#ooh off the shoulder very daring mr bang

[rosesnink]

Your Most Ardent Admirer

Author’s Notes 

*This new series I had baking for a very long time took me a lot of research and writer’s block for nearly a year, but here it is! 

*This series will treat some sensible themes, such as traumas of the WWI, the misogyny, war itself, etc, so this series will be rated +13 for your sakes. 

*All the characters belong to Pixelberry, I only own my OC, June Dante, no one else. 

Summary: Ernest Sinclaire finds himself a widower, lonely and hopeless, until he meets this dashing singer that has intrigued him from minute one... 

TW: Heavy kissing, adultery 

Rating: PG-13 

Word Count: 2310 

*Click in the image for better quality!!

London, UK, 1928

The night had fallen in the Guilty Pleasures as Ernest Sinclaire scans the cabaret’s crowd. They’re all laughing, drinking and kissing. Everyone lives their lives as he mourns. He catches Bartholomew Chamber’s shape, with a hand awfully down on a man’s waist. He’s laughing, flirting shamelessly with that man as the other ladies giggle to themselves. Donna Bowman seems to see him and whispers something to Felicity Holloway. He goes toward the bar as he avoids all he can the blonde woman. He finds himself dodging some dancing ladies and waitresses in revealing clothes to catch his eye. But he ignores them all.

He finds a glass of expensive vodka and gulps it as he observes his photo with his now dead wife: Roselyn D’Oleur, a beautiful and delicate French girl who caught his attention when he was just 19. They dated over a year before he proposed to her. She accepted between ‘oohs’ and giggles. They lived happy and had a great dynamic in everything… or that’s what he thought. Then, reality hit him. She’d ask him for money all the time to go shopping and fetch drinks that never came to her since she disappeared all night. Both families pressured them to settle down and start conceiving children, but Roselyn started coming very late at home and that connection was… lost.

One day, after talking late about businesses with Vincent Foredale, he saw Roselyn in a hotel room that had the window open. She was naked and drinking expensive wine. He thought, under his hot collar that it was just ladies’ fun…   Until he saw him. The man who had been a role model was there, also naked, taking his own wife in a hotel with the window open. He thought it must be a joke. A nightmare. But fifteen minutes later they were at it again, and he couldn’t stand it. He awaited her until she came home at 6 a.m., her hair a mess and hickeys all over her neck and her dress half zipped.

“How long, Roselyn?” He asked, looking at her with sour pain. “Please, no more lies. I saw you both there. I saw everything.”

She sighed as she played with what seemed like the room’s key “Two years. Ernest, I am so sorry- It was a mistake!”

“You know it’s not true. Is it a mistake that you flirted with him with my ring on your finger, let him touch you, allow him to connect with you for who knows how often and without daring to look to my eyes and tell me the truth? That’s not a mistake, Roselyn. You let it happen and made me look like a fool in front of everyone. I just- What did I do wrong?”

She took a heavy breath “It’s not you, Ernest. You’re a fantastic husband, but- the thing is- I don’t love you. I only wanted your money, Ernest. Not all of us can afford being romantic.”

Those words came to him like a stab on his chest. He felt fooled, hurt and humiliated. This was all about money and reputation. Never love.

“Just- Get out, Roselyn. I need to think. Alone” She reached for him, but he jerked back “Don’t do it. Just… Go.”

The days passed as he processed everything and thought how he’d look at the people once he saw what they probably saw for a while ago. He felt so… he couldn’t even name it.

The days passed until, at midnight, he heard a loud banging at the door. Whoever it was, it was screeching his name and insisting on him to open the door. And he obliged.

Who else than Roselyn was there, crying and grabbing her stomach? He rushed her inside and helped her calm down and talk to him. She cried out in his shoulder that she was pregnant. Pregnant of Tristan Richards. And that she told him, but he repudiated her for a rather young woman who seemed as a payed prostitute.

Her family disowned her, the father wouldn’t talk to her and she was now a fornicator with no feelings.

Even if his reasoning told him to do the same, it was against his nature. His ethics, how he was raised. He took her in, helped her through pregnancy and never left her side.

But things got complicated in childbirth. She lost a lot of blood, she was in pain and very weak. She was too young to bear it. She died, but the child would survive.

She was breathing heavily, holding the babe tight. She looked at him and muttered “Percival… his name is Percival… take care of him…please. It’s-it’s not his fault. Don’t make him pay for my sins,”

He took her hand and kissed it “I will. Little Percival will have everything he needs. I promise.”

She smiled at him weakly and kissed his hand in return as she looked at the crying newborn “Mon bebe… J’et aime.” And with that, she was gone.

And now, back at the present, he awaited his company as his fingers drummed the table. There he was. Renard D’Oleur, Roselyn’s brother. He saluted him and asked “Where’s my nephew?”

“He is outside with the nanny. We’re biding our goodbyes. Will he be alright?”

“I assure you, he will.” He patted his back “If that’s everything…”

“Wait, one more thing. May I… call him monthly? To check on him?”

Renard sighed as he grimaced “He is just one year old and I wouldn’t have to force him compromise with something like that. I’m so sorry, I wish I could do more.”

“Just keep him safe. It’s all I ask of you,”

“He will. We’ll tell him who was his mother.”

And with that, he left with the bundle of joy in his arms, a part of him broken. He turned on his heels to look at him again and commented.

“Anyways, June Dante is giving a show in here today. Chick’s know how to sing and give a show. Relax and let her bewitch you.”

He sighed as he chugged his vodka and shook his head. Last thing he needed was now a show.

He was about to pay the bartender when a feminine voice started singing, her melodical, mermaid-alike voice seemed to caress his skin and he turned on his left, where the singer, who had a short, blonde hair and an elegant flapper dress, red lipstick and elegant high-heeled boots that made her mildly bare legs and dress draw him to her. She smiled as she dropped sensually her fur coat and started singing the chorus

Diamonds are a girl’s best friend

No man can compete against them

I like to wear them without the pressure of being called Mrs.

Making my skin glowing

If I could choose a marriage over this stone of pure blessing

I’d choose elegance over a tying knot

And do not dare to say men are better than these blessed stone

Because ‘tis the glow that will never overshadow moi

His eyes were glued on her, her charming and seductive smile, how her hands and hips moved in a killing, slow way and her eyes connected with his, sending a cold shiver over his spine, his heart racing fast. The song was reaching the end, and there was a moment where she rolled over his seat and caressed his cheek in a ticklish, sensual way, making him shiver and blush furiously. She ended her spectacle dancing in a very revealing way, feeling hot under his collar, his eyes never wandering off hers. Everyone clapped and threw her flowers, money and even personal belongings followed by “I love you’s, marry me and other rather scandalizing ways as she laughed seductively, her voice like velvet in his ear and waved goodbye.

Renard was right, that woman made a most dignifying spectacle, making him want more of her. He drank the rest of his vodka and wandered how a stranger would possibly land her beautiful hazel eyes on him, a simple, modest man. A man tapped his shoulder and whispered to accompany him. He followed the rather intimidating man and trespassed Richards, who was trying to get the singer’s attention.

“Oh, come on! Him of all people?! He’s but a boring widower! You deserve better, June!”

“Miss June awaits you. Be a gentleman,” The man scowled before kicking out Richards at the head of the horde of people.

When he took in the image of June in a fine silk white robe and her hair flawlessly falling on the edges of her jaw and with a rather extended V over her chest and revealing her ankles and part of her flawlessly shaved legs, his heart raced and his pulse quicken as he tried to assimilate that the beauty of June Dante called him. She turned around, her smile perfect and white and her lips still red and her face glowing and heard her regular voice, he felt like speaking with an envoy of the angels.

“So you’re the dashing gentleman! Oh, how rude of me, here, have a drink, darling!” She handed him an elegant flute of fruity white wine and rushed him to a very comfortable sofa and sat in a way that she was leaning on him and her knees were at a 90 angle and her manicured feet were barely seen and her perfectly made nails got close to him.

“What’s your name, handsome?” She traced a shivering line on his hand vein.

“Sinclaire. Ernest Sinclaire” He answered, trying not to shudder.

“Ernest Sinclaire… Hmm, I like your name, Ernest,” She purred as he tried to control the dizziness in his head and how her middle and index finger were tracing his hand and his heart was racing fast like a hummingbird.

“I- Thank you, Miss—,”

“June. Just call me June. We’re in confidence, dear Ernest,”

He had to admit, his name in her lips was like being kissed and caressed of Venus’s touch.

“What brings you to my show tonight, handsome?”

He swallowed as she played with the corners of her dress and answered “I’m a regular since—since my wife’s passing. I just closed some business with her brother”

Her face fell as her hand traced the length of his arm and caressed his jaw “Oh, dear, I am so sorry to hear that such a dashing and intriguing man is alone in this gray town.” She pouted.

“I—That’s much appreciated, Miss—Ahem, June.”

“Come, love, allow me to ease the pain,” She placed his head on her chest, making his skin crawl and his heart was about to get out of his chest as he felt her heartbeats and how she caressed his hair, playing with his curls.

He didn’t know if it was the vodka or some strange substance in the champagne, but he felt so good…

“Thank you, June. You’re a kind woman.”

“Oh, I am not just known for my singing skills, dear Ernest,”.  

“I never doubted that, June.”

“How long?” She asked of all sudden.

“I’m sorry?” He asked back, confused.

“How long has your wife been dead?”

He didn’t understand why she asked that but he answered anyways “Like, for a year. Why?”

She didn’t answer. She just grabbed his face and kissed him fervently, all the tension in the ambiance now down. He was at first startled by the sudden action of the woman, but then he kissed her back, returning her fervent kisses and grabbing gently her waist and back, bringing her closer to him. She moaned softly as she grabbed his hair and the back of his neck, laying down the sofa, allowing him to be atop her. Their tongues battled for dominance before she panted, leaving him some liberties and a hand traveled to her lower back, bringing her body closer to her, which she answered by arching towards him. He moaned in pure bliss and delight, not believing such a beauty would be allowing him take such liberties with her. She grabbed his shirt and tried to tug it off, but then he realized one thing: he was quite tipsy, kissing a dashing stranger and in a backstage no less. He broke the kiss and sat again as he gulped, wiping off her lipstick all over his mouth. She looked at him confused and panting, her lips red and itchy of the kissing.

“Why’d you stop? Is something wrong? I thought you liked me!”

He studied carefully his words before placing a hand in her.

“June, you’re a breathtaking, beautiful, interesting and witty woman, but we just met and I’m still grieving my wife. It’s—It’s not the moment. I am not ready for jump out for some new romantic adventure. You deserve so much better, June.”

She nodded as she fished something of her purse and said “It’s alright. I understand. I shall apologize for dragging you to this, it was wrong of me,” She handed him a few cards “My residences in Madrid, the outskirts of London, Paris, New York and Berlin if you want to pen me, either as a friend or whatever you’d like, I’ll be at your disposal despite the distance.”

He grabbed those cards and nodded “That’s kind of you, June. I’ll treasure them,”

She kissed his cheek and sighed “It was memorable to meet you, Ernest. I hope we can see each other again,”

“Me, too,”

With that, he left. All the feelings rushed him inside: he felt happiness, guilt, longing… He shook his head. He just met this woman! Love at first sight was but an old wives’ tale. And he was still grieving Roselyn, he couldn’t just do that so easily. Maybe he couldn’t afford a lover, but it never hurt having a friend who could listen to you and make your day brighter.

Right?

[desiraypark]

Head Chef/Meat Chef

Characters: Ben Solo Skywalker x Reader (w/vag) Content: *Modern and Earth-comparable Universe; Name-calling; meanness; enemies in public/lovers in private; boss/employee; rough s*x (hair pulling; neck/jaw-grabbing; a little pop in the mouth) | Mentions of: meat (also includes a gif) and death (in backstory below). Author’s Note: This wasn’t as rough and nasty as I initially imagined but it still made me a little hot lol. A blank is used in place of “Y/N” and also, my knowledge of restaurant operation is limited to episodes of Kitchen Nightmares lol. Backstory: Shmi Skywalker was hands down the best cook in her neighborhood. People would give up half their paychecks just to get her to cook up some of her delicious pies or chicken dinners. Sadly, she died very young, and her son, Anakin, honored her legacy by opening a restaurant to serve her recipes. The Skywalker Diner became profitable enough for Anakin to open restaurants all along the west coast over the years. He opened the Padmé Steakhouse in the affluent county of Naboo when his grandson, Ben, was a baby. 

Now, Ben Skywalker (his last name is actually Solo, but don’t you dare call him that) is the notoriously meticulous owner and head chef at Padmé’s. He only serves the best and pushes his staff to live up to his and his family’s reputation. Especially you, his talented Rotisseur...

“Fucking hell...” Mr. Skywalker mumbled. “ Hey, Meat Girl?!” “What?” you responded over your shoulder, as you placed a steak on the grill. “This steak is supposed to be medium rare...” You huffed. “Well, what is is it?” “It’s medium!” You huffed again and shook your head. “I’ll start up another.” “This is what, the third time tonight?” he asked. No one said anything. Dishes and utensils clinked and clanked around as everyone focused on their station, careful not to fuck up their dishes.  “Hey, Princess?! _____?” he called. “What?!” “Can you get your head out of your ass?” “Oh, fuck you!” you shouted back. The other chefs gasped and let out “oohs...” under their breath. “I know you want to,” he replied. “Is that what needs to happen? For you to cook a fucking steak properly?” A burning sensation pumped through your chest. You focused on placing your meats on the grill.  “Go on and run this to table six,” you heard him say to a server. “Tell whoever had the medium rare that the chef had to start another because she’s too busy focusing on her un-fucked cunt.” You scoffed and reached over your own shoulder to hold up your middle finger. “Relax, ____, relax...” Tanya, the pastry chef whispered. “Don’t try to save her Tanya,” Ben interjected. “Let her dig her fucking ditch.” 11:00PM The last table left thirty minutes after closing time, and Ben came out from his office and into the kitchen. Music blared from the radio as you and the kitchen staff cleaned up. “After this place gets cleaned up, you come to my office,” he demanded. Silence. You wiped down your station, paying him no mind. He shook his head and walked away. 11:45PM You watched your co-workers walk out of the backdoor. They’d wished you a chorus of “good lucks” and “everything will be okay’s” before they slipped out to jump in their cars.

The dining room was darkened and empty, and the kitchen would be, too. You turned off the radio, switched off the light, and maneuvered through the dining room to Ben’s office. Your clit began to pulsate. When you reached his office, you stood in the door frame. He sat behind his desk, staring into a computer. His desk was abnormally clean. Well, it would be abnormal to others, but it wasn’t to you--you knew why the anal perfectionist had moved his paperwork. He’d also taken off his suit jacket. “Come here,” he said, not looking away from the screen.  You walked to his desk. He looked up at you and rolled his eyes. “Come around here.” “No,” you said. He took in a deep breath and rose from his seat. You felt the puddle forming in your panties and bit your bottom lip. He walked in front of you and grabbed hold of your jaw.  “You’re being a real fucking bitch today, aren’t you?” he asked. You couldn’t stop the menacing smile from forming on your face. Then, he smirked. “This is what you wanted, huh?” he asked. He palmed your ass. “You fucked up my customers’ meals just so you could get a rise out of me? So you could get fucked?”  Smack! You moaned at the lash of fire that stung your ass cheek.  “Fuck you and those customers.” You squeezed his nipple, making him whimper. He pulled your face to his and ravaged your mouth with his tongue. Then, he snatched his mouth away from yours, throwing you off balance a bit.  “Get undressed,” he said, undoing his own pants.  You pulled your T-shirt over your head and Ben pulled out a throbbing, hard, and leaking dick. He began to stroke it, and you smirked at the sight. You unbuttoned your pants. “You’re pathetic,” you said. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, grabbing your throat. You quickly wrapped your hand around his wrist and dug your nails in. He let go, so that you could pull your pants down over your hips. But he scoffed, moved your hands out of the way and yanked them (and your underwear) down to your ankles. He knelt down to pull them over your sneakers, too. When he lifted his body again, you popped him in the mouth. Wrinkles formed in his forehead and his eyes narrowed, and before you knew it, you were being turned around and thrown over his cold desk. He tugged at your bra strap and unfastened it, then without warning, you felt his stiff length stretching you open. “Ahhh!” you moaned. “You bitch...” He grabbed your hair and gave you a merciless pounding. The sounds of a squelching pussy and balls slapping against your ass echoed throughout the office, along with your screams. “You okay?” he asked, not letting up on his rhythm.  You chuckled. “Am I okay?” You turned your head a little, his fingers still in your scalp. “You’re not doing shit.” Ben released your hair and held on to your waist with both hands. The rhythmic stroke transformed into painfully slow and punctuated thrusts. You grabbed the edge of the desk as the head of his dick met your cervix...again...and again...and again. Your eyes rolled back and as much as you didn’t want to show that he had the upper hand, you started to squirm. “Are you squirming?” he asked.  “No!” you lied. He pulled his dick out and yanked you up by your arm. Then, he picked you up and held you by your waist--your legs wrapped around his. You took hold of his hair, and he pressed his fingers deep into the flesh of your ass. He walked you close to his door, where a pair of folding chairs resided, and he sat down in one. Then, he pulled you closer to him. Your arms fell around his neck and the fabric of your lopsided bra rubbed against his skin. “Are you gonna let me take my bra off, you fucking idiot?” you asked. He grunted and stuffed all four of his fingers in your mouth, making you gag at the sudden intrusion. “Take it off without running that disgusting mouth of yours.” You pulled off your bra. Then, you sucked on his fingers--giving him a taste of what could come soon--and you whipped your head away. 

“You’ve got me naked in your office while you’re still fully clothed. I bet you feel like I real fucking man, huh?” “Yeah, I do,” he said. He lifted your body and lined his head up at your entrance. “Sit down.” You eased down onto his dick and started bouncing up and down on it. 

“Fuck!” you cried out.  Ben tightened his arms around you again and pulled you close. Then, he overrode your riding with thrusts up into you. 

“I only told you to sit on it, Princess,” he said. You threw your head onto his shoulder, squealing from the painful pleasure. “It’s one thing to be a fuck-up, but to be a disobedient fuck-up?”

He tsk-tsk’d you and removed one of his arms from your waist to release a couple of more hellish smacks to your ass. You gained the courage to start bouncing on him again, trying to meet his thrusts with your own, but you were powerless. You looked down at him and he looked up at you with a twinkle in his eyes and with his lips in a smirk. Then, you wrapped your hand around his throat. He slowed down his thrusts, but he didn’t remove his eyes from yours. The rapid banging was replaced with slow, deep thrusts. Squish...squish...squish...went your pussy. You could feel your juices dripping out, and being fucked back into you. The sensation made your nipples harden and your eyes roll back. Ben grabbed one of your breasts and wrapped his lips around your nipple. Then, he let you bounce on his dick on your own accord. He pulled his lips away and looked up at you. “Do you want to come?” He grabbed your other breast and sucked its nipple. “Yes,” you whimpered, looking down at him. “You think you deserve to?” “Yes...” He pulled his mouth away and slapped your ass again. You whimpered and fell back over his shoulder. He chuckled. “What a fucking nerve...” he said. “After your behavior tonight, you think you deserve to have an orgasm?” “I’m sorry...” you whined, still grinding on his dick, your thighs starting to burn. “No you’re not,” he said. “Stand up.” You didn’t move. You kept grinding and whined at the idea of losing the sensation of his dick in you. But he lifted your body--the strong bastard--and pulled his dick out of you. “Get on your knees,” he said, pulling his pants down and letting them fall to his feet. You climbed down and onto your knees in front of him. “If you make me come with that smart mouth of yours, I might let you come, too...” You licked a stripe down his glistening shaft. 

“Mmm...” you teased. “I taste so good.” 

You looked up at him, opened your mouth and slapped the head of his dick on your tongue. “You should thank me for giving your dick something to look forward to.” Ben pressed your head down, pushing your mouth down onto his entire length. “Less talking, Princess.”  He moved your head up and down over him in swift motions. Tears began to well in your eyes and your cheeks burned, and finally, he showed mercy and released your head. You pulled your mouth away to catch your breath, and scowled up at him. Then, you got to work on your own.

You made a mess of his dick - mixing your saliva and your pussy’s juice over its entirety with your hand and your hot mouth. You looked up at Ben and he watched you with a lax jaw. He’d untucked his shirt and held it up to give you room and to cool the sweat on his abdomen. He wiped sweat from your brow. “That mouth looks so good with my dick in it,” he said. “Is your pussy wet from sucking my dick?” With a pop, you pulled your lips away from his dick. “Nope. She’s fucking dry as a desert. She’s practically repulsed.” Ben caught a laugh in his chest. “You’re such a devilish little bitch.” You smiled and got back to sucking. As you swirled your tongue around and swiveled your neck over his dick, you reached into his boxers and massaged his balls. Then, as you sucked at the tip, you began to stroke his shaft. You smirked at the sight of him shifting and squirming under you, trying so hard to keep his cool. You stroked over his boxers with your knuckles until you found your destination.

He may have refused to get naked—making you the only vulnerable one of you two—but he wasn’t leaving out of that office without falling apart at least once. You pressed your index finger’s knuckle against his perineum and stroked up and down.  “Fuckkkkkk!” he shouted, jerking his hips upward. 

You pulled your mouth away but kept stroking the shaft and the perineum, watching with your teeth pressed into your bottom lip as an endless stream of cum gushed out of his dick. You moved your hand from the space over his anus and sucked him through the rest of his orgasm. You were looking up at his chin, waiting for his eyes to meet yours, holding some of his nut in your mouth. When he finally looked down, you swallowed the remnants and licked your lips. He jumped forward, grabbed your jaw again, and pulled you into a deep kiss. 

Ben stood up and helped you up, as well. Then, he pulled his pants back up to his waist. Holding on to his waistband, he guided you to his desk and motioned for you to sit on it. You planted your cheeks on the wood as he pulled one of the chairs behind him--softer than the folding ones--close. He sat down, opened your legs, and ran his index and middle finger along the sticky folds of your labia. You’d lied to him about being wet, but he didn’t care. He pushed your legs open further and stuck his middle finger inside of you. “Mmm...” you moaned. You grabbed hold of your nipples. Then, he flicked his tongue against your clit. After a few flicks, he wrapped his lips around it and sucked, then circled his neck so all your wetness could cover his nostrils, his lips, and his chin. You cried out and reached out for his hair. But he pulled away and grabbed both of your wrists--holding them down at your sides. Without the use of his hands, Ben consumed your pussy like it was on his restaurant’s menu.  He licked and sucked at your clit, fucked the hole with his tongue, and even motor-boated the damn thing, making you jump and squirm. The pleasure was so intense and he wasn’t letting go of your hands for anything. You had no choice but to trapped Ben’s head between your thighs to alleviate the pressure. He tightened his grip around your wrists as you fucked his mouth and screamed like a banshee. Finally, he licked you into your release, but even as you came, he didn’t stop.  He kept a firm grip on your wrists and kept slurping at your folds and drinking down your cum. Your body felt like one big wave. Like those squiggly lines that covered everything on the Spice channel back in the day. Even when you tried to fall backward on the desk, Ben released your wrists just to grip your waist with one arm and fuck you with three fingers on his free hand.  “I...” you started. You were shaking. “I fucking hate you...” Ben finally pulled away and smirked up at you with a glazed smile. He licked his lips and you fell over to your side. He smacked your thigh. “Get your hot ass cheeks off my desk and put some clothes on,” he said. You stuck your middle finger in his face. He chuckled, grabbed your hand, and gave it a kiss. Then, he stood up and planted kisses up your leg, your thigh, your hips, and your shoulder, then onto your lips.  @kathorax​ 

[gumnut-logic]

V. T. Green (Part 5)

Title: V. T. Green

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Author: Gumnut

21 - 22 Sep 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: “Did you discover this, Brains?” He frowned. There was something familiar about this. Maybe they had discussed it recently.

“Oh, no, this is V. T. Green. The man is brilliant.”

Word count: 3282

Spoilers & warnings: None.

Timeline: Standalone

Author’s note: Ooh, two parts in two days. I’m on a roll :D I hope you enjoy it :D

This is one that I have been meaning to write for some time. I hope you enjoy it :D Many thanks to @scribbles97, @vegetacide  and @thunderstorm-bay for all their wonderful help with this.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Scott was staring at him as if lost for words. The medbay suddenly felt very small.

John’s voice interrupted. “Virgil?”

Virgil cleared his throat and shifted where he sat. “Yes, John.” His arm twinged and he grit his teeth. Damn it.

“I have something you will be interested in.”

“Tell me you’ve found who did it.”

“I think you know who did it.”

What?

“Well, I don’t know. Tell me.” Virgil’s revelation had obviously sunk into his brother. His eyes were glittering with anger.

“About a month after we saved the dam, Windemere ordered a check on the nanocrete. A crew was sent out, but the results were inconclusive. Records show that there was no concern regarding integrity, but a sample of the nanocrete was taken.”

“They messed with our stuff?” Scott was building up a fine head of steam.

“Hardly our stuff, Scott. Besides, Brains has molecularly masked the nanocrete anyway. They had no way to reverse engineer the formula.”

“So why take a sample? It would have been a bitch to hack off.”

“Diamond cutter coupled with a microlaser.”

“Microlaser.” Virgil jumped on the word like a life buoy in the middle of the ocean. “Windemere did this?”

“According to the dam records.”

“Did they go out again?”

“Yes, a month later. Reason was recorded as another integrity check.”

“That’s when they did it.” Virgil bit his lip.

“I concur.” There was something in John’s voice. “I have several images from Global Two on that day.” Images were shunted down to the medbay’s holoprojector.

There were only four and the camera had been focussed on the town, not the dam, but when John looped them into sequence, the crew, dark against the stark white concrete wall moved in a familiar pattern, touching first the central position of the nanocrete followed by the weak points Alan and Gordon had shored up earlier in the day.

“Windemere.”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“An opportunity, perhaps?”

“By sacrificing his own dam? His own career?”

“A gamble that is still to pay off?” John’s voice wasn’t quite as calm as usual.

Virgil straightened where he sat. “It is not going to pay off.” He threw himself to his feet. “We need Aunt Val and I need to see Windemere.”

He turned to leave and ran slap bang into his brother. The shock shook his frame and his arm.

“What the hell, Scott?”

“Where do you think you are going? I told you to get some rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not even supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be home in bed.”

“I’m fine! This needs to be done and it needs to be done now.” He glared up at his brother. Of all the frustrating...

“Goddamnit, Virgil, you have to push it, don’t you.” Scott’s voice had dropped rather than risen which meant he was beyond pissed and well into apoplectic. “I will speak to this guy. You sit your ass down now.”

“Scott-“

“No! And don’t you think I’m ever taking you out on a rescue injured ever again.”

Virgil straightened, his glare a physical heat between them. “Do you think I enjoy doing this? Do you think I am into self-flagellation? I do this because it has to be done. I do this because I am the only one who can do it.”

“Bullshit, Virg! I can fly Brains out here in no time.”

And there it was, the core of the matter. “Brains is a mechanical engineer, Scott. He’s a goddamned genius, but when in the hell is this family going to realise I have my own specialities. I may not have a pile of blasted paper to prove it, but you’ve always trusted me. Always. Why not now?!”

It took Scott down a peg, his shoulders shifting as he let out a frustrated sigh. “You’re injured.”

“I have a weakened arm. There is nothing wrong with my brain, Scott, and that is what is needed here. No heavy lifting, no mechanical aid, no Thunderbird Two, just me and what is between my ears. For god’s sake, trust me.”

“I do.”

“Then let me do this.”

“Virgil...”

“Oh, for the love of... no wonder most of you haven’t worked it out.” Frustrated, Virgil used his left shoulder to push past his brother. “Thunderbird Five, could you please put me through to Aunt Val?”

“FAB.” Whether John had overheard their discussion or not - he probably had - he did not react to it at all.

Virgil strode out the medbay, heading for the hatch so his girl could let him down onto the worn asphalt his ‘bird was parked on. Scott followed without a word. Whether or not what had been said made a difference, Virgil did not know. Chances are Scott would pick up the conversation later and rip strips off him, but too bad. This had to be done now.

-o-o-o-

Scott was furious.

He followed his brother out of his ‘bird and into the evening light. Far down below the dam, water gushed into the stream, desperate to empty the reservoir.

Whatever John said to their Aunt, it had her appearing in a GDF flyer almost immediately, the vehicle hovering to allow both brothers to board.

“Scott, I have to say I am happy to have you boys here on this one. Thank you so much for all your assistance with the evacuation and shoring up the town.”

Keeping a polite face, Scott buried his anger at his brother to maintain civility. He would save it for later. “It is what we do, Colonel.”

“Well, I am very happy that you do it. Now, John said your request was urgent.” The flyer lifted slowly.

Scott looked at his brother. Okay, Virgil, this is your play.

A flash of brown in his direction. “Colonel, we need to speak to Windemere. I have some suspicions I need confirmed.”

“Windemere is in the brig. He did nothing but hamper attempts to prevent this disaster. I have questions of my own.”

Virgil straightened his shoulders. “I need to see him. It is important.”

Casey flicked a glance at Scott, who tilted his head just a little. Virgil’s shoulders tensed beside him.

Okay, maybe Virgil had a point.

“Virgil needs to speak to the dam supervisor. He has some technical questions.”

Casey lowered her eyes to the younger brother, her lips pursed just a little. “Very well.”

-o-o-o-

There was an empty cabin and a couple of chairs. To be honest, Virgil was quite happy to sit down. Scott was right. He shouldn’t be here, but it was no good wishing for what he couldn’t have. Work with what you’ve got. It was a Jeff Tracy motto, one Virgil Tracy kept close to his heart.

Of course, the pissed off mother hen beside him, didn’t fail to notice his sag into the chair. Even Aunt Val was eyeing him with concern.

Fine! He had a bent wing, but for god’s sake, he was okay.

Scott furrowed his brow.

Virgil turned away and ignored him.

Windemere was led into the room. Both the GDF and Thunderbird Five were recording this interview. Virgil desperately needed an independent eye that wasn’t IR to see what this man had done.

“Mr Windemere, these two agents of International Rescue have requested to speak to you. Please answer their questions fully and to the best of your knowledge.”

The man snorted. “I know my rights. I don’t have to say anything.”

“That is your choice, but you will find that the charges being laid against you will go kindlier if you help.”

“Is that a threat?”

Casey straightened, an eyebrow arching. “No, Mr Windemere, a simple fact.” The Colonel turned and took another seat towards the back of the room witnessing the interview as Virgil had requested.

Windemere turned to Virgil. “So, have you finished destroying my dam.”

“As I have repeatedly said, Mr Windemere, the dam’s disintegration was not caused by our repairs.”

“Prove it.” It was almost a snarl.

Virgil arched an eyebrow. “We have. It must have taken you some time to laser bore all those holes into the dam wall.”

“What holes?”

Virgil poked at his holoprojector and his scan results appeared for all to see.

He didn’t miss the quietly indrawn breath of his Aunt behind him.

Windemere was suddenly very still. His expression wasn’t perfect, the man was too stupid for that.

But not stupid enough.

“And I suppose you put that together with your little proprietary gadget that no one else knows anything about?”

“These scan results were achieved using a standard IR structural scanner, a device we use to locate structural defects, load points and hidden support mechanisms. I used the same scanner last week to calculate the weakest point in a brick wall in order to save a toddler from a fire. Yes, they are proprietary and no, you can’t see their schematics. The scan, however, is correct and true to fact.”

The snarl returned. “Why should I believe you.”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“Because you destroyed my dam.”

“We did not destroy your dam.”

“Prove it.”

“I just did.”

“Well, isn’t that just perfect for you. All that data that no one else can prove right or wrong, we just have to believe you are not lying.” His lip actually curled like a dog’s. “But you are.”

Virgil let it wash over him. Beside him, Scott was stiff as a board.

“What possible reason would International Rescue have to want to destroy the Grand Sequoia Dam?”

“To hide your own screw up.”

“What screw up?”

“The damage that your fancy concrete did to the dam.”

“There was no damage.”

“Prove it.”

Scott’s knuckles creaked as his fist tightened.

Virgil didn’t dare look in his direction.

“Mr Windemere, what are your qualifications?”

The man blinked, the question coming out of left field, but he straightened somewhat, obviously proud of his own achievements. “I am a graduate of the highest ranked engineering college in the world, Denver, of course.”

Virgil knew this; John had briefed them both on Windemere’s background prior to this little interview, but the engineer was still caught between laughing and cursing the fact this idiot was a product of the same educational institution he was.

Goes to show that education is certainly not everything.

“Were you there when Abby Applegate blew up the Chem Lab building?”

The man actually snorted. “I dated Abby Applegate.”

Well, that explained a lot. Abby Applegate was legendary at Denver. She was a genius, but not too bright on so many other fronts. Her theories were breakthrough, her execution catastrophic. The woman had been at Denver forever and yet she still hadn’t graduated. Virgil suspected the College kept her on campus as a public service while farming her for her brilliance.

Windemere frowned. “You went to Denver?!” His eyes widened. “You’re Virgil Tracy!”

“Yes.” The man was an idiot. Their attendance only overlapped by one year, but then Windemere had been there long before Virgil ever set foot on campus.

“Son of Jeff Tracy.” And there was the inevitable.

“Yes.”

“You work for International Rescue?”

Virgil’s arm was aching and his patience growing short. “Abby Applegate is brilliant. She was a core contributor to today’s hover technology. Did you know that?”

Windemere stared at him. “Sure. What has that got to do with anything?”

“Do you remember the Pacific seaquakes several years ago? The Tsunami Disaster? Abby Applegate was responsible for designing the technology that enabled the Hood to create those seaquakes. She didn’t know, or, I suspect, care, who got their hands on the technology. She released the designs as a theoretical. The Hood got his hands on them and the world suffered for it.” He pinned the man with his eyes. “This is why International Rescue technology is proprietary. This is why we don’t release our designs or formulas. Everything we do is for the good of everyone. But not everyone cares like we do.”

“Have you finished preaching?”

It was Virgil’s turn to tighten a fist under the table. “What did he offer you?”

“Who?”

“The Hood.”

The sudden silence was telling, but far from proof.

“He wanted the formula for the nanocrete, didn’t he? Offered you money in exchange for your career and integrity?”

Windemere’s lips thinned. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

God, the man was a pathetic liar. Beside him, Scott shifted in his seat. Virgil reached out and placed his hand on his brother’s knee. Blue flickered in his direction.

“Mr Windemere, we have molecular proof of artificially instigated concrete cancer, we have the delivery method, we have your service records, we know you did this. You do not have the technology the Hood requested and we are not going to give it to you. Your better option is to own up to your crimes and hope the courts are kinder to you for it.”

To Virgil’s surprise, the man smiled. “But to prove it, you will have to reveal your technology to those courts.”

Virgil eyed the man. What was his motivation? He stood to lose everything in this scheme. What could possibly be driving him to career suicide?

The man’s smile widened.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. It couldn’t be as simple as that, could it? Really?

“You know, Scott, I don’t think he knows anything. I don’t think he is bright enough to pull this off.” He flicked a glance in his brother’s direction, hoping he’d pick up on his train of thought.

As always, his big brother read his mind, eyes drilling into his for just that split second. “I told you that. He has to be a puppet of a smarter mind. We are wasting our time.” Scott stood up.

“I am no puppet!”

Wow, that was quick.

Acidic blue cut the man down. “There is no way you are smart enough to pull this off, Windemere.”

Virgil stood up. “He dated Abby Applegate. Perhaps she inadvertently released another of her ‘ideas’. Colonel Casey, the GDF will have to do something about her.”

Aunt Val rose, eyes darting between Virgil and his brother.

“It wasn’t Abby!” Windemere threw himself to his feet.

Virgil ignored him, taking a step towards the door. “Did I tell you about the time Abby set fire to her dorm by exploding a donut?”

Scott followed his lead. “A donut?”

“Pumped it full of homemade C-4 equivalent. Blew out sixteen windows and burned down half the building.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, it was spectacular.”

“It wasn’t Abby!”

“No one was hurt, fortunately. Though she did revolutionise the explosives market. Come to think of it, I used a derivative just last week during that mine collapse. It is an excellent product to work with.” He latched onto his brother’s eyes. “This corrosion would be right up her alley. I don’t know why I didn’t think of her earlier. It’s not like she hasn’t supplied the Hood before. He does only work with the best, I’ll give him that much.” A dismissive hand thrown in Windemere’s direction. “There is no way Windemere would make the grade.”

“Hey!”

Virgil hit his comms, knowing John was already listening in. “Thunderbird Five, could you give me a current location on Abby Applegate. She should be still housed at Denver College grounds.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Two.”

“Abby didn’t do it! I did!”

The room fell silent except for the harsh breathing of the man at its centre. His face was red, skin gleaming in the overhead light. “I’m just as smart as Abby, Just as smart. Smart. I’m smart.” And something in the man’s angry mind clicked and he realised exactly what he had done. He went still as stone for a moment, staring wide-eyed at Virgil.

An inarticulate scream and he threw himself across the table, hands clawing.

One hooked Virgil’s sling before he could react and, for a split second, all he saw was Windemere’s wild face and a flash of pain striking across his vision in all its colour variegated glory.

A blur of blue IR uniform and Virgil found himself falling back into his seat with a jarring thud as Scott intervened between him and the raging engineer. GDF guards piled in, and the man was dragged off the IR operatives, still screaming incoherently.

“Lock him up.” Aunt Val’s voice could not have been more disgusted. Windemere was bundled out of the room. His screams echoed down the hall.

“Virg, you okay?”

Virgil blinked and found Scott crouching down at his side, worry in his eyes. “Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. Didn’t expect him to completely explode.” He straightened up and winced. “Should have reacted quicker.”

His brother looked up at their Aunt. “Do we have enough?”

A sharp nod. “We have enough. Thank you, Scott. Thank you, Virgil.” She frowned down at him. “I think it is time you went home, young man.”

Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Scott immediately straightened up. “I agree.” He held out his hand. “C’mon, Virgil, Grandma is waiting.”

This time he did roll his eyes. “I’m fine.” But as he took Scott’s hand and his brother helped him to his feet, he realised that, yes, he was beyond tired, he was sick of being in pain, and yes, all he wanted to do was go home.

For just a moment, Scott drew him close. “You did good, Virg.” A squeeze to his uninjured shoulder. “You did good.”

-o-o-o-

The ride home was a blur.

Scott hauled him onto TB2, dragged him to the medbay, and produced the dreaded painkillers, glaring at Virgil until he swallowed the necessary dose down.

There was a brief ‘discussion’ on whether Virgil should lie down on the gurney, but ultimately he ended up in the cockpit.

He must have fallen asleep because next he knew Scott and Gordon were gently pulling him from his seat and lying him down. A flush of cooler air had him breathing in deep, but another sigh and he drifted again.

Murmured words, the familiar scent of his own cotton sheets, and he let himself go.

Job complete.

Now he could sleep.

-o-o-o-

The afternoon sun was crawling across his bed when Virgil woke the next day.

Its brightness had him blinking and shifting stiffly in his bed. A yawn, creaking fabric and he discovered he was still in his uniform, his baldric draped over a chair and his boots out of sight. It had obviously been impossible to remove the blue coverall simply because of his sling.

A whiff and he realised his odour wasn’t the most pleasant. A shower sounded divine.

Movement, however, was a whole different matter.

He sighed.

His ceiling invited thought as he traced the meditative swirls, his mind skipping over the events of the day before. Windemere’s stupidity, Abby’s brilliance. The nature of genius.

Gordon’s proud grin as he realised Virgil was V. T. Green.

He smiled, a fondness for his younger brother swelling in his gut.

But those thoughts returned his mind to the situation with his website, Brains and what the hell he was going to do about it all.

Yesterday had shouted all kinds of issues at him. So many examples of genius and stupidity and the abuse of knowledge and power. He pursed his lips.

Reaching for his tablet, he brought up his blog, only to find his inbox once again bursting at the seams with notifications.

Quiet words under his breath.

A decision and he flicked through his dashboard until he found what he was looking for.

He swallowed and, with a touch of a finger, shut the website down.

Permanently.

-o-o-o-

End Part Five

Part Six

[simonnsaunders]

Simon & Jeremy go to a party with the troupe that consists of cute drunken flirting that they don't even remember the next day when everyone is making fun of them for it & saying they ship them.

WOW this ended up being a lot longer/more serious than I intended. It was still really fun to write, though, so thanks for the request! (5k+) [AO3]

Simon Saunders did not expect this particular Monday to be any different from all the other Mondays he’s suffered through this year.  He assumed he would go to class and then to rehearsal exactly like normal.  He should have known that wasn’t going to be the case.

    It all started when his alarm didn’t go off.  Sadly, he woke up to the sound of his mother banging on his door.

    “Simon!” she shouted.  “Honey, school starts in twenty minutes!”

    He had to rush through his normal routine, causing his hair to go in all kinds of directions (and none of them being the correct one).  Instead of carefully selecting an outfit, he threw on the first button-down he could find.  It was covered in wrinkles.  Simon was disgusted.

    He usually wasn’t one to speed, and if anyone asked he would surely deny it, but he definitely stepped on the gas pedal a little harder than normal to get to Lilette’s on time.  It didn’t matter.  He was still ten minutes late.

    When his best friend climbed in the car, she did a double take.  “What happened to you?” she asked.

    Simon panicked and quickly checked his reflection in the rearview mirror.  He furiously tried to smooth his hair down before grumbling, “I woke up late.  It has not been a fun morning.”

    Lilette laughed and shut the door behind her.  “I can see that.  Just drive, dummy.”

    So he did.  He drove carefully (but speedily) to school.  He could see out of the corner of his eye that Lilette was trying to repress laughter the whole time.  It drove him crazy not knowing what she found so funny, but he was too tired and too frustrated to ask.

    However, by the time he pulled into the parking lot and Lilette was still chuckling to herself, he’d had enough.  “What is so funny?” he asked, stopping the car and turning to face the girl in the passenger seat.

    She just put a hand over her mouth and shook her head.  “Sorry,” she said through her fingers.

    Simon crossed his arms.  “I’m not letting you out of this car until you tell me what’s so funny.”

    “Should’ve thought of that before you unlocked it, then.”

    She opened the door and hopped out, slinging her backpack happily over one shoulder.  “See you at rehearsal, Prince Charming!”  She winked at him and walked away.

    Simon narrowed his eyes.  Why did that sound familiar?

Simon’s mind was starting to get fuzzy.  Boy, if his parents could see him now…Robert Saunders would not be pleased.

    Jolene passed him another cup, and he gave her a look, trying to maintain some self-control.

    “Come on, Saunders!” she shouted at him, grabbing his shirt and drunkenly pulling herself towards his ear.  “Don’t be the lame church boy everyone says you are!”

    From what Simon could understand, not drinking would be a bad thing.  So he raised the plastic cup to his lips and took several gulps.  Everyone else began to chant “Chug! Chug! Chug!”, and when he had finished the whole thing and raised his arms in celebration, they all cheered loudly.

    “Jeremy, are you sure your parents aren’t going to find out about this?” asked Lexi.  She had been the one spending the whole night worrying that they were going to get caught.

    Jeremy, who had been pretty far gone for a while, just laughed.  “They’re out for the whole weekend, okay?  Chill out a little.  This house is all ours.”

    He stood up and swayed a little bit.  Michael, who was sitting closest to him, giggled and held his legs in support.  Once he had steadied himself, he held his arms out and everyone fell silent.

    “Who wants to play a game?” he asked, a stupid grin on his face.  His question was met with a roar of cheering from the troupe.

    “Ooh, pick me!” said Lilette, shooting her hand up in the air.  “Let’s play truth or dare!”

    Everyone else cheered in agreement.

    Jeremy grinned even harder.  “Alllllright!” he called.  “Get in a circle!”

    He then promptly stumbled over to where Simon was sitting and collapsed next to him.  The taller boy was evidently just trying to sit down, but he was drunk to the point where his descent to the ground was much less than graceful.  He fell into Simon’s side, and Simon wasn’t thinking clearly enough to push him away like he normally would have.  Instead, he grabbed the other boy by the shoulders and straightened him up.  “You’re a mess,” Simon told him.

    Jeremy’s grin got even wider, which Simon didn’t think was possible.  “You love it,” he replied, leaning in close so that his arm was touching Simon’s.  Simon felt his stomach flip over at the touch.  There was definitely a voice in his brain telling him to push Jeremy away, but the alcohol tuned it out, and he was grateful for that.  Being constantly defensive got pretty exhausting after a while.

    “I wanna go first!” Jolene called.  She stood up, closed her eyes, and started spinning around with her finger pointed out.  When she stopped, she was pointing at Maashous, who had been hiding in the corner.

    She opened her eyes and they widened when she saw who she had landed on.  “Maashous!” she cried, stumbling over to where he was sitting and grabbing his arm.  “Truth or dare?”

    “Uh…dare?”  Maashous hadn’t actually drank that much, and compared to the rest of them, his head was still securely on his shoulders.  He shrugged himself out of Jolene’s grasp.

    Jolene put her hands on her hips, clearly thinking as hard as her incapacitated brain would allow.  Finally, her face lit up and she started rubbing her hands together.  “I dare you to let me straighten your hair!”

    He looked genuinely surprised.  “What? I - come on, Jolene, where are you going to find a hair straightener?”    A look of disappointment struck her face for a moment until Simon heard Jeremy gasp next to him and say “Wait!  My mom has one!”

    Jolene grinned again and disappeared down the hallway.  Sure enough, two minutes later, she reentered the room brandishing a hair straightener.

    After a lot of fussing from all the girls and several yelps of “Get away from my head!” from Maashous, the lights boy had been given his makeover.  It wasn’t the cleanest hair job Simon had ever seen, but it certainly was entertaining to see Maashous’ normally bushy hair lie so flat.  Still, Simon made a mental note never to let drunk Jolene come anywhere near his head with a burning object.

    When everyone had calmed down again, Maashous frustratedly wiped his now much longer hair out of his face and scanned the room.  “Jeremy,” he said, “truth or dare?”

    Simon felt the boy tense up next to him and realized that their arms were still touching.  He didn’t move away, though.  It felt kind of nice.

    “Truth,” said Jeremy.

    “Boring!” called Lilette, laughing.  Jeremy just rolled his eyes at her.

    “Ok,” said Maashous, “who’s the most attractive person in the troupe?”

    There was a collective “ooooh” from everybody in the circle.  Every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on Jeremy.  Simon expected him to at least think about his answer first, but he replied instantly.

    “Oh, that’s easy,” he said, slurring over his words.  He slung an arm around Simon’s shoulders.  “Simon, hands down.”

    Simon felt his face burn red.  He tried to shrug Jeremy’s arm off of him, but it was no use.  The boy had a tight grip.

    “How so?” said Lilette teasingly.  Simon glared at her, but she just winked at him.  She was eating this stuff up.

    Jeremy just sighed and turned to look at Simon.  His clear blue eyes were a little glazed over, but they were still fixed intently on Simon’s.  “You’re just so…dreamy,” he said, speaking directly to Simon.  “You’ve got these gorgeous dark eyes and…and this soft hair…” (he tousled Simon’s hair with his free hand, and Simon felt his face go a shade darker) “…you’re like a real-life Disney Prince.  A real Prince Charming.”

    Simon watched several pairs of eyebrows go up.  Several of his friends were very obviously trying not to lose it.  It was clear that Jeremy was past the state of having any filter, and it sounded like his words were coming from nowhere.  But Simon knew better.

    “Tell us how you really feel, man,” Robbie said sarcastically.  Everyone else laughed.

    “You guys are so cuuute,” Gwen teased.

    Simon was one hundred percent sure his face had never been this red before.  “We’re not - this isn’t - ”  His words were silenced when Jeremy just sighed again and leaned his head on Simon’s shoulder.  Poor Simon didn’t have the heart to shrug him off.  Instead he held out his plastic cup in the air, and Clark, who was sitting closest, happily poured him some more beer.  He raised it to his mouth, thinking that he was going to need a lot to make it through this night.

The bell rang just as Simon made it into the biology classroom.  Mr. Kranepool raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything.  Simon said a quick prayer of thanks that he had made it on time (his perfect attendance record was not about to start suffering now) and hastily sat down.     

He was so focused on how late he was that he didn’t even think to acknowledge the boy sitting next to him.  In fact, he had completely forgotten he was there until he cleared his throat rather unnecessarily.  Simon turned to see Jeremy looking right at him.  He felt his stomach swoop just a little at the eye contact; sometimes he felt like Jeremy’s eyes belonged to a different world.

    “What’s got you in such a hurry?” Jeremy murmured as Kranepool started droning on.

    “I woke up late,” he muttered back for the second time that day.  He instinctively reached up and tried to flatten his hair as he thought about his previous conversation with Lilette.

    “Don’t,” said Jeremy.

    “What?”

    “Your hair.  It looks good messy.”

    Simon slowly lowered his hand.  “Oh. Thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly.  He turned to face forward and focused whatever energy he had into paying attention to Kranepool.

    After twenty minutes of trying (and failing) to take good, coherent notes, Simon heaved a sigh of relief when their teacher closed out of the PowerPoint he was teaching from.  Kranepool fumbled with a stack of papers and starting passing out worksheets.  “Work on these with a partner, please,” he said.  “You have the rest of class.”

    Simon didn’t need to look up to know Jeremy was waiting for him, but he did anyways.  The other boy was holding out a worksheet to him with a question in his eyes.

    “Sure,” Simon sighed quietly.  “Let’s get this done.”

    He pushed his desk so that it was next to Jeremy’s and tried to ignore the fact that Jeremy Travers was very much in his personal space.

    Instead of discussing biology, Jeremy asked, “So, do you remember anything from Saturday night?”

    Simon startled.  The question caught him completely off-guard.  “Uh…we all hung out at your house?”  To be honest, Simon had been thinking about it for a while.  He knew there had been a troupe party, and he knew there had been a lot of alcohol involved, so it really wasn’t a huge shock that his memory was drawing a blank.  Still, he had been wracking his brain trying to come up with any stupid thing he might have done, and he had come up with nothing so far.  It deeply concerned him.

    Jeremy snorted.  “Yeah, but do you remember anything else?”

    Simon looked at him, trying to read his expression.  It was impossible.  “No?”

    “Oh.”

    “Why, what do you remember?” Simon asked.  His panic was increasing by the second.

    Jeremy shrugged and looked down at his paper.  “Not a lot.  But Michael and Maashous have been teasing me about you all morning and I guess I was just hoping you would remember why.”

    “About me?  That doesn’t make any sense.”

    Jeremy gave him a look that said ‘really?’, but Simon pretended not to notice.  His strategy of “pretend Jeremy didn’t clearly have feelings for him” had been working out alright so far.  Why stop now?

    Simon cleared his throat.  “Look, can we just get back to the worksheet?”

    Jeremy didn’t say anything.  He just kept looking at Simon, almost as if he was caught in some kind of trance.

    “Hello?  Please?”

    Jeremy coughed and looked down at his paper.  “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Simon didn’t know a simple game of Truth or Dare could get this intense.  It had started out innocently enough, but an hour or so and several drinks later, Jeremy was somehow laying in his lap and Simon had no idea how it had happened.  People were sharing secrets left and right, and Simon had lost track of who had kissed who.

    “Maybe we should stop,” said Lexi, once again being the voice of reason.  “It’s getting kind of late.”

    Robbie leaned over to check his phone.  “It’s only midnight,” he said.  “We have plenty of time.”

    “Yeah, if you’re used to doing this,” Lexi replied.  “I wanna go to bed.”    “Come on, let’s just do one more,” said Jolene.  “Simon, you haven’t gone yet, have you?”

    Simon saw the mischievous look in her eyes.  Jeremy’s head suddenly felt much heavier on his legs than it did before.  “Maybe Lexi’s right,” he said.  “We’ve been at this for a while.  Let’s just pop in a movie - ”

    “Truth or dare?”

    “I really don’t think - ”

    Jeremy reached up and started poking his face.  “Simon,” he whined.  “Truth or dare?”

    Simon groaned and pushed Jeremy’s hand out of the way.  But Jeremy, who had surprisingly fast reflexes for someone that drunk, took the opportunity and grabbed his hand.  He held Simon’s left hand with both of his and pressed it to his chest.  Simon blushed but didn’t move.  He felt like he was getting more drunk on Jeremy’s touch than the actual alcohol.

    “Fine!” he said.  “Dare.”

    “I dare you to kiss Jeremy.”  There was no hesitation.  

    Jeremy sat up, let go of Simon’s hand, and propped himself on his arm.  “That’s easy,” he said.  “We gotta do it for the play, anyways.  Right, Si?”

    Simon’s stomach did a somersault at the sound of the nickname.  “Yeah, I guess,” he replied.  He was too intoxicated to even think about saying no.  

    All the girls started squealing and laughing and clapping their hands together like this was some kind of show.  People were whispering, but Simon was too focused on Jeremy to notice.  His brain couldn’t come up with a single comprehensible thought.  All he could see were Jeremy’s lips.

    Simon grabbed either side of his face, and pulled him in close.  He had no idea if it was Jeremy who initially kissed him or if Simon got there first, but it didn’t really matter.  Once their lips touched, Simon didn’t care about anything else anymore.  

    Jeremy wrapped his arms tightly around Simon’s neck and moved so that he was full-on sitting in Simon’s lap.  They kissed each other, and they kissed each other some more.  At some point, Jeremy’s tongue found its way into Simon’s mouth, and Simon let it.  If he had been drunk before, then there was surely no hope for him now.  He was glad his back was propped up against the couch behind him.  Otherwise he definitely would have toppled over.

    Someone might have been shouting something, but Simon didn’t hear it.  He couldn’t see; he couldn’t hear.  The only thing he could do was feel.  He felt Jeremy’s lips on his.  He felt the soft fabric of Jeremy’s shirt between his fingers.  He felt the electricty running through his body like it was on fire.  He felt his heart burst from the sensation of kissing this boy.

    Eventually Jeremy was forcefully pulled away from him, and Simon opened his eyes, disgruntled.  Lilette was standing over both of them, her hands on Jeremy’s arms.  “We’re going to watch a movie,” she said.  Was she laughing?  She might have been laughing.  The sound of her laughter made Simon laugh out loud too, even though nothing was funny.  “You two can either calm down or go make out somewhere else.”

    “Let’s do that,” said Jeremy, breaking free from Lilette’s grip and leaning in close to Simon’s ear.  “Come on, Si, let’s go upstairs.  I wanna kiss you again.”  His arms were still wrapped tightly around Simon’s neck.  Simon found it impossible to focus on anything with Jeremy’s intoxicating mouth that close to his face.

    Still, when he looked up at Lilette’s face, something seemed to shift into focus a little bit.  The sight of his best friend reminded him that some kind of world existed beyond Jeremy’s lips.  So he mustered up everything he had and shook his head.  “No, let’s watch the movie with them,” he said slowly.  His voice was coming out much deeper than usual, and it scared him a little bit.

    “But whyyyyy?” Jeremy whined.

    Simon wasn’t thinking clearly enough to realize that being this close to another boy went against everything he believed in.  All he knew was that he was starting to get tired, and he didn’t want to make his friends uncomfortable.  “Come on,” he said to Jeremy.  “It’ll be good.”

    Jeremy pouted for a little bit, but once someone turned out the lights and the TV started blaring music, he gave in.  He turned and positioned himself so that he was between Simon’s legs and leaned back to rest his head on Simon’s chest.  Simon felt giddy from the kiss, from the alcohol, and now from the feeling of Jeremy laying on him.  He snaked his arms around Jeremy’s waist and buried his face in the other boy’s soft hair.  He didn’t know what movie was playing.  Some kind of Disney film, perhaps.  It didn’t matter to him, because he had his own real-life fairytale in his arms.

“Mr. Mazzu, can we please rehearse the Word of Your Body Reprise today?” asked Michael, his  hand shooting into the air before Lou even had the chance to speak.

    Mr. Mazzu’s brow furrowed.  “I was actually thinking we could start with Mirror Blue Night and work our way backwards through the first act.  Robbie - ”

    “With all due respect, sir, I think the second act is the place to be today,” said Robbie, cutting Mr. Mazzu off.  Simon watched as Lilette stood right behind him and tried to stifle her laughter.

    “I think Simon and Jeremy will be fine if we start with the first act,” said Ms. Wolfe.

    “Oh, I think they really need to rehearse their scene now,” said Jolene.  “To let off some steam, perhaps - ”

    “That’s enough!” called Mr. Mazzu.  The entire troupe, minus Simon and Jeremy, were in stitches over the situation.  Simon could not tell for the life of him what was so funny.  He tried to catch Jeremy’s eye, but the other boy’s gaze was fixed on the ground, his face slowly turning pink.

    “What has gotten into all of you?” asked Tracey, putting her hands on her hips.

    No one answered.  Everyone tried to pull a straight face, to no avail.  

    Finally, Michael said, “We just think Simon and Jeremy are really good actors - ”  He stopped mid-sentence, letting out a loud laugh.

    “Come on, Mr. Mazzu, don’t you want to see some great acting?” asked Gwen, raising her eyebrows.  Everyone else lost it at the word ‘acting’.

    “You’re all great actors, now get in your place for Mirror Blue Night!” cried Mr. Mazzu, who was clearly losing it.

    Simon didn’t need to be told twice.  He got out of his seat and scrambled to the stage.  Everyone else, on the other hand, took their time.  When Lilette walked by him, he grabbed her arm to stop her.  “What is going on?” he hissed at her.

    She snorted.  “You mean you don’t remember Saturday?”

    “Lilette, what happened on Saturday?”

    She shook her head.  “Let’s just say your scene with Jeremy will have a lot of authenticity from now on.”

    “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

    She just giggled and walked away from him.  Simon groaned in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair.  He tried to remember anything from Saturday, but nothing was coming to him.  He remembered showing up at Jeremy’s house, he remembered dancing with Lilette for a little bit, and then he remembered waking up in a bed of some kind on Sunday morning and driving home.  Everything in between that was a complete blur.

    Simon watched Robbie climb onto the mini-stage and begin his song.  He thought and he thought and he thought, but try as he might, nothing helpful came to him.

It took Simon a full forty-five minutes to realize they were watching Tangled.  Who could blame him, though?  His brain didn’t have the capacity to think about anything other than the beautiful boy in his arms.  

    Some of the troupe had fallen asleep on the couches in Jeremy’s living room.  Others were singing along loudly to every song in the movie.  Simon still hadn’t moved his face from Jeremy’s hair.  He just sat there, getting high off the scent of Jeremy’s shampoo.

    When they got to the scene with the lanterns, Jeremy lifted his head a little to look at Simon.

    “Si?”

    “Hmm?” Simon murmured, moving his head back.

    “That’s you,” whispered Jeremy.  “The prince.  That’s you.  You’re my prince.”

    Simon grinned like an idiot.  “Jer, Flynn Rider isn’t even a prince.  Not until the very end.”

    “Is it the very end yet?”

    “No,” Simon laughed quietly.

    “Well, I don’t care,” said Jeremy, settling back against Simon’s chest.  “You’re still Prince Charming to me.”

    It was the cheesiest thing he had ever heard in his life, and Simon didn’t have the heart to tell him that Prince Charming wasn’t in this movie.  Not by a long shot.  Simon thought for a second, and then leaned down to whisper in Jeremy’s ear.  

    “Do you wanna go somewhere else now?”

    Jeremy didn’t need to think about it.  “Yes,” he whispered back.

    They both stood up as quietly as they could, which to be honest, wasn’t that quiet.  They were both still very, very drunk, and it took them several times of falling on top of each other before they were leaving the room.  Their limbs were all tangled together as they went up the staircase, giggling sotly.

    Finally, they made it to the top.  Jeremy grabbed Simon’s hand and lead him into the first room on the left.  “This is my room,” he said, turning on a small lamp so that Simon could see around.

    It wasn’t a huge bedroom, and Simon liked that.  It felt very cozy.  The walls were painted dark red and were littered with various video game posters.  There were dirty clothes scattered along the floor; the bed wasn’t made at all.

    “Jeremy, you’re a mess,” Simon giggled.

    “We can’t all be neat freaks like you, Saunders,” he replied.  He quickly smoothed out his comforter and sat down on his bed, patting the spot next to him.  Simon sat next to him without hesitation.  Their arms touched instantly, and this time, Simon didn’t even think about pulling away.

    They didn’t say anything for a moment.  Simon felt like they didn’t really need to.  He was happy just sitting in silence with Jeremy.  The alcohol was still coursing through his body and convincing him that sitting next to this boy was exactly what he needed to be doing in that moment.

    And then somehow Jeremy’s mouth was on his again.  Simon didn’t know how it happened, but he responded eagerly.  He let Jeremy’s tongue back in and placed his hands firmly on the other boy’s waist.  Once again, everything else slipped away.  He let Jeremy’s mouth work its magic.  Jeremy’s lips were on Simon’s lips, and then they were trailing down Simon’s neck, and Simon felt a shiver go down his spine and shake his entire body.

After an eternity of staying like that, with Jeremy’s lips exploring Simon’s face and Simon’s hands exploring Jeremy’s upper body, Jeremy pulled away.  “Simon,” he murmured.

“No, come back,” Simon whined quietly, placing his hands on Jeremy’s neck and trying to pull him back in.  

“Simon,” Jeremy murmured again.  “Simon, please.”

Simon finally pulled back to look at him.  “What?”

“What are we doing?” Jeremy asked.  “I mean, like, really.  What is this?”

“It’s good,” replied Simon.

Jeremy shook his head.  “Are we going to remember any of this in the morning?  Are you going to care about me tomorrow?”

Simon frowned.  He couldn’t think straight enough to have any conversation, let alone one about feelings.  He tried to focus on what Jeremy was saying, but it was hard.  He just wanted to kiss him some more.

“Yeah,” said Simon slowly.  “Of course I’m gonna care about you.”  It was a stupid question, wasn’t it?  Why would he be kissing this boy so much if he didn’t care about him?

“Are you sure?  You never did before tonight.”

Jeremy sounded hurt.  He sounded sad, and Simon wanted to make him happy again.  He hated Jeremy’s voice sounding so sad.  He decided it was one of the worst sounds in the universe.

“Don’t be silly,” said Simon.  He hugged Jeremy close to him.  He felt Jeremy tense up and then relax, returning the hug.  They sat there, embracing each other.  The other boy felt so small in his arms.

“Ok,” Jeremy whispered back.

“I’m tired, Jer,” said Simon.  “Can we go to bed?”

Jeremy pulled away from him.  “Yeah,” he nodded.  “Let’s go to bed.”

He scooted back and laid down, holding an arm out for Simon.  Simon gladly climbed under the covers with him and fell into his open arm.  He wrapped his own arm around Jeremy’s waist and snuggled up in his shoulder.  A wave of exhaustion hit him all at once, and he felt his eyelids droop shut.

“Goodnight, Simon,” he heard Jeremy whisper.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled back.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened at that stupid party?” snapped Simon to Lilette as they walked out to the car together.

    “No,” she replied.  “Watching you struggle is much more fun.”

    “Lilette, did I - did I do…stuff?  With Jeremy?”

    She just laughed.  “I don’t know, Simon, what do you consider ‘stuff’?”  She put air quotes around the word.

    Simon angrily threw open his car door and chucked his backpack in the back seat.  “You know what I mean,” he muttered.

    “My lips are sealed,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat.

    Simon started his car and pulled out of the school parking lot.  “Fine,” he eventually said, realizing that no amount of begging would get Lilette to spill the beans.  “Whatever.  But will you at least tell me why Jeremy looked so depressed?”

    “Actually, I don’t know about that one,” Lilette replied.  She sounded genuine.

    Simon just sighed in frustration and rolled his window down.  He cranked up the music, let his arm hang out the window, and tried to ignore the image of Jeremy’s dejected face that just kept popping up in his brain.

    Even after he had dropped Lilette off and gone home, his mind was still spinning.  He wished he remembered what had happened.  He wished he knew why Jeremy was acting so strange.  He wished he knew why the troupe just kept laughing and laughing and laughing.

    Of course, he had his ideas.  Simon Saunders wasn’t stupid.  He realized that the possibility of getting carried away with Jeremy under the influence of alcohol was pretty likely.  It’s not like he could totally block out the butterflies he got in his stomach every time they looked at each other.  Still, maybe he was better off not remembering what happened.  Maybe he was better off just pretending like nothing ever went down.

Jeremy woke up to sunlight streaming in through his window.  The first thing he noticed was his raging headache.  Jesus Christ, he thought, how much did I drink last night?

    The second thing he noticed was the warm body pressed against his.  He turned his head, and to his utter shock, Simon Saunders was laying at his side, sound asleep.  Jeremy felt his heart ache a little.  He didn’t think it was possible for Simon to look any more beautiful than usual, but lying there, fast asleep, he truly resembled an angel.  His dark hair was tousled over his forehead, and Jeremy itched to run his fingers through it and detangle all the knots.

    Jeremy wished more than anything that he remembered what had happened the night before, but his pounding headache made it very clear that there were no hopes for that.  Still, something truly wild had to have taken place in order for Simon to be here, in Jeremy’s arms.  Jeremy had never fathomed that this day would come.

    And then he realized the panic that Simon would go into if he woke up like this.  Simon had issues whenever Jeremy so much as touched him, how was he going to feel about waking up in his bed?

    Jeremy knew he had to pretend like this never happened.  He felt a deep physical pain like never before as he carefully sat up and climbed over Simon to get out of bed.  He felt his heart shatter into pieces as he changed out of the shirt that smelled like Simon and into a clean one.  He felt an ache run through his bones as he took one last glance at the peaceful, sleeping boy before closing the door behind him and tiptoeing downstairs.

    Tears threatened to spill, but he forced himself not to cry.  He just quietly walked into the kitchen and started pulling out stuff to make breakfast for everyone.  It was the least he could do.  He was a courteous host, after all.

    But once he had put the bacon in the frying pan and the bread in the toaster, he couldn’t take it anymore.  He felt the tears roll down his cheeks, one after the other.  Stop it, he told himself.  This is stupid.  You can’t cry over a stupid boy.

    It just hurt so much.  Knowing that he and Simon had shared something special and never finding out what that was would kill him.  He knew he was never going to be with Simon like that again.  The boy was too proud, too naive to ever admit he had feelings for Jeremy.  Jeremy was just going to have to get used to pretending like nothing was wrong.

    He heard soft footsteps, and he quickly wiped his face off with the back of his hand.  He turned around, but when he saw who it was, he turned back again as fast as he could.

    “Hey,” said Simon quietly.  His voice was low and scratchy, and the very sound of it made Jeremy want to collapse.  

    “Do you…do you want breakfast?” Jeremy asked, still facing the oven.  He was afraid of what he would do if he looked Simon in the eye.

    He heard Simon shuffle his feet.  “Um, thanks, but I’m good.  I think I’m actually just going to head out.  I told my parents I was staying the night at Lilette’s, and church starts in an hour, so I should really - ”

    “Got it,” said Jeremy shortly.  “See you.”

    “Bye, Jeremy.”

    He heard Simon pause, like he was going to say something else, but he never did.  He just left the kitchen as quietly as he had entered it.

    Jeremy went back to fixing breakfast.  This never happened, he told himself.  That’s what he was going to say to get himself through this.  Simon Saunders was never in his house.  This never happened.

    “Jeremy!” he heard his friends call.  One by one, everyone slowly woke up and trudged into the kitchen.  He just plastered on a smile and served the very hungover troupe breakfast.

    This never happened.

    This never happened.

    But maybe one day it will.

[accidentalnewsiesblog]

“The King of Brooklyn” and other monikers (Chapter 6)

I’d love you forever if you read this on ao3 but I’d also love you forever if you just read it at all

~3200 words

The Poker Player

1893

TW: gambling, minor swearing

The selling day had gone by quickly for Spot and Race, not only because of the easy-to-sell headlines but also because of a surprise Piker had promised them at the beginning of the day.

“Be back by dinner,” Piker’d said before they’d left. “I got somethin’ special for ya.”

So now Spot and Race were on a carriage back to the Heights, making conversation with the driver who had been kind enough to give them a ride from the racetrack.

They arrived at the stop nearest the lodge around thirty minutes later to find Piker sitting on the floor of the common area with a book. Spot had no idea how she could afford the collection of dime novels she seemed to have on hand. She was always reading something new. This one was orange, an elaborately-illustrated image of a cowboy leaning on a rifle on the front cover.

“Pike!” Spot called, but Piker waved her off.

“Almost done with this chapter! Go grab some dinner. I’ll be right down.”

And so they did. They sat with Hank and some of the younger boys who sold near the lodge, including a newcomer named Lucky Lucy who, like Race, had an affinity for gambling. Unlike Race, however, Lucky always seemed to bet on the right horse. Hank and Spot’s bunkmates joined them, a couple of ten-year-olds called Myron and Hot Shot. Hank suddenly became outnumbered at the table by younger kids and started on his well-rehearsed rant about how Mrs. Kirby should comp his rent because of how often he had to nanny the kids.

Piker had clearly told most of the lodge about her surprise, as her entrance into the dining hall was marked with a chorus of newsies joyously welcoming her.

“What is it, Pike? The suspense is killing us!” Hank called over the din.

“I got somethin’ real good for poker night!” came her response. “That is, if you think you can beat me.”

“You’re on!” Lucky accepted.

As the others also accepted the challenge, Spot turned to Race. He wasn’t looking at her, but around the room, presumably at his competition. His eyes were alight and Spot could see his mind running a mile a minute.

“You in?” she asked, calling his attention.

“Oh, yeah.”

She should’ve known. Race rarely turned down a challenge, especially when it came to gambling. In fact, he was already reaching into his pocket and thumbing through his earnings for the day.

“What’s the ante?”

“A nickel!” Piker told him as she headed for the dinner line.

“You sure you want to bet your earnings today?” Spot asked. “You never played with these guys. They’s ruthless.” She nodded over her shoulder. “Hank’s pretty good. He’s good at hedging his bets. Then Pike,” she pointed across the room, “she plays like she’s got nothin’ to lose.” She leaned in closer and whispered to him conspiratorially. “The one you really gotta watch out for is Lucky. The fellas think she cheats but I really think she’s just that good. Before you know it, you’ll be left with empty pockets but still be lookin’ for somethin’ to bet against her.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he responded with a wink. “What about you?”

“I’m thinkin’ about it.” Spot raised her voice. “Maybe once Piker tells us what she’s got up her sleeve!”

“All right! All right!” she responded as she sat across from them. “You want to know what I got to bet?”

Piker reached into her pocket, then a coin was flying at Spot’s face. She caught it one-handed and turned it over. A shiny silver dollar. A whole dollar coin.

“That enough to convince you, Spottie?” Piker smirked across the table.

Spot chuckled. “I ain’t wastin’ my hard-earned money for that!”

She felt Race elbow her in the shoulder. “C’mon, Spot! Play one round with us. Just a nickel!”

The others at the table egged her on as she briefly mulled it over. “Fine. One round.” Piker cheered in response. “But only one! No way you can talk me into gamblin’ a day’s earnings just to lose it all.”

“Wanna bet?” Lucky quipped as she snagged the silver dollar from Spot’s hand. The coin made its way around the table, Piker’s watchful eye aware of it every step of the way.

After dinner, the group made their way to the barrack where everyone collected the various decks of cards hidden throughout the building. Mrs. Kirby didn’t like gambling and so confiscated their cards when she caught them playing any kind of poker, which meant everyone just had to be sneaky. They collected three decks total, and the twenty or so players divided up into groups.

Spot found herself in a group with Race, Hank, and a few younger boys that Spot knew were really no threat. Myron had volunteered as their dealer and shuffled the cards while the rest of them procured the required ante.

Race was a better poker player than Spot had thought. Within minutes he’d knocked everyone out of the game except for her and Hank. Spot had played with Hank enough to know his tell — he nervously tapped his fingers against his cards when he was bluffing. But she couldn’t figure out Race. Any tic she thought could be his tell was just part of how he acted. He was always cocking his head or twitching his nose or doing things that would surely indicate bluffing in anyone else. But that was just how Race acted regularly.

Spot knew her own tell. She chewed the inside of her cheek. She used to chew on her lip when she bluffed, but it was such an obvious tell that she had to forcibly modify it for the sake of easier lying.

“I raise,” Hank said as he tossed a penny into the pot, fingers tapping nervously.

“Call,” Race responded as he stared him down across the circle.

Spot’s hand had been shit and she’d folded earlier on, so all focus was back on Hank.

“Raise.” He added another penny. He tapped against the cards in his hand.

Race simply added to the pile, nonverbally signalling his call.

The tapping stopped. Hank stared pointedly at Race, who didn’t back down. He’d clearly figured out Hank’s tell and was tempting him, as he’d temped the others, to bet it all.

He was good. Spot would give him that.

Hank only had two pennies left. He’d dipped further than a nickel into his earnings, betting almost twenty cents in total on the game, and Race was now calling his bluff. He had to hold up or back down with his tail between his legs.

Race, however, very much had the upper hand. He’d collected the majority of Hank’s twenty cents and knew the last few were very much within reach. Spot tried to identify if he could also be bluffing. He was leaning forward, not breaking eye contact with Hank. He was sitting with his legs crossed, elbows leaning on his knees. His right hand held his cards almost upside down, and his left hand was laid nonchalantly over the right. He raised his eyebrows as though to dare Hank to make his move.

He just sighed. “All in.” And Hank added his last two pennies to the pot.

“Call.” Race tossed in two of his own.

They both laid down their cards face-up. Race had a pair of eights. Hank had nothing. Race collected the pot as Hank sighed.

“Who let the Manhattan kid play?” he joked. He was only half-kidding.

It was down to Race and Spot. Whoever won would compete against the other groups’ winners for the whole pot, including Piker’s silver dollar coin.

The two tossed in their initial blind bets as Myron dealt their hands. Spot had pretty good odds and so raised by a penny. Then Race raised by a nickel.

Spot looked over at him. He was making eye contact. Leaning casually on his elbows as before, seemingly apathetic in the way he held his cards. Either he wasn’t bluffing or he had lying down to a science. She didn’t like being on this side of that look. She folded.

“Damn!” Race chuckled as he collected the pot. “I wanted to see if you’d bet more.” He tossed down his hand. Full house, tens and aces. Not bluffing.

Spot won the next hand, her own two pairs beating out Race’s nothing hand. Spot kicked herself for not noticing what had been different when he tried to bluff.

But after a few crappy hands, she was in the doghouse, close to out of money. Then she raised when she probably should have folded. She felt herself subconsiously bite the inside of her cheek, hoping Race wouldn’t notice or hadn’t yet figured out her tell.

Race looked at his own cards, then at the pot, then at Spot’s remaining change, then at Spot herself. He scrutinized her face as he called her bet. After a moment of tension, Spot raised again. Race called. Spot raised. Race called. Spot went all in. Race called. They finally laid down their hands.

Both had shit hands, but Spot’s high card of an ace outranked Race’s nine. Hank let out a dramatic gasp. They’d both been bluffing. Relieved, Spot collected the pot as Race continued to scrutinize. Spot had no idea if he’d found what he was looking for, but she once again had a fighting chance of beating him.

But he worked her down bit by bit until they were the last group still playing. The others watched from a distance, waiting to see who would play the other groups’ champions — Piker and Lucky Lucy, no surprise to anyone — in the final round. Hot Shot, who’d clearly been eliminated earlier on and volunteered to deal the last game, was absently shuffling a deck of cards as he watched the drama unfold.

Spot had three Jacks. Could go either way. Race was staring her down, waiting for her to call his bet or to fold. She called. He looked at his cards, then back at her. He raised by three cents. She glanced down at the last of her change. Three cents would leave her with one penny. She folded. Race collected the pot and set down his cards.

Nothing. He’d had absolutely nothing. The bastard had been bluffing.

The others chorused an “ooh” and Myron’s eyebrows shot up. For a dealer, he wasn’t very stoic.

Spot went out not with a bang but with a whimper. After the drama of Race bluffing her down to four cents, she couldn’t get any traction and lost her last penny on a hand where her high card of seven lost to Race’s ten. Still, she’d lasted longer against him than she thought she would, and she was itching to see how he would fare against the more seasoned players of Brooklyn.

The three champions circled up, Hot Shot showing off some fancy shuffling skills as everyone else settled in to watch the match.

“Hey!” came a voice from the end of the room.

Everyone turned to see Shiner and Tiny in the doorway, Shiner’s arms outstretched in a questioning pose.

“It’s almost midnight. You kids shoulda been asleep hours ago.” Shiner was right, but noises of disappointment rang from the peanut gallery anyway.

“We just got done with preliminaries!” Lucky protested. “We ain’t even dealt our first hand!”

“Then take it elsewhere. Everyone under the age of nine’s gotta go to bed. Nine and older can do what they want so long as you ain’t bein’ disruptive.”

It was a fair enough arrangement. The younger kids slunk off to bed, and everyone older migrated to the third floor hallway, far enough away from the barrack that they could play without disturbing anyone.

Piker had several tells. She tended to be confident and reckless in her bets, but only until an opponent starts taking her seriously. Holding up against her bets made her react one of two ways — if she had a good hand, she would continue to bet without question, but if she had a bad hand, her bets were often less confident and she would take a longer time on her turns. Her eyebrows were also very expressive, giving her away when she didn’t realize her tell was showing. It wasn’t long before Race clearly caught on, and he and Lucky together knocked her out with ease.

Lucky, like Race, was hard to read. She was stoic and played the part well. Something that would have been a clear tell in anyone else could go either way with her. She was known to fake a tell to trick her opponents, and it often worked. Playing her was the most Spot had seen Race struggle the whole night.

“Ya know,” he said after losing a close hand, “it’s a shame we ain’t met before.”

“Yeah?” Lucky responded. During poker, she was a lady of few words, but outside of cards no one could get her to shut up.

Race on the other hand was always a loudmouth. “If I’d known there was actually some good poker players in Brooklyn, I’da stayed late more often.”

Hot Shot dealt the next hand. The players took a look at their cards.

“I’s surprised to find out there’s actually good poker players outside of Brooklyn,” Lucky sassed back. “Check.”

“Raise you two.” Race added two pennies to the pot.

Without looking back at her cards, Lucky mirrored him. “Call.”

Race cocked his head. “Check.”

Lucky knocked on the floor, her nonverbal check. She returned two of her cards to Hot Shot, who dealt one card to burn then dealt Lucky two. Race’s eyes did not leave Lucky’s face as she picked up her new cards and added them to her hand.

Race glanced at his own hand then traded out three. His expression didn’t change, but he leaned forward and spoke again. “You ever bet on the races?”

“Only once.” Lucky tossed a couple of coins into the pot. “Won a pretty penny.”

“Hm.” Race absently traced designs on the back of his hand, his cards dangling from his fingers. “Beginner’s luck?” He raised the bet by a few cents.

“I suppose.” Lucky called his bet.

“Or maybe you’re just that good,” Race echoed Spot’s earlier comment as he raised the bet further. Spot could tell he was toying with Lucky but she couldn’t figure out how.

Lucky’s glance darted briefly to Race’s, which was unwavering and almost effortless. She silently called his bet.

“You good at runnin’ numbers?” He tossed another penny onto the pile.

Lucky smirked, a subtle flash that disappeared as soon as it was even noticeable. “What do you think?” She bet another penny.

“What about countin’ cards?” Another penny on the pile.

“We don’t do that here.” Call.

Race hummed as he bet another penny. “Spot counts cards.”

“Hey!” Spot retaliated, indignant. “I do not!”

Lucky raised an eyebrow at her and called Race’s bet.

“If I could count cards, you think I’d let you beat me?”

“I think you let me beat you ‘cause you think I’m just so handsome.” Race gave her a shit-eating grin as he raised his bet. Lucky called.

“You better watch it or you’ll be trekkin’ to the Bay all by your lonesome, Higgins.” Spot shook her head at his audacity. “Spreadin’ lies ‘bout me ain’t gonna win you no friends.”

“No.” He raised, and Lucky called. “But it could help me win a round.”

He turned his sights back on Lucky. The pot was now piled high with coins. Nobody had gone all in, but it was about to be a big payday for someone. Race took another look at his cards, then he shrugged.

“All in.”

Tension filled the air as Race added his last few coins to the pile, including the silver dollar he’d won from Piker. It would wipe Lucky out to call his bet.

All the same, she was considering it. Lucky stared him down, clearly searching for any sign of weakness or uncertainty. Perhaps she found one, as she said, “Call,” and submitted the last of her earnings to the pot.

Lucky laid down her hand. A modest two pair, Kings and Queens. The peanut gallery let out an “ooh.”

Race nodded to himself and pursed his lips. “Nice hand, Lucky.”

But it wasn’t over, Spot thought to herself. She never bet on the races at Sheepshead, but she surely would bet on Race at poker night.

Race sighed. “I gotta say, you’s a tough one. But you oughta make a little eye contact, and not just when you’re bluffing.” He laid down his hand.

Three Jacks. Just barely outranking Lucky’s hand.

The crowd erupted in disbelieving cheers. Lucky gawked at the cards as Race collected his winnings and the crowd began to disperse.

“Damn!” Lucky shook her head. “You got balls, Manhattan. I respect that.” She offered her hand for him to shake.

He took it with a gracious nod. “I meant what I said about you bein’ a good player. You oughta come by the Manhattan lodge sometime. You could give the fellas a run for their money.”

“Damn right I could.” Lucky stood. “We need a rematch sometime, Higgins. Just wait till I figure out what makes you tick.”

Race laughed. “Sometime soon, if we’re lucky.”

Lucky snickered at the joke and headed off to bed, waving to the rest of the crew as she disappeared into her room.

Race turned to Spot.

“Good game,” she congratulated him.

“Here’s your ante back.” He offered her a handful of pennies. Before she could refuse, he said, “I talked you into playing and roped you into that last hand with Lucky, so just take your damn nickel back. It ain’t like I’m makin’ you take half or nothin’.”

He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so Spot pocketed the coins.

“You think I could stay the night?”

It was almost one in the morning, so it was probably for the best if he didn’t have to walk the Bridge so late in the cold and potentially in the snow. Spot nodded. “You can sleep in my bed. Most everyone is doubled up anyway on account of the cold.” She had planned on sharing with Piker that night due to the freezing temperatures, but she was fine to share with Race if he wanted.

“Sure,” he accepted, then offered her another coin. "Penny for your trouble?”

"Don't tempt me.”

She led them down the hall to her room, where Hank was already wrapped up in numerous blankets and snoring like a horse. Myron and Hot Shot were doubled up in one bed, cocooned in the blankets and pillows compiled from both of their bedding.

Spot had begun sleeping with a second blanket in recent months so that Race wouldn’t ever have to borrow from anyone else, which proved a great decision when the cold front moved in. Spot set her hat and boots aside and shrugged her suspenders from her shoulders.

It was cold enough that she left her flannel on as she climbed into bed. Race did the same, claiming a blanket and a corner of the pillow and quickly drifting off. Race’s warmth and the subtle movement of his breathing lulled Spot to sleep soon after, forgetting that only a few hours later they would be awake and back to work.