#the ouija board sequel is reborn! or reposted rather

[lichlover]

a continuation of this delightful concept, featuring double entendres galore, a dark and stormy night, and yet another goddamn ouija board.

“Okay, Krav!” says Taako. “Here’s the dealio!”

The avant-garde clock hanging from their wall displays 12:32—that’s his best guess, anyway, as it consists entirely of two nearly translucent spindles and twelve brightly colored circles. One of the spindles stands nearly upright, and the other is inching tentatively past blue, so 12:32 it is. Its quiet ticking is the only sound that occupies the space, apart from Taako’s own voice. Lup and Barry are still out, wherever they are, which means that for now Taako has their apartment to himself. If they burst in while he’s attempting to summon the manifestation of Death himself, well, it won’t be the strangest thing they’ve walked in on him doing.

Admittedly, their cramped family room isn’t nearly as atmospheric, unless fairy lights and the kitchen’s dim glow count as mood lighting. The storm rages persistently outside, soaking their shallow balcony and lashing against the sliding doors, and he supposes that’ll have to do for now. He’s propped a broom between the door and the wall, bracing it closed, just to be safe. That’s about as much preparation as he’d done before he had set his sopping wet bag on the sofa, unzipped it with a flourish, and retrieved his prize.

Obtaining this particular ouija board had taken some actual effort on his part. He’d ventured into the thrift shop’s back room with a very reluctant cashier, shoving aside dust-covered boxes and bins full of sequined bodysuits, holding up his Stone of Farspeech to shed light over towering shelves. The one they’d found hadn’t even come in a box. It was draped in spiderwebs and sitting next to a DVD copy of an interpretive jazz workout, which he’d pushed aside with one acrylic to get to the board and its planchette. The cashier had recoiled, surveying it with a wrinkled nose and slightly watery eyes. “Are you—” He’d sneezed and nearly sent his glasses flying. “Are you sure? I mean, if you’re all hung up on this spirit-summoning thing, I’m sure we’ve got some haunted dolls or somethin’ around here that would do the trick—”

“Hey,” Taako had interrupted, brandishing the planchette at him. “Who’s the paying customer here? Yes. Correct. I know what I’m about, son. Ring me up.”

The ouija board now sits indolently on the coffee table behind him, looking for all the world like someone’s pathetic idea of a Scrabble game. For all the fanfare surrounding its existence, it isn’t terribly relevant right now. Taako jabs a thumb in its general direction as he taps his foot impatiently, staring down the far wall.

“Been a hot minute, hasn’t it?” he says, smirking at the cracked plaster. “I don’t usually call so soon after a first date, but wouldja just look at that—” This time, he swivels around for dramatic effect and gestures widely to the board. If possible, it’s even more depressing than the last one, with a lengthy crack across one side and dismal, fading letters. “As luck would have it, I found another one ’a these just lyin’ around, gathering dust. Sure looks like it’s lived, a, uh… a full life, but I’d bet it’s got a couple more summons in it.”

Taako turns his gaze back on the wall and reaches out, crooking a finger invitingly. “So, what d’you say, reaper man?” He grins, wide and full of anticipation. “Come ’n get it.”

He waits, propping himself on a heel, for a good several seconds. The rain beats against the windows, and a rush of wind thoroughly rattles the trees below their apartment, but it’s muffled from where he stands at the center of the family room. Otherwise, everything is quiet. If he strains his ears, he can just barely hear the clock ticking.

12:34 by now, surely.

A low, barely-perceptible breeze passes through the room and ruffles the hem of Taako’s skirt. Like a gaping wound in reality itself, the air splits in two, parted by a blade that trails black, gauzy smoke. The space crackles with arcane energy and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. However much of a sucker Death really is, he thinks, there’s some seriously powerful magic at work here.

That is kind of his jam, though.

It takes a moment for the main event to make his appearance, but when he does, Taako isn’t disappointed. If anything, a vaguely irritated Kravitz is even more gorgeous. His gaze snaps to Taako almost straightaway, which to be fair is what most people tend to do in his vicinity, and a tiny frown creases his brow. His smooth, perfect brow. Taako notes with amusement that Kravitz’s cravat is just slightly off-center, and as soon as his lips twitch in a tiny smirk, Kravitz catches his heel on the rift and nearly stumbles. He rights himself as Taako snickers behind one splayed hand.

“Well,” he says. “Didn’t mean to trip you up, handsome, but I gotta say I’m glad I did.”

To his credit, Kravitz covers his surprise with a smooth and extremely impressive eye roll. If that isn’t an attractive quality in a guy, Taako doesn’t know what is. “How long has it been, exactly? An hour? Two?”

“Already counting the hours we’re apart?” Taako clicks his tongue, only half-trying to stifle a grin at his own quip. “I mean, that’s a little whack, my dude, but—but if that’s how you roll.”

“You know that isn’t what I—you know what? Nevermind.” From where it sits in his hand, Kravitz’s scythe dissolves, and the rift phases out of existence behind him. Someone on the outside could have mistaken them for two normal people standing in a living room, having a normal conversation. To be fair, that’s what Taako intends to do, although he isn’t feeling particularly attached to the normal bit. He notes the gold embellishments on Kravitz’s vest as the reaper continues, still looking altogether extremely vexed. “Look, I’ve already made one too many house calls tonight. If you don’t mind, I’ll need that ouija board so I can be on my way.”

As he says so, Kravitz steps forward as if to make for the coffee table, but Taako slides easily between them. “Oh, not so fast, fella,” he says. “You and I have got some business to conduct.”

He’s rather proud of how easily his interference forces an Emissary of Actual, Literal Death to stop in his tracks. Kravitz sighs. “Business regarding what, exactly?”

“No need to be so formal,” Taako drawls, and lowers himself to perch on the table’s edge. He crosses ankle over ankle and looks up at Kravitz through dark, heavy lashes. “It was kinda… uh, kinda rude of you, wasn’t it? Just dropping in, scarin’ the shit outta everybody, and swingin’ right back out with no explanation?”

Kravitz arches an eyebrow. The undersides are highlighted faintly with gold, which would have made Taako weak in the knees had he been standing. “You don’t seem terribly intimidated.”

“I,” says Taako, “am an excellent thespian. Now, c’mon.” He shifts and tips his head toward the ottoman adjacent, and Kravitz follows his gaze uneasily. “Y—You said it yourself, right? Tough workday? I’ve got some questions, you got all the answers. Sit down, take a load off, and I promise I’ll go easy.”

He can’t resist a smirk, then, because it’s far too easy to get double entendre with this guy. That’s got to be a good sign of some sort.

Still, rather impressively, Kravitz lets that one roll right off him. He shuffles awkwardly to the ottoman and sits, fluffing his mantle out behind him, and Taako watches the feathers ripple and shudder in response. Now that they have less than a foot of space between them—gods bless this apartment’s tiny floor plan—he can make out their iridescent shine, among other things. Kravitz’s subtly pointed ears, for instance, and the golden cuffs that cling to their tapered edges. Or the way his coat sits a little too snugly around his shoulders, as if it isn’t quite well-tailored enough to contain perfection. Or how briefly but noticeably his eyes flick to the curve of Taako’s lip, then dart away without any indication that he’d been looking to begin with.

Sometimes, Taako decides, actions really do speak louder than words.

“Alright,” Kravitz says, and Taako forces his attention back in line. “You said you had… uh, questions?”

“Well, yeah, no fucking kidding. You’re Death. I—I mean, I think we all confronted our mortality tonight, literally. You can’t expect me to, uh, to just take that in stride.”

But Kravitz is already shaking his head. “Emissary,” he says. “That’s different. There’s no such thing as Death as an entity. It’s more like… like a law of the universe that we, uh, enforce.”

“Law enforcement, huh?” Taako purrs. “Never woulda pegged you for the officer type, but I could see it.” He imagines Kravitz in the polished uniform of the Neverwinter militia, brass buttons and jaunty cap and all, and has to bite down on his lip. “Yeah, I could deffo see it.”

He’s getting off track, but hell if Kravitz doesn’t make it easy. “Anyway. Emissary. Seems a tad too important for making house calls, hm? Don’t—don’t tell me we were something special.”

Kravitz’s mouth twitches. “The only thing you’re special for is using a ouija board. Do you know how outdated those things are? I think they were popular when I was alive.”

Well. That’s new information. “Okay,” says Taako, and lets his gaze dip to Kravitz’s chest, trying to ignore the flattering fit of his vest as he scrutinizes it for a rise and fall. Sure enough, he can’t make anything out. “So that makes you—”

“Immortal,” says Kravitz, at the same time Taako says, “Dead.”

He tips his head. “Well, yeah. That too.”

It says a lot about Taako that he immediately wishes he had paid more attention to Lup and Barry’s Thursday morning is-it-really-necrophilia-if debate. He can’t even recall the consensus, which had been reached with a few contentious glances from nearby professors. Once again, it’s up to him. “Okay, then,” is all he says. “That explains it.”

Kravitz blinks. “Explains what?”

Maybe it’s a little brazen—okay, scratch that, it’s incredibly brazen, but it’s also after midnight and Lup’s residual impulsiveness is starting to rub off on him. Taako shifts forward, and it’s not like there was much space between them to begin with, but now their knees nudge together when he leans in. He swears he hears Kravitz’s breath catch in his throat (which makes this even better, because the dead don’t need air, do they?) as he reaches up and thumbs over Kravitz’s cheek, and sure enough, a chill rockets up his arm and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“This,” he murmurs, and they’re close enough now that Taako can make out thin, feathery eyelashes and the hint of a shimmer across Kravitz’s upper lip. “You… you’re Arctic, my man.”

“Really?” says Kravitz, faintly. “I—I hadn’t noticed.”

Taako can make out his own heartbeat in his ears, thrumming with want and begging him just to edge a little closer, to kiss the life back into this beautiful man. He swallows, reins it in, and sits back with a brisk pat to Kravitz’s thigh. “Well! Mys—uh, mystery solved, I guess. Def—” He’s never hated his stutter more than he does right now. “Definitely dead as a doornail in there. But that means—I mean, if you die, you don’t just… automatically become an emissary, huh? What is there, some kinda lottery? An internship program? Application process?”

Kravitz stiffens. Taako can tell when he’s touched a nerve, and not the good kind, either. “Ah… no. I was a special case. Still am, I guess.”  

“Seems kinda fucked up that someone would just decide that for you.”

He shrugs a little helplessly. “It might be, but I’m grateful. I get to spend eternity doing work that matters. Barring having to go after the occasional idiots who decide to mess around with a ouija board.”

His tone is so pointed that Taako can’t help but snicker, although he chokes back his amusement before it morphs into full-on laughter. “Yeah, okay, you got me there. That one’s on Taako, ’kay? Totally wasn’t tryin’ to break up your… whatever it is you even do in the astral plane. They got wine and cheese over there? You strike me as a wine and cheese sesh kinda guy.”

A wry smile breaks across Kravitz’s face. “I prefer brandy, actually.”

“Brandy! You’re chock-full of surprises, huh? See, I’m a cocktail man myself, but I’m also—I’m open to experimentation, if you catch my drift.” He grins, and the way Kravitz’s eye twitches suggests that he does, indeed, catch Taako’s drift.

“Anyway,” he says, looking very much like he’s trying to keep another smile at bay, “we’ve gotten off track. I have some questions for you, too.”

“Who, moi?”

“Yes, toi,” says Kravitz drily. “I don’t care what you told me, ghost summoning isn’t just a fun Saturday night time-waster. There’s got to be a bigger reason you went to the trouble of digging up a ouija board from gods know where.”

Taako bats his eyelashes. “Can’t a guy summon Death without having any ulterior motives whatsoever?”

With what is apparently a fair bit of effort, Kravitz fixes him with a deadpan—ha—stare. “Honest answer? No. Never. And I already told you, I’m not Death.”

“Yeah, but it rolls so well off the tongue.” He leans back on the heels of his hands, returning the stare in full. “So you seriously wouldn’t believe me if I told you that it was all for shits ’n giggles? Like, it’s gotta be for some nefarious—I mean, c’mon. My dude. Do I look like a necromancer to you?”

Kravitz opens his mouth, evidently with the intent to respond, and stops short as his eyes snag on the folds of Taako’s off-the-shoulder blouse. Entirely impractical for the weather, of course, but all of a sudden Taako is extremely glad he’d worn it. He pulls his shoulder inward and lets one sleeve slip just so, and it must have the desired effect, because Kravitz suddenly purses his lips like they’ve gotten very, very dry. “Well?”

“You—no,” he says, and gives himself a tiny shake. The feathers covering his mantle perk up and cockle as he does so, and weird factor aside, it’s actually one of the most endearing things Taako has ever seen. “No, I’ll admit you don’t. But appearances can be deceiving.”

Taako thinks of his sister’s absolute maniac of a boyfriend, and says, “Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”

That earns him a suspicious glare from Kravitz, and he sighs. “Y’know, I’d give you my word, but we both—we know that means jack shit. So I guess you just gotta be willing to trust ch’boy on this one.”

The speed with which Kravitz’s expression drops is almost hilarious. “I really do, don’t I?”

“If it makes you feel any better, handsome, I give you full disclosure to keep an eye on me.”

Kravitz starts to reply, trips over the beginning of whatever he’s trying to say, and releases a long sigh instead. “You think you’re very charismatic, don’t you?”

“Just above average,” says Taako. “Wink.”

He chuckles in the way people chuckle at gods-awful jokes, which is to say, more than a little guiltily. Manifestations of Death have no business being this inadvertently charming. “I believe it’s your turn for a question.”

Taako scoffs. “When did we start taking turns? Last I checked, th—that isn’t the way an interrogation works.”

Kravitz regards him with lingering amusement in his eyes. There’s a warm but unmistakably sharp glint to them, and he’s reminded of Lup, ready and raring to burn spell slots just to prove somebody wrong. “If anyone should be doing the interrogating here, it’s me. You’re the one with the contraband.”

The universe can’t possibly pin this one on him. Everything about their situation—the setup, the exchange, Kravitz—it’s too good to be true. It’s precisely why Taako can’t bite back a smirk as he says, “Oh, so you prefer to take control, huh?”

“No,” says Kravitz, a little too quickly. To his credit, he doesn’t give much reaction other than that, although Taako notes that his dark complexion makes it near-impossible to discern a blush. Lucky bastard.

“Thought not,” he says. “I’m never wrong about that stuff. Okay, so… you—uh, you mentioned someone decided to make you an emissary. Who was the someone?”

Kravitz’s mantle fluffs around his neck. “Her Majesty the Raven Queen,” he recites. “She who presides over the passage of life and death and all governed by it. She’s my… well, employer, I guess, if you’re putting it in modern terms. And a goddess, of course, but you—I’m sure you already knew that.”

“She give you that?” Taako levels a finger at the mantle.

He glances back at it as if he’s just noticed it on his shoulders. “Oh. Yes, she did. It’s meant to be protective, but it’s also a… a mood detector, of sorts? Evidently it can react to what I’m thinking, but obviously I wouldn’t know… ah, sorry if it’s been distracting you.”

Taako wants to say You’re plenty distracting on your own, but he’s not that far gone. Not yet, anyway. Instead he says, “It’s cute, bird boy. Chill. Your turn.”

He sits back, because he doesn’t want to let on exactly how compromised he’s been by Kravitz and his ridiculous feathered cape. There are a thousand more jokes to be made in that vein—something about quoth the raven, among other possibilities—but all he’d been able to manage is It’s cute, bird boy, and the strangest thing is that he means it. This isn’t an off-the-cuff affection like the ones he’s so quick to dole out. No, Taako thinks, with a growing horror in the pit of his stomach, Kravitz is cute. He’s also snarky and dorky and very, very attracted to Taako, if he hasn’t been hallucinating all the cursory glances and small intakes of breath.

And the worst part is that if the flush of heat across Taako’s neck is any indication, he’s very, very attracted to Kravitz, too.

He can just imagine the look on Lup’s face when he tells her. So, he’ll say. Last night the boner squad and I summoned Death, and then I summoned him again to try and seduce him just for the hell of it, and, well, fuck, he’s actually amazing and now I wanna do it for real. How was your night? Knowing her, she’ll probably top his story with some outrageous tale of attempted resurrection and a car chase or two (with a ridiculously sappy rant about how much she loves her boyfriend thrown in for good measure), but not before she loses her entire shit at his expense. Taako’s blush flares hotter at the very thought.

Go big or go home, as the saying goes. He’s already home, which means there’s only one thing left to do.

“Okay,” says Kravitz, startling Taako out of his reverie. “Are you going to give me that ouija board?”

By the grace of whatever god is feeling particularly benevolent towards him tonight, Taako is able to make a seamless recovery. He pushes himself to his feet and puts a hand on his hip, looking imperiously down at Kravitz on the ottoman. “Depends,” he lilts. “You willing to work for it?”

To his surprise, Kravitz follows suit, standing up and immediately regaining the height advantage. Taako is halfway tempted to climb up onto the coffee table again, but there’s barely enough room for him to turn around—in fact, the cramped space between the table’s edge and the ottoman has them sandwiched right up against each other. Sure enough, a chill radiates through the fabric of Kravitz’s shirt. The resulting shudder that grips Taako’s body isn’t entirely unpleasant.

As a matter of fact, he realizes, it’s not unpleasant at all.

He really wishes he’d paid more attention to the necrophilia debate.

“Make me work for it,” Kravitz hums, and his voice and their godsforsaken closeness sets Taako shivering all over again. “And how would you do that, exactly?”

Taako forces himself to muster every iota of his usual bravado. It’s not much at the moment, but right now he needs every bit he can get. “I dunno if—if you’ve noticed, my man,” he says, and pointedly ignores the break in his voice, “but I’m a pretty smart cookie.”

“Mm. I, uh… I don’t doubt it.” He’s looking about as distracted as Taako feels, all attempts at intimidation forgotten, as some innate gravity coaxes them closer. Taako’s hands meet with Kravitz’s chest, sliding over the fine material and numbing quickly against the cold. He can’t possibly care less.

They’re inches away, and Taako just knows that any minute now, Lup and Barry are going to come stumbling out of the entryway and tell him to keep a lookout for the police. Or it’ll be Magnus and Merle, a little sloshed or a little high or both, begging him to reconsider his incredibly stupid plan. It really is stupid, Taako thinks. The plan, that is. But the plan also has him pressed up against an unfairly gorgeous man who seems just a tad punch-drunk on the moment, and he would be lying to himself if he said he doesn’t feel the same.

Taako is waiting for fate to kick down the door and flip him off when their lips meet. He’s not sure who initiates it and he honestly doesn’t care. All he has the capacity to care about is how incredible the icy thrill of Kravitz’s lips feel against his own, and the way they rock forward into each other in perfect synchronicity. He bares his teeth and tugs lightly because he’s earned it, and everything in him soars and burns with the gasp he gets from Kravitz in return. The moment is dizzying and so absolutely beyond anything he could have asked from a Saturday night—or a Sunday morning, he realizes, because midnight is a distant memory.

Everything seems a little distant, actually, when they part. Kravitz is staring at him, half-lidded and disbelieving, and Taako is sure he’s staring right back. He’s too lightheaded to do anything else.

Eventually he says, “Well, that’s, uh… that’s how we do.”

“I—you’re unbelievable,” says Kravitz, and he clearly doesn’t mean it to come out as breathy and dumbstruck as it does.

“Damn right,” Taako shoots back, and sidles out from between an Emissary of Death and the coffee table. “But I dunno if that was worth one whole ouija board.”

Kravitz’s eyes flare, bright and unnatural under the dim lighting. “You can’t be—oh, for Her sake.”

He cuts himself off and holds out a hand, and from his peripheral Taako catches the ouija board and its planchette disappearing in a plume of black smoke. They appear seconds later in Kravitz’s hand, and he folds them up and tucks them away with a huff.

Taako’s mouth falls open. “You could just—are you telling me—you could just teleport that shit the whole time and you didn’t—you didn’t just do it?”

“I don’t like to just magic my problems away,” says Kravitz, sounding wholeheartedly offended. “I wasn’t about to just—stop smirking, Taako, please.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Taako says, even though he’s never been less sorry in his life. He watches as Kravitz materializes his scythe, mantle tousled hotly around his neck, and only speaks up again as it starts to cut through the air. “H—Hey, hey, one more question?”

“Mm?”

“Just wondering,” Taako chirps, and winds his braid around a finger. “If I were, to, y’know, want to get ahold of some more astral plane contraband—”

“Do you want my frequency?” Kravitz interrupts.

Is he really that transparent? Taako gives a noncommittal shrug, like they haven’t just done something completely worthy of trading frequencies. “Sure, sure. If you’re down.”

Kravitz gives him an awkward smile and ambles over to attune his Stone to Taako’s. Their hands brush, because of course they do, and electricity shoots up Taako’s arm, making his skin tingle. He sucks in a breath and does his best to stay unperturbed. This is not the time to lose his cool. Not now.

No, he’ll save that for his sister’s return, when he tells Lup about how he not only flirted with Death and lived to tell the tale, but got away with Death’s digits and a Sunday morning to remember.