#vague speaking in tongues reference in the second image. grins

[worblewobble]

been thinking about this guy a lot lately

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Call Forth Love - Chapter 6

Haha, I’m so excited for this chapter. Please let me know what y’all think! Also a huge thank you to everyone who has liked/commented/reblogged. You guys deserve all the love and cookies possible! 

Warnings: swearing, fluff (i think that’s it, sorry if i miss something)

Words: 7300 (i feel like my chapters keep getting longer. oops?)

Tag List: @heavenly1927 @youbloodymadgenius @zuxiezendler @punkrocknpearls​

Series Masterlist

The aroma of coffee surrounded Kari like a warm, comforting blanket. The café was just the perfect amount of busy, there were a few other tables occupied but without feeling cramped or overwhelming. The lunch rush was just beginning, indicated by the number of patrons standing in line to order now. 

 The brunette sipped on her latte as she slowly swiped through the pictures on Gyda's phone. The two were finally meeting up for an early lunch and coffee after a yoga class. Gyda had been gushing about the trip she just returned from to Phnom Penh, telling stories of the week she spent there and letting Kari slide through the pictures on her phone. 

 "These are just gorgeous. Gods, you have the best job, I swear."

 Gyda laughed, picking at the muffin in front of her. "I know. I can't imagine doing anything else though."

 "When do you leave again?"

 "Mmmm…. I’m not sure yet. The company is wanting me to go to Vancouver, British Columbia next. I might wait until the end of September to go. I'm not sure. Either way, it won't be for at least a month. Depends on how soon I want to go visit mom."

 "Why wouldn't you want to go soon?" Kari perked up at the mention of Gyda's mother. She knew the two were close, but all she really knew about Lagertha was from what Ivar told her.

 "I'm not a fan of her new boyfriend. Sorry, she prefers the term "lover". Kalf works for her, specifically with contacts from their Mediterranean partners and overseeing some of the shipments."

 "Why don't you like him?" She swiped to the next image, a stunning picture of the Cambodian royal palace. 

 The blonde waved her hand vaguely, as if swatting a fly. "He hasn't done anything; I just don't like him."

 "That's fair. Does he treat your mom well?"

 "Yeah. She just has shit luck with men and I'm worried how this one will turn out." She sipped on her coffee, gazing out the nearby window for a moment. 

 Kari turned back to the phone, guessing there was more that Gyda was not saying. Not that she needed to know. No, she had enough drama in her life currently and his name was Ivar. 

 Both women lounged in the wooden café chairs, still in their yoga clothes, having come straight from the studio. Except Gyda changed her footwear, losing the sandals for a pair of wedge heels that made her long legs look like skyscrapers. It was hard not to envy Gyda's body, and Torvi for that matter. They both had the perfect hourglass figure, with all the right assets and gorgeously braided, blonde hair. Maybe it was some standard that women around the Lothbroks had perfect bodies. It made Kari wonder why Ivar paid her any attention then. Her body was far from perfect. Her chest side was decent, but she always thought her hips and thighs were too large. Most likely leftover critiques from her mother who not-so-lovingly would say Kari was pear-shaped and needed to focus on losing all that extra or no man would want her. Not that she was trying to get a man. Over the past two years she had finally come to embrace her body and was learning to be comfortable in her own skin. Though some days were better than others. It was still difficult to watch Gyda receive appreciative looks from many of the patrons as they passed by their table and know none of them would even give her a second glance. The blonde was effortlessly beautiful. Perhaps there was a way for her to teach Kari that. 

 Suddenly Gyda zeroed in on the brunette with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Speaking about men…."

 "Are you going on a date?" 

 Gyda snorted, with an amused grin on her face. "Hell no. I'm not interested in a relationship right now. I am perfectly fine being single. Stop changing the subject. There is a little something going around the Lothbrok rumor mill that Ivar took you on a date to Casa mia, Maggiore."

 "Not a date, it was just as friends." Kari clarified. 

 She gave her an incredulous look. "Just friends?"

 "Yes."

 Gyda narrowed her eyes at her. 

 "What? We went out to Casa mia, Maggiore and then I convinced him to go to Masterpiece. After he dropped me back off at home. Nothing happened."

 "Right…." Gyda hummed. "So, it was a date."

 Kari dropped her face into her hands with a groan. "Not a date. Just friends."

 "Whatever you say. Just know Ivar doesn't take just anyone to his favorite restaurant. Hell, I think he only took his ex there once in the ten months they were dating. He usually only goes with Aslaug."

 "Oh? Um, I didn't know…" The brunette hated how she perked up at this new information. It should not matter hearing that he never took anyone, that it really was his favorite restaurant and he wanted to share it with her. In their texting, he made reference to when they went back, what food he wanted her to try next. Something apparently, he was not even inclined to do with an ex. No, none of that should matter. But it did, and the way her heart swelled at the realization only proved that to her. 

 "Clearly he really likes you to take you there. Do you like him?"

 "Sure, he's a good friend."

 Gyda sighed dramatically, tipping her head back. "You're killing me, Kari! Fine! When was this not-date? A week ago?"

 "Eight days, yeah."

 "Have you hung out since then?"

 "Yeah, he picked me up once and we went out for dinner. Another time, he took me out on my lunch break. He had to go on a business trip so I haven't seen him in…. three days?"

 "Right. I'm guessing he's blowing up your phone while he's been gone?"

 Kari took a sip of her drink as she mumbled, "sort of." The truth was they were practically texting non-stop. It was mostly discussions, and arguments on his side, of superficial things like TV shows, the proper time to wake up in the morning and her lack of clothing that was more than yoga attire. Other times they sent memes back and forth or links to funny YouTube clips. Kari never realized how lonely she was before Ivar thrust himself into her life with all the force and subtlety of a rocket. 

 "What does that mean?" Gyda eyed her for a long moment before she gasped and slapped the table. "Oh shit! Is he sending you dick pics?"

 Kari choked on air. After hacking for a couple of seconds, tears coming to her eyes because of the action, she vigorously shook her head. "No! No! Ewww....no! We keep sending stupid memes to each other and talking about where we should go out next. That's it. I promise."

 The blonde laughed loudly at Kari's reaction, who fiddled with her earring, face burning with embarrassment. The two sat quietly for a couple of minutes, sipping their drinks and watching the line of lunch patrons increase. 

 "So…. it kind of sounds like you're dating."

 "No, we're just friends. Why can't friends just hang out?" Kari tried to argue. The beginning tendrils of annoyance creeping in at constantly having to defend their friendship. 

 Gyda stared at her. "Have you made-out?"

 A blush colored Kari's cheeks before she could figure out a good enough lie, giving away the truth. 

 "What?! How often?!" Her enthusiastic friend cried, before waving her hand once again. "Never mind. Listen, he's taking you out to his favorite restaurant. He is clearly going out of his way to spend time with you. He is texting you! You don't realize how big of a deal this is for him! He generally hates people. I'm positive he has murder plans for most of those he is forced to be around. Does he know you're just friends? Because to me, it doesn't sound like it."

 Kari covered her face with her hands, tears of frustration springing to her eyes. Ivar and her could only be friends, that was what she promised herself. If he knew her, the real her…. it would never happen. He would never want her. So it was best to remain friends, to protect both of them from the inevitability that anything more would never happen. Even though their line of friendship was blurring…. and that was the worst part. She found herself wishing to continue to blur that line, even when she knew it would only end in disaster. Taking a deep breath, she could smell his cologne, a scent she had become so used to now. Her mind could easily conjure the feeling of being in his arms, his mouth on hers as she gave in under his touch. She cared for him, deep down she knew more than a friend. Although he could annoy her to no end, she enjoyed his presence, his humor, that vulnerable side that peeked out occasionally, how he made her feel safe and beautiful. 

 Now hearing Gyda pointedly telling her that Ivar was treating her as more than a friend. It left her speechless and wondering if she was making a mistake. 

 Gyda’s tone softened when she spoke next. "Why are you so set on just friends?"

 "I just…. I don't want to date right now. After my last relationship, I just want to focus on myself."

 "That's fair but listen, he isn't going to wait around for you forever."

 "I know. I don't want him too." She admitted, tugging on her earring. Though her statement was the truth, it still tasted bitter on her tongue. 

 "Ok, but does he know that? It sounds like he’s set on you, but I'm going to warn you. Don't break his heart. He isn't the type to recover from heartbreak. His heart is already locked up more securely than Fort Knox but if you break it…."

 "I promise, that isn't my intent. I just…. can't. I like him, more than I thought I would. He is funny and charming and sweet but also infuriating and demanding and I've had more fun with him than I've ever had with a guy friend before. He…. I can be myself around him and I think he can too. But I just…. It can't go further than friendship."

 Gyda mulled over her words. "Alright. I don't fully understand but I get it. It's nice to hear that he's connecting with someone. None of us liked his ex. He only really spends time with family or Floki."

 "I don't want to hurt him." Kari whispered. 

 "I know. You're too sweet to purposefully do something like that." The blonde tilted her head to the side with a slowly growing smug look. "I give it until the end of the year and you'll be naked in his bed."

 "Gods! What? Why would you say that?"

 "He's a Lothbrok. They always get what they want."

 *****

 Kari laid curled up on her full-size bed, her laptop up and watching Downton Abbey. A heating pad rested on her abdomen as she waited for the pain relievers to kick in. Most of her life she was happy with, but the one thing she would easily trade out would be the painful cramps when PMSing. The birth control she took helped out, but there was usually still one day that the dreaded cramps hit hard. 

 Her phone dinged. Languidly reaching over, she grabbed it from beside her pillow and opened it to check the text. 

 Ivar: wat r u doin?

 He texted her earlier that day saying he was returning home from his sudden business trip. 

 Kari: nothing

 Ivar: good. bts. 

 She groaned, slamming her face into her pillow. She did not have the energy to deal with him right now. All she wanted was to relax and eat her body weight in chocolate. After a moment of self-pity, she texted him back, hoping she could get out of whatever he had planned already. 

 Kari: no, I don't feel good.

 Ivar: wat wrong?

 Kari: nothing bad.  

 Sure, they had been talking daily for over a week but that did not mean she wanted to divulge her period issues to him. There were a few things she knew and one was that guys did not like talking about the menstrual cycle. 

 When he did not text back right away, she turned her attention back to her laptop and the TV show playing. Soon enough the magic of pain relievers and hot pads kicked in and her pain was minimal, though she had no intentions of leaving her warm cocoon. Alana was at her night class, so Kari was home alone. Not unusual really, but tonight she certainly felt the urge to lay around and do nothing. 

 After about twenty minutes, she heard a loud knock on her front door. Alana was not home, so it could not be any of her friends. Her neighbor, Erik, never just showed up. He always made sure to text before coming to her door. Maybe there was some kind of emergency? Or a package being dropped off? Though at this time it was certainly getting late for any kind of deliveries. Then it hit her. 

 Ivar. 

 "Ughhhh," she groaned, rolling out of her bed. For a split second she contemplated not answering it, just staying in her warm bed. She knew, though, if she did not get it, he would probably bust the door down. Maybe even set it on fire to make a point. He seemed like the type to light things on fire for fun. 

 As soon as she opened the front door, those intense blue eyes scanned over her body as if looking for some unseen disease. "What's wrong with you?" He barked at her, one hand still on the doorframe.

 "What?" She blinked owlishly. 

 "You said you don't feel good." He gestured towards her, his gaze still searching. "What's wrong?"

 "Um, it's nothing. Just cramps. It's better now."

 "You sure? It's nothing worse?"

 She was touched by his concern, the way his last questions were said in a breath of relief as if actually worried about her health. "Yeah, happens every month. I'm fine."

 "Ok, good. Get changed, Hvitty and I are going to see a movie. I want you to come with us."

 "Ivar, you should hang out with your brother…."

 "I fucking live with him. He's fine with it. Go change."

 She sighed, knowing by now there was no way she was making it back to her warm cocoon and Downton Abbey. Besides, she had missed him while he was gone and found herself wanting to spend time with him. Not that she wanted him to know that, it would only inflate his ego. "I'll only agree to come with you on two conditions."

 "Fucking what?" He growled, though she could see the amusement in his eyes. 

 "First, I'm wearing my comfy clothes." She waved her hand at the pair of soft, black leggings she wore and the thin, slouchy sweater with the word 'beautiful' printed on it. "Second, and this is the most important condition, you have to buy me a stupid amount of chocolate."

 He rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged on his lips. "If that's all, princess…."

 "Oh, give me a minute. I'll think of something else… and it's not princess. It's m'lady."

 "Shut up. Get your shit. I'll meet you at the car."

 She laughed as she raced up to her room to grab her purse, not even bothering to change out of her clothes. The only addition was to throw on a zip up jacket that was a size too big on her. She always found movie theaters too cold to be fully comfortable without a jacket. 

 The vehicle waiting for her this time was a luxury SUV. She stopped for a moment in the driveway, unsure what to do. She wondered what the neighbors would think of her getting picked up in this and how many knew Lothbroks were sitting in it. Hopefully no one was paying attention. The one of the back doors opened so she headed that way. Ivar slid over and she followed him into the vehicle, closing the door behind her. 

 "Took you fucking long enough, m'lady."

 She smirked at the nickname. "Well, you did just show up at my door and told me we were going to see a movie. At least the other times you gave me a heads up to be ready."

 "Ivar, you said you text her we were coming." A man she had not noticed said. He sat across on the bench seat facing them, watching her curiously. It was now Kari noticed how both Ivar and the guy were dressed casually, both in jeans and t-shirts, though Ivar had a light jacket on also. 

 "She said she wasn't doing anything." 

 The flaxen-haired man sighed, before reaching his hand out. "Hi, I'm Hvitserk. This idiot's older brother."

 "It's nice to meet you. I'm Kari." She took his hand, but instead of shaking it like she expected, he turned it over and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her hand. When he released it, he gave her a quick, flirty wink and leaned back in his seat. 

 Startled by his bold action, she looked at Ivar, unsure how to respond. What was with these Lothbroks and their unabashed flirting? 

 He had his eyes narrowed at his brother, teeth practically grinding. "Fucking touch her again." He snarled. 

 Hvitserk chuckled, a smug look on his boyish face. "Relax, brother. I know you don't share…. even if you're just friends." Either he was purposefully antagonizing his younger brother or did not notice the anger seething off of him. 

 Ivar started to lean forward but Kari wrapped her arms around his, pulling him into her. She was not about to watch a fight go down between the two. "Didn't you just get back from your trip? I thought you'd be home resting." She quickly asked, trying to distract. 

 After a long moment of the brothers staring at each other, Ivar with a glare and Hvitserk looking amused, the raven-haired brother leaned back. He turned his head to look at her as he answered. "You said you wanted to see me earlier, and going to see a movie isn't strenuous."

 "Everything involving you is strenuous."

 As soon as she muttered the words, she wished she could take them back. 

 A devilish grin spread across his face, those blue eyes dancing with something mischievous and forbidden. "I can show you strenuous." He shifted to hover over her, lips dangerously close to hers. "All. Night. Long." He whispered, one hand leaving a trail of fire as it slid from her thigh up to the curve of her breast. A shiver ran down her spine at the low, hungry tone and the naked want in his gaze. "You'll be begging for more of me…. to destroy that pussy and leave you completely undone and hoarse from screaming my name." His tongue flicked at her earlobe, a choked gasp leaving her mouth at the sensation. Her eyes fluttered shut on their own accord, the knot in her core tightening painfully. She both hated and loved what his touch did to her, how it gave her a taste of pleasure otherwise unknown. His nose traced her jawline as he spoke again, tone filthy, making her core ache. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, kattungen?"

 She gulped, her voice coming out far more timid and needy than she wanted. "That's...um, that's nice." 

 Hvitserk's laughter broke the smoldering tension. Her blue-green eyes blinked rapidly as if wakening from a dream, darting to stare at the older brother before returning to the one who still lingered over her, his presence alone keeping her pinned to her seat. 

 "En dag, søte Kari, blir du min." Ivar whispered into her ear, then kissed her temple tenderly. After he leaned back, legs splayed out and arms across the back of the seat. A rapid conversation in that foreign language started, Hvitserk saying something that had Ivar snarking back and rolling his eyes. 

 The whole time, Kari focused on slowing down her breathing and trying to tamper down the warmth radiating from her core. There was no denying it, Ivar did something to her on a primal level. Her body wanted him. Even her mind wanted him. When he directed that sensual, seductive side at her, she melted like an ice cube in June. Her panties were testimony to that. Thankfully, he did not turn that powerful ability onto her frequently. She doubted they would remain 'just friends' for long if he did. 

 Suddenly, Ivar tugged on the sleeve of her fleece jacket, drawing her from her thoughts. "What is that?"

 "Um… a jacket?"

 He hummed then glanced over at his brother. "Sigurd had the same one, doesn't he, Hvitty?"

 "I think so." Hvitserk ran a hand over his braids, a smile on his lips. "Didn't you set it on fire?"

 Ivar waved off the question, still scrutinizing her jacket.  "Whose is it?"

 "Mine now." She replied, wondering what he was getting at. 

 "Whose was it?"

 "A guy friend. He lent it to me years ago and I never gave it back."

 "He's in England?"

 "Yeah…"

 He grunted, rubbing a hand over his mouth for a moment. "Take it off."

 "Wha…. what?" She sputtered. 

 "Take it off. I don't want you wearing another guy's clothes."

 "Ivar, this is stupid. Plus, I always get cold in movie theaters. That's why I brought it in the first place."

 With a deep scowl, he tugged off his own gray, soft shell jacket. When he saw she was not moving, he tugged on her sleeve roughly. She huffed but gave in, not willing to fight him over something so childish. She slipped the fleece jacket off and placed it in her lap. Before she could stop him, Ivar snatched the jacket out of her lap and threw it on the seat to his other side. He dropped his jacket in her lap then leaned back, watching her with a serious expression. This was one of those times she wondered why she put up with him. Who cared where the origins of her clothes came from? It was comfy. Sure, it had some sentimental value but it was a nice, warm jacket. 

 Quickly, she slipped his gray jacket on…. and was immediately hit with his scent. A salacious side of her wondered if he would let her keep it. He always smelled incredible and having his jacket now wrapped around her, enveloping her in that…. her libido definitely woke up, begging for attention. Especially after the tease he just bestowed upon her.  

 "Happy?" She asked flippantly, smoothing the gray jacket down over her and trying not to be obvious with her sniffing it. 

 He grinned. "You look better in my clothes."

 "Ugh. Is he always like this?" She turned to Hvitserk.  

 "I wouldn't know. He's never asked me to take my clothes off. But if you did, I'd happily oblige." He playfully winked at her. 

 She groaned. "You both are unbelievable. No wonder you're brothers." She looked at Ivar beside her. "Can I have my jacket back?"

 He raised a single eyebrow as if surprised by her question. After a second of mutual staring, he slid over and opened the window, maintaining pointed eye contact the whole time. Before she could process what he was going to do, he balled up her jacket and threw it out the open window. Without a word, he rolled the window back up and slid over to her side again. 

 "What jacket?" He questioned impishly. 

 She stared open-mouthed at him. "Was…. was that really necessary? Gods! Why did you do that?" 

 "I don't want you wearing another guy's clothes." He shrugged. "If it's that big of a problem, I'll buy you some new clothes."

 "That's not…. that's not the point! You can't just get rid of something of mine without my permission!"

 "But it wasn't yours, it was some guy friend's."

 She covered my face with her hands. Why should she expect anything different from Ivar? He had a vendetta against her clothes. With a sigh, she scooted away from him. "I feel like we need to make a list of things that are not ok for you to do."

 "I'm not following some fucking list."

 "Alright, I'll stop wearing clothes that belong to someone else if you promise not to throw away my clothes without my permission."

 He yanked on her arm until she was at his side again, despite her half-hearted attempt for space. "You can wear my clothes anytime, especially if I can take them off of you."

 "Ivar, I'm serious."

 He nuzzled the crook of her neck, making her squirm. Sweetly, he pressed a kiss to her neck before leaning back. "Fine." He muttered, tucking her into his side. 

 She glanced over at Hvitserk, having momentarily forgotten his presence. A broad smile covered his face, highlighting his handsome features. 

 "I like her." He declared, meeting his brother's eye with a nod. Next he looked at her, cocking his head to the side. "What are you doing with his sorry ass?"

 That earned a low growl from the youngest Lothbrok, causing Kari to jump faintly and Hvitserk's smile to grow.

 "Well, I didn't have much of a choice. He showed up at my work the first time." She answered honestly, though she mostly did it to tease Ivar. 

 Hvitserk threw his head back with a groan before narrowing his eyes at his brother. "I told you not to stalk her!"

 "What the fuck is this? Gang up on Ivar day? She wouldn't have gone out with me otherwise and afterward she said she had fun, so it's not a big deal."

 Hvitserk's brown eyes met her blue-green ones with true sympathy in them. "I'm sorry, Kari. I would say he isn't normally like this but I'm guessing you know that's a damn lie by now."

 She giggled, "Yeah, I do. Thank you though."

 "You know, we could always ditch him and go to the movie just us."

 "Oh yeah?" She tapped her chin, pretending to think the offer over. "That sounds like fun. Ivar did promise to buy me a stupid amount of chocolate though. It'd be a hard sell to pass that offer up."

 "I'm sure I can come up with something." He wiggled his blond eyebrows, smiling again. 

 "Shut the fuck up, both of you." 

 Kari laughed at the look on Ivar's face. Peering up at him, she changed the subject. "What movie are we seeing?"

 "Ask your new friend over there."

 "Come on, Ivy. You know we're just fucking with you." Hvitserk sighed.  

 Ivar grumbled, looking out the window and ignoring both of them.

 Hvitserk answered her question. "That new horror movie."

 "Oh ok." She hoped she sounded confident but kind of wished she had known before coming. Horror movies were not her thing. As a child, she had watched 'IT' at a sleepover and decided then that purposefully being scared was something she could do without. Though knowing Ivar, he would have laughed and pushed her out the door, saying something about how she needed to watch better shit than she normally did. Maybe this one would be more action-based than real horror. She could only hope. 

 Thankfully, they pulled up at the movie theater soon after. The driver dropped the three off at the door, driving off after to go park and wait. 

 "Ivar, hold on." She tugged on his arm, forcing him to slow his steps instead of walking ahead of the other two. "Give us a minute, Hvitserk."

 The blond brother gave her a quick nod. "I'll go buy some snacks."

 After he walked away, she tried to meet Ivar's gaze, though he pointedly stared over her shoulder. "Hey, we're just teasing. I'm sorry if we pushed it too far. I'm really happy you asked me to come out with you and your brother. It's been years since I've gone out to the movies."

 He remained stubbornly sullen, continuing to stare just over her shoulder as if her presence was a nuisance. 

 With a sigh, she shifted closer, taking the initiative to wrap her arms loosely around his waist. Something she had noticed during the times they had hung out was he liked touching her, not always sexually, but just casual, intimate touches. A stray thought of him being touch-starved crossed her mind. 

 "I also really like your jacket, it's soft and it smells like you." She softly said, peeking up at him, suddenly nervous about her forwardness. 

 "Yeah?" He breathed out, placing his arms around her and tugging her closer. In just that movement, she could feel the hostility drain out of him, the hard tension in his muscles easing away into a softness she was beginning to doubt many people were allowed to see. 

 "Since you threw my other one away, can I keep this one?" She teased, lips curling up at the edges. If he said no, she was inclined to steal it anyway. For emotional damages, of course, not because it smelled good. 

 "Fuck, yes, kitten." He nuzzled her neck, making her squirm in his arms and giggle at the sensation. After a moment, still chuckling, he kissed her neck then laid his forehead against hers. When he spoke, it was with a quiet hint of vulnerability, his voice just above a murmur. "You really are happy to be out with me?"

 "I am." She confirmed with eyes closed, soaking in the heat from his body against hers. This moment felt so strangely intimate that she struggled between prolonging it or tearing herself away. It was in these touches, she found her resolve wavering, a longing rising within her to give in. His arms around her, just holding her, their foreheads pressed together as if grounding one another. It was euphoric and dangerous. 

 He broke the silence between them, tone muffled as if regretting speaking up. "We should go in; the movie is going to start soon."

 "Ok. Hvitserk will probably come looking for us if we don't." 

 "Ah, fuck. He will." 

 They untangled, but as she moved to step away, he snaked his arm around her waist, tugging her next to him. When she glanced up at him, he only looked down at her in wide-eyed, mock innocence. She rolled her eyes but giggled. He was like a puppy afraid to let go of his new toy. 

 As they started towards the doors, she finally paid more attention to his gait. Each step was stiff but powerful. One more than one occasion she ogled him and his swagger that seemed to scream predator, a dark and deadly thing meanwhile also being so enticing. She wondered how he managed so well without his cane but decided not to bring it up.

 Once they passed through the door, Ivar slowed down, pulling his phone from his pocket. 

 "Shit. I've got to take this. Go wait with Hvitty. Oh, here." He pulled out his wallet and handed her his credit card. "Go buy all that chocolate I promised you and drinks for us."

 Normally she would protest, saying she could buy her own stuff. This time she had full intentions of spending his money on chocolate. "Do you want anything to eat?" 

 "Are you on the menu?"

 "Gods, unbelievable!" She laughed though, watching him smile genuinely. After an arrogant wink, he stepped away, bringing his phone to his ear and speaking rapidly in a foreign language. She scurried over to Hvitserk, who stood near the confessions counter. 

 "Everything alright?" 

 "Yeah," she glanced over her shoulder at Ivar quickly, "he just got a phone call he said he had to take."

 Hvitserk hummed, watching Ivar across the lobby with a peculiar expression. 

 While they waited, she ordered her snacks and the drinks for both of them. Though her doubts rapidly spun out of control as she realized she did not know what Ivar would like or want. With a pleading look thrown at him, Hvitserk gave in with a chuckle. Together they picked out snacks and drinks that would have the youngest Lothbrok's approval. Once done, they gathered their stuff and moved over to an open, standing table to continue waiting. 

 "While Ivar is busy, I wanted to talk to you."

 "Ah, sure." She felt a tendril of dread grow in her belly. Nothing good ever came out of a conversation with such an inauspicious beginning. 

 "I know Ivar can be a lot, closer to fucking insane, and not many people can tolerate him." He looked down at her with brown eyes that seemed to see more than they let on. "But you're good for him. You don't take his bullshit. Fuck, he even listens to you. I could count on one hand how many people Ivar actually listens to. What makes you different?"

 "I don't know. I'm just…. I don't know." She stared down at her chipped, teal fingernails, unable to meet his eyes now. 

 "Well whatever you are, we've already noticed a difference since you two started talking. He's not as angry, he doesn't just hole up in his room as often."

 "That's good."

 "Mmmm…. Ivar is my brother and I love him. But I also know his temper can get the better of him and when he is on a rampage, nothing can fucking stop him. He is easily jealous and possessive of things he deems his own…. and he clearly had staked a claim on you."

 "But…. we're just friends."

 "Not to him." He huffed, running a hand over his braids. After checking to make sure his brother was still on the phone, he continued, lowering his voice even more. "You seem like a nice girl so I'll only say this once. Be careful of what promises you make to him…. and if he ever does something to harm you or scare you, I want you to call me. I'll do what I can to protect you. Alright?"

 She nodded, unnerved by his warning. Sure, she knew about the Lothbrok reputation. Yet this was the first time someone point blank warned her with true understanding. She was unsure if she should appreciate the warning or be terrified that he thought Ivar could hurt her. 

 "Give me your phone."

 Silently, she handed it over. He plugged his number in and called himself. With a satisfied nod, he gave it back to her. 

 "Good, don't ever hesitate to call me. Besides, if my brother has his way, none of us would ever meet you. My other brothers want to meet the girl who has Ivar wrapped around her finger already." He winked at her, making her blush. 

 "Hvitty, stop flirting with her!" 

 The flaxen-haired brother grinned, as he watched his brother approach. "I'm not. Just telling her the others want to meet her."

 "Fuck no." Ivar growled, coming to stand between the two. 

 "I'd love to meet your brothers." She commented lightly. "After hearing you talk about them, it'd be nice."

 "Awww, Ivy, you talk about us?" Hvitserk teased, nudged his shoulder with his own. 

 "Not you, asshole."

 Hvitserk laughed, pressing his forehead swiftly to Ivar's. "Come on, the movie has probably started."

 Ivar and Kari followed behind Hvitserk, as he led them to the correct auditorium. Along the way, she handed Ivar a couple of the boxes of candy she bought and the drink picked out for him. 

 "How much fucking candy did you buy?" He grumbled, eyeing the boxes suspiciously. 

 "Enough. If you ask nicely, I might share." She quipped. "I even bought Heksehyl for both of us. Hvitserk said it's your favorite…. and I also got Dumle. Oh, and Guld Barre!" 

 "I did promise you chocolate."

 She giggled. "Yes, you did."

 The three of them found the auditorium and took seats off to the side. Ivar sat in the middle with Kari on his right and Hvitserk on his left. The movie had just started as they sat down, the lights and noise minimal. Though apprehensive about the movie, Kari found herself smiling at just the nostalgic feeling being here evoked. There was something so simple yet profound at being with friends, eating sweets and watching the silver screen. Let alone the darkness of the theater and the nearby munching of popcorn by others and the occasion sound of people talking. She missed this. So, she endowed to enjoy every part of this. Quietly eating her chocolates, she kept her gaze on the screen.

 After some time, Kari felt a large hand on her upper thigh, inching slowly higher and higher. Jolting at the sudden feeling, she grabbed it, trying to stop its further ascent. Immediately, Ivar flipped his hand over and entwined their fingers. She tried to half-heartedly tug out of it, but he maintained a vice-like grip on her hand. In an attempt to glare at him, she swiveled in her seat to gain his attention. Only for him to remain solely focused on the screen. Rolling her eyes, she gave in, shifting back to continue watching the movie. Their fingers remained entangled. 

 Eventually, the chocolate lay forgotten in her lap as the images on the screen became more disturbing and graphic. A few chuckles came from Ivar and Hvitserk and whispered comments made between them. Once someone in the theater screamed as a person on the screen was suddenly killed. The abrupt sound made Kari jump, squeezing Ivar's hand. He laughed, but squeezed her hand back. Not long after, she gave up on watching the movie and just tucked her face against his shoulder. Horror movies were never her thing, the idea of purposefully being scared never appealed to her. And this movie had a thing for people being eaten alive. Not something she wanted imprinted into her brain. The thought crossed her mind that Ivar orchestrated this on purpose, since he seemed to be fully enjoying her cuddling into him. As if without concern, his head lay on top of hers, continuing to hold her hand. If she was not so concerned about having nightmares and trying to block out the hair-raising screams, she might have liked the cuddling. In this instance though, if he moved, she was going to punch him. 

 Once the movie ended, Ivar and Hvitserk argued about the movie- how some of the people should have died or about the graphics of the terrifying creatures. They both became more and more animated as the three of them walked out of the movie theater and towards the waiting SUV. 

 "What did you think, Kari?" Hvitserk asked, taking his seat across from the others, once they all piled in. 

 "She was scared." Ivar answered, leaning back, his arm on the back of the seat and behind her. 

 "That creature was eating that girl's brain while she was still alive! I did not want to see that! I'm going to have nightmares."

 Smirking, Ivar tilted closer, invading her personal space. "Want me to stay with you? I'll keep you safe…. and make sure you dream of other more, pleasurable, things."

 "No, you'd probably try to scare me on purpose." She accused, pushing his body away from her with a pout. 

 "Well, thanks for seeing it with us." Hvitserk spoke up. "Gods, Bjorn would love it. We'll have to tell him."

 The youngest brother nodded before turning back to the brunette by his side. "You coming out with us for drinks now? We always get drinks after."

 "No, I can't. I have to open tomorrow. I need to sleep."

 "Come on, it'll be fine."

 "No. I'll be getting up at 5:30. That's in like…. six hours." This was one thing she was not going to give into. He had dragged her from her bed already once tonight. He was not about to make her lose out on anymore sleep. Not everyone was able to sleep all morning like certain people. 

 "Next time," Hvitserk said with a shrug, a grin on his face as if amused by the interaction across from him. "I'm sure we can all go out again soon. Right, Ivy?"

 Ivar snorted, "Fine. We'll drop you off."

 A discussion about the movie and comparing it to others swiftly captured the two brothers' attention. Finding herself growing tired, Kari just leaned back and listened, her head resting on the back of the seat, and consequently, Ivar's arm. It was different and refreshing seeing him interact with someone he clearly trusted and cared about. His guard was down and even if some of his comments sounded more like sharp barbs, it was said without true malice. The flaxen-haired brother took each verbal jab like water off a duck's back, either making a joke out of the comment or ignoring it. Throughout the interaction, the care and respect for one another was evident, even if on the surface level it appeared dysfunctional. A smile hinted on her lips as she listened to the brothers. She hoped this was not the last time she spent time with Hvitserk. Though his warning still rang in the back of her mind, she liked him. The whole ride back, Ivar kept his arm behind her, sporadically playing with the ends of her hair. 

 At their arrival to her townhouse, Hvitserk said his goodbye to her in the vehicle, surprising her with a swift hug and peck on the cheek. Her face must have been quite flushed if his laughter after meant anything. Ivar grumbled something at his brother in their foreign language as he pulled her out of the SUV. To her further surprise, Ivar walked her to her front door instead of staying with his brother. 

 "Thanks for inviting me out." She said honestly, once they reached the door. 

 "Next time we'll watch something you enjoy."

 Before she could second guess herself, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him. Instantly, his arms went around her, pulling her closer. While the hug at the movie theater was sweet and intimate, this hug carried a different tone. It was more urgent and passionate. Her face rested on his collarbone, allowing his scent to envelope her. He laid a soft kiss to the top of her head, resting his chin there after. For a split second, she realized she never wanted to leave this moment. To be safe and warm and comforted and wanted. It was all she had ever hoped for. This was dangerous water they treaded in. With each intimate action, she could feel their friendship sailing closer and closer to the waters of something more. The gentle, easy waters of friendship would not be enough to maintain them. 

 With that thought in mind, she regretfully pulled back. "Goodnight." She murmured. 

 "God natt, kattunge."

 "One of these days, you have to tell me what you're saying."

 A devious smirk grew on his lips. "No, I think I like you being in suspense."

 She laughed, shaking her head. They both hesitated to move, the air tense with something, as if both were waiting for the other to say or do something. 

 "Ok, bye." She finally said, opening her front door. 

 He nodded, taking a step back without removing his heated gaze off of her. 

 Shuddering at the feeling of his smoldering gaze, she let herself into the townhouse and made sure to lock the door behind her. Releasing a deep breath, she leaned her back against the door. What was it about him that tempted her so? He was bad news for her. Yet the more time she spent with him, the more she craved being with him. 

 Glancing down, she stared at his soft, gray jacket she still wore and wondered how symbolic this unintended action was.

[lustbile-archive]

Dog Will Hunt

JohnnyxReader

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary/Warnings: Watching slashers with your boyfriend never goes as planned. Nothing crazy just some oral, but spoilers for Texas Chainsaw Masacre I guess? and vaguely described gore.

(also the title is a quote from the second movie, but they watch the first one. I know this don’t @ me)

You flinch at the wet cracking sound of Leatherface hitting the boy with a hammer, your body tensing under Johnny’s as he lays on top of you as you both watch as he inhumanly twitches before the murderer drags the lifeless body away.

You had begged Johnny for days to stay in one night and have a slasher movie night with you, and once you were pouting and telling him you could get pizza from his favorite restaurant down the street, he had easily agreed.

So this is where you found yourself now, you lying on your back in your living room floor on top of piles of blankets and pillows, Johnny sleepily lying on top of you with his head resting on your rib cage, a pizza box that, instead of holding the pizza, had now become home to your growing collection of empty candy wrappers, a few wine coolers by your sides, and the flashing images of teenagers being slowly picked off by a giant murderer wearing a human skin mask dancing on the tv in front of you.

Johnny shifts on top of you as you tense, your heartbeat speeding up slightly as you now watch the pretty girl walk slowly up to the house, the low shot and the way she calls out for her now dead boyfriend instilling you with the anxious knowledge of what her demise would be.

“Nooo don’t go in there,” you murmur to yourself without thinking, Johnny quietly laughing into the skin of your stomach that he rests his face on from him shoving your shirt up below your chest before he would lay down. He’d always had a thing with skin on skin contact when you two cuddled, but that didn’t stop your teasing when you pointed out him wanting to press his face against your bare skin may be a little weird considering the things the murderer in the movie you were about to watch liked to do with skin.

You’re so distracted and nervous from watching the girl trip throughout the house, kicking at discarded bones in fear and disgust, you don’t notice what Johnny is up to at first. You don’t register his lips pressing against the skin below your ribs, and you only assume his shifting down is him trying to get more comfortable.

It’s when you feel his tongue that you’re ripped away from watching Leatherface start to chase the girl. You try to keep your attention on the screen as he lays warm open mouthed kisses down your stomach, his hands trailing your side as he moves slowly down your body. You groan out in what you hope reads as disappointment to the eager boy that rests between your legs, but you know better than anyone that once he’s got himself on a mission it’s almost impossible to pull him out of it.

“This is one of the most iconic horror scenes ever you know?” you ask rhetorically as you weakly swat at the retreating top of his head, only getting a muffled laugh and lowering kisses in response. There’s a wash of shame that fills your chest when you can feel yourself getting wet at the feeling of his touch while such a gorey movie plays, but you can only grumble in response, “is this really what gets you going John? Teenagers getting murdered?”

You turn your head to see at that moment is when the girl is caught by Leatherface, her legs kicking and thrashing in the air for only a moment before he’s shoving her onto one of the meat hooks as she screams in pain.

“Yeah all that screaming and stuff reminds me of how you get,” he taunts as he sits up long enough to start tugging at your pajama shorts, the way you lift your hips to aid in the fabric being pulled down is enough to tell him you want this more than you’re letting on, “and the chainsaw noise kinda reminds me of the vibrator you like so much.”

“I’m gonna go Leatherface on your ass I swear to god,” you kick at his stomach as he laughs, not hard enough to hurt him but enough to please him with your dramatics. He’s also a big fan of how your squirming gives him a better opportunity to catch the bends of your knees in his hands and spread you open for his greedy eyes.

“You can kill me and have my skin after I make you come Ed Gein,” he digs one last time before he lays back onto his stomach, an evil grin filling his face as you scoff.

“Gross don’t call me that,” you protest, your physical response contradicting your words and attitude as you relax back into the blankets beneath you. He may be a weirdo at times, especially when he decides to refer to you by the name of an actual murderer, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s skilled with his tongue and you’d be a fool to deny yourself from experiencing it.

You hear him repeat your words quietly in a mocking tone, but before you can retort, his mouth is on you. His hands still hold onto your legs, shoving them up and to the side, almost enough to strain the muscle, and he shows no hesitation when he lays his tongue flat against you, dragging it slowly from the bottom of your opening and up until the top of his tongue is digging into your clit.

You feel yourself clench around nothing at the feeling, the muscles in your shoulders and back melting further into the fabric as he repeats the motion again. The pleasure and the way you drip on his tongue is almost enough to drown out the sounds of Pam screaming while her boyfriend is chopped to pieces.

“You’re a freak,” you groan as he sucks on your skin. He groans against you in response to words and the way your hands move to weave your fingers into his hair. He picks up lapping against you again when your nails scrape at his scalp, and you feel your eyes rolling at the feeling.

He loses himself easily when he goes down on you, this time, even with the creaking sounds of the film surrounding you, is no different. You feel him relax against you and his hands let go of your legs as he sucks your clit between his full lips. With them free, your legs fall to rest against his back and his hands trail up your torso until they’re pushing under your shirt and grasping at your bare chest.

Your hips rock up into his face all but using his tongue as a sex toy he drools onto your skin. His nails scratch at the sensitive skin of your chest before he starts tugging at your nipples making you whine and pant.

In your squirming, your head falls to the side and you’re greeted with the sight of him gently rocking his hips into the blankets below him. Seeing him so lost in pleasing you that he’s started to seek his own pleasure has you reeling, and you both let out matching moans when his simultaneously hits a certain spot both on you and himself.

“Make me come Johnny,” you say sweetly, your bubbly tone coated in arousal sends shocks of electricity directly to where he grinds against the floor. His tongue gets more eager at your simple request, and his hands leave your chest to lock tightly against your legs, pushing you tightly against his unrelenting mouth.

You can feel your body shifting up, desperately trying to escape the pleasure that bleeds from his mouth. He only moves with you, using the shifting to help pleasure himself. He only lays a few more licks against your sensitive clit before you feel your skin warm and you’re teetering on the edge.

He lets out an animalistic groan against you, pushing you over. You feel your stomach tighten and your eyes roll back hard enough for them to ache, and you’re coming harshly on his tongue. Your mouth hangs open letting you quiet moans slip out and your back arches off the floor.

He licks you through your orgasm, his own rocking through him as he thrusts roughly against the floor, the taste of you combined with the way your fingers tug at his hair being his own personal demise. You two lay there jerking and moaning against the other, while the movie continues to blare in front of you. His tongue becomes more desperate as he comes and it feels like every movement he lays on you sends shocks of pleasure up your spine.

He finally lets go, after turning your brain to liquid with aftershocks, and as he sits up you see the way the evidence of your orgasm coats his mouth and chin and the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he tries to catch his breath.

There’s a moment where you stare at each other dumbly, trying to pull yourselves back to reality and out of the torturous bubble of pleasure you had been trapped in moments ago.

He recovers quicker than you, flopping ungraciously down onto your still shiver form to press his mouth harshly against yours. The taste of you is so prominent on his tongue you can’t help but groan at the taste.

Your hands fly up to the side of his face, holding him against you as you lick into each other's mouths, and you can feel the grins forming on your lips as you kiss.

He breaks away, only for a moment, his eyes squinting and staring into yours before he speaks, “you might want to restart the movie.”

[sparklingpax]

Tales From Iacon - Part 2: Intentions

A/N: 

-Part one can be found here and I also have a wattpad where I’m posting updates as well as other stories! (user is @/kunixjiro)

-Idk if this was an appropriate title for this part but the idea was that they both had their own intentions and well....you can see how it turned out.

-Sorry if this is badly written (and for any typos, mistakes, weird phrasings, etc)

-Also sorry that this is long af O//O’’

-This part isn’t so fluffy ^^’’ But dw I promise I’ll resolve everything in time....anyway, hopefully nothing got too ooc or anything! Enjoy!! <3

///

It was no secret that Megatronus was a gladiator.

He was not ashamed or afraid to admit his purpose—to kill both beast and bot alike.

For the entertainment of the crowds, and in accordance with Cybertron’s corrupt caste system. 

            Such a life was a choice he’d made long ago, when he rose up from the mines and cast away the life of a meaningless energon miner. With it, he’d cast away a name given to him—a name which held no meaning anyway.

             D-16 was no more—he was Megatronus now.

///

            The wild cheering of the crowds invigorated Megatronus, fueling his drive to utterly mutilate the monster hulking before him. All he could think of was the desire to fight stronger and harder than ever before—to show off his power so he could bask in the glory of the hundreds all around calling his name.

             “Megatronus! Megatronus! Megatronus!”

               The deafening roar of the onlookers filled his audio receptors, causing Megatronus to grin wildly, and the injured monster to bellow in terror. It stumbled forward hastily, only for Megatronus to dodge and deal another blow with his sword. Much to the delight of the crowd, the beast cried out in pain and reared up to attack Megatronus again.

             There was no fear as Megatronus gazed into the black eyes of the beast, lit only with primal rage. They bored into him for only a moment before it shook its head and charged.

             Call my name! Call it louder—shout it to the skies, Cybertronians!  

             He stood in battle stance, breathing hard but not yet tired. Bright lights all around blazed down on his plating, making the grey and burgundy glow as silver and red. His optics were alight with a wild look, as if he knew the battle was over and victory was in his very grasp.

             Megatronus tossed away his shield, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. He released a savage cry and charged right at the monster. Screams of excitements and fear sounded from every angle as he neared the gaping jaws of his opponent.

             The gladiator swung the sword and neatly sliced off half of the grey tongue that greedily reached out at him. The monster instantly recoiled, writhing in pain. Blue blood sprayed everywhere. The warm, sticky liquid showered Megatronus as he slid the weapon into its holder at his hip.

             He paid no mind to it, for he had known the tongue would bleed the most.

             Megatronus took a running leap off the dirt and landed on the back of the beast. With his own servos, he grabbed its snout and yanked it towards him, bending its neck backwards to injure it further. It tried to swing him off, but Megatronus stabbed his sword into its body. The crowd collectively shrieked with anticipation upon seeing the legs of the monster buckle beneath him.  

             Before it could scream in pain again, he vaulted off its body to the side, twisting its neck with a fatal, sickening crack. There was a brief, abrupt silence while the monster moaned more quietly, attempting to move. It crumpled inward with a low huff.

               A pool of energon gushed out from its wounds, soiling the ground around it as Megatronus backed away to watch it die. He grinned with pure delight—breathing heavily, limbs quivering with exhaustion—at his work. Only seconds later, the beast went totally limp.

               It was done.

             The volume of the crowd was loud enough to sound as if the whole of Cybertron had packed into the small stadium.

              Megatronus was victorious again.

             He felt pride and joy rush through him as he raised his sword and cried out to the masses before him.

              “I AM MEGATRONUS, KING OF THE PITS OF KAON!!!”

             “Megatronus! Megatronus! Megatronus! Megatronus! ”

             “I AM LIVING PROOF THAT ONE DECIDES HIS OWN DESTINY!!”

               Hundreds packed together in the seats raised their servos and shouted as loud as they could, amazed by the skill of the gladiator before them, and filled with inspiration. Megatronus felt something warm in his spark, for he knew Orion was one of the many voices.

               There was no disputing it now, D-16 was truly no more.

///

             Outside the arena’s seating, there was a dimly lit, blue corridor. Various clumps of bots milled around there. Some were making their way out from the seats, conversating excitedly about the fighting, or were making their way back in. Others stayed outside for whatever reason they had. A quiet murmuring filled the space, contrasting greatly from the deafening roar of the arena.

             Orion Pax had his back up against the wall, breathing hard. He tried to steady his breath, attempting to erase the images of the brutal murdering of that beast from his mind.

             He had never seen anything so violent in his whole life.

             Orion couldn’t bear it a second longer, hearing the crowd cheer hungrily for the monster to suffer more, and chanting all the louder for its death. All of it had felt so…wrong. For a second, he had wondered if everyone in there had lost their senses. Surely a society of civilized people wouldn’t bee chanting for the death of a living, breathing creature? Or will it to be tortured?

             And yet…they were.

             He had slipped out to regain himself a little, and decided he’d return to his place when the act was finished. At least, if Orion didn’t watch some of the real fight, he’d see the aftermath. After all, Megatronus had invited Orion as a…somewhat esteemed guest. It was only fair that Orion, too, should raise his voice to cheer his friend on.

              I’m here for Megatronus.

             I’m here because he invited me.

             I’m…here to…support him….

             His stomach turned upon thoughts of what he was doing to the creature at the moment. He heard a loud roar of pain and the noise of the crowd increased greatly. Orion shook his head and slid down to a sitting position.

              I’ll…I’ll wait here until it sounds like it’s over…or else….I just might purge…

///

             “So then, Soundwave,” Megatronus shook hands with the quiet mech and nodded. “I’ll be off. I’m meeting someone now. We can speak again tomorrow, if you like.”

             Soundwave nodded, then turned and left. Megatronus watched him go, interest dancing vaguely in his gaze.  

              What an interesting bot, being so quiet and yet saying so much.

              The gladiator was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, and it seemed the adrenaline that had pushed him through the fight was finally fading. With a small grunt, Megatronus stumbled and fell against the corridor’s wall for support. To Megatronus’ frustration, his legs were tremoring a little. He let out a sigh, straightening again after a moment with a small wince.  

             I suppose I…expended a bit too much of my energy today…

             He still felt pride and joy in his victory.

             Even still, all my efforts were worth it. I stand alive once more.

             “Good evening, Megatronus!”

             Orion’s voice reached Megatronus before he sighted his friend at the other end of the corridor. Orion picked up pace and jogged down the hall to meet him.

             Megatronus immediately felt his exhaustion dissipate.

             Orion had seen the fight!

             He was eager to know what Orion had thought of it all. He knew it Orion’s first time seeing something as graphic and epic as this.

             But more than that, Megatronus was eager to know what Orion thought of him. Battle brought out his truest form, and that form was Megatronus’ greatest pride. Having somewhat of an ego, Megatronus knew that deep down, all he needed to keep going was some sort of praise.  

             After all, who wouldn’t? Validation is a beautiful thing, especially in one’s own art. 

             “Orion, it brought me much joy to know you could make it tonight!” He and Orion shook servos and greeted one another, then started slowly back up the hall so they could leave the building. Megatronus continued, “How unfortunate you could not have seen me last week, when I, with great fervor, slayed—”

             He paused, sensing Orion tense up next to him and look away.

             Odd.  

             “Never mind. Anyway, you are usually too busy with your studies or your work. How is it that you came tonight?” Orion sighed.

             “My apologies. I hope to be a master archivist one day, and full commitment to my studies is essential for me to reach that goal.” He looked up at the sky speckled with thousands of stars and smiled. Shifting his gaze to Megatronus, who was listening intently, he nodded. “I did get time off tonight, though. I have Alpha Trion to thank for that.”

             Megatronus patted him on the back.

             They continued through the quiet streets of Kaon—well, the backstreets, to be specific. Megatronus knew how ugly the main streets could get with all the crazy bots running around at night. He wanted no part in it tonight as long as Orion was with him.

             And Orion is no fighter.

             “Megatronus, uhm…” Orion’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts. He looked a little nervous. He fiddled with his fingers for a moment before taking a deep breath. “I…I hope you can be patient with me.”

             “What?”

             “You might feel offended.” Orion tried elaborating. Megatronus, however, was not following. “I am only asking that if you are mad, that you don’t take it out on someone else…or that you can understand what my reasoning was.”

             Offended? It made little sense. Yet his friend remained tense, and would not meet his gaze. Megatronus immediately felt guilty. Have I said something wrong?

             “Orion, I do not understand what it is you refer to!” He picked up his pace, trying to think of changing the subject. He so desperately wanted to know about what Orion had thought of his battle with the monster!  

             “About the fight tonight…” Orion’s gaze dropped to the ground and he halted. Megatronus, who had walked a few paces ahead, stopped and turned. Oh, he read my mind. How funny; I was just about to ask!

              “Listen, Orion, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not—”

              “I had to leave halfway through the fight. I…” He slowly lifted his gaze to meet his friend’s. As he’d suspected, the beginnings of frustration had already begun to spark into it. He mustered all his confidence to finish. “I waited in the hall because I couldn’t take anymore of the violence…or the bloodthirsty crowd. It…did not feel right at all.”

              An uncomfortable silence weighed on the pair.

              At last, Megatronus turned away and sighed quietly, breaking the silence. Orion felt guilt and embarrassment to the depths of his spark. He opened his mouth to say more, then thought it better not to. He figured Megatronus would have something to say to him.

             “So…that’s it?” Disappointment was fully evident in his voice, causing Orion’s spark to twist more. Megatronus turned back to his friend and moved closer. His hands were folded behind his back. Orion swallowed.

             My intentions were to be honest, but I fear I have taken an imprudent course of action…

             Orion decided not to voice the thought. Instead, he quietly responded, “Yes.”

             “I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that I’m…very hurt, Orion.” Megatronus kept his voice level as he gazed into the archivist’s eyes, yet Orion could still hear dejection in its tone.

             He realized he had to fix this.  

             But how? What do I say? Orion Pax, you foolish child!! He scorned himself internally.

             “I am sorry, Megatronus. I understand that words will do no good, but for the moments I was there, your courage in the face of the beast was admirable.” Megatronus looked away. Indignance and annoyance welled up inside him.

              He’s probably making it up.

             “And that is the honest truth.”

             Orion looked earnest.

             He also looked and sounded guilty.

              Is it? Or are you telling me what I want to hear? Why did you come if you knew you couldn’t stand violence and a crowd’s wildness? Orion, you anger me…or rather…

             Megatronus then remembered his friend’s quiet plea for peace and patience beforehand. To lash out at him would wound their friendship forever, and give Orion the wrong impression of Megatronus. All that aside, Megatronus realized he…felt no anger towards his friend. The heated emotions faded, quickly replaced by pangs of rejection.

             …such is my fate, being a lower-caste bot raised in blood, darkness and cold steel. Of course Orion does not find it beautiful, and I should not have forced him to witness such things.

             It seemed they would have to allow time to do its work.

             Megatronus began to walk away, saying nothing more. Orion called after him, but received no reply. His friend disappeared into the shadows of the night, leaving Orion feeling guilty and ashamed.

              I won the battle, but I now feel…defeat.

              Megatronus felt exhaustion creep back into his limbs.

///

             On his way out of the city, Orion paid no attention to the tranquil, moonlit nature around him. He was instead lost in thought.

             Had I said nothing, I’d have lied.

             He shook his head.

             I can’t lie. I won’t lie. I know it would have come out eventually, and he would still be hurt. 

             A pang of sadness twisted his spark again. 

             Why couldn’t I bear it even for his sake? It is because I do not understand it that I fear it, I know. But...it is his joy...his art....and I was not there for him.

             As he reached a train station, Orion still did not have any real thoughts in mind as he punched in the location for his ticket.

             When the train arrived, Orion boarded and sat by the window.

             I realize now that my intentions were faulted. It would have been better to stay quiet, becuase then I would not have hurt him.

             He closed his eyes.

             Time will have to heal this wound.

[kiruuuuu]

Thank you for both your kind words as well as that wonderful mental image, anon 💝 :) I’m hella excited you enjoy this ship as well, so I hope you like reading about Blackbeard slowly going mad! (Rating T, BB sure loves rambling, ~4.8 words) - this contains references to underage sex!

.

Goyo is slowly but surely driving him insane.

The man is a fucking enigma. He might as well wear a question mark as his face because it’d tell Blackbeard just as much about his current mood or thoughts or expectations or hopes or fears as his actual face does (though he’s glad Goyo’s face is his actual face, seeing as it’s quite nice to look at, which isn’t to imply he’d like Goyo any less if he had no face, but it’d make kissing him a lot more complicated).

When he met him, Blackbeard thought him to be one of those quiet, cool guys who are just good at their job, and when they’re not at their job, they phase from existence because their job is all they are. Which is fine with Blackbeard. Some of his colleagues are like that: when anyone asks them about their hobbies, they’re hard pressed to come up with a reply since work isn’t a hobby, and neither is preparing for work.

But the moment Goyo first opened his mouth, Blackbeard realised his first impression couldn’t have been more wrong, because he sounds calm and sophisticated and confident and it instantly throws him off kilter. No, this isn’t some genius, this is one of those dudes who can’t take a joke, who think themselves better than everybody else, who react to things they deem profane not with honest opinions but rather thinly-veiled condescension, and they’re the worst. They’re the ones with whom Blackbeard has never gotten along, seeing as he was never sure whether they kept him around to secretly make fun of him, or out of misplaced pity, or to become more popular, or because they’re too awkward to be openly rude.

They’re the ones he can’t read. They never laugh along. They quietly sit next to him until someone calls on them and then they effortlessly trump him with whatever they have to say.

He justified his own actions with the excuse of ‘at least I’m being sincere’ for the longest time. He doesn’t like them, and so he shows it, meaning everyone knows where they’re at. After he’s declared his dislike, some kind of arrangement is made, and they never have to speak to each other again (only he had trouble keeping away because it is kinda gratifying to watch them squirm in discomfort) – and clearly, it’s better than putting up a front made up of false niceties and fake smiles which doesn’t hold up for a second longer as soon as they’re not in the same room anymore.

These days, he’s come to a different conclusion. They simply worried him.

Some of them bested him in various disciplines, causing him to push himself harder because he didn’t want to be left behind and because he can’t let someone he doesn’t like overtake him. Their indifference towards him left him insecure since he’s a people pleaser at heart, wants to be loved and admired by everybody and simply had absolutely no fucking clue how he could get them to like him. And he always thought this sentiment was universal: everyone wants to be popular, don’t they? All humans want to be liked. Only these specific people’s very existence threatened this world view. They didn’t want to be liked by everybody. So what did it mean that they got to the same place as Blackbeard, when he obeyed all the rules and played all the games? Conventions exist for a reason, and shouldn’t be ignored like that.

So yes. Goyo was one of those.

Except he wasn’t. Thermite found him hilarious. Pulse developed a sudden interest in Goyo’s field of expertise. Ash invited him out for drinks. Valkyrie appreciated his earnest nature (and really, what the hell?). The only one with whom Goyo pointedly didn’t interact was Blackbeard.

And they kept going on about how friendly he was, and how well he fit in, and Blackbeard didn’t understand. Stared hard at this mystery of a man and just didn’t understand. Goyo wasn’t stand-offish. He obeyed some rules and played most games, just not Blackbeard's favourite ones, and neither did he let him provoke him, which deprived Blackbeard of the satisfaction of making him uncomfortable as well. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that?

But there was another problem. He’s gay.

It’s a can of worms he’d prefer not to open – if his mind was a house, then he’d shoved all of… that down the stairs into the basement, never to be seen again, collecting dust and sitting untouched. (It’s only recently that he’s begun clearing some of it out, airing it, finding use for it in the living room or somewhere else.) And whenever he learnt that anyone in his vague vicinity was gay, the door slammed open and something yelled at him really loudly the two words which would haunt him for a few weeks:

WHAT IF.

Dumb. Useless.

Disruptive, even, it’s not like he’d do anything, it’s not like the guy would do anything, it’s unlikely to be a topic between them, and still he wonders what it’d be like to kiss whoever was unfortunate enough to haunt Blackbeard for a while. This happens with everyone. Intrusive thoughts he can’t for the life of him control. They do fade the longer he knows the person, fortunately, but in the beginning, whenever the name is mentioned, his brain flashes him a question à la what would it feel like to hug him. Never has he acted on it, nor has he confessed this to anyone, which… likely made it worse, alright, now he knows it, but as a terrified navy officer, his main concern wasn’t whether he might regret neglecting that unwanted basement in his head later in life.

He made a point of never joking about it. Not he himself, at least. Not about this. If anyone ever noticed, they didn’t mention it to him.

In any case, there was the fact that Goyo was there and not going to go away any time soon, and he was gay, and really handsome. The tingly kind of handsome. The car crash kind, making it impossible to look away, with his stupid beard and the weird, sexual way he sits, and how he twirls his pens around without even realising. His smile is…

Blackbeard didn’t want to label him with anything past handsome, not pretty or attractive or (god forbid) hot, because it fell too well in line with the WHAT IF still regularly being screamed at him, despite the weeks they’ve spent as acquaintances already, and for some reason, this time, it doesn’t go away.

With other colleagues, it vanished very quickly, but Goyo? Goyo starts appearing in his dreams. Just once or twice, really, nothing compromising, a few words exchanged or a laugh (and he’s seen him laugh in Valkyrie’s presence, and dear fucking lord), but it has an uncomfortable side effect.

His brain convinces him he has some kind of claim on him. Nothing insane, not like he thinks Goyo owes him anything, and yet… He knows Goyo is single, so he should appreciate any offer he gets, and Blackbeard is certain Goyo would prefer if they got along better anyway, and besides, Blackbeard is a catch, right? He’s good-looking, funny, skilled, forthright, adventurous – nothing to scoff at. Surely it’s enough to warrant a try.

And when he’s instantly shot down, he realises that he can’t read this man at all.

.

Unfortunately for both of them, it’s a recurring theme in their interactions. Even after a while, even after Blackbeard has noticed Goyo’s lips thinning when he disapproves of something, or that his ‘yeah it’s fine’ is sometimes nothing more than a passive-aggressive ‘I’d prefer something else’, even then he doesn’t know the source of it. Because Goyo just doesn’t fucking talk to him.

The basics are there.

Not only that, the basics are great and Blackbeard is fully aware of it: both of them are putting effort into their relationship. He once heard it’s the single most important aspect of anything meant to last, and his prior relationships seem to support this claim – and hands down, both of them are committed to this. There’s not a single day without any type of contact, whether it’s texting, a short call, or meeting up, Goyo keeps track of what he likes to eat and cooks accordingly, Blackbeard brings small gifts, they pay each other compliments which are heartfelt and earnest, and they compromise on how they spend their time together. They’re comfortable around each other. He looks forward to seeing him every day that he does.

And there’s the whole… other stuff. All of which leaves Blackbeard flustered whenever he even thinks about it, and he’ll say this much: Goyo is infinitely more passionate than he would’ve expected. Generous, too. And really, really good.

That said, this is where the ‘but’ comes in (and no, he’s not referring to the fun part anymore).

Goyo can’t fucking communicate. It’s driving Blackbeard up the walls. He’s totally incapable of putting his emotions into words, which makes no sense at all. Once they started dating and Goyo opened up more, the complaints began, and honestly? Blackbeard was delighted. Because Goyo didn’t just nag, he pointed out aspects which bothered him in a constructive way and either suggested a solution or appreciated it when Blackbeard corrected it himself – or he was satisfied with a compromise. Maybe not always satisfied, there are still unresolved issues like him being inept to show up on time, ever, and insisting he’s in the right, but even then he doesn’t make a big fuss over it. Banter, yes. Some teasing. Remarks delivered with a grin. Tongue-in-cheek comments. Blackbeard does exactly the same, so he respects it.

In the past, it’s happened a few times that his current girlfriend was unhappy about something but didn’t mention it, not really, not to the point where Blackbeard would’ve realised it to be as serious as it turned out to be. Instead, her dissatisfaction grew and grew, in one instance accompanied by contempt, and eventually came an outburst he couldn’t have prevented if he tried, seeing as he knew nothing about it. Having a partner this vocal about problems is refreshing.

But there are certain topics Goyo doesn’t mention. Or moments where he simply clams up. It’s impossible to tell when it’ll happen or why, but now and then Goyo gets utterly lost in his own thoughts (or at least that’s what Blackbeard thinks is happening), and then he either loses the thread of their conversation entirely, or takes forever to reply. Blackbeard gets incredibly antsy whenever he receives no reaction, so his boyfriend doing it to him is twice as bad. He’s aware Goyo lives inside his head a lot of the time, sure, and as a result, almost everything he says is well thought through and genuine (at least the non-sarcastic bits), but for him, it’s difficult to deal with nonetheless. He often panics during those pauses and wonders whether he’s done something wrong and Goyo is currently trying to work out how to break it to him.

And when it comes to Goyo’s feelings, he’s a lost cause. Blackbeard doesn’t doubt for a second that Goyo spends a good portion of his time analysing himself and introspecting, it’s just… he doesn’t seem to be very good at it.

That, or he also has a basement full of dusty, forgotten, pushed-away objects.

Goyo thinks himself ‘sociable enough’. It’s how he himself expressed it. Blackbeard begs to differ, and strongly so: Goyo hardly ever seeks out other people, regularly turns down invitations as well and is awfully quiet in groups, not to mention he takes forever to warm up to people (and there’s the not-so-small matter about his lack of punctuality too). Blackbeard finds his behaviour quite rude a lot of the time and is pretty sure the others only give Goyo the benefit of the doubt to be nice.

He says of himself that he’s not very demanding, only to keep demanding things of Blackbeard. More touching. More housework. Less gym time. No shaving. More spontaneity (and he seems to overlook the obvious irony in telling someone to be spontaneous).

This is another thing: he keeps disrupting Blackbeard's daily schedule without feeling a shred of guilt over it. Calling at inopportune times, trying to keep him in bed in the morning, suddenly wanting to eat lunch a specific place, changing plans they made weeks ago a few minutes before leaving. It’s like he’s testing Blackbeard's patience and adaptability.

And the worst thing of all is simultaneously also the best thing: Blackbeard really, really, really likes him.

If he were a dog, his tail wouldn’t stop wagging for a second in Goyo’s presence. His brain fills with exclamation marks any time he sees him. Any compliments Goyo has ever paid him play on repeat, his smile is the last image Blackbeard sees before he goes to sleep, and he’s the first person he texts whenever anything happens. He has no idea what caused Goyo’s change of heart, what made him give Blackbeard a chance, but he’s endlessly grateful it happened. The fluttering in his stomach still hasn’t stopped when they’re spending quality time together, and his heart thumps twice as fast whenever they kiss. It’s the worst crush of his life and he doesn’t even know how it developed.

When he wants to be, Goyo is exceedingly witty, charming, supportive, empathetic, patient, loving, trusting. They’ve had a long conversation about sexuality which corrected some of the preconceptions Blackbeard still held, and at no point did he feel patronised, alienated, or uncomfortable. It’s probably what keeps them together: the knowledge they respect and trust each other. Goyo knows he’d never knowingly hurt his feelings, and he believes the same of Goyo. Jealousy is no topic between them, and boundaries are regularly drawn, re-drawn, negotiated, accepted. (Though not nearly as often as Blackbeard would’ve liked. He’s aware Goyo can feel suffocated sometimes and would prefer them to talk it out properly, but it’s one of the topics Goyo usually deflects.)

.

With how communicative Blackbeard is, he’s suffered from the lack of outside feedback on their relationship. Asking for advice is out of the question as no one else knows he’s dating anyone, and not being able to gush about the way Goyo sometimes wraps himself around him when they’re watching something on his bed kills him a little inside. He wants to share it all, the good and the bad, seeks reassurance on everything he’s doing and desires normality. A state where he can throw in ‘oh yes, my boyfriend mentioned it the other day’ without earning any kind of odd reaction. A world where the others ask him about how Goyo is doing, and whether they’ve been to this restaurant yet, and so on.

He knows that he himself is the only obstacle in this, but his track record in Rainbow hasn’t been the best and he’s worried the girls will call him out on hitting on them with no intention of starting a relationship. Which wouldn’t actually be far off the mark, unfortunately. Valkyrie is his best bet since they’re thick as thieves, but she’s been side-eyeing him for a while already and he’s pretty sure she suspects something. He hates when she can go ‘I told you so’ and be right about it.

Regardless, he’s going to explode if he can’t talk about Goyo to someone soon, and Vigil will certainly not want to hear about how ticklish his Mexican colleague is.

.

“Meghan, I need to tell you something”, he blurts out, startling his best friend and nearly causing her to drop her beer. They’re on Buck’s balcony, holding on to cans as if they were their lifeline to what little bit of their sanity is left after everyone heard Maverick suggest bodyshots earlier (only half jokingly), and then Castle murdered everyone by showing off photos of his newly adopted puppy. Even Blackbeard was squealing like a little girl. He really should look into adopting a dog himself. He wonders whether Goyo likes dogs.

“Don’t tell me you want to join Sanaa on her odyssey”, Valkyrie interrupts his thoughts, looking worried. “They’re all trying to deter her for a reason, we don’t need you encouraging -”

“What are you talking about?”, he interrupts her, aghast, and once her words have sunk in, he repeats: “No, really, what are you talking about? That sounds amazing. I wanna be a part of it. Where is she going?”

“Craig.”

Odd. Goyo sounds almost the same whenever he’s displeased. Blackbeard should text him about the dog later. “Yes. Where was I?”

“You made a vague threat.”

He blinks at her for a moment, mind blank. Goyo has said before that alcohol causes his brain to misfire, and he’s beginning to believe it. “Oh. Yes. Meghan, I’m dating someone. And don’t be smug, okay? I can’t deal with smug right now.”

Valkyrie’s lips twitch in amusement. “Would you like supportive? That’s great! I’m so happy for you! I hope it’s going wonderful, you really deserve it!”

“You’re the worst”, he informs her, prompting a laugh.

“It’s been a while already, hasn’t it?” He nods. He supposes it’s obvious to anyone who knows him well enough, and Valkyrie certainly does. After all, he can’t stop smiling on some days and must look like a lunatic. Maybe he should send a nice text first so Goyo knows he thought of him. “I figured. How is it going and why is it César?”

He chokes on his beer. She doesn’t even have the grace to look guilty while he’s busy coughing his lungs out, and when he makes an inquisitive sound, she even smirks. It was bad enough to learn that Smoke and Mute found out about their relationship (and he’s still not entirely sure about whether they found out on their own or Goyo helped a bit), and now it turns out Valkyrie knew all along?

“Don’t worry, no one else knows. But neither of you were very subtle about it to me. You kept asking about him, he kept asking about you… plus you’ve been really nice to him recently.”

Oh. He asked about Blackbeard? This is relevant information. He opens his mouth to inquire some more, but Valkyrie adds casually: “And he at least is openly gay. Very open. Remember how he mentioned his male ex-fiancé on the first day? He really didn’t allow for any ambiguity.”

And hold up. Blackbeard's brain struggles to process what it just heard. Wait.

Wait what.

.

There are two cans cooking on the stove.

Blackbeard is failing to grasp reality right now. He dumbly stares at the two unlabelled metal cans sitting in boiling water and doesn’t understand what’s happening. He doesn’t understand much of what’s going on at the moment anyway, and he’s fairly sure it’s not just the alcohol’s fault. The water bubbles happily around the objects, and time and space are collapsing around him.

“Hey, Bee”, comes a familiar voice from behind him and he’s embraced in a tight hug, lips planting themselves on his shoulder a few times before he’s released again. “You’re back early.”

“Jack’s apartment flooded. A few went with him to help, but Meghan dropped me off here. The hell are you making? Tin-flavoured soup?”

Goyo laughs and though the sound would normally flood him with endorphins, right now he just eyes the other man with a frown. “No, it’s dulce de leche.”

Blackbeard tries and fails to put the delicious caramel-like substance in any relation to what’s happening before him, though he does file something away for later perusal: he should ask Goyo to speak more Spanish around him. He might be onto something there. “How?”

“Sweetened condensed milk. When you boil it long enough, it turns into gooey ambrosia. You mentioned how you were looking for new ideas for ice cream – swirl this into anything and blow everyone’s minds.”

Oh. That does sound delicious, and the fact that Goyo is staying up late to do him a favour is also heartwarming, but the question burning on Blackbeard's tongue will not sit idly for a second longer. He asks: “Why did you never tell me of your ex-fiancé?”

Goyo, checking out the timer next to the pot, responds with another question without lifting his gaze: “Oh. Which one?”

He can’t be serious. Blackbeard waits, fully expecting him to be joking, but he seems genuinely surprised at Blackbeard's dumbstruck expression when he finally does look up. “I’ve had a turbulent past involving a few poor decisions”, he admits and something tells Blackbeard there’s a good possibility this is a massive understatement. “Is that a problem?”

Is it? He’s not entirely sure. The fact that he had to hear about it from Valkyrie might be one, and then there’s his crumbling impression of Goyo as someone largely sensible. He comes across as well-mannered, composed, logical – though Blackbeard has noticed most of these waver over time. The deeper he dives, the more of the iceberg he sees. “You just… seemed like someone who has his life together”, he says weakly. Goyo has friends and family who care about him, is comfortable in his own skin, good at his job.

His words are mulled over for a while with pursed lips, until Goyo decides: “I suppose I do. Except for my love life.”

“You did say at one point that all relationships you had were long, meaningful and deep. So I figured…”

“My relationships were mostly great, yes. Anything that doesn’t fall into that category, well”, and Goyo makes an uncertain hand gesture which, once again, fills Blackbeard with a sense of foreboding dread as it screams understatement. “I did start out by paying a guy to fuck me.”

Blackbeard has no clue how to react, and so he chooses to stare at his boyfriend in horror.

“Yeah. Life was tough where I grew up. This super hot straight dude caught wind of me being a reliable source of cigarettes and asked me about it. I convinced him to fuck me for smokes – which I was buying with my allowance money, I think.”

“Allowance”, Blackbeard echoes stupidly. “Wait, how old were you?”

“I think fifteen, why does it matter, Bee?”

“How old was the dude?!”

“Early twenties? Thinking about it, he really should’ve handled his finances better.”

Blackbeard is in shock. “So… he took advantage of you. Lightly said.” Very lightly.

To his utter disbelief, Goyo simply frowns and shakes his head. “What? No. It was my idea. I had to talk him into it.”

“Yeah but – you were a minor. He was an adult, he shouldn’t have -”

“Did you miss the part where he not only sold his body for some cigs but also let a teenager get the better of him? What about that makes it seem like he’d fell any reasonable decisions in his life?”

“Did you report him? Did he get arrested?” He can’t wrap his head around why Goyo seems so calm talking about this.

“Huh? Not for sleeping with me, no. He was a thieving piece of shit though, so he did end up in jail.”

“Stop defending him, do you really think he did nothing wrong?”

Goyo eyes him curiously. “Do you think that he did?”

And of course. Of course he does, it’s not just personal opinion with this kind of shit, it’s a fact that an adult exploited Goyo and how does he not see it? How can he view it any other way? Blackbeard has trouble putting his outrage in words, so he attempts a different angle: “Are you saying you’d be alright with someone else who’s twenty sleeping with a teenager who’s -”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Generally, of course not. But we’re talking about me here. I know what happened. I can assess it from my point of view.”

“But you were too young -”

“You don’t get to rewrite my past”, Goyo interrupts him sharply and so Blackbeard shuts up, dissatisfied. Next to them, the kitchen timer erupts into frantic beeping, prompting Goyo to turn the heat off, pluck the cans out of the pot with a pair of tongs and put them on a wire rack to cool.

Meanwhile, Blackbeard tries to decide whether all this changes how he sees the man before him. He’s not sure.

“Laws are in place for a reason and I’d be the first one to tell any teenager not to do what I did”, Goyo continues, directed at the slightly steaming metal. “But what I did happened and it was what I really wanted at the time. We do stupid things when we’re young. You don’t get to judge me for it. Only I can, and I’m not.”

It’s hard to relate. Blackbeard wouldn’t say he grew up sheltered, but certainly privileged, and though there’s plenty of stuff he did which he’d advise against, there’s none he’d defend like this. Except Goyo might be explaining instead of defending. He refuses to condemn while still being aware of the shady circumstances.

“Look, Bee, no one got hurt. Quite the opposite. Let’s leave it at that and go to bed, hm?” Goyo kisses him briefly before exiting the kitchen, already pulling his shirt over his head and exposing his toned back in the process. The sight awakens a strong urge to touch, but not in a sexual way – Blackbeard is filled with a comfortable sense of belonging instead. He knows what Goyo’s smooth skin feels like and that he’s free to caress it as much as he wants. It’s one of his favourite perks of any relationship: being allowed to show physical affection.

A little lost and still dazed from their previous topic, he trails after his lover and watches Goyo strip down to his underwear in the bedroom. “I wasn’t planning on going to sleep immediately”, he says, knowing full well he’ll climb in after Goyo regardless.

“We don’t have to sleep.”

Blackbeard stares at him blankly, thoughts continuously trying to process their conversation.

“I’ll read a bit and you can text some people. You told Meghan about us, didn’t you? She sent me a single message an hour ago which just said good luck.”

It seems this would be all Goyo has to say on the matter of his sexual past for now, and Blackbeard belatedly realises that he avoided mentioning his ex-fiancé (ex-fiancés??) entirely, so he should prepare for a similar talk in the near future. It’s become a habit of theirs which he genuinely doesn’t like – they address a topic, argue, and then drop it without a satisfying conclusion, without being on the same page. Most of the time, it ends up merely postponing the issue as it inevitably comes up again, though he does suppose there’s some merit in being able to think it through on his own before tackling it again. Both of them can be quite stubborn, and a break to sort their thoughts (and in Blackbeard's case, engage some outside advice) is beneficial.

So maybe it’s not so bad to not ruin the night with something they’ll ultimately refuse to agree on, and instead cuddle in bed.

Goyo becomes a temporary magnet in these instances, impossible to pry off, and Blackbeard has no choice but to hold him tight and bask in his body heat. Not like he’d want anything other than exactly this.

“Was it scary?”, Goyo mutters into his hair while stroking his back. They’ll separate soon and wind down in their own way before sleeping, but right now they just enjoy each other’s presence.

“She already knew I’m bi. She likes you and I trust her. Why would it be scary?”

“Still. It’s fine if it was.”

Blackbeard is silent for a minute. “A bit”, he admits and feels Goyo’s lips stretch into a smile.

“I’m glad it seemed to have gone well. And I’m proud of you.”

And this, this is why Blackbeard basically fawns over this bastard all day in his head. His heart throbs and he pulls Goyo even closer, relieved that the prior revelations apparently don’t make a difference between them. Goyo is right, the past can’t be changed, but neither does it need to dictate the present. “It did go well, she said you’d be good for me on the way here. She also mentioned you asking about me.”

Goyo chuckles. “You know, the first thing I ever asked about you was whether you’ve got a wife.”

And it’s a relief to hear that not only Blackbeard used to be terrible at reading him.

[tellmenauineo]

Boogie nights

pairing: vernon x reader

genre: smut, friends-to-lovers!au

summary: vernon thought he could make a home video with his best friend

warnings: mentions of porn, weed smoking

word count: 2.5k

“Who do you think you are to ask for that kind of favors?” you raise your brow.  

 “Your friend,” Hansol shrugs. “And it’s not a favor. It’s an offer.”

The first mistake. 

Hansol is not your friend. You can’t be friends with someone you are desperately in love with.  

He doesn’t know about your feelings – and maybe sitting on his shabby sofa, blasting a joint, passing a spliff to each other, and eating an already cold pizza, instead of avoiding him to famish affection, is the second mistake. 

“I decline your offer.” 

“But why?” whines Hansol, pouting his lips.

“Oh, do I really have to explain?” you turn your head to him to get a better look at his face. Somehow, he manages to shine even in a smoking haze enveloping the room, with screamy colors of tv screen gleaming on his fine-featured face. “Because it makes me sick.” 

“Come on,” he lets out a husky chuckle. “In the name of art!”

“Dude, do you hear yourself?” you fail to hold back your laughter. “Pornographic movies aren’t art.”

“Okay then,” he is not going to give up. “Do you hear yourself? You’re declining a leading part in my movie-”

“An X-rated movie,” you add, stubbing out a joint, and Hansol waves your remark away.

“And we both know you have a film face,” he pretends he doesn’t hear your disdained sniff and continues his poor reasoning, while his hand is reaching out for a melty chocolate bar. “Mingyu already said yes, it’s not a big deal.”

“Pff, sure thing. Mingyu is a lowkey exhibitionist,” your words make Hansol snicker.

You are not that stupid to drag yourself into that, you think. You are not even that high to settle for that.

But when your eyes pause on Hansol, the image he gives you makes you feel that you are already in a porno film – seeing him licking the chocolate off his fingers has your breath caught in your throat and boils your insides, and you hope your voice doesn’t betray you.

“I don’t wanna film with him,” you curse yourself for choosing the words – you should say that you don’t want to film at all, not making your words sound like a Freudian slip.

Hansol pretends to be thinking, taping his fingers on his chin, and after giving a hum of approbation, nonchalantly speaks up:

“You can film with me.” 

You fasten your eyes on him, forgetting how to blink. Tree Trunks and Mr. Pig’s singing about being severed with each other wafts to your ears through the mist – his proposal tingles in your ears.

“W-what?” you falter.

“You heard me,” Hansol leans to you and brings a hand up to twirl a strand of your hair around his finger. “I can be your partner. You trust me, right?” it sounds like a statement, not a question, coming from him. And it is a true you can’t argue with. You trust him. You have been thrusting him all these years – and maybe that is the reason why one day you woke up in the morning with a realization you are in love with the boy with light-brown eyes.

Hansol is so close to you, too close, that you are able to count his long eyelashes if you try. He is settling his weight on his elbow, his head is resting on your shoulder, and you bite back the temptation to nuzzle your nose into his soft locks.

It would be too much, you suppose.

Funny, his suggestion to shoot a porn film with him doesn’t seem too much for you.

Okay, time for putting on your thinking cap.

The best-case scenario: you and your closest friend (also the reason of your restless nights) Hansol have sex, he gets his wish (a damn home video, for fuck’s sake), you have the desired intimacy and you pretend this never happened and continue being friends.

Seems pretty well.

But in the worst-case scenario, you and your closest friend (also the reason of your restless nights) Hansol have sex, he gets his wish (a damn home video, for fuck’s sake), you ruin your friendship and start avoiding each other, you get a broken heart.

It is a disaster.  

But with his lips brushing against the fabric of your t-shirt, the thoughts fade from your mind. 

“A penny for your thoughts, boo,” says Hansol.

“We could have some fun,” you vaguely decide. “If you promise me one thing.”

“Anything for you.”

“This video. It’s just for me and you.”

“You have a low opinion of me,” he pouts, bringing your hand to his mouth and kissing your knuckles. “Everything we do is just for you and me.”  

“Then bring the camera, Kubrick,” you whisper against his cheek and see a winning smile flits across his face. You feel his lips on yours, stealing a kiss from you.

“Wait a sec,” he says, getting up off the couch to get the old Fujifilm his parents gave him on his twelfth birthday, his voice holds an excitement.  

You blow out a breath, trying to calm down, while he is sweeping the empty box of pizza off the desk and settling the camera on the coffee table. 

“Perfect,” mutters Hansol, checking the angle, and faces you. 

You give your hand to him and he takes it, slipping his slender fingers through the spaces between your own. 

“Are you sure?” he looks examiningly at you. You see no hint of the usual tranquility in his big eyes.

Or maybe you just don’t want to see it.

“For the record,” you smirk at the fact it is not a figure of speech right now. “Yes, I am. It’s not a big deal, right?” you repeat his words.

He nods and you tug him along to the sofa. You find courage to straddling him, his hands on your waist, your knees against his thigs. Hansol leans up to give you a delicate kiss that develops into a heated one and you eagerly part your lips, making room for his tongue. Your right hand sliding up from his neck to grip a fistful of his hair and tug on it and he moans into your mouth.

“The first kink is exposed,” you pant into the kiss, your teasing tone is tempting him. He presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck, biting at a sensitive skin, and before you let a whine, sucking it into his mouth again. 

“Let’s find out yours then,” he grunts against your skin, being too occupied with leaving red spots on your neck. Your brain reels at his words and you dare yourself to grind your clothed core against firm muscles of his thigh, a dulcet moan escaping your lips.

“Don’t stop,” he groans into your ear, sinking his teeth into your ear lobe. You continue rubbing against the fabric of his jeans, his right hand has a strong grip on your hip, ready to control your movements at any moment. “Does it feel good, baby girl?”

“So good,” you moan out.

“Pull my hair, doll,” commands Hansol, moving the other hand under your t-shirt to cup your breast through your bra, his fingers tenderly pinching your nipple. 

His mouth falls open when your palm grabs hair on the back of his head and tugs on them roughly. Hansol has his eyes glued on you – blushes mantled on your cheeks, your lips slightly parted, your eyes sparkling with craving – and it almost makes him tremble. He needs more, he needs to touch you, he needs to feel you, he heeds you.  

At that moment, this odd definition of friendship doesn’t concern him at all, as it does usual.

“Sit on my face,” he speaks right out. “I wanna taste you.”     

When you hear these words, you bite your lower lip to suppress a moan, pressing your core particularly hard on his thigh.  

“Okay,” you breathe.  

“Let’s get rid of that, then,” he says, referring to your jeans already soaked panties.

Well, you really want him that much.  

He unbuttons and unzips your jeans and you strip the piece of clothing off, kicking it on the messy floor. You pull your t-shirt over your head and let him unclasp your bra.  

“You’re really wet, baby,” he coos, his fingers are playing with your clothed clit.  

“And you don’t help at all,” you pout.  

A mischievous grin wrings his lips, while he hooks his fingers beneath the thin fabric of your panties and tug them down your legs. A buzz in your core increases and you take a deep breathe, like you are going to dive into the sea.  

Hansol is laying on his back and you are making you way up his body on your shaking knees. Suddenly, you hesitate, being assailed with doubts, and the boy slips his arms down the sides of your thigs and pulls you further, his head right underneath your slit. Still holding your legs, he pushes you down to his head, making you firmly seat on his face. He runs his tongue along your folds, taking a long lick. You let a deep groan and move your hand to his hair, tugging them and Hansol growls your name, sending vibrations through your core, and press his starving mouth against your center even harder. His tongue dips down into your entrance, exploring your slit, his nose is brushing against your clit, and you whimper at the sensation. His sinful mouth makes you balance on the edge and when his hand moves to squeeze your breast, massaging your sensitive nipple, your orgasm hits you. 

You fell on your back, eyes closed, with your hand resting on your chest in an effort to catch your breath.

It doesn’t last long, though.

You feel his warm breathing fanning on your face and your eyes immediately shut open. Hansol is above you, resting his weight on his elbows, and looks in your eyes. You cup his cheek, closing the distance between you to place a kiss on his swollen lips.

“Take your clothes off,” you order and he silently obeys, throwing his tee somewhere off the couch, wiggling out of his jeans and boxers.  

“Um, do you-” he starts and you nod, not even letting him finish.  

“In my purse.”

Reaching into your wallet on the coffee table, Hansol pulls out a condom and rips the plastic wrapper with his teeth and roll it onto his cock, the reddening tip of which is leaking with pre-cum. Your eyes drifts from his cock to his eyes and he grins at you lazily, well aware of the object you kept your eyes on.  

“Don’t you even dare,” you warn him and he nonchalantly shrugs.  

“I didn’t say anything.”

Hansol leans over you, rubbing the tip of his member along your folds, and you buck your hips into him. The boy hisses at the sudden movement, his leg almost twitches and you hear the whoomp. 

“Shit,” Hansol mutters, looking over his shoulder. “Camera has fallen.”

“So lift it up, Sollie,” you say in your sweet voice, not really wanting to part your bodies apart. Your hand is reaching out to cup his balls, gently squeezing them.  

“Oh shit,” he moans in pleasure. “Fuck it.”  

He slips inside of you and starts pushing into you and pulling out, a moan is escaping his mouth at the feeling of your walls clenching and tightening around him. He is thrusting into you desperately, merciless even, and you bite his shoulder.

“Spread your legs wider, baby,” he sniffs into your mouth, sucking your lower lip into his mouth. “Let me fuck you into this shitty coach.”

You comply and his thrusts become more brutal, quicker and you feel a drop of sweat falls on your chest.  

This shitty couch is squeaking, your head is buzzing and he is panting – and the rest of world is mute. It always has been your thing – when you and Hansol are together, other people don’t exist: just you, him, your stupid jokes, Post Malone’s songs, cheapjack horror movies and giggles. But this time everything is different and hope and fear alternate in your breast – hope of love and fear of losing him – and you feel like you are on the verge of losing your mind.  

His hand is rubbing circles at your clit, you press your lower body to meet his thrusts, and that is it – a total bliss, your mind drifts away from your body and you climax with his name on your lips. Hansol growls once more at the way your walls are fluttering around his member and pumps into you with firm thrust, realizing into the condom.  

You almost start feeling how terrible your position is – what have you done? - but Hansol breaks the thread of your thoughts. Still in you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, he mumbles in a slumberous voice: 

“It’s not my the only one kink, you know.”  

You silently chuckle, combing your fingers through his hair.

“Okay,” you answer, your own voice is hushed that you barely hear yourself.  

“Maybe you’d be interested,” he pauses, nuzzling his nose in your neck. “To discover others, I mean.”  

Hansol wants to hit himself. He doesn’t think he is bad at expressing ideas through words – but now, oh dear God, he is insecure, worried about rejection and prefers to sound disinterested than springing his feelings on his best friend.

So he sounds like an idiot.

“Well, it’s an attractive offer,” you look straight at the poster of a rocket, made in psychedelic bright colors, once again wondering how Hansol and Joshua find it a cool thing.  

When Hansol reaches his hand to squeeze yours, it doesn’t seem a stupid thing to push yourself into this mess, not entirely knowing what is going between you and him since now.  

Maybe your philosophy professor was right and hope is more powerful than fear. 

You slouch on the chair, taking your jacket off.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say and look around the cafeteria, crowded with students. It is almost a miracle that Jun managed to find an empty table for you.

“It’s okay. I expected nothing less,” Jun mocks and you roll your eyes at his sarcastic tone. He shifts hiss gaze off your face to your neck and his eyes grow wider.

“Hey! What’s that?”

“Mosquito bites,” you shrug, but your hand is moving to your neck in a weak attempt to cover crimson marks. You will kill Hansol.

“It’s an early March,” Jun notes and it is clear to you what he is driving at.

“Have you already ordered?” you ask instead, pretending to scanning through menu. The boy narrows his eyes and huffs in annoyance.  

“You’re not getting out of this,” he warns you and you hum along.

[you 16:38] jun keeps asking about hickies i got from YOU  

[uncle vernon 16:40] say you went on a date

[uncle vernon 16:40] with me 🤪

[you 16:41] 🙄🙄

[uncle vernon 16:41] 😘

[uncle vernon 16:42] should i treat my best actress to dinner?

[you 16:44] maybe... you should

[uncle vernon 16:44] wear your fanciest dress!!

[uncle vernon 16:44] it’s a special occasion

[uncle vernon 16:45] 😉

Nothing can be stupid with Hansol, after all.  

[splendidlyimperfect]

Written for @fuckyeahgratsu Gratsu Bingo/Gratsu Week 2019; prompt: breathe

Also written for Nonbinary Month 2019 [Natsu + Trans]

-----

When Gray's girlfriend dumps him right before Christmas, he's stuck with a non-refundable, three-week holiday to Paris. Without another choice, he agrees to go with a stranger - a man who is remarkably charismatic, and a lot cuter than Gray is willing to admit. It's supposed to be platonic (Gray's straight, right?), but Paris isn't called the City of Love for nothing.

Chapter Summary:  Paris is beautiful, Natsu is flirty, and Gray's not sure exactly where he stands.

Chapters (3/?): 1 | 2 | 3 Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster Characters: Natsu Dragneel, Gray Fullbuster, Cana Alberona Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Holidays, Vacation, Christmas, Paris (City), Romantic Fluff, Mutual Pining, Holding Hands, First Kiss, Trans Character, Falling In Love, Strangers to Lovers, Romance, Gray thinks he’s straight but he’s not, Natsu falls in love hard, Gray speaks French because reasons, Tumblr: FTLGBTales

-----

When Natsu wakes up the next morning, it takes him a few minutes to figure out where he is. Instead of the Christmas lights he has hung around his apartment, sunshine pours through a window that takes up half the opposite wall. The bed is three times larger than normal, and when Natsu tries to roll over, there’s an arm wrapped around his waist.

He looks down at the arm – dark brown skin and a leather bracelet around the wrist. Natsu frowns at it for a second before he remembers.

He’s in Paris with Gray.

It takes Natsu’s heart about 0.2 seconds to go from completely relaxed to something resembling a broken metronome. Gray’s pressed up against his back, one arm under the pillow and the other wrapped tightly around Natsu’s waist. His knee is tucked between Natsu’s legs, and he’s still fast asleep, breathing evenly.

Natsu holds as still as possible. If he moves, he’ll break the moment, and he wants to stay like this for as long as he can. The contentment that settles in his chest next to his pounding heart is unfamiliar and so very welcome. It’s been a long time since someone has held him like this.

Natsu lets out a soft, slow breath and relaxes back against Gray, hesitantly placing his hand over Gray’s on his stomach. Part of him feels guilty – Gray doesn’t know they’re cuddling, and Natsu’s not sure what he’d do if he did. Gray’s hard to read, and Natsu tends to hope for too much.

Natsu’s about to start overthinking everything when Gray makes the most adorable snuffling sound and nuzzles the back of Natsu’s neck, pulling him closer and letting out a contented sigh. A shiver runs through Natsu and he brushes his fingers over the back of Gray’s hand. Gray makes a happy sound, then yawns and mumbles something unintelligible as he starts to stir.

Continue reading on AO3

“Hey,” Natsu says gently, wondering if he should quickly extricate himself from Gray’s embrace before he wakes up for real. Gray grumbles something that sounds vaguely like morning, then yawns and presses his forehead to the back of Natsu’s shoulder.

Gray is clearly not a morning person.

Natsu’s just about to lift Gray’s arm off him when Gray mumbles, “time issit?”

“No idea,” Natsu says. “We’re in Paris, remember?”

“Paris?” Gray’s voice is suddenly a lot clearer, and suddenly the blissful morning moment is over. He pulls his arm away from Natsu and sits up, rubbing his face and looking around the room. When his gaze finally lands back on Natsu, his expression transforms from confused to mortified. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he says, pushing himself up off the bed and looking anywhere but at Natsu.

“It’s okay,” Natsu reassures him, sitting up and stretching. As comfortable as cuddling was, sleeping in his clothes has left him feeling grungy. “I think we both were pretty tired.”

“I didn’t mean to...” Gray starts again, but Natsu waves him off.

“You hungry?” he asks, changing the subject. Gray’s still looking at the floor, but he nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “Good, ‘cause I’m starving. Just lemme shower and we can go find somewhere to eat.”

Gray doesn’t say anything when Natsu grabs his clothes and heads into the bathroom, but as Natsu closes the door, he hears an embarrassed groan and a whisper of what the hell?

~

Gray spends the rest of the day feeling off-kilter. The embarrassed flush never seems to leave his cheeks, and every time he looks at Natsu, he feels like he’s falling.

It turns to be just past noon by the time they leave the hotel, so they eat lunch at a little café where a breakfast of croissants and espresso make Gray feel a bit more human. But when Natsu’s foot touches his under the table, Gray gets that feeling again like he can’t quite breathe.

“So,” Natsu says, brushing the last of the crumbs off his lap, “what’s the plan for today?”

The question catches Gray off guard. He did have things planned, for when the trip was with Suki – romantic stuff like the Pont des Arts and the Champs-Élysées. There’s a part of him that whispers, you could still do those things with Natsu.

“I…” Gray fiddles with the handle of his coffee cup. There’s so much going on in his mind right now that it’s hard to figure out what he wants to say. He can’t decide whether he wants to hold Natsu’s hand, or if they should go their separate ways for the day so Gray can figure out why the hell he suddenly feels like he’s fourteen with a crush on the pretty girl in homeroom. “We can do whatever,” he says eventually. “If you wanna—you don’t have to hang out with me if you don’t want to.”

Natsu kicks Gray’s shin gently under the table, and when Gray looks up, Natsu raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you really think I want to be alone in a place like this after yesterday?” he asks. Gray frowns, then realizes Natsu’s referring to his anxiety attack on the Métro.

“Oh,” he says. Natsu’s foot is still touching his shin. “Sorry, I didn’t…” He can’t make a complete sentence and he bites the inside of his cheek in frustration.  

The waitress appears next to their table and reaches out for their plates with a smile. “Avez-vous aimér?” she asks.

“Oui, c’était très bon,” Natsu says, handing her his empty plate. “We actually just got here yesterday,” he continues in French.

“Oh!” The woman smiles, looking between them. “Have you been to Le Marais?” Both of them shake their head and she gives them a conspiratorial smile that Gray doesn’t quite understand. “You should go. I think you will enjoy it.”

~

Le Marais turns out to be the gay district of Paris. Gray stares at the rainbow flag hanging in the window of the boutique store next to them, and the overwhelmed sensation in his chest returns full force. A couple walks past them – two young women, holding hands and laughing at each other – as Christmas music plays from the speakers near the storefront.

“Guess she was onto me,” Natsu says, nudging Gray’s shoulder. When Gray looks back at him, Natsu gestures to the rainbow pin on his bag and laughs. Gray can see something else in Natsu’s expression, but he’s not quite sure what it is. “You okay?” Natsu asks.

“Yeah,” Gray says, shaking his head and pulling his coat closer around him. It’s chilly, and tiny flakes of snow are beginning to drift down around them. Natsu’s cheeks are pink from the cold, and his eyes are bright with excitement.

“C’mon,” he says, grabbing Gray’s arm and pulling him down the street.

They spend the better part of the afternoon wandering in and out of stores that sell everything from designer jeans to antique lamps. Natsu’s enthusiasm is contagious, and by the time they stop for dinner, Gray’s feeling a lot less flustered.

The restaurant is a cozy placed called L’Aller Retour, and when the waiter offers up wine with their meal, they both raise their eyebrows at each other, then grin and shrug – why not?

After a couple of glasses, Gray’s feeling warm and bubbly and brave.

“… so the other tattoo artist ended up holding my hand ‘cause it hurt like a bitch,” Natsu says, tipping his wine glass toward Gray. He gestures vaguely to his hip and Gray feels himself blush.

“That’s… it’s a sensitive spot,” he says, cheeks tingling as his mind slips to an image of him running his fingers over Natsu’s tattoos. Or his tongue. Maybe both.

“Yeah,” Natsu says, and when he licks a stray drop of wine off his lower lip, Gray realizes he’s staring.

“Shit,” he says softly, then shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m a bit…”

Natsu laughs, and his foot brushes Gray’s leg under the table again. “’s okay,” he says, downing the last of his wine and waving for the waiter. “Me too.” 

~

By the time they get back to the hotel it’s nearly midnight, and they’re both still tipsy. Natsu trips over himself trying to kick his shoes off, and when Gray grabs his arm to pull him upright, he dissolves into a fit of laughter.

“Sorry,” he giggles, grabbing Gray’s shoulder. He tugs off his jacket and tosses it on the bed, then pulls off his sweater too. Then he turns back to Gray and raises an eyebrow.

“What?” Gray asks, sitting down on the bed and shrugging off his own jacket.

“I said I’d show you the rest,” Natsu says, and Gray’s mind blanks out for a few seconds before Natsu clarifies, “tattoos. The rest of my tattoos.”

“Oh,” Gray says, because it’s the only word he can get out around the tightness in his throat. He nods, and Natsu gives him an unreadable look before grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head.

The tattoos on Natsu’s hips dip down under his jeans, and curl around his ribs to the middle of his back. He’s wearing a binder over his chest, but above it, an intricate set of flowers are inked across his collarbone. They continue up both sides of his neck and behind his ears, and two colorful dragons wind down both of his arms.

The tattoos are gorgeous, and so is Natsu, and before Gray can stop himself, he says it out loud.

Natsu looks surprised, then gives Gray a shy smile. “Thanks,” he says. A yawn appears to catch him off guard and he stretches, back arching as he brings his hands up over his head. Gray knows he should look away, but instead he traces the muscles in Natsu’s back with his eyes, wishing it were his fingertips instead.

Maybe it could be. Part of him is tempted to reach out, to touch Natsu, to see what it’s like to kiss a boy because he never has but now, he really, really wants to. But he holds himself back because they’ve only just met, and if Gray fucks this up, they’re stuck with each other for three weeks and things could get awkward.

“I’ll be right back,” Natsu says, tossing a quick glance at Gray before heading to the bathroom.

As soon as Natsu closes the door, Gray shakes his head to try and clear the tipsy fog from his mind. He pushes himself up the bed, shoving the pile of pillows around into something comfortable before yawning and laying back into it. He’s warm and content, and by the time Natsu comes back, he’s nearly asleep.

“You should get changed,” Natsu comments, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He’s wearing boxers and a baggy t-shirt now, and his hair is down around his shoulders instead of pulled back into a ponytail. “You’re gonna regret sleeping in jeans again.”

Gray grumbles, but eventually undoes his jeans and kicks them onto the floor, then turns onto his side and tucks his arm under the pillow. He had been planning on putting pillows between them tonight, so he didn’t embarrass himself by waking up wrapped around Natsu again, but when Natsu flops down onto the bed, Gray can’t bring himself to put a barrier between them.

“I forgot my brush,” Natsu says, rolling to face Gray and running his fingers through his hair. They catch on a knot and he tugs at it, making a face. “It’s gonna be a mess tomorrow.”

The tipsy buzz still flowing through Gray’s mind makes him brave enough to reach out and touch Natsu’s hair. Natsu looks surprised, then gives Gray a soft smile and shifts closer.

“’Okay?” Gray asks quietly, combing his fingers through Natsu’s hair. He gently untangles it, then tucks it behind Natsu’s ear. He’s pretty sure he’s crossing a line right now, but Natsu doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah,” Natsu says sleepily, curling up so his knees are just touching Gray’s and his hands are tucked under the pillow. “’s nice.”

“Okay,” Gray says as Natsu yawns and makes a soft, contented sound.

Natsu falls asleep quickly, but Gray stays awake, combing his fingers through Natsu’s hair and matching his breathing to the rise and fall of Natsu’s chest.

[jinkisbelly]

Sorcerers’ Apprentice 17/31

Inktober Day 17: Swollen or a Flashback to them making their soul bond, there is blood mentioned in this as part of the process

w/c: 1.5k

Masterlist  / AFF / AO3 (slowly)

                Jonghyun softly ran his fingers through Jinki’s long hair as he frowned deeply seeing the strip of white through the black locks. The last few years had proven to be hard on the prophet. The King pushing him harder and longer to produce as many visions and details of the Dark Sorcerers as he could. In doing so the white began to show in his hair near his right temple. Tonight he had arrived with the use of a thick cane he had bought a few months before when walking unassisted became difficult.

                After eating some of the bread Jonghyun had baked and drunk the tonic he made for him, Jinki had curled up on the bed using Jonghyun’s tummy as a pillow. He was facing away, but Jonghyun knew his eyes were closed, for he always did when his hair was being played with. Jonghyun lifted his gaze from the back of Jinki’s head to the book on the table across the way. He had found it when exploring the old library, back in the deep reference section. It described a powerful spell called a soul bond, one that connected two sorcerers until they were almost one. It described instances of powers being shared between the two individuals, spells power increased simply by being connected, and being such a deep connection it was painful to break.

                They had discussed marriage offhandedly, not serious enough to mean anything. Jinki had smiled so sweetly at the thought, leaning over and kissing his temple with a quick ‘Marrying you would be a dream’, before returning to his book. Jonghyun felt the truth in such a statement, but he also desired to be connected to Jinki in a deeper way. He loved him so much. Never had he felt all consumed by love for another, such a raw and passionate emotion it sometimes left him breathless. Before he lost his courage, he softly called out, “Love?”

                The quiet noise Jinki made could only be described as adorable as he turned onto his back, shifting his head to look up at him. His eyes slowly opened, a sweet and warm smile on his face. “Hey~”

                “Are you feeling better?”

                “I am,” His hand was soft as he intertwined their fingers the best he could. “Thanks to you.”

                 “I’ve been thinking about something that I’ve been researching lately.”

                 “Oh?”

                Chewing on his bottom lip, Jonghyun’s gaze fell from Jinki’s, chest feeling a little tight in his nervousness. He met Jinki’s eyes as he asked, “Have you ever heard of a soul bond?”

                 “The memory is vague, but I believe I have.” Jinki moved his thumb on the back of Jonghyun’s hand. “It’s the connection between two sorcerers’ souls, binding them by powerful magic, right?”

                “Yes.”

                “What have you been thinking about it, exactly, Dear One?”

                 Jonghyun flashed a tiny smile, breathing out quickly, “For once I wish you’d read me again.”

                 Slowly, Jinki rose from his thigh. After letting go of his hand he swung a leg over Jonghyun’s lap, straddling him and wrapping his arms around his neck. “I don’t have to use my abilities to read what’s on your mind, Beautiful. I wish you weren’t so hesitant to open up your desires to me.”

                 “If you ended up deciding you didn’t want to be that deeply tied to me,” He rose his hand to caress his cheek softly. “I don’t know what I’d do. I love you so much Jinki. I know what the crown says about marriage and commitment of it’s sorcerers, but I-”

                “I’d leave it all for you, Dear One.” Jinki quickly cut him off, leaning forward to press a few light kisses on each corner of his lips. “You are the only good thing in my life, Jonghyun. I’d have to research what a soul bond is, more than what I know from stories my master used to tell me, but the thought of being so intertwined with you it’s as if we’re one heart,” He grins widely and it knocks the breath out of Jonghyun’s lungs. “It’s exhilarating.”

                “So you’ll think about it?”

                “Yes.” After sweetly kissing him he whispered against his lips, “I love you more than anything else, Dear One.”

------

                It was a few weeks later they stood a step away from each other, reading the other’s expression for any signs of doubt. Soon it would be midnight on the first full moon since they decided this is what they wanted. Jinki looked so bright and warm with the weeks he had hidden away from any of the King’s demands, knowing that they need him well rested if this was going to work. Behind them was the prepared cauldron. Each ingredient was already measured out in separate tiny bowls and Jonghyun’s silver ceremony knife he got as a gift from his Master at the end of his apprenticeship was laying on the dark blue velvet it was stored in usually.

                “Are you ready?” Jonghyun quietly asked.

                “We can’t reverse this, Dear one, not without a lot of pain.” Jinki caught his slightly curled hand swinging next to his side, intertwining their fingers. “To feel you as intimately as this will allow, so close… I am sure in my decision, so please don’t mistake my intention when asking if you’re sure this is what you want for second thoughts, Jonghyun.”

                “The one thing I’m entirely sure of is us.” He pushed up to kiss his lips, bumping noses as he pulled away. “I may not be a prophet, but I know we were meant to meet that day Jinki. I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

                Jinki kept hold of Jonghyun’s hand as he led them over to the table, only letting go of it so they could add the ingredients. The old book was open on the small stand they used for the potion book Jonghyun was writing. With each different ingredient added they began to sing until finally, Jinki picked up the delicate handle of the knife. Carefully, he pressed firmly from his the bottom of his ring finger to the end of his palm on his left hand with a deep hiss. Then as he cradled his cut hand he handed the knife to Jonghyun. Once he had done the exact same the knife was discarded on the table.

                They pressed their palms together, continuing the song as they lowered their intertwined hands into the brew in the cauldron. Once the liquid had covered both of their hands, they felt it. The exhilarating rush of power and presence as the connection clicked together and solidified. Their breathing hitched just for a moment, hearts pounding rapidly as the felt the full force of the bond.

                With their hands still under the brew, they stepped around the small table until they could kiss. Jonghyun’s free hand curling tightly in Jinki’s shirt, as Jinki had his hand pulling him closer on his lower back. The kiss was messy and opened mouth. The feeling of their new bond almost addicting. All the new sensations crashing together and swirling around. All there was to them then was the other man. Nothing else mattered. When they finally pulled apart enough to speak Jinki roughly panted. “I feel so much of you.”

                “My senses are going insane. I feel so tingly all over and God,” Jonghyun had a dazed smile on his face, eyes wide as he stared at Jinki, “Do you really see the world like this? Images of the past and future keep coming and going, I- I thought I’d feel overpowered, swollen almost, with everything but..”

                “It just feels right.” Jinki laughed, light and airy as he kissed him quickly. “So right.”

                When they managed to clean and wrap each of their wounds they couldn’t find it in themselves to tidy up the rest. For they were too caught up in the way everything felt so vibrant and alive. The smallest touch, a whisper against skin, a kiss. All they could bring themselves to do was lay on the bed and explore the feeling of the other’s face against their fingers. The sensations brand new even if they knew the other’s features better than their own some days.

                Jinki hadn’t felt that renewed and centered in years, feeling the ebb and flow of their powers swirling around between the two of them. Jonghyun saw the world in such a different light. He could see little images of their lives together, memories so clear and vivid he knew them to be visions of the past. Flashes of ones that hadn’t yet occurred he knew to be possible futures for them. He opened his mouth slightly, about to let the familiar three words roll off his tongue, but as Jinki slowly smiled he knew he didn’t need to say them. For they both knew. They could feel the rush of warm, deep affection for each other.

[twistedrunes]

George - Chapter 23

A Peaky Blinders Fanfiction

This is a series. If you’re new here welcome! I would recommend you start at  the beginning:   Chapter One More chapters of George are available on the Masterlist Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. All original work is my own.

Hello Friends!

Thank you to everyone who’s commented, liked and reblogged the last chapter. I hope you all enjoy this one. It’s a long one, so let’s get straight into it. 

Until next time - Twistedrunes xox

Chapter Twenty-three: The Gathering Storm

Warnings: language, angst, smut, violence, death of a character, fluff, season four spoilers NSFW (for my GC girls - In the bleak midwinter)

This chapter carries on directly from Chapter 22

You sit with Tommy’s head on your lap, his hand resting on your knee, your hand rubbing his shoulder. A moonbeam illuminates your alarm clock, and you watch the time pass, slow seconds becoming minutes and then hours. Tommy dozes, breathing rapid and shallow, echoing the rhythm of your thoughts. Changretta, Alfie, the Shelby’s all flitting in and out of your consciousness as you search for flaws in the plan, probing for any weakness which may bring it all undone.

Tommy wakes with a start, groaning in pain with the sudden movement. “Shh, Tommy, it’s just a dream, you’re safe.” You say soothingly rubbing your hand over his back.

Tommy turns his head to look up at you, his pale eyes luminescent in the moonlight. “You should be asleep.” Tommy chastises gently.

“I’m fine.” You assure him “Was it a nightmare?”

“No, not really.” Tommy’s arm wraps around your hips, he tugs at you encouraging you to lie down next to him. Shuffling carefully, you allow him to guide you, so you are lying face to face. His lips press against yours. His breath is heavy with whiskey and stale cigarettes, and his lips tainted with a slight metallic taste, but still, you reciprocate. You lay watching each other, neither saying anything. Tommy takes your hand in his, bringing them up between you. “’bout my mum.’  He says quietly kissing the back of your hand.

“Your dream?” You ask.

“Mm,” Tommy affirms, his eyes close as if trying to see the dream again. “It was Christmas, before Ada or Finn. We went travelling with Mum’s family. We had no money, we never had any money, and dad wasn’t there. Mum was happy.” Tommy shakes his head “I don’t know, it’s stupid, it was all so long ago.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s good you have those memories.”

“Do you remember any Christmases with your mum?” Tommy asks, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand.

“No. I don’t remember much at all, it’s more random feelings than memories.” You respond with a little shrug.

“So, it was just you and your dad for Christmas?”

“My father never celebrated anything that wasn’t a horse winning a race.” You say tonelessly. Tommy curses under his breath. “I do remember one Christmas, I went to stay with someone, an Aunt maybe, I’m not sure.” You close your eyes willing the vague images clearer. “She gave me a clementine.” You remember suddenly, your eyes flying open. “I thought they were amazing. So sweet and juicy.” You grin at the memory, Tommy smiles at you. “Mostly though I just remember there was so much food.” You shrug a little wishing you could remember the woman’s face and how you were connected.

Tommy holds the back of your hand against his lips kissing it gently “You go hungry a lot?” You can feel the focus of his eyes change as he searches your face for an answer. You simply nod, knowing he knows as well as you do how an empty stomach feels. Tommy kisses you again, so gently and tenderly it almost feels like nothing at all, yet at the same time the power of it reaches down into you and tightens your chest. “Come on now, sleep.” He instructs.

“Anna, your eleven o’clock is here. A Monsieur Pas.” Peggy announces after a light tap on your door.

“Excellent Peggy, thank you.Show him in.” You say stacking the papers on your desk into a pile.

“Monsieur Pas.” Peggy announces, returning a minute or so later.

“Thank you, Peggy. Please make sure we are not disturbed.” You say your eyes merely skimming over Changretta’s face, giving no sign you have met previously. You wait a few moments after Peggy closes the door before speaking. “Monsieur Pas, a pleasure,” you say offering your hand “I wasn’t expecting you until the thirty-first, is there a problem?”  

Changretta captures your hand, kissing the back of it lightly as his fingers caress the inside of your wrist. “There’s no problem. I’m here to have a look around, make preparations, check on the arrangements.”

“Preparations are underway.” You pull a clean piece of paper from your drawer and begin to write.  “I have booked you a private room in the casino, it has the capacity for twenty to twenty-five people. Will that be adequate?” You ask. Changretta merely nods before you continue. “Excellent. Mr Shelby will be putting on a fireworks display at midnight, and the room has a balcony so you will have a wonderful view.”

“Fireworks at New Years, how innovative,” Changretta says dismissively.

You nod and begin to sketch out a diagram on the bottom of the paper. Finished you fold the paper and slide it across the desk to him.

“Excellent,” Changretta replies, skimming the paper.

The Shelby’s will have the room next to yours. Family and close friends only, no more than twenty people. There is an internal door and a common balcony. The security will be focused on the public areas, there will only be one guard in each of the private rooms. Extra staff and musicians for the private rooms will be hired next week. Have them bring references from Alfie’s clubs. Fireworks will run for approximately ten minutes.

“Shelby is a fool. You’re wasted here in this backwater.” Changretta says gesturing around the room with his hand. “A woman with your, attributes, deserves more. So much more than he could ever give you. ” He says.

“He’s given me nothing, and within a week he’ll have nothing to give anyone.” You reply your voice a whisper.

“So how is it he’s kept you here?” Changretta asks.

“He hasn’t.” You reply with a shrug.

Changretta stands, offering his hand again, you take it, and he pulls you closer to him. Breathing in your ear, he hisses “I’ll be taking everything he thinks is his.” He presses a kiss below your ear before repeating “Everything.”

The rough wood of the barrel catches on the backs of your stockings, but you are well beyond caring. Tommy’s deep thrusts pushing you closer and closer to your inevitable climax. Your hands glide under his jacket, the silken lining providing a delicious contrast. You slide your hands down to Tommy’s ass, digging your fingers into him as you arch your back and hang your head back.

Tommy growls against your throat, words grunted in his mother tongue coming intermittently. Something about the change in his tone pulls at something deep inside you. Opening your eyes, you are immediately held in his gaze. Tommy’s hand rises up your back fisting your hair. Your eyes close as he pulls your knee up higher against his ribs.

“Tommy,” You murmur feeling yourself lose your grip on reality.

Suddenly Tommy stops cold. You groan in frustration, cursing his teasing. His hand releases your leg and covers your mouth “Quiet.” He hisses in your ear.

“Tommy? You here?” Finn’s voice calls out.

Tommy’s eyes widen as he quickly tucks himself back into his pants and pulls your skirt down from around your hips. He leans down and kisses you, hard. “Stay here. Be quiet.” He demands before striding out from between the stacks of barrels and towards Finn’s voice.

You sit, trying to calm your breathing.

“Finn.” You hear Tommy puff.

“You ‘right Tommy?” Finn asks concerned “You’re all red and sweaty.”

“Fine, fine. Just been moving some barrels.” He explains. “You’re early.”

“Yeah, I went to see Anna, but she wasn’t home. Is that her car in the drive? Is she here?” He asks.

“Could be, I haven’t seen her. She could be saying hello to Charlie.” Tommy offers.

You slide off the barrel and straighten your clothes, cursing silently that Tommy had put your underwear in his pocket after removing them. You move quickly down the row of barrels in the opposite direction to the one Tommy had taken.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I can help with the barrels.” You hear Finn offer as you open the back door of the barn.

“Yeah, that’d be good. We’ll meet up with Anna later.” Tommy replies.

With that you slip out the door, closing it quietly behind you and run across the lawn to the house.

“Mr Shelby called,” Peggy says as you pass by the desk. You motion for her to follow you to your office. “He wants you to meet him at his house tonight.” She elaborates closing your door behind her “He probably wants to give you a Christmas present.” She says her voice light and teasing.

You roll your eyes. Peggy had been making sly comments and dropping hints about you and Tommy since you returned from your weekend away with Tommy. Not that she knew you had spent the weekend together. No one did. Her teasing had only become worse after Tommy’s fight with the Cavalrymen.  “He probably wants to change the arrangements for New Year’s again.” You grumble. “Any other messages?” You ask in an attempt to move the conversation on.

“No, no other messages,” Peggy says, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Isaiah says he watches you like he used to watch Grace.”

“Peggy, I work for Mr Shelby. That’s all.” You say dismissively.

“So did she, at first.” Peggy quips.

“Peggy.” You chastise.  

“You know Mr Shelby hasn’t had a girl from any of our sites in months?” Peggy continues missing or ignoring your tone.

“Peggy a woman in your position in a business such as this should not engage in gossip. It’s none of our business where he gets his jollies. I’m sure he has no trouble getting a fuck when he wants one. God knows there’s probably a hundred women next door who would fuck him right now.” You say sternly.

“It’s not gossip. Just an observation.”

“An observation about what?” You say tersely.

“It’s been over a year now since Goliath passed,” She trails off allowing her comment to hang in the air. You wait her out forcing her to finish her thought. “It wouldn’t do either of you any harm to have some companionship. That’s all I’m saying.” She says huffily.

You shake your head. “You work in a brothel Peggy, you should know better than to believe in fairytale endings.” You admonish.

“I got mine. I found Isaiah.” She says quietly.

You feel like you’ve kicked a puppy, only worse, cursing yourself for your harshness. “I’m sorry.” You say quickly.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s not my place. I just want to see you happy. We all do you know.”

You sigh, knowing it’s the truth, Peggy really does just want to see you happy. “I’m fine. Thank you.” You assure her.

Peggy smiles brightly. You’re grateful she has such a forgiving nature. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll go now. I have to get ready for tomorrow.” She says happily.

“Yeah, off you go. Enjoy your day tomorrow ‘ey.” You say gently.

“Merry Christmas Anna.” She stops with her hand on the doorknob. “Do you have somewhere to go? Because if not you can come to ours, we’d love to have you.”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t be alone at Christmas. You’d be no bother, it seems like the Reverend has invited the entire congregation so one more really won’t matter.”  She says with a little laugh.

“I’m fine, really. I won’t be alone,” you hesitate “I’m going to Tommy’s.” You reply.

Peggy arches her eyebrow and smiles “Well I’m glad you’ll have some company.” She says sweetly.

“Mr Shelby is out in the stables Miss. He asked that you meet him there.” Mary says handing you a lantern.

You thank Mary and skirt around the edge of the house, past the kitchen door and across to the stables. Lifting the lantern with one hand the other presses against your stomach trying to squash the fluttery feeling in your gut. Unable to see Tommy you stop at the door and call out “Tommy?”

“Down here.” You hear him call back.

Reluctantly you walk further into the stables. You can feel your stomach tighten and your breath quicken. “Tommy?” You call again still unable to see him.

Tommy’s steps out of one of the stalls “Hello.” He says as his hands cup your face and kisses you. He takes your lantern from your hand and hangs it on the hook above your head. You shiver. “I know its cold, but I didn’t want to talk in the house,” Tommy says his hands rubbing your arms.

“What’s wrong?” You ask trying to keep your voice calm and level.

“This came today.” He says, pulling a card from his pocket and handing it to you.

You flick it open noting the black hand stamped on the inside of the card “A black hand?” You ask looking up at him. Tommy simply nods in reply. “Who got them?” You ask.

“Me, Arthur, John, Pol. But my guess is Michael, Ada and Finn will be on the list too. No one will be off limits.” Tommy says flatly.

“Why would you warn someone you were going to kill them?” You say half to yourself.

Tommy snorts “You’re right, but it’s their way. Vendetta’s have rules apparently.”

“What are you going to do?” You ask

“We’ll decide at lunch tomorrow,” Tommy replies. His eyes search your face before he cups your cheeks again. “Everything will be okay. We’re safe here.”

“So why are we hiding out in the stables then?”

“I wanted to show you something,” Tommy says a smile appearing on his face. “Come see what I brought Charlie for Christmas.” He takes the card from you, putting it back in his pocket and takes your hand in his.

You take a deep breath and allow him to lead you further into the stables. Tommy stops in front of one of the stalls, scratching the nose of its inhabitant and speaking softly to it in Romani. “It’s beautiful. I’m sure Charlie will love it.” You say.

Tommy presses his face against the horses speaking to it quietly.

You place your hand on Tommy’s back. “Can we go inside?” You ask. Suddenly an enormous bang shatters the quiet. “Fuck!” you cry, jumping in fright and pulling your gun from its holster. You look around you, eyes wide, body shaking and a sheen of sweat on your face.

“It was just a horse. Kicking the wall.” Tommy says, grabbing your arm and forcing the barrel of the gun towards the ground.

“I’m sorry. I just,” You don’t finish your sentence, tears welling and your arms wrapping around yourself as you sink to the ground.

Tommy catches you before you reach the floor, pulling you into an embrace. “Shush you’re okay. It was just a horse ‘ey. Probably having a dream. Nothing to worry about.” He says smoothing his hand over the back of your head. “This isn’t like you. What’s got you so jittery ‘ey?” He asks gently.

Blood pounds in your ears as you bury your face in Tommy’s neck, “I don’t like being in here in the dark.” You say voice shaking and small.

“Oh fuck,” Tommy swears, kissing your cheek. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

 “Here you go,” Tommy says handing you a whiskey. You take it with shaking hands. Tommy stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you and turning you to face the fire in his study. His hand rubs over your stomach. “Feeling any better?” He asks gently.

You nod slowly, still feeling a little uneasy but overall calmer in the light, warm room. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” You down the drink in one. You shake your head at Tommy’s open-handed offer to take your glass, and take it to the drinks cabinet yourself, refilling the glass. You sink down onto the lounge, your eyes closing and your free hand resting on your stomach.

The cushion dips slightly as Tommy sits next to you. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks softly his hand covering yours.

“Tommy it was just a fright. I’m fine.” You say dismissing his concern.

Tommy doesn’t respond, you can feel him moving next to you but don’t bother to open your eyes thinking he’s probably pouring himself another whiskey. He moves closer, the cushion tipping you towards him slightly. You hear a quiet pop and the fresh smell of citrus fills your nose. Your eyes flutter open, and you see Tommy, open clementine in one hand and a segment in the other moving the piece towards your mouth. “Open up.” He says softly.

You can’t help but smile, your mouth already watering from the smell you open your mouth slightly. Tommy traces the segment over your lips before he holds the piece of fruit between them. You bite down gently, your hand rising to your mouth as juice explodes running over your lips, trying to catch it before it drips on your dress. You moan softly as the juice fills your mouth with delicious sweetness.

Tommy brushes the remaining portion against your bottom lip, your mouth opens willingly, and you sigh as again your mouth fills with juice. “Is it as good as you remembered?” He asks.

“Better. It’s delicious.” You sigh happily.

“Let me see,” Tommy says leaning over and kissing you, his tongue tracing your lips before sucking your bottom lip gently between his own. “Mm” he agrees bringing another segment to your lips, they part easily. Again juice fills your mouth, wetting your lips, your hand rising to catch the drips. You groan and relax back in the chair as the scent and taste overwhelm your senses.

You bring your hand to your mouth to lick your fingers. Tommy catches your wrist and brings it to his own mouth. He uses the tip of his tongue to collect juice from your index finger before drawing the digit into his mouth. You moan softly as the sensation travels through you with a jolt. Drawing your finger out between his lips, Tommy kisses the tip.

“Get your own.” You tease, plucking a segment from his hand and bringing it to his mouth. His eyes flash as he takes the whole piece in one, you use your thumb to catch the juice spilling from the corner of his mouth. Tommy tries to grab your thumb between his lips, but you are too quick and swipe your tongue over the pad removing the juice from it. Tommy swallows hard.

Tommy takes another segment, biting it in half, pressing the other half against your lips. You part your lips and stick out your tongue, wrapping it around the piece of fruit and his fingertip before sucking both into your mouth. Juice exploding as you draw his finger deeper into your mouth. Tommy’s head falls back as he groans “Fuck.”

He drops the clementine on the sideboard behind the lounge, freeing his hands to grab your waist. Falling to his knees on the floor, he pulls you to the edge of the seat. Your legs part, so he is kneeling between them. His hand run over your thighs, caressing them as he brings his lips to yours. You suck the juice from each other’s lips before Tommy kisses below your jaw. Your head drops back like a puppet without a string allowing him full access. You moan and grind your hips against his abdomen as he teases your flesh with his mouth. His hands kneading your ass pulling you closer, as your arms wrap around his neck, your fingers buried in his hair.

Tommy pauses for a moment, panting against your skin as his hands roam over your back and up to your breasts, squeezing them lightly. “I need to touch you,” he moans bringing both of you to your feet. Your hands slide down his chest. Tommy’s mouth finds your neck again, sucking and slurping as you undo the buttons of his waistcoat. He shrugs it off and tosses it carelessly onto a chair.

Your hands fumble with his shirt while he drags your dress up to your hips. “Arms up.” He says before bringing the dress up and over your head. He bunches the fabric in one hand as he pulls you back against him. Reaching behind you, you remove it from his hand allowing it to fall to the lounge. Tommy’s hands caress the small of your back, he kisses you. As your tongues meet he grips your ass, lifting you and wrapping your legs around his waist. He carries you to the desk and sets you on the edge of it.

Grabbing his hips and pulling him against you, you slide your hands up and urgently untuck his shirt and undershirt. Pushing both up his chest. Tommy obliges you, pulling both off and dropping them on the edge of the desk, suspenders hanging loosely at his hips. Your mouth finds his chest, kissing and caressing the warm skin. Tommy’s hands busy themselves with your bra, quickly discarding it on-top of his shirts. You both shudder as your chests touch.  

Tommy pushes you back onto the desktop. His hands and then his mouth caressing your breasts. You squirm and dig your nails into his back as he lavishes attention on them. The softness of his mouth contrasting against the sharpness of his teeth and the roughness of his hands.  

Your hips rock against the bulge in his pants, you hook your legs around his waist needing more contact. Soft cries of “Tommy” all you are able to say in your attempt to articulate your need. Your hands grapple with his buttons, wrenching them undone you use your feet to push his pants to the floor. You thrust your hand past the waistband of his boxers. Both of you gasping and drawing closer as your hand closes around his girth. “Tommy.” You mumble again, pressing your teeth into his chest. Tommy’s hand follow’s yours, pulling your hand away gently. “Please.” You say trying to force your hand back.

Tommy smiles and strokes your cheek. “Not yet ‘ey.” He laughs at your pout and smothers it with a kiss. “Let me look after you first.” He breathes into your ear before kissing his way down your neck slowly, his fingers deftly unclipping your stockings before his hand comes to rest on your mound. Your hips roll, and he smiles against your skin, allowing his hand to glide further between your legs. His mouth continues down your body as your hips rock, and legs fall open encouraging more of Tommy’s touch. Tommy waits until his lips are brushing the edge of your underwear before undoing your garter belt and dropping it on the corner of the desk.  He bestows soft kisses and gentle licks along the band of your underwear before hooking his finger into the crotch. The slight touch of his skin on yours causing you to buck. Tommy chuckles falling back in his chair and holding you in his gaze. He tugs at your underwear playfully “Do you want these off?” He asks rubbing his knuckle against you lazily.

“Tommy,” You whine.

“Tell me,” he insists.

“I want them off.” You sigh exasperatedly, pushing your underwear off your hips.

Tommy watches you as he drags your underwear down your legs, bringing your stockings with them. The sensation of silk being dragged so slowly over your skin leaves goose bumps in its wake. Once clear of your feet he drops them on the pile with your bra. He takes your ankles in his hands and bends your legs, positioning your feet on the edge of the desk. You watch him through your thighs as he adjusts your feet, so they are further apart opening you up to him.

You shiver under his gaze feeling far more than your body is laid open to him. You wrap your arms around yourself self-consciously.

Brow furrowed, Tommy stands, his hands slipping behind your knees and lowering them and bringing them together before he leans over you one hand resting lightly on your stomach. “Everything alright?” He asks, stroking your hair away from your face.

You swallow hard, shaking your head quickly, your fingers tracing his jaw. “I’m fine.” You assure him.

Tommy kisses you, “I was going for more than fine.” He teases.

“Well, you still have time.” You tease, pushing his hand down from your abdomen towards your centre.

Dimples on his cheeks Tommy’s hand glides over you, his finger parting you slightly. He strokes you slowly as he kisses you, his lips parting yours, mirroring the action of his hand. His tongue traces your lips as his finger glides around your entrance. “Better?” Tommy asks.

Your hand slides from his jaw to the back of his neck “Getting there.” You breathe before slipping your tongue into his mouth. You groan as his finger penetrates you. Tommy works his finger in and out of you slowly as he sucks on your tongue. Your fingers dig into his neck as his thumb glides around your clit. “Nearly,” You manage to moan.

“Still not there?” Tommy teases sliding another finger into you and curling his fingers. You writhe under his touch, legs lifting, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“So close,” you pant, your hand coming to the top of his head and pushing it towards where you want it most. Tommy’s eyes meet yours, smirking at your need. “Please.” You beg.

“Of course darling, whatever you need.” He promises. Tommy’s hands return to your knees parting them so he can position himself between them. He sinks into the chair again and reaches out for your hips, pulling you, so your ass is on the edge of the desk with your feet flailing in the air. Tommy’s hands run up the back of your thighs, stopping in the backs of your knees, he holds them open. He purses his lips and blows a stream of air over your centre. You buck, your hands grabbing at his shoulders and guiding him further. Tommy relents, dragging his flattened tongue over you with agonising slowness. Tommy repeats the action before moving your knee to his shoulder. As he lowers his head the third time, the short hair on the side of his head tickles the inside of your thigh causing you to buck. Tommy chuckles against you. Your fingers fist his hair.

“Tommy please.” You beg again. You see the flash in Tommy’s eyes at your submission. His tongue plunging into you.

“So fucking sweet.” He groans before finding your clit and teasing it. He draws it between his lips, applying gentle suction that makes your toes curl.

“Oh fuck.” You mewl, agonisingly close to release. Feeling the tension in your body, Tommy flicks his tongue over your clit while sliding two fingers into you again. He builds a steady rhythm curling his fingers with each stroke. “Tommy!” You cry, your body drawing itself in, anticipating the coming release.

“Good girl.” Tommy’s voice is hoarse as he groans into you, mixing with your own cries in primal prayer. His arm wraps around you, his hand finding yours and entwining your fingers keeping you safe and grounded as you lose yourself in ecstasy. Tommy keeps a steady rhythm you while you cum, drawing it out. Finally, when you are spent and limp in his grasp, you push him away unable to take any more. Tommy lowers your legs carefully. You shiver with the loss of contact. Standing Tommy pulls you up gently guiding your arms around his neck.  Still panting and floating you rest your head on his chest.

“How are you now?” He asks gently rubbing his hands over your back soothingly.

“Good.” You reply looking up with a smirk.

Tommy’s tongue glides between his lips before drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. Releasing it, he says “Only good ‘ey?”

“Yeah.” You grin.

“Good thing we’re not finished then isn’t it darling.” He says, pushing his boxers down off his hips. Tommy wraps your legs around his waist again, lifting you and carrying you towards the fire. He collects a blanket from the arm of the lounge on his way past. Settling in his armchair with you straddling his lap he wraps the blanket around you.

You both shudder as you rock your hips, gliding along Tommy’s cock. Tommy’s arm wraps around your waist lifting you slightly as his other hand positions his cock at your entrance. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him as you lower yourself, taking only the first inch or so into you.

“Fuck,” Tommy groans his fingers digging into your hips. “You feel so good.”

You scratch your nails across his shoulders and press kisses on his jaw “Only good ‘ey?” You tease, slowly sinking onto him.

Tommy’s eyes close, and his head falls back as you take him. You suck at the skin on his neck, and he doesn’t try to stop you raising marks. “So fucking good.” He moans.

You smile lifting yourself before sinking back down again. Both of you groaning as you do so. Tommy’s arms slide around you. One circling your waist and moving you to his liking and the other holding the back of your neck. Your hands grip his shoulders, up his neck, and it to his hair tugging at the longer strands. You can feel your muscles tightening another orgasm building again quickly. “Tommy,” you moan quietly.

Tommy’s arms tighten around you. He moves forward in the chair before lowering you to the floor. He places his arms either side on your head, kissing you before lifting again to watch you. “Amazing.” He moans. “So close,” he sighs his hips thrusting faster.

“Amazing.” You sigh as his cock presses against your g-spot again and again. That simple affirmation seemingly all Tommy needs to tip over the edge. Soft, gentle sounding words whispered in your ear as you follow him into ecstasy. You quiver and shake together.

Tommy holds you as you come back to yourself, stroking your face and hair, kissing you gently. Rolling onto his back he pulls you to him, positioning the blanket over you. You lay with your head resting on his shoulder, arm hanging around his waist. Your brain and body relaxed completely, you feel you’re hovering in the blissful state between sleep and wakefulness. Tommy’s fingers trace patterns on your back as you slip closer to sleep.

“I’d better get going it’s getting late.” You say shaking your head to clear it. You kiss Tommy on the cheek, as you sit up.

“Stay,” Tommy says his fingertips grazing down your back.

You don’t stop, picking your dress up off the couch on your way to the desk. “I need to get home. I’ll be back tomorrow.” You say with your back to Tommy as you start to dress. You hear the soft click of his lighter and smell the smoke of his freshly lit cigarette and feel Tommy’s gaze resting on you. You ignore it and carry on dressing.  

“I hate that you leave after we,” Tommy breaks the silence, before pausing, you look over your shoulder to see him gesturing to you and then himself.

“Fuck?” You suggest plainly, turning you head towards him while continuing with your stockings.

Tommy’s jaw flexes in irritation. He frowns and grabs his boxers pulling them on before standing up and taking a deep drag of his cigarette.

“What? You want to cuddle after, do you?” You say mockingly. Shaking your head as you turn away.

“Yes,” Tommy says hotly

You click your tongue, shaking your head. “Really? Tommy Shelby wants to cuddle.” You say sarcastically turning as you drop your dress over your head.

Tommy says nothing, regarding you with an arched eyebrow and set jaw. “What?” he demands.

You move to the other side of the desk leaning against it “How many of the women you fucked have you cuddled with, ‘ey? Fucked on this desk, that chair or that rug?” You ask pointing to the items as you name them. “Or in an alley, the distillery, the backroom of the Garrison or your office?” You challenge listing your other recent locations.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not fucking talking about other women!” Tommy spits angrily. “I’m talking about you.”

You shake your head again as you slip your shoes on. “I’m going home.”

Tommy steps into your path, catching your forearms. “Don’t go.”

You go to push past him crossly. “Move.”

“No,” Tommy says holding you firmly.

“I’m going home, Tommy.” You say crossly

“Please, don’t,” Tommy says tightly letting you go.

“Why not?” You demand

“Because both times you’ve left angry with me you’ve nearly fucking died! And with this shit with the Mafia here I can’t fucking risk it.”

“What?”

Tommy’s head drops back as he yells at the ceiling, a string of words unfamiliar to you.

“Don’t fucking swear at me in languages I don’t fucking understand.” You spit.

Tommy grabs your shoulders “I’m not swearing at you.” He says his voice tight. He sinks down in the armchair, his hands sliding to yours and holding them tightly. He shakes his head, pressing the backs of your hands against his face. “They’re words my mother used, the only real prayer I’ve ever known.” He stops again breathing deeply.  “I’m praying to a God I don’t even fucking believe in. Didn’t believe in, until like some fucking miracle, you turned up and changed fucking everything.” Tommy squeezes your hands and presses his face to your stomach before lifting his face to look at yours. His eyes are wide and wild. “Became everything. Praying because I will do fucking anything to have you with me.” Tommy stands again his hands rising to your face holding it gently. “But you’re like fucking smoke, just when I think I’ve got you, just when I think it’s solid and you understand, you fucking evaporate.” He voice cracks as he brings his forehead to yours. You watch each other, both breathing heavily. “I need you. Everything is easier, better, when you’re with me. I’m better.” He says quietly.

You step back. “I’m not Grace, Tommy. I’m not some fucking Saint.” You say holding his eye “I can’t change who I am. I’m not the little woman for you to come home to. I’m not some beauty on your arm for fancy parties. I’m not soft, I’m not gentle. I’ve killed and maimed and fought.” Your voice breaks as tears fill your eyes. “I’m not a replacement, Tommy.”

Tommy’s thumbs brush your cheeks “No. You’re not. I don’t want you to be. I want you. Just as you are. I want you even though you’re always running towards the fucking danger. Even though you don’t need me.” He smiles ruefully before kissing you softly. “I want you, with me.” He lips press against yours again, his arms wrapping around you. “I want you to stay after we make love.” He kisses you again, firmer this time, holding it longer. “All I want is for us to be together.” Tommy’s eyes search your face. Your eyes close, your heart is pounding, and you can’t seem to think. “Please just stay tonight, that’s all I’m asking just tonight.” Tommy pleads.

You swallow hard, eyes glistening, resting your forehead against Tommy’s “Okay.”

Warm breath on your neck wakes you. It takes you a moment to realise where you are. “Merry Christmas,” Tommy mumbles in your ear as you begin to stir. Spooned behind you he presses kisses into your hair and onto your neck.

You hum gently in acknowledgement of his attention. “Merry Christmas.” You say sleepily.

“It is with you here.” He purrs into your neck. Tommy moans as his cock presses against you, it’s already hot and hard. Smiling you roll onto your back. Tommy moves above you, smoothing your hair from your face. He rests his forearms either side of your head and kisses you. Tugging on your bottom lip as he grinds against you. Arching your back, you rub your hands over his chest.

You hear the door open and a small voice “Daddy! It’s Christmas, and Santa came.”

You and Tommy fly apart. Tommy wincing slightly as he adjusts himself “Well come here and show us what he gave you ‘ey.” He says sitting up and patting the covers next to him.

Charlie runs across the floor to the bed dragging a stocking behind him. Tommy bends down and scoops him up, cuddling and kissing him before depositing him and the stocking between you.

“Anna?” Charlie says happily standing up and throwing his arms around your neck. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Charlie.” You say, quickly checking the pyjama top Tommy had lent you last night is pulled down and adjusting the covers.

“Santa came!” He says again excitedly.

“What did he bring you?” You ask finding yourself caught up in his enthusiasm.

Charlie lists things off as he unpacks them, offering you and Tommy turns with the toys and some of his sweets. Once he’s finished unpacking, he plays around you.

“Did you have a bad dream?” He asks suddenly, his eyes searching your face. Again you were struck by how much they were like his fathers.

“Um,” you hesitate looking at Tommy wide-eyed wondering how he wants to handle it.

“Daddy lets me sleep with him when I have bad dreams.” Charlie continues unperturbed by your hesitation. “It’s nice.”

“Mm, it is nice.” You agree.

Tommy smiles and takes your hand. “Charlie, why don’t you go and find Mary and get dressed and then we can have breakfast and presents ‘ey.”

“Can Anna come for presents too?” Charlie asks.

“Of course.” Tommy nods. “Come on now, good boy,” Tommy says kissing his cheek and lowering him to the floor. You repack his stocking and hand it to Tommy who hands it down to Charlie “Off you go.” He says.

As the door closes behind Charlie, Tommy grabs your waist and pulls you across the bed. Positioning himself above you again he kisses you. “So where were we?” He says his voice low.

You laugh, pushing your hands against his chest “About to have breakfast with your son.”

Tommy pushes against you, grinding his cock against your thigh “I’ll be quick.” He promises.

Laughing as you slide out from under him you shake your head “Come on, you have to play Santa and hand out the gifts.”  

Tommy sighs collapsing face down on the mattress. “Will you at least sit on my lap so I can see if you’ve been a good girl?”

Already on your feet you lean over and rake your nails down his back. “You know I haven’t.” You tease, slipping through Tommy’s grasp as he tries to grab you.

 You sit on the lounge in the sitting room. Tommy on the floor playing with Charlie and his new trainset, one hand resting on your knee. Charlie providing you with a running commentary of all the action.

“Mr Shelby?” Mary says from the doorway.

“Yes, Mary?” Tommy answers, his hand rubbing up to your hip as he turns.  

“Telephone. Your brother Arthur.” She says simply.

Tommy groans “He’ll be here for lunch in a few hours, what can’t wait.” He mutters standing.

“He says it’s urgent. He sounds agitated.” Mary notes.

Tommy sighs “I’ll be back in a minute right Charlie. Anna will play with you for a bit ‘ey.” He says squeezing your shoulder on the way past.  

 Tommy returns his face ashen, you immediately know something is very wrong. His gaze passes over you to Mary. “Mary, will you take Charlie upstairs. Pack up his toys and make up a case. We’re going away for a while.”

Mary nods unquestioningly and picks Charlie up. “Come on Charlie lets go.” She says leaving quickly.

You stand and follow Mary towards the door “What’s happened?” You ask as soon as she passes over the threshold.

Tommy closes the door and leans heavily against it. He drags his hand over his face. “Michael and John have been shot. They got them this morning.”

“What?” You say stunned unable to come up with more coherent thoughts.

“They shot them outside John’s house. In front of his fucking kids. On Christmas fucking morning.” Tommy hisses.

Finally, your brain starts to work, and you wrap your arms around him “Are they okay?” You ask.

“I don’t know. Arthur thinks John might be dead.” He says burying his face in your neck.

“What do we need to do?” You ask

“I need you to take Charlie to Small Heath. I’ve called Johnny Dogs, he’ll go with you. Mary will follow later. The whole neighbourhood is loyal, you’ll be safe there. I need to find out what’s happening, go to the hospital.”

“Of course.” You agree.

It’s barely dawn when the two peaky boys, Johnny Dogs and you pull up in the truck outside your cottage. It had taken you most of the night to convince Tommy to allow you to go home to collect clothes and your weapons. John was gone, and Michael had only just come out of surgery.

“That box there and bring the canvas back in with you.” You instruct the boys pointing to the weapons chest in the hallway.

You walk quickly to the kitchen, collecting weapons from there various locations. A small package wrapped in Christmas paper on the kitchen table catches your eye. It definitely wasn’t there when you were last home. You shove it in your pocket at the sound of the front door opening.

“The canvas.” The boy announces holding it out in front of him.

“Wrap those up and take them out to the truck.” You instruct taking one of the pieces of canvas from him and turning to the other boy. “You come with me.” In the spare room, you open the closet revealing another stash of guns and ammunition. “Wrap these, take them out.”

In your bedroom you quickly collect the weapons there, returning with them to the spare room and instructing the young man to wrap and take them too. Returning to the bedroom, you close the door and pull out a case, quickly changing before packing your clothes. Hearing the Blinders heavy footsteps going down the stairs you sit on the edge of the bed and pull the package from your pocket. Ripping it open you find a jewellers case, opening that you see a diamond and sapphire tennis bracelet and a ticket for New York. There’s no note. But there’s no mistaking who they are from or its intent.

You sit on the edge of the bed, hands shaking, working the jewels like beads on a Rosary reminding yourself you just needed to stay strong for a bit longer. 

It would all be over soon.

Chapter twenty-four - The End Is Nigh > > >

As always I look forward to your thoughts, comments, questions and suggestions. I’ll see you all again for the next chapter.

More chapters of George are available on the George Masterlist

Interested in my other work? Find them on my MASTERLIST

Want to be tagged in future chapters? GO HERE

[lusilly]

home safe and tucked away

Set between the onset of Damian’s illness in Orange Juice and a year-ish before Damian asks Bruce about Talia directly in Victis Honor, this is a wee mini fic concerning Damian’s state of mind when he’s ~15 years old, and finally gaining the vocabulary to call things he’s been through what they are. It’s also a glimpse into how Bruce is trying very hard to be a good parent, but he has no fucking clue how to do it. (Alfred’s better at it though.)

In which Talia wants to see Damian, and Bruce will not allow it, and Damian knows, despite himself, that he should not want to see her.

Title from “Broken Crown” by Mumford and Sons:

Touch my mouth and hold my tongue I'll never be your chosen one I'll be home safe and tucked away Well you can't tempt me if I don't see the day

           Bruce’s phone rang at breakfast.

           It was nearly two, but Bruce and Damian had only just returned from an extended mission in Hong Kong, and adapting back to their native time zone was slow going. For the sake of uniformity, Alfred declared long ago that breakfast was to be the first meal eaten upon waking up, no matter the time. So this was breakfast, full of protein and carbohydrates to keep the stamina up through long nights. Batman and Robin had been gone some time from Gotham, and therefore Alfred knew Bruce would intend to patrol until dawn, as if to make up for his absence.

           It was a meal mostly in utilitarian silence, apart from Damian answering when Alfred asked how Cassandra was doing out there in Hong Kong; Bruce grunted once in assent when Damian asked if he thought Cass really was planning to visit home in September. “Maybe we can go to Disneyland again,” he said, referring to his trip with Cass to Disneyland on his twelfth birthday as a joke, but his tone sounded only artificially derisive. Alfred sensed he would very much like another visit to an amusement park with his adopted sister.

           After a few more minutes of silence, Alfred asked Damian how the Titans were doing; Damian coughed slightly, swallowed his bite of beans on toast (a British taste Damian had somehow inherited, though Bruce had never warmed up to it), and replied. “Doing well,” he answered, nodding. “Lian tried to organize a mission last week without me, though I heard it didn’t go anywhere.”

           “Of course,” answered Alfred, with measured tone. “How could they think to embark upon a dangerous mission without their fearless leader?”

           Despite a small roll of his eyes, this clearly stroked Damian’s ego, and he allowed himself a small grin. “No,” he remarked, with a generous shrug. “I say if Lian wants to lead them so badly, so be it. She may not be the strongest, physically speaking, but she certainly is the loudest.”

           With a twinkle in his eye, Alfred asked, “Isn’t Wally West’s daughter also on that team? If I recall correctly, in your brother’s time he was always the one with the biggest mouth.”

           The hint of a blush might’ve entered Damian’s cheeks. “Yes, well,” he began, “Iris doesn’t need to be our leader – tactically speaking, I wouldn’t waste her magnificent power by keeping her tied behind the controls-”

           A loud, shrill ringing interrupted Damian’s conversation. Both he and Alfred glanced towards Bruce, who set down his fork and produced a sleek black cell phone from his pocket.

           “Is it Miss Vale?” asked Alfred, with some interest. “She’s been calling the house for the past week about the gala you missed.”

           Bruce squinted down at the screen, as if through spectacles he wasn’t wearing. “Don’t recognize the number,” he murmured. He hovered his finger above the Answer bubble, then hesitated. To himself, he muttered, “What would Bruce Wayne be doing at two PM on a Tuesday…?”

           There was a moment’s pause; shrilly, the phone continued to ring.

           With a hint of scorn, Damian offered, “…Having breakfast?”

           Bruce looked at his son, blinked, and then a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. He instantly assumed an affected character as he answered the phone, leaning back in his seat. “Yello!” he said, in that tone of voice Damian could hardly even recognize as his father. “Brucie speaking, who is this!”

           There was a flicker of something, and then he got to his feet. “Oh, yeah,” he continued, to whomever was on the other line. “Yeah, yeah, sure thing. No problem. You betcha.”

           At Damian’s look, Bruce gave a vague wave of his hand to indicate, Just a second, and left the dining room out of the tall door which led to the hall to the drawing room. The dining room was left once more in silence.

           Damian watched the door for a moment, fork in hand. Then he looked back at Alfred.

           “No,” said Alfred firmly, reading the expression on the boy’s face. “Finish eating before you bother him.”

           “That wasn’t some reporter,” said Damian.

           “An old flame feeling neglected by the playboy billionaire, then,” said Alfred simply. “He left so as not to spare you the embarrassment of listening to him lie to some poor young woman, in all likelihood. You should be grateful.”

           “You saw his face,” said Damian.

           “I see his face every day,” replied Alfred. “A look of mild disturbance is not unusual. In fact, it would be more unusual to see him without it.”

           Damian looked back towards the door. “I’m going to go see who it is,” he said.

           “Master Damian, please,” said Alfred, placing one hand firmly on Damian’s shoulder, gently keeping him in place. Meeting Damian’s gaze, Alfred said, “This relationship you are both trying so hard to foster – it must go both ways, you know. He allows you your privacy, and you must allow him his.”

           “It’s a call on his unencrypted phone,” Damian pointed out. “There’s nothing private about it.”

           “He left the room.”

           “So?”

           “So clearly he would prefer if you did not hear his conversation.”

           “He’s the one who answered his phone at the table.”

           Alfred watched Damian for a moment with narrowed eyes.

           Then he sighed and gestured towards the door, turning back to his own plate of food. Without hesitation, Damian got up and went to the door, opening it quietly and slipping out quickly so that his father wouldn’t notice.

           Bruce was in the drawing room adjacent to the hall where Damian now stood. Damian sidled up against the wall, moving as close as he could to the large open entrance to the drawing room. From the first sounds of his father’s voice, Damian could tell that he was facing away from the entrance, his voice bouncing against a wall. Cautiously, quick as a knife, Damian glanced around the wall to peek into the room.

           Bruce stared out of a square window at the summertime heat drenching the grounds. One arm was folded across his chest in an oddly defensive position, supporting the elbow of the arm which held the phone.

           “No,” Bruce said lowly. This was not the same voice with which he had answered the phone: this was the voice Damian had come to associate with his father in their most genuine moments. Too hard, too quiet to be the Bruce the press knew, and yet gentle enough so as to not sound like Batman barking orders.

           Damian strained his ears.

           “No,” repeated Bruce, with a little more emphasis this time. “What makes you think I would allow that?” A pause. Disdainfully, Bruce said, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

           A longer pause. “Because it’s not about that,” Bruce continued, with some venom. “It’s about what you’ve done to him. Don’t do this with me,” he warned whoever was on the other line. “I don’t know how you got this number, or how you think this is in any way appropriate, or what you’re planning that you want him back so badly, but I can tell you it isn’t going to happen.”

           Damian’s heart rose into his throat and he froze, suddenly realizing who was on the other line.

           “Don’t call again,” said Bruce, and then the other room plunged into silence. For a moment nothing happened; Damian imagined his parents both frozen, mirror images of one another from thousands of miles away, still and quiet and staring with burning eyes at the phone in their hand.

           When Bruce began to move again, Damian thought about slipping away, back into the dining room to take his seat beside Alfred and pretend he hadn’t just heard such damning evidence of something he’d convinced himself would never happen again: his mother wanted to see him.

           But despite himself, he couldn’t come up with a good reason to move. So when Bruce passed the threshold back into the hall, and turned to find Damian standing there with his back against the wall – the look in his eyes a little bit defiant, a little bit shocked – Bruce stopped, and he looked at his son, and if Damian were less upset he might’ve seen the flicker of regret in his father’s expression.

           As it was, Bruce watched Damian for a moment. “I suppose it’d be too optimistic for me to ask you to pretend you didn’t just hear that.”

           Grimly, Damian nodded.

           “Any chance you’d believe I was talking to Dick?”

           Damian didn’t even bother responding to this. When he spoke, his voice, though low, slapped across Bruce’s face as sharp and stinging as a cold wind off the bay. “Is this the first time you’ve heard from her?”

           Bruce almost cocked his head. “In some time, yes.”

           “What does that mean?”

           Bruce didn’t answer.

           Again, Damian asked: “What does that mean?”

           “She’s made contact,” answered Bruce lowly, with more spite than reluctance. “This is the first time I’ve spoken to her directly.”

           “She wanted to talk to me,” said Damian bluntly.

           “No, she didn’t.”

           “But she wants to see me.”

           From the window in the adjacent drawing room, sunlight spilled out into the hall, draping Bruce in peculiar light. He looked tired, and older than Damian saw him in his mind’s eye, when he closed his eyes.

           Quietly, Bruce replied, “She wants you back. There’s a difference.”

           “She’s the one who left me with you to begin with,” said Damian immediately, cutting through Bruce’s words like glass. “Why would she want me back now?”

           Again, Bruce said nothing. He gave a shrug, cell phone still in hand. “I don’t know,” he said, honestly.

           “You haven’t asked her?”

           “You think she’d tell me the truth?”

           “I don’t know,” Damian shot back. “You’re the one who used to love her, not me.”

           While it was true enough that Bruce did once love Talia, it was a lie that Damian never loved his mother. Bruce knew this: he did not know if Damian did anymore. Lately, if he ever talked about his mother it was with genuine disgust in his voice. As a younger child, Damian had maintained a sort of snooty reverence of his mother, some assurance that she was still somehow better than any of his father’s family in every possible way. And yet, within the past year, this had disappeared, and suddenly he spoke of her with venom on his tongue.

           This had coincided with an official diagnosis earlier this year of PTSD, though the details of this Damian refused to share with his father. Alfred had spoken to Damian’s therapist, but Bruce had chosen not to be a part of that conversation. Somehow, though it wrenched with pain at his heart, Bruce knew that he did not want to know. Then there had been that college-level psychology course Alfred had been coaching Damian through, and the particular interest Damian had demonstrated in abnormal psychology, which had extended the course through summer. Bruce didn’t like the snoop on Damian’s education because he knew from firsthand experience that the Batman checking in on schoolwork only heightened the pressure his sons felt, but he had taken noticed of some of the books Damian ordered with Bruce’s credit card; textbooks, mostly, but buried among them were a number of self-help books. Those on healing; on trauma; on recovering from parental abuse.

           The word frightened Bruce, if he was honest with himself. Sometimes when he could not sleep he sat up through the early hours of dawn and scoured through his memory, searching for moments when his methods of raising a child became too extreme, too dangerous. Instances came to mind far too easily. There had been worse moments with the other boys, that much was clear to Bruce – he had learned, eventually, that a child was not the same as a soldier – but it had scared him, looking up those book synopses on Amazon, wondering of which parent Damian thought when reading them.

           Bruce gestured towards the door to the dining room. “Can we go back to breakfast?” he asked.

           “You owe me an explanation first,” Damian replied stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

           “I don’t have much of one to offer,” Bruce said smoothly. “And, unless you object to Alfred overhearing our argument, I’m sure this would be better for the both of us if we could return to our meal.”

           Heatedly, Damian began, “I never said this was an argument-” but his tone betrayed him, and Bruce gave him a mild, pointed look.

           Again, Bruce gestured towards the door. For a moment he didn’t think Damian was going to budge. Then Damian let out an angry little breath, and turned around to head back to breakfast. Bruce followed him, gently placing a hand on his son’s back. Damian shrugged him off, but not violently.

           In the dining room, Alfred sat reading the Gazette. “Thank you,” said Bruce, as both he and Damian took a seat, “for encouraging my son’s misbehavior, Alfred.”

           With a slight shrug, Alfred replied pleasantly, “You are the one who answered his phone at breakfast, sir.”

           Though he seemed more upset than angry, there was still genuine rancor in Damian’s words as he demanded, “How is it misbehavior to want to know what my mother is saying about me?”

           Bruce reminded him, “You didn’t know it was your mother when you followed me out of the room.”

           “I knew it was someone.”

           “Damian, of course it was someone-”

           “What did Talia have to say?” asked Alfred mildly, interrupting before either father or son could make the situation worse for themselves; then, on second thought, he added, “Though I don’t expect it to be happy news, I am unquestionably glad she has resorted to normal means of communication, rather than notes left cryptically in burnt-out apartments, or else messages sent by way of assassin.”

           Damian’s gaze snapped up to Alfred, eyes wide and vicious. His nostrils flared slightly. “You knew?” he asked. “You knew my mother was trying to contact me?”

           “Not you, Master Damian,” replied Alfred, reaching out to pat Damian’s hand reassuringly. He flinched away from the touch, which instantly alarmed Bruce: when Damian’s sensitivity to touch flared up, it typically meant they were approaching a genuine full-blown episode. “I believe she had a question for your father.”

           Damian looked back to Bruce. “About me.”

           “Parents often talk of their children,” Alfred said, with no hint of malice. “It is not as unusual as you seem to think, Master Damian.” He reached for the milk jug just past Damian, found it difficult to handle properly – though he wouldn’t admit it, arthritis was beginning to riddle his joints, particularly his fingers and hands – and after one moment, both Bruce and Damian reached out to help him; Damian grasped the thing first, and refilled Alfred’s glass.

           “I have a right to know what she says about me,” said Damian, setting down the jug. His tone was lower now, more in control; Bruce watched him carefully, searching for any small betrayal of a compulsion, of his OCD working him up into a frenzy.

           Alfred took his glass and sipped at the contents thoughtfully. “Why?” he asked.

           Damian stared at him. “What do you mean, why?”

           “I mean,” Alfred replied, with a shrug, “why? Do you want to know what she says about you? Do you think it will make you feel better?”

           “I – if she wants to see me-”

           “Do you want to see her?”

           Angrily, Damian retorted, “Of course not!”

           “Then why does it matter?” Alfred insisted. “For all you know, she wants to recruit you into her various assassin-filled organizations, because one of your teachers has been killed and she now has an unoccupied space she must fill. Or otherwise,” he continued shortly, “perhaps she would like to invite you into her home for a sixteenth birthday celebration.” He paused; then, again, he asked, “Does it matter?”

           Damian watched Alfred with weary eyes for a moment.

           Then he picked up his fork and poked at his food. When he brought a forkful of egg whites to his mouth, Bruce let out an inward sigh of relief: when Damian was at his worst, he couldn’t even touch food. This was a good sign.

           Bruce too resumed his meal, though cautiously, glancing in between Alfred and Damian. After so long Bruce assumed Damian had decided to leave Alfred’s question unanswered, Damian surprised him by speaking.

           “No,” he murmured. “I guess it doesn’t.”

           They finished their meal in peace.