possible.

Even if snow isn't a part of recent Tracy family holiday festivities, the lounge was still warmly decorated with tinsel and a tree up by the piano that everyone had helped decorate. Even MAX had helped put up the tinsel with Brains (although the less said about the methods, the better). Gold and red and blue trimmed the balcony and handrails, little bells hung from the lampshades on the wall, and a little singing robin statuette was situated with pride of place on the little table in the centre of the room. The poor little thing was their mother's, it was old and battered, the little "branch" it perched on has been broken and fixed, and Brains had tinkered with its mechanics to make it sing sweetly again, not the distorted noise it used to make years ago.

And lastly, perfectly placed on the tree, hanging from a middle branch, was the last family photo taken at Christmastime that featured their mother.

It's been put on that tree every year since she died, and that tradition will never change. The seven of them, smiling at the camera with a snowman in the middle of the frame. Little Alan barely as tall as the thing they had made, holding onto his hat and giving a wide, toothy smile. He probably doesn't remember that Christmas.

“Where is everyone? The kitchen’s just as empty as the rest of the house.” Virgil mused, noting that it didn’t even look like the automated kitchen module had been switched on to make anything for lunch.

John just shrugged.

“Oh well. I’ll put something on, we need to have a good catch up now you’re back with us.”

Lunch wouldn’t take long to prepare, especially given that all Virgil really wanted was a sandwich, and John probably didn’t want much more than that either. He simply took his spot at the dinner table, the one he always used down here, with a more careful than usual descent into the seat. Virgil made the pair the same thing. Ham and cheddar sandwiches, which they were both eager to dig into once Virgil brought the plates over.

It was nice, just the two of them. Aside from rescues and the occasional private conversation through their comms channel, Virgil didn’t often have one-on-one chats with John. Mainly because they were birds of a feather, very much enjoying their own company before anything else. John listening for distress calls, reading, studying the stars. Virgil playing the piano or painting in the lounge.

“Do you know if my packages arrived?” John asked.

“I’m not sure, I didn’t see anything yesterday, and today I’ve been in Colorado.”

“That’s a shame. No one is getting presents this year then.”

“I think we can live with that just this once John, it’s just good to have you earthside for a few days.”

“We’ll see if I feel the same way after 24 hours in gravity with both Gordon and Alan.”

“You mean you won’t even stay for Grandma’s Christmas disaster – I mean, dinner?”

“I think I can hear a distress call from 24 hours in the future, Virgil get to Thunderbird 2 –“

The pair laughed, and almost on cue, the sound of distant voices, running footsteps, and a crash from somewhere upstairs. Getting closer and closer with every passing second, the voices soon distinguished themselves to be Alan, Gordon and Scott.

“Come here! I will have my vengeance!”

“Gotta catch up first, slowpoke!”

The trio pounded down the stairs. Scott, then Alan and Gordon.

Scott looked like he had barely enough time to turn the corner from the stairs before the Terrible Two were on his tail. Not nearly as covered in whatever-it-was-powder as he was before, presumably all the running had dusted him off somewhat.

Right behind him were said terrible two, and they seemed to have suffered a similar fate as the eldest brother. From the smell of them as they ran past, whatever it was, was sickly sweet. Powdered sugar, perhaps? Either way they left a trail of sugar in their wake.

Scott had run around the kitchen island, and Gordon and Alan waited for him at either side, pinning him to his spot with an almost military efficiency that even Scott should have seen coming.

Did Brains invent a de-aging machine or something, what is going on with Scott?  He’s not acted like this since those boys were tiny terrors.

“Hi John!” Alan turned around and cheerily waved, before giving his attention back to the eldest brother.

“Good to see you Alan,” John chuckled, “and you Gordon. Scott”

“Not now, it’s payback time.”

“You started this, Gordon! Don’t dish it if you can’t take it!”

Virgil should not have been surprised that Gordon took advantage of his and Scott’s absence from the island to play a practical joke with Scott for him to find on his return. What was surprising is that Scott somehow fell for it regardless.

Finishing up the last of his sandwich, John stood up, ignoring the war games going on elsewhere in the kitchen. “Well, this has been fun. I’ll go get changed, can’t be looking like this all day, I’ll melt.”

“I’ll wash up then,” Virgil started to get up too, picking up both John’s and his own plate. “John.”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad we could all be here together for the holidays. Even if it seems that the house will be dusted with sugar for days.”

Virgil side eyed the footprints and trails of sugar from the kitchen floor to the stairs and dreaded to think what it was like upstairs in the living quarters.

“Glad to be here. Just like old times.”

Gordon was the one to break the stalemate over there, and he positively lunged for the eldest brother. Alan was quick to join him, and the three were all on the kitchen floor in a tangled mess of a pile.

Just like old times indeed.

[emtb319]

Day 4 of Fishtank week-prompts ‘we’re a team, always’ or ‘did you doubt me?’

Gordon didn’t like to sit still.  Even now, from the couch with his leg in a brace and all, he was trying to walk his biggest brother through the sea sludge that held the escape capsule.  He could hear Scott’s annoyance, but he had to do something to help them.  If only his body would heal faster.

After they successfully recovered the capsule, they busied themselves with its data.  Gordon found himself feeling left out again.  It was a lot of engineering speak to see if they could even recover the data, let alone see and interpret it.  The boredom of healing was only making it worse.

After a particularly restless night, he found himself sitting on a couch overlooking the pool.  He wanted to swim laps, but the braces wouldn’t allow for it.  So, he sat on the couch, stewing.  He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Virgil come into the room or sit next to him.  It wasn’t until stuff was put in his hands did he realize that he wasn’t there alone.

‘We’re running low.  Purple or orange?,’ Virgil asked.

‘Huh?’ was the only response he could utter.

‘We’re running low on our little crochet animals for the kids.'

‘Oh,’ Gordon answered, finally realizing.  ‘Give me the purple please and that white.’  A few hours later, they had a nice handful of little crochet animals.  Virgil got up for a moment to get the stuffing that they’d need to finish them.

‘I know it’s been hard for you Gords.’  Gordon huffed at him.  How could he possibly understand how bad this was for him?  The sitting still, the boredom, watching his brothers go out there to help people while he stayed behind, useless.  Virgil handed him a bag of the stuffing.  ‘We’re a team, always, even if that looks a little different right now.’

‘A little different…Virgil you know that I can’t sit still.  This is driving me crazy.’

‘I know, I know.  I remember when Mom was pregnant with you.  Even then, you didn’t do still.  You used to drive the technicians crazy.  All they wanted to do was measure you, and on top of it all, you tried to make your grand escape, 11 weeks early.’  Gordon chuckled.

‘I remember the stories.  Isn’t there a picture somewhere of me blowing a kiss to my nurses?’

‘Yea, I’ll find it for you.  You still came early and small.  Not even an hour old, you were stealing everyone’s hearts.’  They kept working on their stuffed animals, until John called down.  Virgil and Scott were needed.

‘Go Virg.  Thank you for this, I really needed it.  I’ll have these done by the time you get back.’

‘Thanks Gords,’ Virgil said as he gathered the ones that were done to store in 2.  ‘We can always use more of these.’  Virgil took a moment to grasp his shoulder before leaving.  ‘It won’t be much longer.  You’ll be back in your seat on 2 as my co-pilot soon.  I promise.’

‘I know.  Now go before John starts to worry and be careful.’ ‘I will.’

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 29 - Reassure

Story so far

Sometimes the time to talk comes before you think you are ready. Sorry Virg.

Apologies in advance for the overuse of …

…

… I blame Virg’s half-drugged inner monologue. And also Alan.

💚💙❤️💛🧡💚💙❤️💛🧡💚💙❤️💛🧡

“It’s my fault Virgil got sick.”

To Scott’s credit the look of incredulity had passed very quickly and returned to concerned big brother as he prompted “what makes you think that?”

Alan was several sentences into his attempt to turn a confused childhood memory into a coherent narrative before Virgil suddenly realised he should have objected to that initial statement. Damn. Not that it would have made any difference, probably… a Tracy determined to accept blame was difficult to redirect… but it wasn’t a great look not to have disagreed at the outset.

Maybe he should say it now, just in case?

He sat up a little and opened his mouth but belatedly realised the rest of the family were now hearing about something deeply personal Virgil had hoped none of them would ever find out. Especially not Scott. He blushed, well aware that objectively his little coping mechanisms from that… time… could sound desperately unhinged, even before he got sick and he hadn’t even properly heard how Alan had described it so he could explain and damn he’d stopped listening again and Alan was still talking…

“… and of course I was a compete idiot wasn’t I because it wasn’t a ghost hug Virgil meant at all it was… more like a memory? Of a hug? And I knew I shouldn’t go in there but… but I missed him…” Alan suddenly looked back up at Scott who had frozen in place, both hands still wrapped around one of Alan’s eyes flicking between him and Virgil “… I mean you. I missed you too and I… thought maybe if…if I went in you’d come and I’d get a hug again as well but then… tried to balance the mug… so stupid and I ruined everything… and he… he looked so sad I couldn’t breathe. And then he got sick… so…”

Virgil just shook his head and moaned a little in lieu of speaking. His eyes were squeezed shut but could feel them all looking at him. He had to clear this up, he had to get his brain in gear. He focussed on the pressure of Alan’s skull against his clavicle and forced himself to lift his eyes to meet those of his older brother…

… who stared back at him, his face bewildered and bloodless. Scott’s lips parted as if to speak but he didn’t seem any more capable of forming words than Virgil did.

“It’s been you with the clothes!” Gordon suddenly burst into the awkward silence. “I was blaming Grandma…”

Alan flushed and looked down again.

“I just… didn’t know how to help and I hoped it might… help.”

Big brother mode re-engaged, Scott put a hand back on Alan’s arm and offered firm reassurance without moving his eyes from Virgil for a moment.

“It did.”

Alan nodded, then buried his face back into Virgil’s shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Virgil”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Allie.”

Virgil’s voice came out rather squeakier than he’d intended so he held his little brother close and swallowed hard.

He knew from observing both Scott and Gordon as they underwent therapy that it was supposed to be good to revisit this stuff - it was good to deliberately remember and to vocalise the things that haunted you… all of them. He’d reminded them often enough. Gordon had quite naturally found himself able to vent to Scott or to Virgil. Scott… well despite Virgil’s efforts he hadn’t let them in for a very long time, not until quite recently when circumstances forced his hand. Even now Virgil knew Scott’s instinct was to shield them from what was going on in his head, rather than let them help. But he had always spoken to his therapist and so Virgil had had to be content with that.

And Virgil had confided in… precisely nobody. Because really, compared to what they’d each been through... well. Dr Clifford had pointed out only a couple of hours ago that the same advice applied to him too - that eventually the acknowledging and the speaking would take the power of the memories away, the ones that lurked and gnawed at his very being.

But of all the times and places to start… the tiny incident Alan was torturing himself over was one of Virgil’s hardest moments. It had been the tipping point between the living nightmare he recalled and the one he… didn’t. The time reality caught up with him and he lost hope. The moment he had finally let go.

The moment he’d actually lost Scott.

And lost Virgil too.

But Alan didn’t know that, all the guilt-ridden child of his memories knew was he’d upset his brother, that after that Virgil hadn’t wanted to look after them anymore.

This really wasn’t the best time. He wasn’t quite sure he’d know how to put it into words when at his best and he definitely wasn’t. And he really, really needed to get this right. Because even putting therapeutic best practice aside, this wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about Alan, Scott… all of them.

“Ok. Ok, so… I guess I should explain some… uh… stuff.” Virgil’s voice was still shaky and he paused as he was suddenly hemmed in by a Gordon on one side and a John on the other. Scott dropped one of his hands from Alan’s to rest on Virgil’s foot. Thus surrounded, he found the words suddenly came a little easier.

“Allie… it really wasn’t your fault. Uh, I’m going to be honest, because you’re not an idiot but you have to hear me out… Right to the end, ok?”

Alan nodded and pressed the side of his face to Virgil’s chest. Scott hovered in front of him, looking stricken, but didn’t interfere.

“I still don’t remember a lot of it very well.” He used the back of his hand to wipe non-existent sweat from his forehead then ran his hand through his hair while trying to summon up the strength and focus to say this the right way.

“But I do remember that night quite clearly and, yeah I was… upset. Not with you, not really with you, but the circumstances and… yeah you’re right that was when I started to… lose my hold on… um, things.”

Alan closed his eyes and tightened his grip on Virgil’s shirt. Virgil watched his face for a moment, his heart squeezing as he noticed the depth of the shadows across his little brother’s cheekbones. He’d clearly been tormenting himself the last week or so and it had gone undetected. Cut from the same cloth as his eldest brother, said torment had clearly done a number on his sleep schedule.

“But, Alan you have to understand this, it wasn’t because of your little accident. If it hadn’t been that, it would have been something else… maybe something Dad said in passing, or something Gordon made for dinner, or looking at the colour of the sky and thinking how much Scott would have liked it.”

“But it WAS that. I made it happen. It was me messing up.”

“No, Allie, no. Listen to me, it happened… inevitably… because I wasn’t coping. I couldn’t do it. No, don’t look at me like that John, it’s true… I have a go at Scott for trying to do everything, be everything but I’m such a hypocrite because when it was my turn I tried to be Scott AND be Mom AND Dad all at the same time and I didn’t know how to… be me? Without…. Without Scott, you know? I didn’t give myself even a moment to work that out because I was scared I wasn’t enough on my own and so… I kind of pretended he was coming back still and it all had to be… ok… when he did come back… and so….” John’s fingers had tightened almost imperceptibly on his shoulder and with a little start Virgil realised he was still verbalising all these thoughts and everyone was looking at him.

He cleared his throat.

“Uh, anyway. The point is it wasn’t you, Allie. It wasn’t working. I was barely sleeping, wasn’t really eating. I knew it at the time but didn’t admit it because I thought I was letting Scott down… because I promised him to always look after you all, no matter what.”

There was a quiet moan from his older brother and Virgil suddenly had absolute clarity about what he was going to say next. Because Scott needed to hear this. They all did.

“The thing is Allie… the thing is… Sometimes people ask you to make promises that… aren’t fair. Promises that are so much bigger than they seem at the time. And when that person is gone, if the promise isn’t really possible… if it isn’t healthy to try to keep it… well... What I should have done is asked myself what Scott would have told me to do.”

He looked up and met his big brother’s eyes which were shining with unshed tears.

“You should have taken care of yourself! You shouldn’t have burned yourself out for me. I never wanted that, I never meant to ask that! I’m so sorry, Virgil.”

“I know you didn’t. And I should have then too, I was just too busy trying to do everything and be good enough to let myself think about it.”

Virgil waited, watching the emotions flicker across Scott’s face, wondering when the penny would drop. He’d know when it did, in some ways his brother would always be an open book to him.

Ever such a slight widening of blue eyes and then an almost but not quite concealed frown in his direction told Virgil his point had landed and that more words would inevitably be exchanged on the subject.

Later. He’d deal with that later.

For now, he could almost feel the adrenaline dissipating and for once he allowed himself to drift without complaint. He knew he couldn’t go far this time, grounded as he was by the not insignificant weight in his arms and held up by the unrelenting affection on every side.

[astranite]

Even When The Sun Falls Into The Sea

A shorter and rougher bit of fluff and brotherly shenanigans in between longer things. John, Virgil and Scott, with some low key trans Scott!

---

Scott stretched up towards the deepening blue sky, arms reaching high above his head. His shoulders cracked as he twisted them behind his back to stretch out his ribs too. The sunshine had been nice, despite the slight chill now in the air. Though that was as cold as it would get upon their island, nothing like the snow and blizzards of rescue sites he’d seen. 

He shook himself in a full body shiver. Dusk had came in quick this evening, the sun dropping into the ocean instead of lingering in a sunset, leaving Scott in just his binder and jeans from where he’d discarded his shirt in the heat of the late afternoon. 

Okay so technically he’d chucked it at Virgil’s head for being a menace of a little brother. Except somehow his shirt had wound up in the pool and had to be fished out with the big scoop on a pole they’d both nearly brained themselves with trying not to drop no matter how well they worked together on rescues. John had snickered at them until he and Virge had swung round and almost whalloped off his ridiculously massive sunhat too. Then he’d clearly decided they couldn’t be left to their own devices which Scott reckoned was a totally unfair assumption not counting they’d lost the shirt at the deep end mid way through getting it out. John had grabbed a section of pole to ‘help’ so they were all clinging together and waving it about, tripping over each other until his shirt had had enough and practically crawled out by itself to get away from them. 

Scott huffed out a laugh. 

John twisted around to stare at him from where he was dangling his legs in the pool, a grin already playing on his lips. “What’s so funny?”

Scott mimed whacking him over the head with an invisible pool scoop. 

John doubled over giggling, dramatically clutching at his hat before he retaliated with a swing quite like a cricket bat if you’d never seen cricket and merely wanted to hit stuff. He was still wearing the straw monstrosity in an attempt to avoid every ray the sun put out but only John or perhaps Gordon would choose one that definitely glowed neon orange. He had avoided the sunburn successfully but never the freckles. 

Virgil emerged from the depths of his sketchbook, blinking at them like a creature who’d never seen the world coming out of its burrow before beginning to laugh as if he had never seen anything so hilarious. 

He held up his sketchbook for them to see. There pictured in the absolute detail he’d been working on for the last couple of hours was a sunny poolside scene of the three eldest brothers, gathered together smiling, the palm trees in the background swishing with the gentle breeze and droplets of water glittering through the air. 

The three brothers were also waving the pool scoop about with Scott’s shirt flying like a flag on the end, shedding water all over them, midway through trying to prevent an overbalanced Scott from leading the tumble into the pool. 

Once again the scene had the three of them laughing, even as dusk had now come to the island. Scott crouched to get a better look at the drawing’s details.

He ended up sprawled out by the pool soaking up the last of the day’s warmth from the concrete. Through the fabric of his clothes, from the rough surface against his skin the chill receded.

John pulled his legs out of the pool, dried them off, then came over to flop down next to Scott, pressing their arms together, John’s body warmer than the ground through his t-shirt brushing Scott’s bare bicep.

Scott glanced over at Virgil and patted the patch of concrete on his other side. His brother was all soft, fluffy, well loved flannel tucking an arm over Scott, reaching for John too, linking the three of them together.

They looked up at the sky, John pointing out the stars as they appeared, him and Virgil simply listening.

Scott yawned and grinned as the others couldn’t help but to follow. He relaxed, letting his muscles go loose, sinking into the ground and the warmth surrounding him even when the the sun had fallen into the sea. Here and now with his brothers, he could just be.