#recline too far back and suddenly its a tilt table baby

[comical-wheelchairs]

Uncanny X-Men #1 (1963) - 3/10

A very interesting wheelchair to start!

The first things that strike me are the size of the pushrims. They're very far into the wheel, and very small. Not only would it be hard to reach down and then push them effectively, but it leads into the second problem - this wheelchair is 90% recliner. It covers the back of his shoulders entirely - you try and reach down and behind you from a recliner next time you're in one!

When it comes to wheelchairs, weight is a huge factor, because you're pushing the chair and yourself! Lay-Z-Boys are heavy as shit, and even if this chair was stuffed with the lightest metal and stuffing, it's still gonna be Heavier than a more standard frame.

His legs being out so far is also an interesting but not inherently bad design choice.

All that said, he doesn't leave the house in it. And we never even see him pushing himself. Maybe he just makes Scott, Hank, or Warren do it. They're seen doing so later in the comic so I can only assume (though I wish we got a look at how beefy the castors on that thing must be).

Ultimately still gets any points for being an eccentric rich man's recliner wheelchair. Who doesn't want to live in a recliner? It still gets a huge deduction for being extremely impractical.

[babbushka]

Act Normal

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

2.8k; Content warnings: Mentions of baby zimmerman, NSFW (exhibitionism, public sex acts/semi-public sex acts, under the desk blow-jobs, sex at work, office sex, masturbation/fingering) 

Available on AO3!

                                            ----------------------------------------

One o’clock, your favorite time of the day. Your son coos happily against your hip and snuggles into your neck, his little hands focused on the fascinating task of touching your earrings. Your heels click softly on the polished wood flooring of the CSPD, and you smile to everyone you see as you make your way through the lobby, brand new butterfly gold Pyrex tucked against your free hip carrying treats for your favorite detective unit.

Just a few more feet, a few more hellos, and your husband will be back where he belongs – in your arms.

“Hello Mrs. Heidi, is he in the new office?” You stop by the secretary in the main bullpen, and greet the elderly woman as you open up the casserole dish for her.

Inside are as many shortbread cookies as you could safely cram, all decorated in royal icing of reds and oranges, yellows and gold, designs done with a steady hand and very fine icing tips to make them appear autumnal and delicious. Mrs. Heidi, a woman who you know happens to have a penchant for shortbread, happily takes a couple and sneaks them onto a napkin with a wink, pinching the baby’s cheek to which he giggles brightly about.

“Do you even have to ask?” She motions for you to lean in close, raising an eyebrow conspiratorially, “He’ll be pleased to see you both, he’s in a right mood today.”

What else was new, you thought to yourself with a sigh and a fond shake of your head. Mrs. Heidi seems to read your mind, and she lets out a little amused laugh and pats your shoulder from across her desk.

“Hopefully this will cheer him up.” You say brightly reclaiming the cookies, knowing you have far more up your sleeve for your husband today.

You immediately grow hot, when you think of just what you’ve got planned for him -- if Mrs. Heidi can read your mind, you hope that she isn’t doing so now.

You leave the kind secretary to her treats and her typewriter, and are glad to run into a friendly face, who, by all accounts, looks far more glad to see you.

“Oh thank god.” Ron looks like he’s been put through the ringer, and you simply smile at him apologetically. Ron was too nice of a friend to Flip, he was always exceedingly tolerant and listened to your husband rant and rave and bitch about everything under the sun. Even nice friends like him could only handle so much though, and it seems like Ron was getting to the end of his patience.

“What’s gotten him worked up this time?” You give him a greeting kiss on the cheek and open up the pyrex so he can grab a handful of cookies to stress eat his heart out, walking and talking your way through the bullpen to stand outside the small office door.

“One of the cops misread their rights, so all the evidence we managed to obtain from the might be inadmissible as evidence at trial when this thing goes to court. We almost had to let the guy we’ve been hunting for three months walk.” Ron sighs and your eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, who was it?” Immediately you begin searching the room, trying to look around for the poor sonofabitch who must have been absolutely throttled by your handsome detective.

“Richard -- but not here anymore, Flip really reamed into him and told him to go home for the rest of the day.” Ron scratches the back of his neck, takes another cookie for good measure, “He’s on the warpath.”

Time to work your magic then, you decide with as much of a casual air as possible. You shift your little wiggle worm off your hip and into Ron’s waiting arms, and suddenly your friend’s bad mood has vanished.

“These are for the rest of the guys, could you put them in the breakroom for me?” You ask Ron, who happily nods. “Be nice for Uncle Ron okay ziskayt?” You smooch the baby’s dimpled cheek and he giggles loudly, and Ron gives you a bright smile before taking him over to his desk to go say hi to Uncle Jimmy.

Turning to face the door of the little office, your heart can’t help but warm at the black letters applied on the frosted glass of the door.

Lieutenant Zimmerman

A great big grin spreads across your face as you rap your knuckles gently just below his name, and you roll your eyes when he answers with a rather harsh, “What?”

“Aw and here I thought you’d be happy to see me.” When you open the door, it takes all of two seconds for the angry expression on his face to turn to one of being stunned.

“Ketsl!” Flip practically bolts out of his big leather chair, his legs almost flying up comically with the force of how he pushes himself up and over to you. He scoops you up tight and begins kissing all over your face at once, his goatee tickling your cheek chin neck chest as he apologizes, “I’m sorry honey, I had no idea it was already one, come in, c’mere, let me get a look at you.”

“Waitwaitwait! Let me close the door first.” You can’t help but laugh, because the door to his office is still open, and what you want to do with him today will require it being closed.

However…you make sure to leave it unlocked. Once the little latch clicks into place and you’re sure the door won’t swing open of its own accord, you turn back to your husband and are already undoing the wrap tie of your blouse.

“Alright cowboy, go on.” You smirk at him when the fabric of your blouse falls to the side and your ribcage expands with the deep breath you take, your tits on full display.

Flip’s crowding you against the door, groaning low in his throat as his hands cup under your breasts and push them together so that he can nuzzle his face into the cleavage there.

“Ugh, fuck, I missed you.” He kisses the soft skin of your chest all over, grumbling and mumbling you’re your flesh, “Today’s been absolute shit.”

“I’ve heard, is there anything I can…do to help?” You manage to get one of your hands under his chin and tilt his face up up up to yours, your lids heavy and your lips licked wet, kissing his eyelids as they flutter shut, “Anything at all, to relieve you of some of this tension?”

He recognizes it, that tone of your voice. That tone of yours that makes him weak in the knees, that makes him turn into nothing but a puddle of desire for you. You get whatever you want when you talk to him like that – and he knows exactly what it’s going to be this time.

At least, he thinks he does.

He kisses you slowly, against the door. The kind of kiss that has his tongue pressing hot and wet against yours, the kind of kiss that makes him hard in his jeans for you. He’s so hard, and you grin against his smile, against the rasp of his goatee, because he has no idea what he’s in for when he growls,

“Watch it ketsl.”

“Mmm, or what? You’ll bend me over this desk right here where everyone could see?” You whisper against his jaw as you begin to kiss down down down his face, sucking and moaning softly against his throat. “Oh, but that’s right. You like that, don’t you, you like being watched.”

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game sweetheart.” There’s a fist in your hair then, and you grin up at him when he pulls your head back ever so slightly, searches your gaze. Are you just teasing him? Or do you mean it?

“A game sounds like just what you need to get you out of this mood.” You moan guiding his free hand, the one that isn’t in your hair, to grasp and squeeze at your nipple, telling him to, “Go sit down. Let me make you feel good.”

 Flip looks good, sitting at that desk of his. He’s got a real fancy office chair, brown leather that can recline a little ways back. Just enough, in fact, that he can lean lean lean back as his legs spread, those knees of his bumping just underneath the wood of the desk. They spread just wide enough for you to settle yourself between them.

Having the office is such a luxury that you can’t imagine not taking advantage of the enclosed space when you visit every day. He’s had it for a week, and you’ve already come on every surface, broken the place in to the best of your ability. But this…this was something else altogether different.

You undo the button closure of Flip’s jeans, and with an expert hand you pull his cock out. It’s flushed at the head, a dark delicious red where he’s aching for you, the veins thick and practically throbbing under your tongue as you lick a stripe up the shaft. That hand in your hair returns, and a long moan shudders through Flip’s chest as he slouches in the chair to relax into your touch.

“Mmm, shit ketsl.” He watches you with eyes that are practically glazed over, jaw dropped at the way you rub the head of his cock through your lips. “Touch yourself?”

You’ve sucked Flip’s dick at the station too many times to count, in back store rooms and broom closets, bathrooms and the empty breakroom, and of course quite a few times on the interrogation table -- but this, this was something you knew he’s always wanted to try, the thrill of being caught. The thrill of someone walking into his office and knowing what you’re up to.

Knowing that you’re under his desk, with your tits out, his cock in your mouth, your free hand stuffed in your panties. Your fingers rub and tease at your folds, and you moan around his length, moan and take him deeper as your fingers push into your pussy.

He can feel it, that thrill now, you know he can; his thighs are twitching, trembling, his tongue darting out to lick and lick and lick at his lower lip. He keeps looking up at the door, his heart thudding, pounding in his ears as his cock throbs in your mouth as you suck him off, take as much of him as you can down your throat.

His cock is velvety and hot and you drool around him, because you can’t help but drool, he’s so big and your mouth gets forced open so wide �� you’re lucky his office is wood floors and not carpeting, easy clean up. Especially with the way your cunt is so slick, dripping all over your fingers and soaking through your panties, that wouldn’t do to have absorbing into his carpet.

“Fuck – (Y/N) someone’s coming.” Suddenly, Flip tenses, and your heart hammers in your chest as the two of you make eye contact.

He looks wild in the best way, and when you pull off of him and gasp for air, his dick oozes precome onto your lips and chin.

“Better act normal then, because the door’s unlocked and I’m not stopping.” You grin devilishly, and lick all of that precome up, swallow it down.

“Flip, can I come in?” The voice of Mark, one of the guys down in homicide, sounds from just beyond the door.

Flip looks at you, and you look back at Flip, and you suck so hard that he has to brace himself against the edge of his desk as he makes the decision that yes, yes you’re going to do this.

“What do you need?” Flip clears his throat loudly and with the question, allows Mark to come into the office.

You’re hyper-aware of everything all at once, the thud of his footsteps as he comes into the room, the noise from the bullpen just outside the office door, the heaviness of your own breathing, the air conditioning and the chatter and and and – everything reminding you that you’re in public, that you’re at Flip’s work, that you’re under his desk.

The only reason you can get away with this at all, you think with a smirk as you nearly deepthroat your husband right there, is that you’re completely concealed by the desk. And, as long as Mark doesn’t come any closer, Flip’s big cock down your throat is concealed too.

That big cock, twitching and pulsing, hot precome salty tangy perfect on your tongue as you fuck yourself on your fingers, your tits glistening and wet from drool that’s slipping sliding out of your mouth.

“Hey wasn’t your wife visiting?” Mark asks real nonchalantly, and you almost choke. “I could’ve sworn I saw her in the lobby earlier.”

“She uhhhh,” Flip realizes a second or two later that Mark is talking to him, and he blinks and clears his throat again as he twitches and tries his best to remain calm even when you’ve got your hand wrapped around his length and are stroking him off while you suck on the head of his dick, “She had to go to the bathroom. What do you need?”

“Chief needs some signatures on this paperwork, he asked me to bring it over. Do you think you take a minute to look at it?” Mark is blissfully unaware of you under the table, and Flip does he absolute fucking damnedest not to look at you – because if he looks at you he will blow his load right in front of this guy, and then everything will be fucked.

He’s so hard from that thought that he accidentally twitches so hard that he rams his knee up underneath the desk and shakes everything on top of it. You pull off his cock and cover your mouth so you don’t gasp from the sudden movement, giving yourself away.

“Sure sure, just leave it on the side table there,” Flip doesn’t know how he sounds entirely too cool for a man about to come so hard he might cry, but he is, and he does, and Mark is nodding and already walking away from the desk, back towards the door. “I’ll get it back to him after lunch.”

“Thanks Flip.” He says with a friendly smile and a nod.

“Yup.” Flip wants to come so badly, wants to come down your throat so badly and then bend you over this desk and fuck you raw until you’re the one crying.

“Oh and tell the missus I says hi.” Mark is all too cheerful and Flip musters all his strength to not snap at him.

“Sure thing – close the door, please.” Flip replies through grit teeth, and finally, finally, the door is closed and Flip is growling at you, releasing a big breath he’d been holding.

He winds his fist in your hair again and gags you on his cock with how tightly he presses your face to his crotch, making your throat stretch and bulge around him. You rock back on your fingers fast fast fast until you’re coming, your eyes fluttering shut and jaw going slack. Your drool darkens his jeans as you moan and choke around him, and that leather chair of his creaks beautifully as you bob your head up and down shallowly to mimic the way he loves to thrust and fuck your mouth.

“Ohh fuck honey-bunny, you and that tongue…” He thunks his head back against the chair and comes hard hard hard, the salty tangy sticky taste of come hitting the back of your throat as he shakes and shudders around you with a, “Fuck.”

You just breathe through your nose and take everything he gives you, before eventually pulling off him and stroking his cock slowly, carefully, to milk out any last droplets of come that you kiss away from your palm.

He looks absolutely wrecked, your husband does, his eyes rolled back into his skull as he gulps down deep breaths. He’s sweating, which you think is charming, because you’re the one who did all the work. But it’s work you love doing, because he’s already smiling at you hazy dreamy so in love, his hand coming to cup your cheek as he leans over to kiss the taste of himself off your lips.

“Liked that?” Your voice is raspy from being used so raw, and that makes Flip come a little bit more in your hand with a soft groan. He knows that the second he tries to stand up, he’ll collapse, his legs made of jell-o.

“You’re gonna be the death of me honey, you know that?” He bites the inside of his cheek when you tuck him back into his jeans and button him up sweetly, let him bury his face in your cleavage once more before you tie up your wrap blouse, “The death of me.”

“At least you’ll die a happy man.” You chuckle, knowing that at the very least, no one can suspect what goes on behind the frosted glass.

[ahgaseda]

two can keep a secret || chapter 04

⇥ synopsis : when your father reveals his intention to remarry, you find an unlikely confidant in Mark, your soon-to-be stepbrother, but what began as a revenge fling ironically becomes far more complicated...

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language and dialogue, recurring alcohol and drug use, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

Nightmares followed your dreams. You were alone, running until your lungs gave out. You shouted, but no sound left your throat. The world around you spun out of control before closing in and swallowing you whole.

You awoke with a jolt, eyes flashing open. Before you could collect your bearings, Mark snapped, “That is horseshit!”

Blinking in surprise, you could hear the mashing of buttons, finally remembering Mark was hard at work bonding with his PlayStation.

“Mark,” you grumbled, unbelievably hot with the warmth of his body beneath you.

Mark glanced down at you on his chest. Seated in the recliner, you hadn’t hesitated to wrap yourself in a blanket and straddle his lap, tucking your head beneath his chin for a long nap.

Stressing over your future, but doing absolutely nothing about it was exhausting.

“You need to calm down.”

Mark snorted and retorted playfully, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

You chuckled and nuzzled his neck. He smelled so good.

Mark shifted, smirking slightly at how hard you were clinging to him. Your soft, supple body in his arms made him crazy out of his mind with desire, but for now he let you catch up on sleep. “What you doing later?” he asked after a pause.

Eyes closed, head heavy on his chest, you sighed, “Screaming into my pillow over what a loser I am.”

Mark almost chided you, but he didn’t want to appear to care too much, and teased instead, “I can give you something better to scream into your pillow about.”

Had your eyes been open, you would have rolled them, but still you smiled. “My horny boy.”

“I’m gonna hit it from the back. Been thinking about that ass all day.”

“I can’t wait,” you droned.

Maybe you had rested enough. Mark had sex on the brain now and suddenly his game was boring as hell. “Let’s go to bed.”

Lifting your head, you asked, “Ready?”

“Yeah, I’m done,” Mark said calmly, then shouted, “With this fucking piece of shit!”

You fought a chuckle. Mark and his rage with certain video games was no new mystery to you, and truth be told, was rather entertaining. He angrily shut off the console, as if being rough with such expensive equipment would teach it a lesson.

Mark watched you make the short trek to his bed, your hips swaying from side to side. You could practically feel his eyes on your ass, catching the tiniest glimpses of your pink panties when your sweater rode up with your movements.

Plopping onto the mattress, you gathered the blanket and made yourself comfortable. Mark sat on the other side, handing you the remote before rifling through the top drawer of his bedside table. You lay curled on your side, studying his back and the lines of his burly muscles. You were tempted to lick a hot path down his spine.

Mark turned around, the joint between his lips, and sidled up next to you. You weren’t surprised when he steered you with his broad hands until you were on his chest. You rubbed his stomach with a gentle palm, feeling the firmness of his abs over his shirt. Mark puffed out a cloud of smoke and lifted the remote, channel surfing for something to fill the quiet background.

“What do you wanna watch?” he asked a moment later.

“I don’t care. Something that won’t be annoying when we fuck.”

Mark lifted a brow. “Food Network?”

“Hell no,” you told him sternly. “Last time you watched it when you were baked you spent two hundred dollars at the grocery store.”

“I was hungry,” he replied innocently.

You snickered.

Mark kept an arm looped snugly around you, intending to keep you close. Not that you had plans of leaving his bed anytime soon. The two of you were playing house for the next couple of days.

Your father and his mother wanted to mourn the end of summer with a getaway to the oceanfront. While they invited you and Mark along, you both could tell they really didn’t want their kids in tow. So you convinced them that you and Mark would be better off left behind, and you would spend the time getting registered and geared for the fall semester.

Joke was on them, because you would have the house to yourself and could moan as loud as you wanted.

Mark laughed aloud, jostling you on top of him.

You peered up at him curiously. “What?”

“This shit is funny,” he said, like an immature little kid.

Considering My Cat From Hell was playing on the television, you held in a laugh and whispered, “You are high off your ass right now.”

Mark rolled toward you, slipping a hand beneath your sweater to stroke your waist and tucking his face beneath your jaw. Your lashes fluttered, the background noise fading to static as your ears echoed with the sound of his wet kisses on your neck.

You carded your fingers into his hair, hooked a leg over his hip, and let yourself sink deeper into the black of his sheets. Mark sucked a bruise at the base of your neck, a mark of his possession. If any man saw you and got ideas, the blemish would let them know your bed was spoken for.

“Mark,” you whimpered, tugging at his hair until you could see his face again.

Mark opened his mouth to speak, but you silenced him with a kiss - one wild with hunger. His hands were rough on your hips, grinding himself in the space between your thighs. His thumbs swiftly hooked in the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down the plump curve of your ass. You pulled away from his lips long enough to sit up and allow him to pull your panties down your legs.

Planting your hands on his chest, you shoved Mark to his back and straddled his lap. As you did, Mark yanked down his boxers just enough for his cock to slip free, standing at attention.

“Should I be worried that you get hard this fast?”

Mark chuffed, “No, you should be flattered.”

Sinking down and rolling your hips back and forth, you coaxed your folds over his length to coat him with your arousal. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“It’s hard as a rock,” Mark said with a shrug, as if you couldn’t see it for yourself. “Don’t let it go to waste.”

“Charming,” you deadpanned, tossing your hair behind your shoulders.

Mark bit his lip, watching you guide his cock to your entrance and slowly bring your hips back down to meet his until your tight pussy had swallowed every last inch of him. A shaky breath left his mouth. It was like the first time, every time. You always felt so good.

The girth of him had been overwhelming the first time you took him, but now your body readily accepted the stretch. A soft moan left you when he bottomed out and you braced your palms on his abs until you had adjusted.

Mark reached for your clothed breasts. With no bra underneath, he squeezed and pushed them together, rubbing your nipples with his thumbs over your sweater. "Take this damn shirt off so I can play with the titties,” he whined.

"No, they're sore,” you shot back, grabbing his wrists and prying them from your chest. “Leave them alone."

"Why are they sore?"

You pinned his hands on opposite sides of his head and pressed them into the mattress, nose brushing against his. "Because my period is coming."

He grimaced. "...Great."

You kissed him softly, hoping to silence any more complaints. Dancing your tongue in his mouth, you finally began moving your hips, grinding down on him and earning a quiet moan.

It would have been all too easy for Mark to pull his wrists free of your grip and turn the tables, but he rather liked the view and let you do as you pleased with him. For the moment anyway.

You bounced your ass up and down, a wet smack growing louder each time you brought yourself down on him. The little catches in his breath made you shiver and you were smug, to say the least. Riding Mark made you feel powerful and beautiful, if the way he gazed up at you in reverence was any indication.

Mark licked his lips and murmured, “Just like that, baby.”

You missed the feeling of his big hands on your hips and you guided them there without a word. Mark chuckled and gave you a squeeze, tempted to sing praises for your soft skin and thick thighs.

Resisting the urge to make noises was hard, almost as hard as his dick buried in your tight cunt. You reminded yourself that while the parents were away, the kids could play, and you suddenly longed for a chance to be domestic with Mark.

You quickly shook your head. Couldn’t have thoughts like that. He was your future stepbrother. There was zero chance of any normal relationship with Mark Tuan.

Distracted, you fell into a rhythm with your hips, wrapping around his length like a glove and rising and falling to do it again, again, again.

“Fuck,” Mark grunted, snapping you from your reverie. “You’re gonna make me nut.”

You tilted your head coyly. “Already?”

“Slow down.”

You glared. “Will you just relax and let me ride?”

Mark reeled back his hands and landed them on your ass with a resounding crack, kneading with appreciation. He lifted his hips to meet yours, the sound of your soaked pussy echoing through the room.

The head of his cock rammed against your sweet spot and you gasped his name, leaning forward and arching your back. Mark smirked and steered your hips, urging you to slide back and forth with his cock seated deep inside. Then, when he had his fill of that, Mark wrapped his arms around you and started thrusting.

“Mark,” you cried out, lips parted in a silent moan. His pace came faster and faster, skin slapping harshly against skin. You squirmed, moving so he could hit it just right, and braced your hands on his burly chest.

Mark abandoned your waist in favor of your hair, tangling in a fist in your disheveled locks and gripping your jaw none too gently with the other. He would have loved to tease you, but he was far too busy throttling his cock into your slick pussy.

You groaned and dropped onto his chest when he stopped his brutal pace, but his hands were suddenly wandering as you grinded down on him.

“Ah, fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Mark chanted, frantically getting a hold of your waist and pinning you still.

You glanced down at him, licking your lips with arrogance. “You’re right there, aren’t you?”

“Please don’t move,” he whimpered, hands shaking with restraint.

You chuckled at the frailty in his voice. “Well, since you asked nicely.”

When Mark had settled down, he growled, “It’s all fun and games until I bend you over and fuck your brains out.”

“I get an orgasm either way.”

Mark grumbled.

You glanced over at the clock on his end table and groaned, “Ugh, come on. We’ve been at this for ten minutes.”

“Woman, are you complaining?”

You shrugged, noncommittal.

Mark sat up with you in his grasp. Your bodies moved as one, in perfect sync, driving to finish each other off. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, fingers pressing deep into his skin, mind overwhelmed with just how deep he could stroke inside your core. Mark panted below your ear, heating the sweat on your skin with his breath. His little gasps and moans were your undoing. Just as the tightening of your walls was his.

At long last release barreled into you. Struggling in his grasp, you shuddered with ecstasy and Mark quickly tightened his grip on your body to keep you locked to him in the height of your climax. The choked off sounds coming from your mouth would have mortified you had you not been in the throes of orgasm, toes curling as your hips bucked wildly to ride through the rest of your high.

Mark bit his lip, getting off to the sight of you unraveling in his arms. He loved how you desperately tried to escape his embrace, recoiling away from the stimulation as he kept hitting your sweet spot with thrusts of his cock.

For fuck’s sake, he loved making you come, loved the way your walls tightened on him, pulling him back in. He loved how you cried his name, how you gasped for breath and begged for mercy. Mark held you securely but possessively in his arms.

No one had ever made him feel like this and he was starting to worry that no one else ever could.

chapter 03 ⇤ chapter 04 ⇥ chapter 05

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This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[classywastelandbread-blog]

Charred or Chard The Cat

Just a little silly thing I scribbled down today. 

I tend to collect a lot of random (and usually useless) bits of knowledge. The facts here are based on what I learned when I spent time with my aunty who was once a breeder of cats on a whim.

“Han,” Jesse said, a pained look on his face. “No…”

The…thing…hung complacently from Hanzo’s hands, its hind legs curled demurely over its groin which was a blessing because it wasn’t neutered.

…and it was hairless.

“Yes,” Hanzo said seriously. “You said you wanted children of the four-legged variety.”

Jesse sighed, running his flesh hand through his hair. “Han…I think said of the furry variety. That…thing…” he shuddered. “Hon, it looks like a shaved ball sack.”

“You would know,” Hanzo replied, much to the discomfort of the kitten’s owner. He scooped it into his arms like one would hold a baby and turned to the woman that had put the kitten up for adoption. She looked very much like she regretted agreeing to meet with them but she still smiled kindly at them. “How much?”

Jesse whined. “Han.”

The woman’s eyes flicked to Jesse. “Hon,” she said gently to Hanzo. “Maybe you should make the decision with your…friend?”

“Husband,” Hanzo corrected absently as he toyed with the cat’s paws. It was complacent enough to bat at his hands gamely; when it “caught” Hanzo’s finger, it brought it to its mouth and licked at it.

Never had Jesse wished so badly for someone to be homophobic and take the cat…thing…away from Hanzo. But the woman was a kind sort and smiled. “Husband,” she repeated sweetly. “Maybe you should ask your husband what he thinks.”

“He thinks he looks like a shaved ball sack,” Hanzo pointed out. “He made it very clear what he thought of him.”

The woman winced. “Yes, but I’d rather not cause a break in a marriage over a cat,” she pointed out. “And I’d hate to get this poor guy’s hopes up that he’d find his forever home.”

Jesse could never get used to that phrase. “Forever home”. It made sense and was kind of sweet but at the same time he thought it was kind of weird…but that was just him.

Startled, Hanzo looked back at Jesse. He groaned. “Ma’am,” he said kindly to the woman. “Y’ mind if we have some people-talk? Guy talk? Like…me and my husband?” It still felt weird to call Hanzo his husband but it was a good kind of weird that sent thrills up and down his spine.

The woman smiled and held out her hands for the cat which Hanzo very reluctantly handed back to her. “You can go in the dining room over there,” she said, pointing to the room in question. “Just give a holler if you need me.” Murmuring to the cat, she lumbered off to the couch and sat down with a groan. The kitten curled up on her ample belly and closed its eyes as if to nap.

Hanzo looked so honestly concerned that Jesse had to tug him into a tight hug. “Now don’t think that, Han,” he murmured. “If you want ‘im, get ‘im. I’m just…not on board with the whole ‘hairless’ thing. I’m serious when I say it looks like a shaved ball sack.”

“So you’ve said,” Hanzo muttered into his chest. “I just…”

Jesse tipped his head up and gave him a soft kiss. “It seems like a sweetheart,” he said. “I’m just…not confident I can hold it without being disturbed. But…if you want it…it’s yours. And I’ll support you and…it…I’ll get used to it eventually. But darlin’…never worry that I’ll make you give it up. That ain’t happening.”

Hanzo searched his eyes before gently kissing the painted thread around Jesse’s left pinkie. “I like him.” While it was relieving to hear – they had searched seemingly hundreds of shelters and ads for cats that met Hanzo’s apparently strict standards – Jesse wasn’t sure he really liked this particular cat.

“Then let’s get him.”

His husband (!!) looked so pleasantly surprised and Jesse received a truly warm kiss in thanks. It made him feel almost guilty for already hating the hairless monstrosity.

When Hanzo told the owner-breeder of the kitten that he’d take it, Jesse got a truly pitying look from her husband. Great.

“Damn,” Fareeha said as the kitten explored the common room before their weekly Chopped marathon.

Angela peered at it. “It’s ugly,” she said and wrinkled her nose. “Do all cats have that much skin? And where are its whiskers?”

As if protesting her words, the cat gave a raspy meow.

“Yeah,” Fareeha agreed. “It’s ugly and…hermano…you’re so whipped.”

Zarya tucked her legs up on her couch when the cat wandered her way. “Is unnatural.”

The doors slammed open and Rein, still a little dirty from work in the Diner, stumbled in. “I heard Hanzo’s cat was here!” he boomed. The cat in question had frozen in terror, its bright blue eyes wide as it processed the sudden noise.

“Yeah,” Jesse said as neutrally as he could. “Close the door so it doesn’t run out.”

The big man scrambled to obey, nearly smashing Ana in the process but she was quick and managed to avoid death that day. “Where is it?” Rein asked excitedly. “What kind of cat is it?”

“Looks like shaved nuts,” Zarya said flatly, eyeing the creature where it crouched under the coffee table.

Rein’s excited face froze awkwardly. “What?”

Hana giggled where she was curled up with Jesse. Bastian occupied the other side of the couch with a safe distance so Hanzo could sit beside his husband; Lucio was perched on the arm, frowning down at the cat.

Everyone’s reaction to the cat, in Jesse’s opinion, were absolutely priceless. Rein’s was no exception – his excited face fell immediately upon seeing the wretched creature. “Where is that cat’s fur?” he asked flatly.

“It doesn’t have any,” Jesse said, running a hand over his face tiredly. Hana giggled.

“Actually,” Sombra corrected, once more startling everyone with not only her presence but her willingness to talk. “They do have fur, it’s just very fine. They still can and do create dander but it’s just at a much-reduced rate and volume – why they can be called hypoallergenic.”

They all frowned at her. It was the longest she had spoken in a long time and most of the time no one knew what to do with her when she did speak or laugh. But where Sombra was, Gabe couldn’t be too far away.

“How?” Bastian asked curiously.

Sombra shrugged as Gabe entered the common area. Seeing the cat – which had begun to emerge from the table, he turned around and walked out without a word. Giggling, Sombra heckled him in Spanish as she followed. Some of her suggestions were that he should knit The Cat clothes so it wouldn’t be too cold.

It suddenly occurred to Jesse that he had no idea how to take care of it.

Is this what being a parent feels like? He signed to Hana and Bastian who turned to look at him when he began signing. Being terrified when you realize you have no idea how to take care of another life? Hana laughed and said nothing; Bastian shrugged solemnly though his clear eyes were amused.

Ana was peering down at The Cat which had slowly begun approaching her. “It looks so worried,” she said with a laugh, running a careful finger over the wrinkles between its ears. It butted its head into hers, trying to solicit more pets which she obliged. She laughed again. “It’s so soft! You should feel it!”

“Like shaved nuts!” Zarya roared, outraged, from where she was curled up. Angela and Fareeha giggled and joined her there.

Jack, who had just opened the door, paused. “What?”

“Don’t ask,” Jesse told him tiredly. “She’s talking about The Cat.”

The man visibly hesitated. “You guys finally found one?”

Hana giggled. “Yes!”

“Does he have a name?”

It suddenly occurred to Jesse that he had absolutely no idea if Hanzo had named The Thing. “We can ask Han,” he said when everyone turned to look at him.

The cat grunted when it was picked up in Rein’s massive hands but didn’t struggle like Jesse half-expected it to. “He’s so tiny!” Rein exclaimed.

“Isn’t he soft?” Ana asked, wiggling her finger in the cat’s face. He batted at it without his claws and went limp in Rein’s hands.

Jack leaned over the couch by Jesse. “That…thing…is a cat?”

“Yup!” Hana said a little too-loudly.

Rein’s booming laughter echoed. “Shaved nut sack!” Zarya roared when he tried to hand the cat to her.

“Oh!” Ana tsked. “Just hold him! Or touch him!”

Zarya didn’t look amused as he was dangled into her space. The cat’s legs were extended as he tried to keep his balance. She tilted her head all the way back in an effort to not look at the creature. “I feel like I’m violating him,” Angela said faintly, also looking anywhere but the creature being dangled in front of them.

The residents of that couch were saved by Hanzo’s return. What exactly he thought when he saw Zarya, Angela, and Fareeha cowering away from the cat which was being dangled over them by Rein, Jesse couldn’t be sure, but he seemed pleased enough that not only were they interacting with the wretched thing, but that Hana looked happy.

Jesse collected a kiss from him as he moved past and scooped the poor animal out of Rein’s massive hands. It met Jesse’s eyes over Hanzo’s shoulder and he tried not to laugh at how utterly relieved it seemed.

“He’s so cute,” Ana said and Jesse made gagging faces at Zarya, Angela, and Fareeha who nodded in agreement. “Does he have a name yet?”

Jesse’s couch was becoming crowded but privately he thought it was strange to learn after five-odd years of sitting on the same couch in the same spot that there was a recliner chair built in, but it worked in his favor because it meant that not only could Hana, Bastian, and Lucio all sit on the couch with him, but he could also cuddle with Hanzo.

Except now he cuddled with Hanzo, who sat between his legs with his back against Jesse’s chest, and Charred, the hairless cat.

Ugh.

The cat, despite still being rather young, was very mild-mannered which was nice. It didn’t run around or seem to get sick of being in one place for so long but simply seemed content to sit on Hanzo’s lap and accept scritches.

Despite Jesse’s own dislike of the ghastly thing, he loved the smile it brought to Hanzo’s face.

Worse, the thing was friendly and tried to solicit pets and scritches. Fareeha, Zarya, and Jesse were the only ones so far holding out. Angela was a little disturbed by the sensation but would occasionally pet Charred though she privately admitted that she felt bad that it was named such a depressing name.

But he was more Hanzo’s baby than Jesse’s so he really couldn’t protest the name so much but it really was rather morbid. As Sombra (and his previous owner had) explained, the strange grey-black splotches over Charred’s back were from the color of his nearly-invisible fur. If it had been longer, he’d be white with black or grey splotches but now he was a strange shade of fleshy pink with big ash-colored spots.

More than his unfortunately morbid name, Jesse felt almost bad – almost – for not giving Charred the scritches he obviously wanted from him. He was a very well-behaved cat when asking, patting the leg or arm of a person with his claws retracted and trying his best to plead with his wrinkly face.

“Looks like E.T.,” Zarya said flatly when Charred tried to solicit pets from her. “Like E.T. had baby with shaved ball sack. No.”

Charred was endearing, Jesse had to give him that. Once he got used to his…unfortunate…features he could almost find Charred cute.

He just couldn’t bring himself to actually touch him which made it hard when Charred tried his best to endear himself to Jesse.

He’d wind around Jesse’s legs when he fed him in the morning (something he volunteered to do despite Hanzo’s insistence that he could), would try to rub against Jesse and get his attention as much as press up against him with a cute little mew. Jesse always felt bad nudging the cat away with a socked foot but he just couldn’t deal with the thing.

It was insufferably cute though, to see the little knitted clothes that Ana made for him. Unsurprisingly with no fur to keep him warm, Charred needed some assistance. If he transported the cat between the Barracks and Base, Hanzo tucked him in a hoodie or in his coat with him.

Though Gabe thought Charred was disgusting, he created a lined pouch that looked like a messenger bag that would keep the cat warm while he was outside. He shrieked outright when Charred tried to rub against him, seemingly in thanks.

Two weeks after Charred came to the farm, they learned that his name was actually Chard.

Like the vegetable, which turned out to be one of Hanzo’s favorites, especially to cook with. Like the rainbow chard he had on his tattoo on his right arm.

Chard, not Charred, like he was crispy.

Huh.

For his part, Hanzo was no stranger to Jesse’s thoughts on Chard. (And Zarya’s…and Fareeha’s…and Gabe’s. Really, he could go on.) He was pleased that Jesse kept his promise – not that he doubted he would – to not mind Chard’s presence. He volunteered to feed him, would bring back toys or treats, but he still staunchly refused to touch him directly.

At first Hanzo was hurt because he at least enjoyed the feel of Chard’s fuzzy skin and he and Ana often played with the cat’s wrinkled forehead and scraggly whiskers. Yes, his junk was disturbing, but they got used to it.

(Hanzo, did, at least. He could still hear the cries of disgust when Chard flipped his tail up in a friendly greeting and treated everyone to an eyeful.)

Still, he was beginning to worry about Jesse’s reticence.

He need not have worried because nearly a full month after adopting Chard, he found the two of them napping in a golden beam of sunlight in their room. Jesse was cradling the majority of Chard’s body with his whole arm and the stump of his other. The cat’s head was tucked into the crook of his neck and one of his paws rested on the bared flesh of his collarbone through the open collar of his flannel.

From the flick of Chard’s ears as he unlocked his phone, he knew Hanzo was there but Jesse didn’t stir as he snapped a few quick pictures. Chard grunted and shifted and Jesse’s hands tightened on him instinctively before relaxing as the cat settled again.

Hanzo managed to get a few more pictures before Jesse peeked his eyes open. He smiled sleepily at Hanzo and tipped his head back for a kiss.

His thumb rubbed gently along Chard’s lower back where he cradled him gently. “L’ke ‘a shaved ball sack,” he said sleepily. It was almost smug and it was the tone that got Hanzo.

The startled burst of laughter from Hanzo startled Chard enough that he leaped to his feet and raced away. Even Jesse agreed as Hanzo cleaned them with hydrogen peroxide with Chard watching them reproachfully from the doorway that the lines of scratches over his chest were almost worth it.

Fun facts about Sphynx (”hairless”) cats I learned from my aunty (and also some things about Chard):

As Sombra mentioned, they do actually have fur, it’s just really short. Due to fluctuations in their hormones, the mama cats sometimes grow fur which is surprisingly soft. 

My aunty’s breeding female’s fur was tight and swirly for lack of a better word. It wasn’t quite curly but just the way it grew it made it look wavy. 

Even after she had weaned her kittens, she kept her fur. Not sure what happened there but whatever. 

The breeding female was more or less pure evil. She was the queen of the house and was absolutely enamored with my aunty. 

They do actually have whiskers and “eyebrows” even if it doesn’t appear that they do - they just grow in so fine and brittle that they break off. 

Chard looks kind of like this. His coloration is based off of one of my aunty’s cats and she told me recently that she had initially considered naming him “Charred” but the rest of his family’s names ended in an “O” sound so she couldn’t. 

He has blue eyes.

His attitude is very friendly and relatively laid back. 

Some cats are very amenable to training due to breeding, natural aptitude, and/or their general demeanor. Chard is definitely one of those cats. My cat in RL is not. 

[waltherp38]

love / smoke / cough

part 1 / ???

3046 words, rated T for some IMPLIED SEXUAL SHENANIGANS

jigen/lupin, some lupin/fujiko, goemon is there too, of course. an average night in a motel, a train ride, and an extravagant ball.

“I’ve got more than just that one.”

“Where?”

“None of your business. Why d’you wanna steal from your gunman?”

“I just like seeing your face.”

A beat. Jigen sets down what’s left of the cognac on the motel table and gives his partner in crime a sidelong stare, calculating. Lupin can’t keep himself from smiling because Jigen looks good without the hat: soft and candid. His bangs are long and he has so much hair it puffs out in a funny shape without something to hold it in place.

When Lupin makes a sound half way between a sneer and a chuckle, Jigen shuffles to the bed without a word. It seems he was searching for a tell on Lupin’s face, but came up with straws. He turns the suit jacket in his hands until he finds the pack of cigarettes and sighs.

“You’re a hard guy to understand, you know, Lupin… Tsk. Where is that thing?” His words come out obstructed with his lips half closed around the filter. Lighter in hand, Lupin ambles over and flicks on a flame. Jigen cranes his neck forward and affords the thief with the sight of stubble dotted over the wrinkle at the side of his mouth. His brow visibly relaxes as he inhales. The sound of a far away ambulance siren leaks into the room, its sharpness deafened by insulation and wallpaper.

Lupin takes his thumb off the sparkwheel, tucks the lighter into his back pocket and comes close enough that the tips of their noses touch. Jigen blinks, the smoke held still in his lungs. Ash burns red and orange at the end of the cigarette.

“Hey.” Lupin speaks softly, his voice mingling with wisps of nicotine and tar. Jigen slowly exhales and as the cigarette tips downward, Lupin takes itfrom his partner’s lips.  “I want to kiss you, Jigen.”

Smoke flows from Jigen’s mouth.

“Okay.”

Lupin’s heart hammers beneath the golden silk of his tie. He parts his lips, presses the side of his nose to Jigen’s, and breathes in the billows of malboro.The nicotine swirls in his head and he, cigarette still burning in one hand, tilts his head so that he can kiss Jigen as slowly and deliberately as he can.

They kiss. And kiss. And kiss. Lupin feels cinders on his hand suddenly and pulls back, dropping the burning piece of filter paper.

“Ouchhh, and just when it was getting good, too… “ Shaking out his hand, Lupin blows air at the singed knuckle hair on his index finger with watery eyes. Jigen snubs the bit on the carpet out with the heel of his Prada dress shoes.

“Don’t be a baby.”

“Huh? Wait a second, Jigen--” Lupin’s complaints die in his throat when Jigen takes his hand and holds it. The gunman, with his hair just slightly away from his eyes, inspects Lupin’s fingers in such a caring way-- Oh, the look in his eyes! The softness of his smile!  -- that Lupin’s heart grows five sizes. He can’t help the infatuated laugh that bubbles out of his mouth.

“Okay, I was being a baby,” says Lupin quickly, his pout splitting into a beam and his words turning into slurred, saccharine cooing. “Now let’s get back to what we were doing! My beautiful, dutiful Daisuke--”

Daisuke?

Jigen sidesteps and Lupin stumbles to keep himself from going face first into the floor.

“I change my mind. Save that for Fujiko,” Jigen says, his bottom lip looking especially pouty now that Lupin has spent some time sucking at it. It’s why Lupin has a hazy smile still on his face when he replies, “Hmm? What’s Fujicakes got to do with it?”

The way Jigen’s shoulders go up to his ears is cute. The way he surges forward and locks his arm around Lupin’s neck is not.

“Don’t give me that stupid grin, Lupin! I swear, next time I’ll just shoot you!”

“Ow-ow-ow-ow! Okay, okay! I get it! Let go of me, you foul beast!”

With a scoff, Jigen releases his grasp on Lupin. He’s got a blush the color of carmine on his face when he grumbles, “I don’t know how that woman deals with you in such a state all the time.”

“She likes me best when I’m my sweetest,” says Lupin cheekily. He’s sat at the edge of the bed now, undoing his yellow tie while whistling. Jigen goes to retrieve his hat and newspaper from the coffee table, scoffing. He has nothing left to say.

It’s hard to pinpoint when their relationship became like this. Jigen feels this is how it’s always been, like they’re devoted one moment and only business partners the next. He doesn’t even recall Lupin bothering to explain himself the first time they kissed; they were in France and they were young, barely even men.

The memory of Lupin having hair longer than an inch is laughable. He would comb it in earnest back then, unsatisfied until it curled out above his brow.

They’d kissed when he’d gotten it cut, and so many times in the decades after that Jigen can’t be sure if it’s of any significance. Lupin, for his part, won’t admit to any motivations for it, if they exist.

Days later, Lupin the enigma is whining buck naked in a Parisian hotel room. “Fuuujiko,” he bleats sleepily from underneath the sheets. “Come back to bed and kiss me, my darling.”

Fujiko combs her fingers through her brown hair, that hair that Lupin loves to press his nose into and smell, and laughs in kind. “But darling, I have places to be. Besides that,” she speaks softly here, her tone in that saccharine range that makes Lupin weak in the knees. “Kisses are for good boys only.”

Lupin scrambles to sit up. “I’m a good boy, Fujicakes, I promise. I love you!”

She laughs again and sits back down on the bed. Lupin goes to hold her, but she puts one finger to his mouth.

“You, Lupin,” her hand cups his jaw. “Are a very, very bad boy.”

“Huh?” He replies dumbly.

Fujiko pinches the fat of his cheek and Lupin makes a confused noise. “I hate womanizers and liars like you,” she says, but Lupin feels like it means something else. (No, actually, she was being honest.)

When he’s with Jigen again, as things are in their natural state of affairs, Lupin retells his encounter.

Jigen is decidedly uninterested. But they’re alone in a sleeper car of a train, and the last time he tried to choose sleep over Lupin he’d been woken up by flamethrower to the ass.

“She’s probably just trying to get something out of you. In fact, why don’t you think back to why we’re headed to Spain right now?”

Lupin purses his lips and fiddles with the lapel of his green coat. Why, of course, the answer is that Fujiko has tipped them off to an extravagant necklace that’s mid transit to Barcelona for display, but...

“Do you think she’s mad at me?”

No response. Jigen is now tampering with the smoke detector above the lavatory door, cursing under his breath.

“Jigen, I’m kinda baring my heart right now.”

That earns him a doubtful glance. Let it be known that playing counselor to Lupin’s stints with women, especially with Fujiko, is Jigen’s least favorite past time. Lupin can see his marksman’s shoulders move beneath the black wool of his suit jacket before there’s a click and Jigen tosses the smoke detector on the carpet.

“Alright, so what happened, dummy?”

“She wouldn’t kiss me! My lips are dying, dying from a lack of Fujiko’s love--”

Jigen laughs so hard the flame the was holding to the end of his cigarette goes out. He blinks down at his hand, clicking the lighter a couple times again-- the curtain gets pulled half way open and Jigen, finally successful, taps the off the ash at the end of his paper out the window.

“For a master mind criminal, you’re real slow on the uptake sometimes, Lupin.” Jigen scratches at a part of his brow under his hat, showing Lupin his downcast eyelashes for a moment. He’s smiling, tobacco stained teeth glinting.

“She must be playing hard to get. Women are so fickle.” Lupin squints when the sunlight hits his eyes, sighing through his nose and eying Jigen’s pursed mouth around the filter. He’s  hankering for a smoke suddenly.

“Lupin, playing hard to get means she wouldn’t fuck you. And trust me, I know you guys have done that more than a few times.” A pause. Jigen has his thinking face on, twisting the end of his beard between his thumb and index finger. “And it’s not just a wo--”

The cigarette has been swiped from his mouth.

“Hey, jackass, why don’t you smoke your own?” He sounds annoyed, but doesn’t move to take it from his partner. Instead, he lets Lupin lean over him to breathe a smooth stream of smoke out the window.

“Sorry, what were you saying, Jigen dear?”

Jigen opens his mouth, and then presses it into a thin line. He huffs, reclining further into the cot.

“She’s not playing hard to get. She just doesn’t love you, or whatever stupid idea you’ve gotten stuck in your head.” His hat is tilted nearly off his head, guarding his eyes from the sun and casting a stark shadow over the bridge of his nose.

They look at each other for a time, Lupin bent over Jigen with his elbows rested on the window sil. The train rumbles, and far ahead the horn screams. Arm stretching out, Louis Vuitton cufflinks glinting in the light, Jigen plucks the cigarette from where it hangs on Lupin’s bottom lip and puts it back at the corner of his mouth.

Lupin’s mind tells him to lean down and press a kiss to the underside of Jigen’s jaw, a thought not uncommon by any means, but one he’s never relented to. There’s only so much he can take from Jigen before an explanation will be demanded-- and Lupin likes things the way they are. He tears his eyes away from Jigen’s neck and pulls himself back to reality.

“Well, so long as she receives my love, I don’t care if my dear Fujiko returns it or not. Her body is more than enough!”

“Go sit over there. It’s almost time to start the job.”

Jigen fixes his hat and lies back down with his hands tucked behind his head. Lupin goes to eavesdrop on the conductor radio channel, his mind wandering to the shape of Jigen’s mouth.

The job is successful insofar as getting the necklace. Actually keeping it is another story, one that Jigen is quickly growing tired of. Goemon, who isn’t even with them for half the jobs, is getting annoyed with the lack of revenue too. Lupin just gives his same old spiel about how Jigen clearly doesn't know the first thing about women if he expects any less than being cheated in the end and Jigen resigns himself to the fact that Lupin’s ‘insights’ on women will always be terrible.

So now, they’re in Spain. For how long, nobody knows or cares-- save for Zenigata, but that bumbling cop has never managed to cuff Lupin for more than a minute. Jigen passes the time wandering the tiny streets looking for good tobacco, eating this and that, and enjoying his own company.

He arrives at hostel that has become their stay for the night, and Lupin is yapping pleasantly on the phone, saying yes, of course we’ll be there, anything for you.

He exchanges a look with Goemon.

“I hope you don’t mean we as in us.”

Lupin takes a break from kissing the receiver of the phone, glancing at his companions with lips still puckered. His face slowly breaks into a beseeching grin, and before Jigen can even scowl properly, it’s 9pm and he’s downing his fifth glass of champagne in the foyer of a mansion with ceilings twenty feet high.

“Oui, I mean we,” he grumbles into the rim of the glass, teeth gritting at the memory of Lupin’s face.

Let’s take it from the top.

Jigen has never liked crowds, isn’t in the mood to schmooze, and sees no payout for trailing Lupin into another one of Fujiko’s traps. He doesn’t even know why he’s here, as a matter of fact--

Not being able to add up the pieces has Jigen’s drunken stupor turning into all harumphs and bah-humbugs. He swipes another glass from a passing waiter; for the hell of it, he grabs two and downs one as a palette cleanser for the other.

“Hey now, don’t have all your fun before the night’s even started.” He hears English. The flute is whisked away from his mouth half in the middle of drinking, some of it dribbling onto his mouth and into his beard. It’s Lupin. Of course it is.

“I can shoot any of these guys while I’m drunk off my ass, don’t worry.” He doesn’t bother bringing up the fact that Goemon has already drank himself to sleep, now perfectly still and holding his sword like a child at one of the dinner tables.

“Sorry, I don't speak Japanese,” says Lupin, sipping at the rest of the champagne with a coy smile. “Why don’t you tell me your name?”

Oh great. They’re playing this game. Jigen, feeling naked since his hat was wrestled away from him at the coat check, rolls his jaw and and folds his arms.

“Tsugimoto.”

“Is that your first name?” And then, as if he hasn't been patronizing enough: “We use our given names more comfortably here.”

Jigen huffs like a bull through his nose. People nearby look strangely at the duo, murmuring. “No. It’s Daisuke. Tsug--” He catches himself, biting his own tongue from falling into habit. “My name is Daisuke Tsugimoto.”

“What a great name,” Lupin says, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. Jigen feels a vein pop in his neck.  “Daisuke.”

“Yeah. Sure. Bye.”

“Ahh, ararahhuuhh wait, wait wait. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Lu-- Ah, Rene. Ferrand.” Lupin does his best to bargain without saying a word, imploring Jigen to forgive him by his eyes only.

Daisuke Tsugimoto, a businessman attending the charity ball out of the goodness of his heart, sighs. It’s supposed to come out irritated or exasperated, but he smiles, and that is all the permission Rene Ferrand needs to plop the empty wine glasses at the nearest table and take Daisuke by the arm onto the dance floor.

They stop short beneath a gold and crystal chandelier. Daisuke has one hand on the small of Rene’s back. The other is clasped with his partner’s such that their cufflinks to clink together on each spin. Rene, arm draped around his companion’s shoulder and mirroring his pose bumps the other with his hip. The band is playing a song with a plucking bassline, the brass quick and energetic.

“Lookin’ for someone?” Rene is leaned close now so that he can be heard over the music. His sideburns reek of aftershave.

Daisuke still has his face turned away, black eyes surveying the surrounding couples when he responds: “A woman.”

“Oh? You didn’t mention you had a date.”

“Date isn’t really the right word, but…” Rene is twirled out, then pulled back with a flourish. “Well, she’s really the only reason I came.”

“She certainly left you high and dry. It’s a shame, too, a handsome guy like you.” Rene’s voice takes on a strange, flirtatious lilt, beckoning the other to turn and look at him. Daisuke finds a hand pushing his hair to the side-- he thinks, if he weren’t shocked frozen by their closeness, he would have shouted.

His mouth hangs open, and he blinks dumbly. Lupin has chosen a terrible time to go into casanova mode, thinks Jigen-- or maybe, just a very convenient time, when their relationship as Daisuke and Rene is a jenga tower of lies. His smiles implies the latter and Jigen, never the type to be yanked around in any sense, steps his foot between Lupin’s ankles and dips him low to the ground. If Lupin is expecting it, he doesn't show it-- his head is tossed back in the momentum, adams apple exposed.

He blinks up at the ceiling, unable to focus on the twinkling chandeliers and gold engravings. Chin slowly dipping, Lupin peers up at Jigen to see the curl of his smirk. There's a fervor buzzing in both their hearts now, sides pressed together with warmth seeping through the layers of linen and tweed.

“Monsieur Ferrand!”

Rene perks up at the sound. Daisuke pulls away and allows his partner to stand up straight at attention. Fujiko is dressed in a sequined red dress and long, white gloves, and perhaps her most interesting accessory, is another woman on her arm. Arsene-Rene Lupin-Ferrand looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Monsieur Ferrand?”

“Ah. Ahaha, oh, M-Margot! There you are! I knew I’d see you here.” Rene is clutching onto Daisuke’s arm for dear life, sweat beading at the back of his collar. ‘Margot’ only tilts her head, smiling. The other woman, a blonde with hair curling just by the curve of her shoulder, laughs and murmurs something into her date’s ear, showing Daisuke and Rene her finely manicured fingernails and numerous golden rings.

Her marriage finger is bare.

“Who, uh--” Rene sounds like he’s choking on air. Daisuke takes it upon himself to step on the other’s waxed shoe, unlinking their arms and clearing his throat.

“Miss Margot,” says Daisuke with his accent thick over the English like a glaze. “Who’s this?”

“Oh my. Monsieur Tsugimoto, I didn’t recognize you.” Margot laughs airily and Daisuke struggles to keep himself from hiding away from her gaze. There are times he wishes his beard would grow over the entirety of his face. “This is my friend, Rinko. Maybe the two of you will get along?”

He takes her hand and kisses it. Beside him, Rene rolls his eyes.

Lupin and Fujiko have begin their arms race of lies. Lupin has been on the losing side ever since he’d been forced to play as Councilman Nipple.