#your friendly neighborhood fic finding service | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frenchfrywrites · 2 years ago

Text

Simeon’s new neighbor

MINORS DNI

Warnings: trans masc top vampire reader, trans human bottom Simeon, blood, both of yall r fucked up.. so like morally gray/dubious things and such, attempt at religious themes and guilt, fingering, humping, blood drinking, fear wetting (nonsexual (if you can believe)), strap on, scent kink, lmk if i missed anything..

tysm to @pulpbeing for helping me w inspiration w this fic :)

It’s a spring Sunday morning when Simeon wakes to find the house across the street from him– the one nobody had lived in for years, and he was certain would never find a buyer– has finally found its new owner. He smiles to himself at the sight of the vintage car in front, and the new doormat placed outside the front door. While there’s not many other signs of life, yet, Simeon hopes that the homeowner will settle in nicely and make the place their own.

It’s out of the ordinary that his new neighbor moved in during the night, Simeon thinks briefly, but refocuses on how happy he is that someone moved in at all. He hums as he brews himself a cup of coffee, exciting himself with imagining what his new neighbor is like. He wonders if they’re friendly. He wonders if he’ll see them at church this morning. Knowing he’ll be seeing a new face around the small town leaves Simeon energized, and truth be told he probably doesn’t need the coffee at all. There’s enough pep in his step anyways.

But his age is catching up to him, and in order to keep from yawning during the service, he downs the cup he’d prepared (though not before adding copious amounts of milk and sugar to make it bearable).

Simeon does little else before going to morning mass, and when he gets there he scans the familiar faces. All the grannies swarm at him, asking him about his week, how he’s been, among other things. He does his best to give them his attention, but he’s losing focus as he continues to analyze the congregation.

He tries not to let disappointment sink in as no new face enters the church. The sunny day turning cloudy does little to help his emotional state. Simeon rationalizes that perhaps his neighbor is tired from the move, and even if you never go to church that doesn’t automatically make you a bad person. Smiling to himself, he decides he’ll make you a dessert as a welcoming gift.

It’s not long before he’s standing in front of your door, reaching out to ring your doorbell, holding the sweet treat in the other hand.

“Who’s there?” a beautiful voice calls from within, and Simeon feels rejuvenated, excited, and giddy all over again.

“Your new neighbor!” he responds, figuring that if he only responded with his name, you’d be entirely confused.

“Hello?” you open the door, and Simeon’s heart nearly stops. You’re nothing short of impressive and deeply intimidating in your beauty. He thought he was wearing his Sunday best, but compared to your outfit he might as well be wearing rags. Every strand of your hair is perfect, and you’ve no blemishes or disfigurements. In fact, if it didn’t sound silly to say aloud, he'd say you’re glowing. And what impresses him even more so, is that your beauty seems so effortless.

His jaw drops slightly, leaving him gaping at you like an idiot. He’s embarrassed to be standing before you like this, as he imagines he must look so frumpy and boring compared to your elegance. You don’t seem to mind though. In fact if Simeon were to guess by your expression alone, he’d say you’re endeared and pleased with him at your doorstep.

“Ah, hello!” he finally shakes himself out of his stupor. “My name is Simeon, I live across the street,” he gestures behind himself, to his house.

You don’t even spare his house a glance, your eyes instead staying locked on him, and Simeon feels his heart throb at how they’re an unusual, but mesmerizing, bright amber color. He licks his lips, feeling uncharacteristically flustered. “Um- I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood, so I made you a-” he prattles on, telling you about what he made, and what’s in it. From there he rambles a bit about allergies, anxiety setting in over the fact that he may have presented something inedible for you.

“Simeon,” he gasps softly at the sound of your voice cutting him off. You’re smiling, and Simeon finds himself mimicking you, though his smile is a far more bashful one. You introduce yourself to him, and Simeon thinks your name is as beautiful as you are, “would you care to come in?” you ask, opening the door for him. He enters your home without a second thought.

The two of you get on like you’ve been friends for years. You make him tea and guide him to your living room where you’re able to talk to him for hours, about a myriad of topics, until Simeon’s grumbling belly regrettably leads to him excusing himself for dinner. You walk him to your door, waiting and watching at your doorstep until you see him wave to you from inside his house.

Simeon is a social butterfly, and gets on with just about anyone, but he feels different with you. He feels like a kid with a crush again, and it’s not just that you’re good company, he feels utterly at ease and refreshed in your presence. For the rest of the night he flits around his own house in a haze of bliss, already thinking about what he wants to discuss with you next.

He finds himself at your doorstep the following evening, because that’s the time you told him you were the most available. You welcome Simeon into your home happily, and insist on making dinner for him. Strangely you don’t eat, but you tell him it’s because you had a filling lunch, and promise him you’ll eat later in the night. Simeon feels only mildly awkward being the only one eating at the table, but that feeling melts away slowly as you start up conversation again.

Like the previous night, the two of you talk until Simeon’s body catches up to him and he’s yawning more than he’s speaking. He leaves with a smile on his face, and waves to you happily from his house. He knows that his feelings towards you may become an issue later, because he can’t imagine a world where they’re reciprocated, but he’s enjoying himself too much to worry about it now. He figures he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

The next few nights he finds himself too busy to see you, but that doesn’t mean you’re off his mind. Rather, Simeon finds himself thinking of you nearly obsessively; until the first body turns up.

The town Simeon lives in is a small one, and when someone is found dead, everyone knows the details and feels their absence. The community mourns, and Simeon feels shock and fear ripple through it. This body was mangled and gored, and the main theory is that an animal did it. Despite there being an official theory, all eyes are on Simeon’s new neighbor, the outsider.

Whispers only die down once the family receives a bouquet from you on their doorstep. You’re not welcomed yet, but you’re no longer a suspect.

Simeon finds himself confused, and seeking someone to talk to. Before you, he would have gone to confession, but now he hurries across the street when the world around him turns a deep blue and twilight sinks across the sky.

“Simeon,” you greet him happily, ushering him in immediately.

“Hi,” he breathes, again taken aback by your presence like the first day he met you. The memory of you that’s been running through his mind doesn’t even hold a candle to the real thing before him.

The two of you stare at one another in the foyer. You clap your hands, “I don’t think I ever gave you a tour of my home, did I?” Simeon shakes his head, grateful for you taking the lead of the conversation.

He follows you eagerly as you guide him through the first floor that he’s seen most of. You go through the kitchen, the dining and living room, your study, and the downstairs bathroom. Then you lead him upstairs. Simeon finds himself entirely distracted from the grim events of the week as you move from room to room.

Upstairs you show him your little library– and you pause here for a while, because of course Simeon has to jealously browse your collection– the room where you do your work, and finally your bedroom. Simeon can’t help but feel bashful when you kindly show him your room. He hopes you don’t notice. If you do, you’re kind enough not to mention it.

Your house is like a museum, Simeon thinks. There’s more artifacts, antiques, and collectables in each room than he’s ever seen in his life. You have things from every era, and he can’t help but be in awe of how much care and love you put into them.

There are some oddities within your home as well. He notices you have every mirror and window covered. Simeon wouldn’t dare bring it up though, fearing that he’d come off as rude or invasive.

After leading him through the upstairs, you bring him back down to the living room.

“There’s a basement too,” you mention offhandedly as you sit down, “but it’s unfinished.”

“Your house is amazing,” Simeon confesses. You smile, and he continues, “thank you for taking me on a tour, I was…” he trails off for a moment, “I was having a rough time with the recent events, and this was a needed distraction.” In response to that you hum,

“I’m happy to have been able to help, Simeon,” you rest your head on your hand looking at him through your lashes, and Simeon feels a guilty pang of lust grow in his loins. “When death presents itself so violently and suddenly, it can be so consuming,” you muse. “I wish I could have done more for the family, I hope my condolences provided a moment of comfort.”

“Ah, I was going to tell you,” Simeon starts, “I’m sorry that some of us worried that you had something to do with this! I didn’t think that at all of course. I don’t think you could hurt a fly,” he reassures you. You laugh at that, and Simeon feels his cheeks heat with flush.

“I see how grief could make some see a coincidence where there is none,” you say once your laughter dies off, “but let's not talk too much about all this. You came over for a distraction, no?” Simeon nods, “then let’s talk about something more lighthearted. You said you’d read some of the books you saw in my library?”

From here the conversation turns, and the two of you talk deep into the night.

“I’ll walk you home,” you tell Simeon once he finally admits he needs to leave. Suddenly, any and all exhaustion is gone from Simeon’s body.

“Are you sure? I’m just across the street,” Simeon says, though deep down he wants you to come over.

“I know, but it’s so dark. It’d make me feel better even if it’s just walking a few feet,” you say, pulling on your shoes.

The night is quiet, save for the chirps and calls from nocturnal critters. There’s light conversation between the two of you as you walk Simeon the very small distance between your houses.

“Here I am,” he says awkwardly, unlocking and opening the door to his home. You stand outside the doorway, illuminated from his porch light.

“Good night Simeon,” you say softly, reaching out to tuck a stray hair away from his face. Awestruck, Simeon stands in his doorway dumbly, watching you turn to leave.

“Bye,” he breathes, when you’re already halfway across the street.

He watches you enter your own house, and it’s only when you’re out of sight that he closes the door, and grabs at his chest. He laughs, a relieved and elated sound.

“Oh Father, thank you, thank you,” he murmurs between his giggles. He goes through his nighttime routine, feeling like he’s walking on air, like he’s in a dream.

Simeon had believed that his crush was silly, that there was no possibility of his feelings being returned. Perhaps that’s still true, that your intentions were purely platonic, but it felt like so much more than that. He sighs wistfully, looking out his bedroom window at your home. You’d done something that felt so intimate so easily, like it was nothing at all. It was everything to him.

The weeks pass, and spring turns to summer, and summer eases into fall. Simeon finds himself at your house more often than not as the months pass. Helplessly he falls deeper and deeper in love with you as you make him dinners, and talk with him, and do puzzles, and quietly read together, and drink fine wines on your living room loveseat with him. He texts you during the day, and during most times that he’s not able to be with you.

Simeon’s not been this happy in a long time, and everyone around him knows it. His community has eventually warmed up to you too. It’s hard when they don’t see you in the day time, and you not going to church is certainly a difficult thing for some to stomach. Simeon praises you enough that they finally come around to accepting you.

It’s not all love and bliss surrounding him, as there’s been more deaths. It’s no big city, so typically Simeon’s town deals with maybe two to three deaths a year, and very rarely are they violent ones at that. The police say there’s leads, but when they issue a curfew, the town begins to doubt them. Simeon feels safest when he is with you, but he can’t deny the way that terror has settled into his town.

Another person is reported missing a week before Halloween, and Simeon feels like he’s going crazy. He knows the curfew is quickly approaching, but the urge to see you overpowers his logic and he finds himself in front of your door.

It’s only then that his typical anxiety surrounding breaking rules– and even more powerful, his catholic consciousness and the fear of always being watched– sets in. He worries that even knocking will alert someone that he’s breaking curfew, and instead gives the door a try. To his surprise, it turns under his palm.

Simeon pushes in and finds himself in the house he’s grown to love.

He calls your name, but there’s no response. Quickly, he hurries through the rooms on the main floor, but finds each space empty. As soon as Simeon attempts to take the first step upstairs, he hears the crash from below him.

The basement.

Simeon would have never guessed to check there, so he thanks God for the noise you’ve made. He honestly forgot you had one, but as he searches for an entrance he remembers how you’d mentioned it when you’d first given him a tour of your house.

He finds the door relatively easily, now that he’s looking for it. It’s cracked open, an invitation to join you if Simeon’s ever seen one. The lights are off, and he finds that strange, but he’s gotten used to your oddities by now. Softly, he calls your name as he makes his way down the stairs, trying not to startle you.

Simeon’s brain takes a second to process the scene before him as he reaches the basement floor. At first he thinks it’s a lump of clothes, but he soon realizes there’s a body inside of said clothes. A body. Not your body, either. He registers that there’s blood everywhere, and he can’t believe he didn’t notice that first. He can’t believe anything he’s seeing.

A soft, choked sound leaves him at the massacre displayed before him. He’s stunned, unable to think of how to react, or where to begin. Simeon’s hands are shaking, his pulse beating rapidly in his ears. Distantly– hardly audible at all compared to the pounding in his head– he hears the soft puttering sound of liquid dripping. At first he thinks it’s blood from somewhere, but then he notices the wetness in his pants. Weakly he nearly laughs (it comes out as a strained moan), because now he feels more shame than he does terror.

“Simeon?” a familiar voice shocks him to his core. He turns to look at where the sound came from, and is not entirely pleased with what he finds.

Your familiar, beautiful face is covered with blood, your eyes shining a bright gold, staring right at him. Simeon should run, he should turn and scramble up the stairs out of your house to the comfort of his neighbors. But he’s frozen.

“Simeon,” you coo his name, stepping towards him. He has a million thoughts at once, adding to the powerful headache he has growing.

“A demon?” he whines weakly, finally finding the strength to speak. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and then you’re smiling, showing off your animalistic, lethally sharp canines.

“No, no,” and maybe it’s because Simeon’s brain is working really hard to keep up with him, but weren’t you further away before? “I know I don’t have the sparkly skin like some more popular of my kind,” you nearly giggle and he feels his knees try to buckle. “But can’t you guess what I am?” you tease.

“Vampire,” he breathes, no uncertainty laced in his voice. You nod,

“Oh good, that’s right,” you praise, slowly taking him into your arms. Simeon melts like butter into you. You coo, “aw sweet thing, don't fret, I won’t hurt you, I could never hurt you,” you assure him. Simeon doubts you, but there’s not much else he can think to do.

You hoist him up carefully. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm,” you start slowly making your way up the stairs. “I didn’t mean for you to see this, of course. I don’t mind others' opinions of me– though you seem to care a great deal on my behalf– anyways I do care what you think. We could have gone a while without you ever finding out. Naughty Simeon, you shouldn’t have been breaking curfew anyways,” you tease, rambling as you take him swiftly all the way up to your room, and into the adjoining bathroom there.

“Would you take off your clothes?” you ask, setting him down on the toilet, and starting hot water for him. Simeon sits motionless, feeling confused and still quite terrified. You look back at him, and your eyes glow a bright yellow, “You’re safe,” you assure him, “and it’s going to be okay,” and with every word you speak Simeon feels relief and calm wash over him. He exhales a soft breath, almost forgetting what he was scared of in the first place. He remembers your request, and does as he’s told,

He shakily, with your help, finds himself comfortable in your tub.

“If I had the working blood to do so, I’d be blushing,” you tell him as you sit next to him, on the floor of the bathroom. When he doesn’t respond you sigh, “lots on your mind, I suppose.”

The two of you sit in uncomfortable silence for a moment.

“God forgive me,” Simeon finally breathes, turning to face you. There’s still blood caked on you, and it makes him gag. You frown, clearly upset by this. Laughable that you’re more upset by his disgust than the dead body in your basement.

“I’m sorry, I should let you go, and– and leave in the morning. I apologize for ever–” Simeon cuts you off with a sad sound.

“It’s not you,” he confesses, “I– I’m disgusted that I still love you, even though you’re…” he gestures vaguely.

“A cold-hearted, bloodsucking, undead, uncaring killer?” you prompt, smiling at him. Simeon, despite it all, smiles back.

“Yes," you tongue licks your blood stained lips,

"And you love me?" You sound so hopeful. Simeon doesn't hesitate,

"Yes," he breathes. You reach out tucking a stray hair behind his ear like you did so many nights ago.

"Can I kiss you?" You ask, and instead of answering, Simeon closes his eyes and leans in.

Your lips are cold, but Simeon soon finds he doesn’t mind so much. He’s dreamed of this moment, and while it didn’t come about in the way he imagined, his heart still flutters and soars at the feeling of finally having your lips on his. He reaches up, cupping your cold face with his warm, wet hands, pulling you closer. You moan softly, licking his lips with your cold tongue.

Briefly, Simeon thinks that God must be watching him right now and cursing him for his choices. Then again, if He is all knowing, He knew Simeon would never stop loving you. Maybe God thinks creatures of the night deserve some love too.

You pull away, your eyes so bright Simeon wonders if they’re actually glowing.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you knocked on my door all those months ago,” you confess. Simeon smiles bashfully,

“Me too,” he whispers. You lean in and kiss him again, and Simeon knows he’s in the deep end now. There’s no way he’ll ever return to his normal life again; if it meant not having you in his life, he’s not sure he’d want to.

This time, Simeon can taste the blood that’s still caked on your lips, and it grows harder and harder to ignore the fact that you’re still clothed and covered in gore. He pulls away this time.

“Get in the bath with me?” he requests softly, never feeling so emboldened in his life. You moan softly,

“Are you sure?” you ask, and the slow heat that had settled in Simeon’s body (just from a bit of kissing) now feels like a raging fire.

“Yes, please,” and you don’t need to be asked twice. It’s like he blinked and there you are naked in the tub with him. Simeon doesn’t hide the way he ogles your now bare body. He shimmies his way forward, closing the space between you, and grabs a washcloth. You watch him carefully, unblinking, as Simeon carefully washes the blood from your face.

“You’re too good to me,” you whisper sincerely when he removes the cloth from your face, and sets it down elsewhere.

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?” Simeon jokes, smiling at you. He pauses, “speaking of mouths,” he mumbles, looking at you hopefully. You laugh, catching his drift and opening your mouth for him.

Carefully, like you’re a wild animal, Simeon runs his fingers along your teeth, marveling at how sharp your canines are. “Would you suck my blood?” he asks breathlessly. You lick his finger, and he pulls back a bit.

“If I ever started, I’m not sure I could stop,” you tell him honestly. Gently you take a hold of his wrist, and press your nose against his pulse point. You look at him as you lick across his skin, “it’s hard not to, when you smell so good,” you confess. Simeon flushes and squirms under your gaze. He glances down, trying to avoid eye contact when it becomes too much for him.

“You’re hard,” he breathes, noticing your clit peeking out from between your pubes, his voice cracking with excitement. He looks back up at you and you’re grinning.

“Yeah,” you let go of Simeon’s wrist, “and you are too. You’re so wet for me” you sound proud, but more than that you're thrilled. Simeon furrows his brow, because how could you tell when you’ve not yet touched him? “I can smell it,” you explain, sensing his confusion.

Simeon flushes from being found out, and because he is- to his surprise- wildly turned on by the way you’re able to smell his arousal.

“Oh,” he breathes softly, and there’s a moment of stillness between the two of you. Then, your lips are pressed against his, and Simeon is wrapping his arms around your neck, pulling you between his thighs. You hold onto his hips to prevent yourself from slipping, and Simeon can tell you’re holding back your strength, but your grip is still pleasantly strong.

Now, instead of his fingers running along your teeth, Simeon uses his tongue to explore your mouth. Your fangs are scarily sharp, and your mouth is cold, but none of that bothers him. He can feel your pussy rut against his thighs, and he moans into your mouth.

“Will you,” he pulls away to start, “would you make love to me?” you groan at Simeon’s request.

“You’re so cute,” Simeon opens his mouth to argue but you cut him off, “is that really something you want?” you ask, rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“It’s all I’ve been able to fantasize about for the last few months,” Simeon confesses easily, and you groan again.

“Fuck, okay, yes, me too,” you seem thoroughly flustered, and Simeon feels a sharp bit of pride jolt through him at the fact that he’s able to make you feel that way.

You kiss him again as one of your hands drift from his hip to his cunt. Simeon gasps and curls in on himself a bit when he feels your fingers against him. For so long he’s only been the one to touch himself, and it’s exhilarating to feel someone else press against him. You rub easy circles onto his throbbing clit, and Simeon hiccups.

“Fuh-oh-feels so good,” he whines against your lips, slipping a bit in the tub and mashing his mouth against your chin. You huff out a laugh,

“Are you going to last long enough for me to get my fingers in you?” you tease. Simeon takes your words seriously, and shakes his head, jerking his hips and making the water slosh,

“Probably not,” you coo, leaning down to nuzzle against his neck. You inhale deeply, and moan,

“I want you to be able to take my strap,” Simeon’s breath hitches, “will you be able to after cumming, or do you want me to make you wait?”

Simeon whines, his eyes fluttering shut. It feels too good to have you playing with his most sensitive bundle of nerves, he can’t think straight enough to give you a response. You pinch his clit and his eyes shoot open,

“Yes sir,” he rushes out, “yes, I-I can do it.” You smile, showing off your fangs.

“Good,” Simeon’s back arches when one of your fingers slips down and into his aching hole. You’re so cold, he wonders if he feels like a furnace inside. He squeezes around you, panting for air, feeling far too close to cumming already. Faintly Simeon can feel you still rubbing yourself against his leg, and the water splashes gently against the sides.

One finger quickly turns to two, and you’re stretching him open, your thumb still rubbing insistently against his clit. In the brief moments before his orgasm comes crashing into him, Simeon remembers how the French call it the little death. He’d laugh if he weren’t so busy spasming around your fingers, his eyes rolling back into his head and his mouth dropping open in a silent cry. His legs tremble, and his hands shake. It’s never been as intense as this.

“There we go, there we go little angel,” you coo, “ohh, look at you,” you sound foggy and far away as Simeon rides out his orgasm. He can vaguely sense that you’re still rutting against him, and feels the way you’re licking at his skin.

It takes him a moment, and then he’s coming down, breathing heavily and slumping into the cool water.

“Simeon?” you test, but he’s downright dumbstruck, only mumbling incoherently in return. You huff a laugh, and instead let him warm your fingers until he hums softly.

“Hi,” he says dumbly, a bashful smile on his face.

“You’re back,” you tease, pulling your fingers from him– causing Simeon to whine.

“I still want to,” he clears his throat, “um, take your," he coughs, "cock,” he stumbles a bit but finally gets out, “if you’d let me.”

“Oh angel,” he feels butterflies in his stomach at your use of the nickname for him. “I’d love to.”

The next few minutes are filled with you moving from the bathroom to your bedroom. You insist on drying him down yourself, teasing and touching Simeon all over until he’s squirming and giggling. It’s frightening how easily he can forget about the body in the basement. It’s like it never happened at all.

You guide him to your room, your cold hand fitting perfectly in his, and lay him on your bed. Simeon thinks it’s funny that you have a bed at all. He wonders if you ever sleep. Absentmindedly he plays with his hair while watching you take out your harness. He feels heat growing between his legs as he catches a glimpse of your strap.

Soon, you’re on top of him, with lube in your hand. Simeon spreads his legs making room for you between them.

“You finished pretty quick in the bathtub,” you muse popping open the lube. Simeon covers his face, feeling a bit embarrassed. You coo, using one hand to move his arms so you can see his face, “aw don’t be shy, I’m flattered, really.”

“It’s because it’s been so long since I had someone– um– touch me like that,” it’s not something that’s bothered him much, the fact that as he’s aged he’s had less and less people make advances on him, but confessing it to you suddenly feels so embarrassing. You don’t seem to judge him though,

“That’s alright sweetheart, I’ll be gentle,” you promise, spreading lube along your fingers. Simeon smiles, again finding himself feeling safe in your presence.

Just to be safe, you slip a couple fingers in him, stretching him out, slicking up his insides for you. Then you lather your cock with lube, and press against him.

“Wanted to have you like this for so long,” you tell him, rubbing against Simeon’s hole, then against his clit. He presses his hips back against you, so desperate to have you filling him up.

You lean down, taking one of his nipples into your mouth as you slowly push into him. One of your fangs lightly grazes against it, and Simeon gasps. Mistaking it for a sound of pain, you pause, looking up at him with a worried gaze.

“It’s okay, keep going, keep moving, please,” he babbles desperately. You switch to his other nipple, and comply with his request, slowly moving deeper into him.

“Oh,” Simeon sighs when your hips press flush against his.

“Okay?” you pull off his chest to check in.

“Yeah, yes,” he groans, “feels so good,” he tells you as he wraps his legs around your waist, keeping you impossibly close to him. “You’re so deep, ‘m so full,” you lean down to kiss him, stopping him from rambling more about your cock.

Slowly but steadily, you begin to fuck into him. It’s an agonizing pace at first, but Simeon realizes you’re trying to be careful with him, and he’s lovestruck all over again.

Finally he can’t take it any longer. “Faster,” he whines against your lips, “please sir.” You’re happy to comply, picking up the pace to satisfy him. Simeon keens, letting your tongue into his mouth. He drools and pants around your tongue, losing his composure and control. Simeon can’t believe how free he feels.

“Mhmm, angel,” you pull away from him to groan, licking your lips, “you’re so good, you taste so good,” Simeon whimpers at the praise, feeling his pussy gush. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, lookin’ like that, smelling like that,” you drawl, your speech slurring.

“Bite me,” Simeon begs, wanting so badly to have you drunk off of him. Your brows furrow, like you’re upset by the idea, and yet your hips stutter. “Puh-lease,” and with his wanton plea, you lean down and lick at his neck.

You’re fucking him hard and fast now, getting Simeon closer and closer. He lets out a pleased noise when your fangs sink into his flesh, and then you’re drinking from him. It’s a weird sensation, not one that hurts at all.

It takes him a minute to realize it, but Simeon thinks you might be cumming. If the gurgled moans, and the way you’re ramming your hips into him at such an erratic pace is any hint. The idea of you getting off from the taste of his blood sends him over, and for the second time tonight you make him cum.

Minutes feel like hours and milliseconds simultaneously, but soon Simeon feels woozy.

“Ah,” he moans, feeling lightheaded. You dislodge from him, licking at the fresh wounds on his neck. Then you’re pulling away from him. All Simeon can manage is a weak whine. Shushing him gently, you pull your strap out of him, and gracefully plop down next to him, taking him in your arms.

“Sorry, I think I got carried away,” Simeon says what he thinks is “it’s okay,” but it sounds like a whole lot of nothing coming out of his mouth. “I think I should get you a snack or something,” you muse.

Exhaustion hits and when Simeon wakes up again you have water, juice, tea, and ten types of snacks available for him. He feels sluggish and nauseous.

“Do you need any help?” you ask, and Simeon looks over to find you sitting in the armchair in the corner of your room, looking at him.

Simeon shakes his head, shakily grabbing the glass of juice and drinking it down. His body, eager for sugars and nutrients, immediately feels better.

“What are you doing over there?” he asks carefully. You look nervous, an expression that he can’t remember ever seeing on you before.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” you say. Simeon laughs,

“A bit late for that,” he teases, and pats the bed. You come over slowly, settling in next to him like a guilty dog. He smiles at you, “if you’ll have me, I don’t expect that I’ll be leaving you any time soon,” you light up.

“Oh what a relief,” you cuddle into him, “because I wasn’t planning on letting you go.”

#oh the agony #cw blood #cw monsterfucking #cw scent kink #cw religious guilt #written by someone w no religious guilt so uhhh idk how real that tag is lmao #spice #sub obey me #sub simeon

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racxnteur · 11 months ago

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Incomeless; will proofread your fics! (Or anything else.)

I'm not sure how to head this with a snazzy, attention-catching image given I'm not offering an obviously graphic service like art commissions, but let's give it a go...

Hello, I'm your friendly neighborhood disabled unemployed transgender queer on the internet. I have not posted a great amount about the details on this blog for privacy reasons, but I am currently in an untenable familial/financial living situation, which I am actively working to get out of. My primary barrier to disentangling myself from the pertinent parties is a lack of income. I've been unable to pursue traditional means of work due to being multiply disabled (slash chronically ill, slash treatment-resistant, et cetera...), but I do not qualify for SSI or unemployment, so I am stuck trying to find other ways of making money.

This is where you come in... If you'd like to help, you can:

$$ Hire me $$ to proofread your fics, essays, and more!

Click below for info! (I also may add separate posts for diversity reading and/or other writing- and editing-related services.)

For $0.00855/word *OR BEST BID*, I will vet your work of writing before you publish it, checking for mistakes in spelling, capitalization, & punctuation, missed words, inconsistencies of tense, formatting, & POV, and miscellaneous grammatical errors. Never again need you fear posting a finished chapter and discovering a slew of typos after the fact; no matter how sleep-deprived or late at night the state of writing, I will ensure your text is ship-shape. Or, if you happen to be interested in having other types of writing proofread before submission--essays, comics or webtoons, letters, transcripts, compositions of a personal nature, so on--I will happily take these on at a comparable rate.[1]

Qualifications:

Bachelor's degree in English with a minor in writing

Initiate of international collegiate honors society for English scholarship, Sigma Tau Delta

Active member of the International Association of Professional Writers and Editors (IAPWE)

Former lit editor for award-winning university literary arts magazine

Prior employment in tutoring and teaching English, as well as copy-editing and content writing

Nearly 20 years' writing experience

Previous experience as both fic writer and beta

Incisive eye for typo-hunting and tenacious attention to detail (I have high standards and will make those everybody else's problem... now for pay!)

I will read for content of any genre and all ratings, and am broadly[2] open to any subject matter, kinks, et cetera. I'll also post more detailed guidelines (booking process, any exclusions, additional criteria) on a separate, unrebloggable post so that any edits and updates are always current.

Message me via the chat feature on Tumblr, or send me an e-mail (I will post it on my more info post) to request a quote, bid for a slot, or just to see what I can offer for whatever project you have in mind. And please feel encouraged to share or boost this post! I am in urgent need of any income I can get, and every share counts 😭🙌

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Proofreading Full Details · Other Services · Support Me (alternatively, Tip this post!)

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[1] There will be some exclusions to this, such as academic assignments/papers that have style guide requirements; i.e., I will not be your online MLA style checker or anything.

[2] As with anything, there will be sporadic exceptions to this as well, but I will always be up-front about such cases.

#proofreading #fanfic #writing help #for hire #authblr #ficblr #writers on tumblr #writeblr #other tags??? idk help me out here #proofreading post #this is tumblr let's all pretend this post is as professional as it gets and that i don't have any obsessive compulsive disorders at all

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ao3feed-bnha-rarepair · 3 years ago

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Weigh Your Life with a Dragon Scale

weigh your life with a dragon scale by SpiritusRex

“I've been so rude, Midoriya Izuku, amateur knight and hunter hopeful at your service.” “Hunter?” Kirishima blinks. “But you don't have a bow.” Izuku finally straightens to rub sheepishly at his neck. “Ah sorry I meant Dragon Hunter. I got separated from my party but we're all—“ “Why?” Now it's Izuku's turn to blink. “Why?” “Yes. Why are you hunting the dragon? Has he done something?” Izuku has felt wrong footed since this conversation began and it's only getting worse. “Has the dragon done something?” “Yes! Has he looted villages? Burned crops? Stolen animals or people or gold?” “Uh. Not that I know of.” “Why're you hunting him, then?”

Knight Midoriya Izuku joins a dragon hunting party in hopes of finding a dragon. The dragon winds up finding him first.

Words: 2831, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Fic Fight Fic Telephone Friendly Neighborhood Callers, Part 5 of (ง •̀ •́)ง (NWA Fic Fight June 2022)

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Kirishima Eijirou, Midoriya Izuku

Relationships: Kirishima Eijirou/Midoriya Izuku

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Knight Midoriya Izuku, Dragon Kirishima Eijirou, First Meetings, Magic, Kirishima Eijirou is a Ray of Sunshine

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39990996

#AO3 Feed #FanFiction #AO3 Kirideku #♥#Kirideku #💎#🐰#⚣#R:G #A:Spiritus #Royalty AU #Dragon AU #Fantasy AU

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piedpiperslists · 3 years ago

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KSJ: Neighbors AU

List of all Seokjin fics under 'Neighbors' AU:

* s - contains smut

* Last updated: 26/11/2023

D R A B B L E S

Baby Sitter by 7waystreet s single dad!Seokjin Summary: Seokjin's your friendly neighbor who needs a baby sitter for his kid on short notice, leaving you with no idea on how good he’ll be paying you back for your services.

* New Year’s Kiss by seoulnotes Summary: Jin and Y/N are neighbors and spend a New Year’s Eve evening together and kinda share a New Year’s kiss.

Stuck with You by myimaginesandrp Summary: When the run-down elevator in your building breaks down, you find yourself trapped inside with your cute neighbor Seokjin.

What Made Us Feel Human by joonsgalaxy Summary: Came up to your apartment to ask you to turn down your music and have quieter sex, but it turns out that you’ve just been jumping up and down on your bed in your underwear listening to music alone.

O N E S H O T S

A Bonding Experience by fortunexkookie s wc~2.6k / PWP Summary: The last thing you expected to find when you investigated a muffled call for help was your polite, mild-mannered neighbor, Kim Seokjin, in such a compromising position.

A Date with Destiny by sahmfanficbts s wc~14.8k / superheroes au Summary: You are asked to save the city of Destiny with Jin from a bomb threat. The fireworks will explode. The question is… when?

A Lullaby on Canvas by jincherie s wc~15k / siren au Summary: Your neighbour, as far as you knew, was mute. You weren’t sure what exactly had happened, but you figured that perhaps it contributed to the stunning works he created with paints and clay. You were curious, and that curiosity led you to grow closer – but perhaps, in growing closer and getting to know him, you were getting a little in over your head.

Cheap Seats by alpacaparkaseok wc~3.5k Summary: “I pay half your cable bill. You wouldn’t survive without me.”

Christmas Warfare by gimmethatagustd s wc~14.5k / exes to lovers Summary: You will win the neighborhood’s “Best Christmas Decorations” contest and rub it in your ex-boyfriend’s face, by any means necessary. Or Jin will win your heart back, even if it means surrendering his crown as King of Christmas Decorations.

Footnote: Better Together by bubmyg wc~10.9k Summary: The tale of semi friendly notes exchanged passive aggressively between a pair of neighbors until they’re no longer threatening to blackmail one with voice memos of the other singing Justin Bieber in the shower or the one where you’re alone in your apartment complex and holiday activities are done better together.

Golden Boy by kpopfanfictrash s wc~9.2k Summary: The golden boy of the porn industry, prettier than half his female co-stars. Will sue if you pull his hair. Always bothering his neighbors with pizza delivery.

How to Win at Christmas in 7 Easy Steps by btsmosphere wc~2.6k Summary: How to win at Christmas… and maybe meet someone along the way. The story of how Jin ended up crawling through your hedge dressed as santa on Christmas eve. And how you were totally not heading to his house for the very same reason.

I Waited for You by untaemedqueen s wc~11k / childhood friends to lovers, werewolf au Summary: You were moving back to your parents house after they passed away, your next door neighbor Jin couldn’t live there anymore, could he?

If Just for Rain by yoondoze wc~2.1k Summary: The scorching heat of summer is exhausting, but it makes the rain so much sweeter.

In the Dog House by btsrunmylife s wc~4.6k Summary: You truly, truly hate your neighbor. He’s loud, distracting, and he spoils your dog. What will happen when you finally confront him???

Just Say Goodnight and Go by vanaera wc~4.2k / college au Summary: The spirit of Christmas is yet to be felt as a blackout on a chilly December night becomes the icing on the cake of your horribly shitty day. You just really want to sleep tonight but your neighbor seems to have lost his mind again when he comes knocking on your door to demand for an uncalled sleepover. Said neighbor is Kim Seokjin, the famed crush of the university, and no, he’s not your friend. He’s most definitely not your crush and he’s absolutely not the reason why warmth invades your chest when it’s not even summer

Like This? by jeongi s wc~3.3k / PWP Summary: Your neighbour, Seokjin, teaches you exactly how he likes to be touched.

The Way to Your Heart by seokth wc~4.4k Summary: After an unexpected pregnancy, your heart is cautious and weary. After a quarter-life crisis, his heart is lost and searching. Will a plate full of hotteok and a blossoming friendship be enough for him to worm his way into yours?

Three’s Perfect by ragingcravings s wc~4.4k / ft JHS, FWB, idol au, PWP Summary: All she has to do is give them a look and they know exactly what she needs.

What a Racquet [AO3] by reliablemitten wc~3k Summary: You write a note to the anonymous piano player in your building.

Winter Solace by floralseokjin s wc~27k / strangers to lovers Summary: After a difficult few months (and years), a fresh start in a new city is both equal parts thrilling and terrifying, but you’re determined to make it work. It’s just you and your dog-sized cat Nox, ready to take on the world. Of course along the way there are ups, and there are downs. The main down being you’re short on cash after the big move, unable to spend Christmas with your family. The main up is your kind and thoughtful neighbour who offers to celebrate the holiday with you, despite not being a fan of it himself.

#ksj list #seokjin fic

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prouvaireafterdark · 4 years ago

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See Something You Like? - Malex Sex Shop AU Part 1/2

It’s FINALLY here: the Malex Sex Shop AU you’ve all been waiting for! Well, the first half anyway (Part Two will be out soon!)

I dedicate this fic to my friendly neighborhood Thigh Riding Anon™️, who inspired this fic with her galaxy brain prompt, and all of you who have been patiently waiting for me to finish this absolute monster of a smut fic. I hope you enjoy it! 💜😘

Also on AO3!

***

When Michael moved to California to start his PhD in agricultural engineering, he’d grossly underestimated how expensive the move would be. The stipend that came with his teaching assistantship just barely covers the rent on his studio apartment, and finding a roommate off Craigslist that’s desperate enough to live in such close quarters isn’t exactly an option considering how many alien skeletons Michael’s got in his closet. The vegetables he’s planning on growing in his complex’s shared community garden will help, but if he wants to eat any time soon he’s gonna have to find a part time job.

Enter Jackie and Kris, the delightful middle-aged lesbian couple who live next door and share Michael’s enthusiasm for sustainable gardening and the occasional midnight smoke.

They get to talking one night while passing a bong back and forth over the railing that divides their balconies, first about DIY organic fertilizer and then about Michael’s degree. He lets spill in a moment of weakness that his coursework is a breeze, but he’s worried he’ll run out of money before he can finish the program. As embarrassed as he is about the confession, it ends up saving his life.

Turns out, Jackie and Kris own a sex shop named Pandora’s Box around the corner and have been looking for some help running the storefront while they focus on expanding their online business and organizing safe sex workshops for the local queer and BDSM communities. The hours would be flexible around Michael’s schedule and all they really would need him to do is stand behind the register, ring people up, and answer questions about their products with “affability and professionalism.”

It’s maybe not the work he imagined himself doing when he moved to California for grad school, but for $15/hr, Michael really can’t afford to say no. He sits for an official interview the very next day and leaves Jackie’s home office with a new job and a pot brownie wrapped in tin foil, eager to get started on both.

Monday afternoons at Pandora's Box are the best. They’re notoriously slow so Michael gets to work his shift alone, which gives him ample time to grade the assignments he procrastinated on all weekend while he sits behind the counter.

It’s a Monday afternoon, in fact, about a year and a half later, when Michael hears the bell above the door chime softly to announce the arrival of a customer who would change his life forever.

The first thing Michael notices when he lifts his head from the stack of exams on the counter is the black leather jacket that’s stretched across the man’s broad shoulders. When Michael’s eyes flick up to get a look at the man’s face, he’s met with sharp cheekbones, beautifully tan skin, and a pair of trendy but understated sunglasses. He looks a little lost—unsurprising, since Michael’s certain he would have remembered it if he’d ever seen a man that pretty walk into his shop before—but when he realizes Michael’s looking at him, he flips his sunglasses up onto his artfully messy dark hair and smiles.

And oh, what a smile it is—the most beautiful one Michael has ever seen, soft and sweeter that it has any right to be, his full lips capturing Michael’s attention with ease. His heart pounds in his chest as their eyes lock together, and if Michael didn’t know any better, he’d think he’s just fallen in love with a perfect stranger.

Before Michael can do more than shoot him a dazed smile in return, the man disappears down an aisle.

As a general rule, Michael doesn’t talk to customers who don’t approach him for help first. It’s best practice in a store that sells pornography and sex toys—most customers don’t want to be questioned about their kinks, and those that do usually already know what they’re looking for—but the pull he feels toward this man is undeniable. He’s curious about him for reasons he can’t explain, and as his feet carry him off in the direction the man went, Michael decides not to question it.

Michael weaves casually through the aisles until he finds the man staring up at the floor to ceiling wall display of dildos and other anal toys—because of course he does. He sends a prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in that this man isn’t buying something for his girlfriend before he steps in line beside him.

“See something you like?” Michael asks, toning down his customer service voice into something approaching normal human speech.

Up close, he can see the man has a septum piercing, which glints a little in the light. Michael’s seen plenty of people with body jewelry come through this store, but he’s never really thought of it as cute until now.

The man smiles at him, a little shy, but Michael’s not so distracted this time that he misses the way his eyes flick over his body in naked interest, and it leaves him feeling a little hot under the collar.

“I’m not sure yet,” the stranger answers.

Even his voice is nice, Michael notes, deeper than he expects and smooth like honey.

Michael nods in understanding. He gets it—this wall can certainly be intimidating, even for someone who’s been to a sex shop before. He looks the man over again, taking in his charmingly flushed cheeks, and wonders if it’s his first time in a place like this. If maybe he needs a little help after all.

It’s a good thing Michael’s an expert, huh?

He doesn’t want to come at him too strongly, though. Encountering an overbearing sales associate isn’t any more fun than being one, and Michael certainly isn’t looking to push the guy passed his personal boundaries. He may be smitten, but he’s not an asshole.

“Well, if you have any questions about any of our products, my name’s Michael,” he says, flashing him a warm smile.

He’s about to go off in search of a nearby display to straighten up so he can give the man some space, but his voice catches Michael’s attention once more.

“And if I don’t have questions?” the man asks, and when Michael turns to look at him there’s a real smile tugging at his lips this time. “What should I call you then?”

Michael laughs, shaking his head as he shoots back, “Okay, smartass, what should I call you?”

For a single, horrible second after his own words reach his ears, Michael thinks he’s gone too far, but the sudden burst of anxiety in his chest turns out to be for nothing—the man’s grin only grows wider.

“Alex,” he says, and to Michael’s surprise he holds his hand out for him.

Alex’s palm is warm against his when he shakes it, and Michael can’t help but wonder how it would feel anchored in his curls or clutching tight to the skin of his hips.

“So, Alex,” Michael starts, emboldened by the introduction. He finds he likes the way Alex’s name feels in his mouth. “What are you in the market for today?”

Alex flushes a little and it’s so endearing Michael has to bite the inside of his bottom lip to keep from smiling.

“That’s the thing—I don’t really know,” Alex answers honestly. “There’s just so many options.”

“Okay, well, let’s start with an easier question: are you shopping for yourself or a significant other?” he asks, and, yeah, maybe he’s planning on filing the answer to his question away for later. Sue him.

Alex looks at him like maybe he suspects ulterior motives, but Michael shamelessly holds his gaze.

“No boyfriend,” Alex says, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “I’m looking for something for myself.”

“Fantastic,” Michael smiles, before he slips a little deeper into salesman mode. “So, judging by the aisle we’re standing in, I’m gonna take a leap and say that you’re looking for a toy you can use for internal anal stimulation. Is that right?”

“Yeah. Think you can help me out with that?” Alex asks, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Definitely,” Michael answers with a smirk before he turns to the wall display. “As you can see, we have a pretty wide selection; you name it, we’ve probably either got it in stock or can have it shipped in three to five business days. Is there a particular price point you’re aiming for?”

Alex seems to think about it. “I’m not really looking to spend more than $100, but I could go up to $150 if it’ll change my life.”

“I can work with that,” Michael assures him. “Any other parameters I should keep in mind?”

“I’ve read that jelly toys can be dangerous, so definitely not anything made out of that,” Alex says, and Michael’s glad to hear he’s done his research. Jelly toys are frustratingly popular because they’re so cheap and Michael usually has to put in a little work to talk people out of buying them.

“Oh yeah, fuck that jelly shit,” Michael agrees, and Alex’s startled laugh makes his heart skip. “They’re impossible to sanitize properly and they’re full of toxic chemicals—you wouldn’t believe the horror stories I’ve heard about them since I started working here. If you’re looking for something with a softer texture, medical grade silicone is really the only way to go. Just make sure you stick to water-based lube or else you could ruin your toy.”

Alex nods thoughtfully, like he’s read that too.

“Glass and metal are also good options,” Michael continues. “They obviously feel a lot harder inside you, but they’re easy to clean, you don’t have to be as careful about what lube you use, and they’re naturally waterproof. They’re excellent for temperature play, too, if you’re into that.”

“Never tried it,” Alex confesses.

“It’s not for everyone, but it can be a fun time,” Michael says, recalling the scorching summer afternoon he spent fooling around with an ice cube tray and a girl he met on Tinder. “So, your options are metal, glass, and silicone. Any preference?”

Michael notices Alex’s eye catching on a set of stainless steel plugs, but he answers, “Silicone for now, I think.”

“Good choice,” Michael replies easily. “So, now that we know what material you’re looking for, let’s talk about your ideal experience. What are you looking to get out of your purchase?”

“An orgasm?” Alex answers, his confusion evident.

Michael laughs. “Sorry, I meant—how would you like to get there? What sort of sensation are you looking for?”

Alex looks a little lost at the question, so Michael turns to plan B.

“See, this one, for example,” Michael says, pointing to a familiar black prostate massager, “is great for when you wanna get off fast and hard. It’s not too thick, so you don’t have to spend a ton of time opening yourself up for it, and the curve puts the tip of it right up on your p-spot. It’s also got a bunch of different vibration settings and get this: It’s waterproof.”

Alex hums in interested acknowledgement, though Michael notes that the longer he talks, the more Alex’s attention is fixed on him, not the toy.

Feeling bold, Michael adds, “I’d advise caution if you’ve got thin walls though.”

“Why, does it make a lot of noise?” Alex asks curiously.

A slow grin spreads across Michael’s lips. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. “But you will.”

Michael watches Alex try and fail to suppress a smile, his full bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“You seem pretty sure of that,” Alex says when he releases it. “That from firsthand experience, or are you just a really good salesman?”

Michael laughs, equal parts delighted by Alex’s flirting and embarrassed by the memory his question brings to mind.

“What?” Alex asks, a smile building on his face.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you,” Michael hesitates, his face heating up just thinking about it. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Aw, come on,” Alex goads him. “Don’t be such a tease.”

Michael gasps in mock offense. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but a tease isn’t one of them.”

“That mean you’re gonna tell me what’s got you blushing like that after all?” Alex asks.

“I’m not blushing,” Michael protests, even though he definitely is.

Alex raises an eyebrow at him. It’s stupidly attractive.

With a huff, Michael considers his options. He doesn’t usually give personal anecdotes like this to customers, but there’s just something about Alex that makes Michael want to give him whatever he wants.

“Fuck it, why not?” Michael says to himself.

Alex smiles victoriously and settles in to listen.

“So, about a year ago, I came in to work and found this box sitting on the table in the break room, which was filled with a bunch of different toys from the company that makes that massager. I asked my boss about it and she said the company sent her a bunch of free samples.”

“Does that happen often?” Alex interrupts to ask. “Companies just send you free stuff?”

“Eh, sometimes, if it’s from a new line of toys that a company wants retailers to hype up,” Michael explains. “It helps that my boss Jackie’s wife Kris has a pretty popular blog where she tests and rates toys, so she gets free stuff all the time.”

“Huh,” Alex says. “So I’m guessing you took one after your shift?”

“Oh yeah,” Michael nods. “Tried it out as soon as I got home.”

“How was it?”

“Intense is about the only word that covers it,” Michael answers. “Those vibrations can be really powerful, it was like nothing else I’d ever tried before. Definitely one of my top ten solo orgasms of all time.”

“Not number one?” Alex asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, I came in, like, a minute, so no, not quite,” Michael laughs.

“Is that the embarrassing part?” Alex asks. “That you came so fast?”

“Not quite,” Michael winces, his cheeks flushing. “As I was coming, I screamed so loud that the little old lady whose living room is on the other side of my bedroom called the cops on me. Apparently, she thought I was being murdered.”

“Oh no,” Alex laughs, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Michael agrees. “Not exactly the happy ending I was after.”

Alex laughs again, but there’s heat behind his eyes too when he asks, a moment later, “Not usually a screamer, I take it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Michael winks.

“Mm,” Alex hums thoughtfully. He looks Michael right in the eye as he asks, “Well, what if I don’t want to get off that fast? What if I want to make it last?”

Michael tries not to smile as he gets back to business.

“Well, I should mention that this massager does also have softer levels of vibration intensity, which I only discovered after Officer ACAB knocked on my door,” Michael says.

Alex laughs before asking incredulously, “You didn’t read the instructions?”

“Uh, no,” Michael admits. “I’m more of a ‘take things apart and see how they work’ kinda guy, I’ve never been big on reading the directions.”

“Even after your little misadventure?” Alex asks.

“Hey, don’t knock my process. I got a fantastic orgasm out of that ‘misadventure,’” Michael reminds him.

“How could I forget?” Alex asks, shooting Michael a look that really tests his self-restraint.

Michael huffs a laugh and reaches up to scratch the back of his own neck so he doesn’t do something stupid, like push Alex against the fucking dildo display and kiss that look off his face.

“So, anyway,” Michael starts, shifting the topic back toward the task at hand, “you can either learn from my mistakes or you can try something that doesn’t have vibrations at all. We’ve got a great selection of dildos in all shapes and sizes.”

“Do any of them come with a story?” Alex asks cheekily.

Michael snickers in spite of himself. “Maybe,” he says noncommittally. “Let’s see what we’ve got in stock.”

Michael hums as he looks over the display, searching for another recommendation he can make, when his eye catches on a purple dildo with ribbing along the shaft.

“This one’s a good starter dildo,” he says, pointing it out. “It’s a pretty modest size, but the ribbing feels really nice and there’s a suction cup on the bottom if you wanna stick it somewhere and fuck yourself onto it. There’s also a few by the same company that have a hole that you can slide a bullet vibrator into if you wanna get something that can do both.”

“Have you tried them all?” Alex asks.

Michael laughs, looking up at the expansive display of dildos. “Not all of them,” he says, glancing over to Alex as he continues, “but the employee discount here is very generous and, as you already know, sometimes we get free shit. I’ve built up a bit of a collection since I started working here.”

“I see,” Alex replies, the corner of his mouth turning up before he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. Michael tracks the movement hungrily when Alex releases it a moment later to ask, “Which one’s your favorite?”

“Depends,” Michael shrugs, aiming for nonchalance even though he can feel himself chubbing up in his jeans.

“On?”

“On how full I wanna feel,” Michael answers, and there’s no mistaking the heat that blazes in Alex’s eyes at those words, nor the sudden intake of breath that fills his chest.

If Alex wants him half as much as it looks like he does, Michael doesn’t even care if he gets fired for where this conversation is headed, so long as it ends with Alex’s hands on him.

“See, sometimes all I’m looking for is enough internal stimulation to get the job done,” Michael elaborates, his eyes watching Alex closely. “When I feel like that, I’ll use that prostate massager I showed you earlier on myself.”

Alex’s eyes flick over to the sleek black toy still sitting on the shelf that they’d just discussed.

“And the other times?” Alex asks when he tears his eyes away.

“Other times… other times I really wanna feel it,” Michael purrs, taking a step closer. Alex’s eyes drop right to his mouth, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip, and Michael can’t stop himself from asking, “You ever get like that, Alex? Like you just need something thick and heavy filling you up, so deep you’ll be feeling it for days?”

“Yeah,” Alex rasps.

“You wanna know what I fuck myself with then?” he asks.

Alex nods, eyes still on Michael’s mouth.

Michael gives him a sly grin before he backs up a few steps to find the sample of the eight inch galaxy dildo he treated himself to a few months ago. Alex follows him, as if they’re connected by an invisible string.

“This one,” he says, removing it from the shelf and offering it up for Alex’s inspection.

Alex takes it from him, his eyes passing over it with interest as he tests the give of the silicone with his fingers. Michael wonders if he’s imagining what it would look like inside him. He hopes he is.

“It might not look like much compared to some of the fucking horse cocks we sell here, but it’s thick,” Michael says, his cock hardening further the more he thinks about it, the longer Alex stands there holding it. “Takes me some time to work up to it, but it’s always worth it when I do.”

“Yeah?” Alex asks, eyes fixed where he’s shifting his hold on the dildo to measure it’s thickness with his fingers.

“Yeah,” Michael breathes, watching how Alex wraps his thumb and forefinger in a tight circle around the toy. They only just touch around its girth.

Alex hums to himself, sounding pleased, and Michael’s gut churns with the need to hear that sound again.

“I bet this stretches you out nice, huh,” Alex wonders a moment later, and with the way he stares at Michael then, like he’s trying to picture how he would look stuffed full, his rim taught over the silicone, he just knows Alex isn’t speaking generically.

“Yeah, it does,” Michael agrees quietly, trying not to squirm under the intensity of Alex’s gaze.

“How do you use it?” Alex asks him, stoking the flames inside him further.

“If you play your cards right, you just might find out,” Michael shoots back.

“You’d let me watch?” Alex asks, a smile teasing at his lips, and it’s all Michael can do not to get lost in the idea of riding that toy while Alex watches with his hand around his cock.

“Think I’d let you do more than that,” Michael admits.

Alex full-on grins at that, but before he can open his mouth to reply someone clears their throat behind them.

Michael’s heart seizes in his chest as he whips around to see Jenna Cameron, a regular customer and occasional drinking buddy of his, standing with her thumbs tucked into her police-issue gun belt. Michael can feel his erection flag at the sight of her.

“What’s a girl gotta do to get some service around here, Guerin?” Cameron asks, somehow managing to look annoyed and amused simultaneously. He notices there’s a discreet black plastic bag dangling from her fingers. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t hear anyone else come in,” Michael apologizes, trying and failing to keep a blush off his face.

“I can see that,” she answers with a pointed glance at Alex.

Michael takes an instinctive step away from him and clears his throat.

“I’ve gotta—“ he says to Alex, jerking his thumb behind him.

“Yeah,” Alex nods, eyes on his shoelaces. It makes the pleasure that had been coiling in his belly sour further.

“I’ll be right back,” Michael tells him, soft enough that Cameron won’t overhear.

The smile Alex gives him in return is encouraging enough that Michael’s fairly certain he won’t disappear if he leaves, so he follows Cameron back toward the register, all the while pointedly ignoring the smirk he can feel her directing at the side of his face.

He walks around the other side of the cash wrap and crosses his arms over his chest before he asks her, without an ounce of enthusiasm, “What do you want?”

“Damn, you’re really earning that employee of the month trophy aren’t you, Guerin?” she jokes, tossing the bag on the table. “I bought a harness this weekend, but it was broken when I took it out of the box. Receipt’s in the bag.”

Michael takes the box the leather strap-on harness came in out of the bag along with the receipt.

“Do you want a refund or an exchange?”

“Refund,” she says. “I’m thinking about getting one of those strapless ones instead.”

“You should talk to Kris, she’s got opinions about those,” he says as he starts scanning the receipt.

“Oh?” Cameron asks. “Is she here?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “You can catch her at the bondage workshop she’s running later though.”

“Perfect,” she replies before leaning forward onto the counter on her elbows. “So are you gonna tell me who the hottie with the nose ring you were talking to is?”

“Why, so you can find out if he’s got any priors?” Michael jokes, not taking his eyes off his task.

“Very funny,” Cameron deadpans. “You fuck him yet?”

“None of your business,” Michael answers.

“So that’s a no, then,” she smirks, and Michael lets out a long-suffering sigh in response.

“Don’t you have places to be? Donuts to eat?” he asks, pushing her return receipt hastily in her direction.

Before Cameron can answer, the front door swings open and in walks a short middle-aged woman with a dark brown pixie cut carrying an iced coffee and a stack of papers.

Michael startles at the sight of her, realizing it must be later in his shift than he’d thought—exactly how long had he stood there talking to Alex?—but he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Kris!” Michael calls to her. “Perfect timing, Cam’s got some strap-on questions for you.”

“Well, I’ve got some strap-on answers,” Kris answers cheerfully as she walks around them to drop the stack of papers—freshly-printed but yet-to-be-folded safe sex pamphlets, Michael notices—onto the counter next to the second register. “Step into my office, baby girl.”

Cameron shoots Michael a look before she steps to the side to talk to Kris, who’s leaning patiently against the side of the cash wrap.

With Cameron finally out of his hair but Kris close enough to notice him leave, Michael starts planning his escape so he can find Alex again, but it turns out he doesn’t need one. When he looks up after putting Cam’s broken harness in the bin under the counter, he sees the man in question approaching his register with a familiar black box in his hands.

“I was gonna wait for you,” Alex explains as he sets the box on the counter, “but I’m actually supposed to be meeting my brother soon.”

“Shame,” Michael says, wishing they had more time. “I was looking forward to finishing that conversation.”

Alex glances covertly at Kris and Cameron before he leans a hair closer and says, “Don’t know that it was the conversation you were hoping to finish.”

Michael blushes, casting a look at Kris and Cameron to make sure they’re too engrossed in their conversation to notice when he leans in a little further and says, low so only Alex will hear, “What can I say? I’m very committed to customer satisfaction.”

Alex laughs, a bright and happy sound that makes Michael’s heart feel strangely full, before he asks, “You charm all your customers like this?”

“No,” Michael says honestly. “Not even a little bit.”

Alex looks at him for a long minute, trying to spot the lie, and when he finds none he merely shakes his head with an incredulous smile.

“Lucky me,” he says.

Michael winks at him before he turns his attention to the box on the counter, shifting it in his hands until he finds the barcode. He usually never comments on his customers’ purchases, but with this one he simply can’t resist.

“Went with the prostate massager, huh?” Michael asks, as he rings him up.

“What can I say?” Alex answers, a smile creeping onto his face. “You made me curious.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,” Michael says.

“No,” Alex replies, and the way he looks at him then makes Michael wonder if they’re still talking about the massager. “I don’t think I will.”

Michael smiles at him before he tells him his total. Alex inserts the end of his card in the reader and his receipt prints a brief moment later.

“Can you sign here?” Michael asks, passing Alex the merchant’s copy of his receipt and the green pen he’d been grading with earlier.

“Mhm,” Alex hums, plucking the pen from his fingers and signing his name in a delicate script.

Michael ducks under the counter to find a bag adequately sized for Alex’s purchase before he places the box inside it along with Alex’s copy of the receipt.

“You’re all set,” Michael says, pushing the box in Alex’s direction.

“Thanks,” Alex smiles, holding the merchant copy of the receipt out for Michael to take. “And this is for you.”

Their fingers brush as Michael takes it from him and Michael swears he can feel the tension crackling between them at the simple touch.

“Thanks,” Michael says, mouth a little dry.

Alex glances back to Kris and Cam before he says, “Have a nice day, Michael.”

“You too,” Michael says, his eyes straying pointedly to the black bag in Alex’s hand.

“Oh, I will,” Alex says, one corner of his lips lifting up into a smile before he turns and heads for the door.

Michael can’t help but watch his ass and those broad shoulders as he leaves.

Once Alex is gone, Michael unfolds the receipt Alex left for him. He’s about to slide it into the folder they keep by the register for receipts when he notices the phone number printed neatly beside Alex’s signature. Below, Alex has also written the words: Hit me up if you want to hear my review.

“You strike out?”

Michael startles, looking up to see Cameron leaning on the counter, a lot closer than she was a moment ago. He sees Kris at the far end, folding her papers into pamphlets for her workshop later.

“Not quite,” Michael grins and pockets the receipt.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #malex smut #malex sex shop au #merry christmas y'all #part 2 coming soon!#god i hope you guys like it lol #i've worked so hard on this 😩#my fic

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jenniboo311 · 4 years ago

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Fanfic Masterlist for jenniboo311

Looking for my Marvel fics? Read below the cut to find the master list.

Fics:

Loosen Up (AO3) - FIN (Rated Teen)

Peter is late arriving to MJ's birthday party due to Spider-Man, as usual, so he is forced to arrive in costume. Unfortunately, everyone jumps to the conclusion that he's a hired stripper instead of the real deal. Naturally, he goes with it.

Hot Ones: Avengers in the Hot Seat (WIP) (Rated Teen)

1 - Hot Ones: Spider-Man Tries Not to Spill His Secrets While Eating Hot Wings (Chapter 1, 2, 3 : AO3 | Chapter 1, 2, 3 : tumblr | Chapter 1, 2, 3 : FFN) - FIN

"Hi everyone, from First We Feast this is Sean Evans and you're watching Hot Ones: the show with hot questions and even hotter wings."

The camera angle changes but maintains the closeup.

"You may recognize our next guest from his daring acrobatics, swinging high above the streets of Queens as he patrols vigilantly to keep its citizens safe. From rescuing cats stuck in trees to taking down drug rings and even occasionally joining the Avengers in taking on aliens to save the world, there is no task too simple or too daunting for this hero. Please welcome to the show, the amazing Spider-Man."

2 - Hot Ones: Captain America Defrosts While Eating Hot Wings (Chapter 1, 2 : AO3 | Chapter 1 : FFN) - FIN

"Hi everyone, from First We Feast this is Sean Evans and you're watching Hot Ones: the show with hot questions and even hotter wings." The camera angle changes but maintains the closeup. "You may recognize our next guest from such public service announcements as, 'Food For Thought', 'Brain Power', and 'Your Changing Body'. Whether it's encouraging growing young minds to eat a hot lunch or reassuring youngsters about their sprouting body hair, he's got you covered. It is a great honor to welcome to the show, Captain America, Mr. Steve Rogers."

3 - Hot Ones: Hawkeye and Ant-Man Test Their Skills While Eating Hot Wings (Chapter 1 : AO3) - WIP

"Hi everyone, from First We Feast this is Sean Evans and you're watching Hot Ones: the show with hot questions and even hotter wings. You may recognize our next guests from their various exploits saving the world with the Avengers. One never misses a shot with his bow and arrow and the other...can shrink really small. It is a great honor to welcome to the show, Hawkeye, Mr. Clint Barton, and Ant-Man, Mr. Scott Lang."

Social Butterfly Spidey (WIP) (Rated Teen)

1 - Hot Ones: Spider-Man Tries Not to Spill His Secrets While Eating Hot Wings (Chapter 1, 2, 3 : AO3 | Chapter 1, 2, 3 : tumblr | Chapter 1, 2, 3 : FFN) - FIN

"Hi everyone, from First We Feast this is Sean Evans and you're watching Hot Ones: the show with hot questions and even hotter wings."

The camera angle changes but maintains the closeup.

2 - Spider-Man Goes Undercover on Reddit, YouTube, and Twitter | GQ (AO3 | tumblr | FFN) - FIN

"Hey I'm Spider-Man," he begins in a friendly voice as he flips open the lid of the laptop in front of him decisively, "And I'm going undercover on the internet." The video cuts to a title screen as it types out "Actually Me with Spider-Man" as Spider-Man says off screen, "It's actually me!"

The screen then clears and types out a new message for its audience, "We had Spider-Man create real accounts and go undercover online."

3 - Spider-Man Answers the Web’s Most Searched Questions | WIRED (AO3 | FFN) - FIN

"Hey it's your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man! And I'm about to do the Wired auto complete interview."

The masked vigilante is sitting in a director's chair in full costume and gives the camera a friendly two fingered salute before upbeat music starts to play. A title card displays, 'Wired Autocomplete Interview'. After a moment new text appears on screen, "Autocomplete suggests the most common searches on the internet." Finally, the text changes to, "So WIRED asked Spider-Man some of the internet's burning questions".

4 - Spider-Man Reads Thirst Tweets | Buzzfeed Celeb (AO3 | FFN) - FIN

"Hi, I'm your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man!" He salutes the camera with two fingers, sitting at a table in his signature mask, a simple dark green t-shirt, and jeans in front of a light blue set. "I'm here to read your thirst-fueled tweets and irreparably harm my wholesome image."

5 - Spider-Man Finds Out Which Avenger He Really Is | Buzzfeed Celeb (AO3 | FFN) - FIN

"Hello, internet. I'm your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and I'm here to find out which Avenger I really am."

Spider-Man gives the camera a two-fingered salute from his perch in a director's chair in front of a bright blue background, holding a slim silver laptop open in his lap. He is wearing a worn black hoodie with blue jeans and his signature mask.

A title card appears on screen in red and white text on a grey background proclaiming, "Spider-Man finds out which Avenger he really is."

"This is probably ill advised, considering how competitive and petty the Avengers really are. I'm never gonna hear the end of this. But don't tell them I told you that." His eye lenses squint and the fabric around his mouth twitches in a grin.

6 - Iron-Man and Spider-Man Play Never Have I Ever | Buzzfeed Celeb (AO3) - FIN

"Hey I'm Spider-Man," the figure garbed in a red and blue costume says while snapping off a jaunty two fingered salute. "And this is," he trails off before looking pointedly to his left and gesturing grandly with his arms, which the camera follows, to reveal another figure sitting next to him. The figure meets his gaze and crosses his arms with a cocky smirk before addressing the camera.

"You know who I am."

Spider-Man huffs a frustrated breath through his nose and his arms drop into his lap, disappointed.

Spider-Man turns to the camera and shrugs, "This is Tony Stank, and we're playing 'Never Have I Ever'."

Tony snorts and deadpans, "Wow, that just gets funnier every time you make that joke. You're a riot."

Without looking, Spider-Man raises a gloved hand and attempts to cover Tony's mouth and Tony bats him away, starting a small scuffle that is interrupted by the title card displaying, 'Iron Man and Spider-Man Play Never Have I Ever'.

7 - Spider-Man Plays Would You Rather | Buzzfeed Celeb (AO3) - FIN

"Hi, I'm your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man!" He salutes the camera with two fingers, sitting in a director's chair in his signature mask, a simple black t-shirt, and jeans in front of a purple set. "I'm here to play 'Would You Rather', because apparently you're not sick of me yet and want to torture me some more."

The video cuts to display the title card, 'Spider-Man Plays Would You Rather'.

"I wonder what kind of fresh hell awaits me today," Spider-Man muses, swiping his hand through the folded pieces of paper in the plastic jar in his lap, mixing them up. "You people are evil, you really are." He playfully glares at the set crew off camera. "No sense in delaying the inevitable, I guess, let's just get to it."

8 - SpideyTube: Spider-Man Gets a YouTube Channel (Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 : AO3) - WIP

The video begins with a blue and red costumed figure in a brightly lit laboratory, hunched over a workbench with his elbows propping him up, hands clasped calmly in front of him. Everything is clean white and stainless steel, and obviously high quality.

"Hey guys!" He gives the camera a jaunty two fingered salute. "I'm your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man! So I've created this YouTube channel because I've been toying with the idea for a little while and I've gotten an overwhelming response from all of you guys. So here we are."

9 - Spider-Man Reacts to Headlines About Himself | Buzzfeed Celeb (AO3) - FIN

"Hey everyone, it's Spider-Man!"

The costumed superhero shoots off a two-fingered salute and turns it into a jaunty wave at the camera.

"I'm here at Buzzfeed to react to headlines about myself. I can only imagine what we'll see."

10 - Spider-Man Hijacks a Fan’s Tinder | Vanity Fair (AO3) - FIN

"Hi, I'm Spider-Man," the costumed figure says, standing in a bright studio with a white backdrop and holding a cell phone in his right hand, "And I'm here to help my new friend Kelly find true love."

The video cuts to a title screen, 'tinder takeover | Spider-Man' before cutting to an embarrassed young woman with beautiful red hair and wearing a navy blouse, laughing and covering her blushing cheeks as she groans.

"I will be taking over her Tinder for a little bit. Kelly," he addresses her, "Do you trust me?"

Kelly gives him a scrutinizing look and laughing nervously, gives him a skeptical "Mmhmm."

Spider-Man looks into the camera and deadpans, "The confidence is overwhelming. Careful now, Kelly. I now hold the power of your romantic future in the palm of my hands. Wouldn't want to offend me. Hey, is this how my villain origin story begins?"

11 - Spider-Man’s Nighttime Skincare Routine | Go To Bed With Me | Harper’s BAZAAR (AO3) - FIN

The video cuts to Spider-Man standing in a bright, fancy looking bathroom. The walls behind him are a crisp white, to match the vanity and the towels neatly rolled up and stacked on a shelf above the toilet. The vigilante appears to have changed outfits, as instead of his spider suit he is now sporting his mask and a pair of black silk pajamas edged in white around the collar and down the seam, as well as across the front breast pocket.

"So this is my skincare routine," he gushes at the camera, pressing his hands to his masked cheeks. "As you can imagine, a long night of fighting crime can be hard on your skin, so every evening I make sure to follow this simple routine. It's about oh, say," he rustles through the bottles and packages offscreen and estimates, "twelve hundred steps. It's a routine that goes back years and years in my family, passed on from spider to spider. So you're really lucky that I'm sharing this with you. Listen closely." He winks.

12 - Kids Ask Spider-Man Difficult Questions | BBC Radio 1 (AO3) - FIN

"We have the most precocious, overconfident kids the UK has to offer to ask the type of questions that we wouldn't be allowed to," the male host explains to Spider-Man, now revealed to be sitting across the table in front of a microphone, in his iconic red and blue suit with a pair of chunky headphones mashed onto his mask covered head. A block of text appears in the lower left of the screen, identifying the hosts to be named Dev and Alice.

"And," Alice pipes in cheerfully, "If you refuse to answer a question-"

"-it basically means you hate children."

13 - Spider-Man Plays With Puppies While Answering Fan Questions | Buzzfeed Celeb (AO3) - FIN

The words, "BuzzFeed Presents The Puppy Interview", appears in large, white letters, followed by, "Featuring Spider-Man", as animated puppies frolic across the screen chasing a ball.

"Pit bulls get such a bad rep," Spider-Man says, teasing another puppy with a stuffed toy. "Dogs, like humans, aren't born bad. They are shaped by their circumstances. Abused, starved, not socialized properly. Treat them well with lots of love and attention from an early age and there's no reason they won't turn out to be loving and loyal companions. I mean, just look at this face!" He picks up a puppy and squishes its cheeks.

14 - Spider-Man Tells Us About His First Times | Buzzfeed Celeb (AO3) - FIN

"Hey everyone, this is Spider-Man and I am an enhanced hero based out of Queens, New York." Spider-Man, sitting in front of a bright blue background and wearing a mask and a black hoodie unzipped over his iconic red and blue suit, waves jauntily at the camera. "You may also recognize me since I am often associated with the Avengers, though, officially, I am not one. I'm here today to talk about my first times on BuzzFeed!"

15 - 10 Things Spider-Man Can’t Live Without | GQ (AO3) - FIN

"Essential: of the utmost importance; basic, indispensable, necessary," the masked vigilante reads from his shiny Stark phone, sitting at a grey plastic table in front of a blue backdrop. "That's what we're talking about today." He looks at the camera and his eye lenses squint with the force of his welcoming smile, hidden beneath the fabric of his mask.

"Hi, I'm Spider-Man, and these are my essentials."

16 - Spider-Man Plays AlphabetiCall | BBC One (AO3) - FIN

"The rules are that simple," the host continues quickly, not giving the hero a chance to think very deeply. "You're going to make a prank call and you have to start every sentence with the next letter of the alphabet."

"Wait, you want me to do what?" Spider-Man asks into the microphone in a panicked voice, white eye lenses as wide as they can go, giant headphones covering his ears.

"You'll be fine! You're doing it."

The host hits the call button, ignoring Spider-Man's nervous spluttering and awkward hand waving, and the sound of a phone ringing fills the studio.

"No seriously, I'm the most awkward person in existence. Can we not? Please don't make me do this!"

"Hi, Smythes Toys Superstores, how can I help you?"

The ABCs of Spider-Man Identity Reveals (WIP) (Rated Teen)

1 - Robbed (AO3) - FIN

"You're going to kindly donate your valuables to our fundraiser, and you're going to do it quickly and without chatter. Or else I'm gonna have to make a mess and I don't really feel like messing up my shoes today."

Peter spends a wonderful day in the city with his family when the worst possible thing happens. His family is threatened while surrounded by watching eyes. Keeping his identity a secret isn't even an afterthought, this man just laid hands on his daughter. He picked the wrong family to mess with.

2 - Ultimatum (AO3) - FIN

"Alright, listen up," the apparent leader says, left hand on his hip and the other aiming the gun at the ceiling casually. "One of you little maggots stole something from me, and I want it back." His eyes sweep the room but when he gets nothing except uneasy shuffling and sniffling he loses whatever composure he had. "The energy core! It went missing from our warehouse and we tracked it here. I know it's here, you little shits, so cough it up or I'm going to start playing eenie meenie miney moe with your little friends." Still nothing. He points the gun at the kids in the bleachers, prompting screams and kids ducking down as best they can, as he slowly turns in a circle to encompass the whole room. "Big! Shiny! Purple! The energy core! Now!" He quivers with rage.

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hold-our-destiny · 4 years ago

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It’s a match!

My exchange fic! for @lightedwindows

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Possible Trigger warnings: blood, mentions of stitches?

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

Peter woke up slowly, staring at the ceiling over his head. He coughed slightly, grimacing when his head pounded. Karen was speaking but Peter had to strain to listen clearly to what she was saying.

“Come on, Peter. You just have to stay away a little bit longer, okay? Mr Stark is on his way”

Pain shot through his stomach as he tried to sit up.

“Wha’ hap’n’d” Peter slurred, still trying to get his thoughts in order.

“You got shot in the stomach, emergency services are on their way, as is Mr Stark” Peter grunted and let his head drop down, resting back on the concrete underneath him. His vision was slightly blacking out but the teenager was using all of his energy to stay awake.

“Fuck- kid, what the hell? What happened?”

“I d’no” Peter replied, still slurring his words. He heard FRIDAY talking to Tony, the voice of the AI was soothing Peter’s head, his migraine dulling slightly.

“Okay, Pete. I’m gonna carry you to the MedBay okay? It’ll hurt but if you stay here much longer, you’re gonna bleed out in this alleyway.” Tony’s faceplate moved back into place and Peter braced himself weakly to be picked up. He realised slowly, he hadn’t realised the blood that was pooling around him, slowly soaking through his suit.

Peter barely held in a scream as he was lifted by the metal suit, pain flared across his body. Tony muttered an apology before taking off, flying quickly to the tower.

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

Helen met Tony as he landed on the roof with Peter, he handed the teenager off to the various doctors, setting him down on the gurney they’d dragged out to hold him. The doctors turned around quickly, pushing the gurney back into the spacious elevator as Helen yelled out orders Tony’s sleep deprived brain couldn’t keep up with.

The iron man suit melted off Tony’s body, leaving the mechanic alone to find his way down to the MedBay.

As the doors opened in front of the mechanic, all Tony could hear was calm, muffled voices. A confused look crossed his face as he walked down the hall to where the voices were coming from. He rounded the corner, eyes landing first on Dr Cho and then on Bruce, then finally to the small body on the bed between them, hooked up to multiple machines beside the bed.. Surprised, Tony waved, both doctors chuckled, before inviting the man in.

“How- uh- how is he?” Tony stuttered, eyes drifting to the body in front of the door. Peter looked… normal, most people would just assume he’s asleep. In fact, Tony thought he was asleep.

Helen gave him a reassuring look, “He’s okay, we sewed up the bullet wound pretty quickly, but his wound looked slightly infected so I sent the blood down to the labs and told FRIDAY to test it for everything.” At Tony’s concerned face, she continued, “It’s nothing to be worried about, his temp is back to normal and the wound is healing quickly, it might’ve just been his body healing itself, but we’re not taking any chances,”

Tony let out a breath and thanked the two doctors, before sitting in the vacant seat beside the bed, not looking as they closed the door behind them.

He took Peter’s hand in his own and smiled, “You’re gonna be just fine, kid. You always are.”

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

Helen came back a few hours later, after Tony had left Peter to get some coffee.

“Hey Peter, where did Tony go?” Helen looked… nervous. Peter hadn’t seen her like this before, and if he was being honest, it was scaring him.

“Uh- he went to go get some coffee, i spent over twenty minutes convincing him that nothing would happen to me in the five minutes he’d be gone,” he chuckled, before continuing, “I don’t want to be rude or anything but… why are you here? Is everything okay?”

Helen was quick to reassure him, “Everything’s fine, Peter. I was hoping to talk to you first, actually. This is a very sensitive subject and I know it may be hard to hear but I was hoping you could be the one to tell Tony, I think he’d appreciate it from you more,” She explained. When she saw Peter’s scared expression, she hurried to continue, “Tony already told you about the blood sample we sent down to the labs to be tested-”

“Oh my god, is something wrong? Was I poisoned? I don’t feel bad or anything so i thought nothing was wrong.”

Helen shook her head, “You haven’t been poisoned. I told FRIDAY to check for everything and by that, I meant check for every poison. But FRIDAY did every test we have in the labs, including a… paternity test,” Peter froze, mouth hanging open slightly, “She tested your DNA with every blood sample we have on the database, and one of them matched.” She paused for a second, and Peter filled in the gap for her.

“Tony” he breathed. He looked up, and Dr Cho nodded.

“We just got the results back. I’m so sorry i had to be the one to tell you, Peter”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again, hesitating, before deciding what to say.

“Could you- uh- leave? I need to figure out how to tell Tony before he gets back,” His eyes were locked on his lap, hands fidgeting as various thoughts raced through his mind. He heard the door close as Helen left, but still, he didn’t look up.

Tony- or, his dad?- had always been some kind of a father figure to Peter, but now it was confirmed. Had Richard known? Did his mum know? Had May known? No. She would’ve told him by now. Tony was gonna be back any minute now, Peter had to figure out how to tell him. What if Tony already know? What if he didn’t want anything to do with him after he finds out?

“Hey kiddo, you feeling okay?” Peter didn’t hear the door open as Tony entered. He looked up, and nodded, plastering a smile on his face.

“Yup, i told you, nothing would happen in five minutes” Tony sat down in the chair next to his bed, setting his coffee cup down on the little table next to it.

Tony paused, face morphing into confusion as he saw Peter’s face, “What happened?” His voice was concerned, yet cold. Deadly serious.

“What?” Peter chuckled, praying Tony would believe everything he was okay, so he could have more time to figure everything out.

“Kid, I know when you’re faking. What happened?” Tony looked even more scared now, serious exterior cracking as his emotions shined through.

Peter let his face fall slightly, “Okay, okay,” he relented, quick to reassure Tony, “I’m okay, I swear! But something did happen. Uh-” He paused, trying to find the right words.

Tony moved forward, putting his hand on Peter’s shaking one, steadying it.

“Kid, It’s okay. Just take a breath, okay?” Peter did, breath hitching a few times before he got it.

“Helen came in and, uh, when FRIDAY tested my blood, she found something- nothing bad i swear! Just… she was testing my DNA with other people’s for a… paternity test,” Peter’s breath hitched, letting a few tears fall down his face as he tried to continue explaining. Tony’s face fell, and he leaned forward to bring Peter in for a hug.

“It’s okay, Pete. Calm down, take your time.” Peter started sobbing, fears resurfacing. Selfishly, he didn’t want to tell Tony what happened, he didn’t want to ruin their bond.

“She found a match.” Tony cut him off.

“Okay, Pete. we can figure something out, we can talk to that person, okay? We can explain and if you want, you can-”

“It’s you”

Tony froze, Peter's face still buried in his chest. Peter heard his heart speed up, as well as his breathing.

“I’m sorry i didn’t just tell you. I understand if you want to leave now, if you don’t want anything to do with me, i can leave. I won’t bother you again, i swear but you deserve to know.” Peter waited to hear Tony’s reaction. He tried gently pulling away, but Tony kept him close, even holding him slightly tighter. He took a breath before speaking.

“I don’t want you to leave. I always- i guess i always had a hunch but i never tested it.” He leaned back to look Peter in the eye, smiling, “I’ve thought of you as my kid for over a year now, Pete. I thought that was obvious.” He chuckled.

Peter teared up again, burying his face in Tony’s chest, “Thank you,”

Tony rubbed Peter’s back slowly, “For what, kid?”

“I don’t really know to be honest. I thought you were gonna kick me out.”

“Kid, I would never, and I mean never, kick you out. You’re here to stay until you’re eighteen.”

Tony carefully maneuvered his body to lie down next to Peter, trying not to jostle his bullet wound too much. He brought Peter’s head to rest on his chest, bringing a hand up to play with his chestnut curls.

“I love you, kid.”

Peter smiled, “I love you too, Tony”

#peter parker #irondad #spiderson #tony stark #friday #hurt/comfort #tw blood #tw hospitals #men crying #yay

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bkdkzombiezine · 4 years ago

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MEET THE MODS

Head Mod

Tanithiaria

Hello! I’m Tanithiaria, also known as Tan! I’ll be heading the team for this zine! I’ll have a hand in almost everything we do along the way, making sure we get things done with ease and efficiency! My love for zombies almost outweighs my love for BakuDeku, so putting them together is just the cherry on top! You can find me on Ao3, trying my best to write angst-filled fics, but don’t let that fool you! I’m an extremely friendly and happy person! I love working with people on projects like this, so I’m excited to start the beginning of the end!! Thank you for joining us on our Apocalyptic adventures!! https://twitter.com/tanithiaria https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanithiaria

Design Mod

Doodlejoops

Hi ghoulfriends, my name is Joops and I head the Design Team! I’m a BKDK artist and fic writer best known for my zombie fic Deadication over on AO3 and my inability to go a single day without doodling Bakugo. https://twitter.com/doodlejoops https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodlejoops

Merchandise Mod

Auffalend

Auffallend reporting in! I'll be in charge of making sure our merch options meet specs! 18+ BKDK Artist, Angsty writer, resident sailor mouth, and neighborhood bridge troll, at your service. https://twitter.com/AuffallendArt https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecklessDerp

Art Mod

Mjheartsart

Hi! I’m Mjheartsart, but you can call me Mj. I’ll be helping to decide who’s art gets added to the zine. I’ll be looking at your art and seeing if you have the same vision we are going for in this compilation. I’m so excited to see how this zine comes together. Although I am a multi shipper, bakudeku holds a special place in my heart. You can find my art mostly on Tik Tok, but I also have Instagram and Twitter. I alternate between making art and animations. Getting to work together with other artists is one of my favorite things to do, so I look forward to working with every one of you. I can’t wait to see what we end up with! https://twitter.com/Mjspooky1 https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMJxrbSPa/

Writing Mod

ResonateArchivist

I'm Res! I write BakuDeku fics on Ao3. I'll be modding the writing and beta process and helping select our writers for the zine. I'm looking forward to working with you! https://twitter.com/resonantArchiv1?s=09 https://archiveofourown.org/users/ResonantArchivist

Co-Writing Mod

Laineybug

Bug here! I’ll be working with the Head Writing Mod, ResonateArchivist, on moderating the written portion to the zine, as well as betaing your fics! Find me on Ao3 or Twitter @ jaayhem :) I'm super excited to get to help out with this project and work with such a great team! https://twitter.com/jaayhem https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaayhem

Advertising Mod

Cas

I’m Cas! I’m the Head mod for advertising and help with the design team. I don’t write or draw but you can find me on twitter under CHARGEBOLTZ where I obsessively tweet about anime. I’m incredibly excited to be a part of this amazing team of people for this zine and hope everyone joining has fun with this concept! https://twitter.com/CHARGEBOLTZ

Co-Advertising Mod

Ram

Hi everyone, I am known as Elle on anitwt or Ram on discord. I'm a huge bkdk supporter who loves to beta fanfiction, as well as a co-mod for the Social Media and Merch team. Looking forward to working with all the contributors on the Zine! https://twitter.com/ElleBakugou?s=09 https://archiveofourown.org/users/schramma1

#bkdkzombiezine #mods #moderators

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wild-aloof-rebel · 9 months ago

Note

Hello, I hope you’re doing well! Not sure if you still get many fic finding requests but I’m hoping you can help me please track down a David/Patrick fic that takes place the night before their wedding (or early hours of the morning), where Clint and Marcy are staying at Patrick’s apartment and Patrick sneaks out to meet up with David, I think they have sex in his car and then he goes back to the apartment?

hi! it sounds like you're probably looking for I'll Marry You in the Morning by Stargatewars

#replies #anon #your friendly neighborhood fic finding service

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holylulusworld · 5 years ago

Text

Winchester Investigations - Part 4 – Sibling Rivalry

Summary: In need of a new job as your old boss got killed under suspicious circumstances you apply for a job at Winchester Investigations. You don’t know you will end up between two brothers and their fight against the Supernatural.

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader, eventually Dean x Reader x Sam, John Winchester x Reader (platonic)

Warnings: angst, pining, tension, sibling rivalry, jealousy, fighting, language, arguments

This is partly an AU fic. The Winchesters are hunting the Supernatural but ‘the bunker’ is some kind of Private Investigations for people in need of help against a monster. (Like Ghostbusters...), John never died for this fic.

Winchester Investigations Masterlist

Four months later…

Glancing over your shoulder Dean clears his throat as he gets a glimpse of your cleavage. It’s unbearable hot and you are wearing shorts and a tank top barely covering anything.

“Any new cases?” The elder brother asks, and you point toward a file stack.

“Ten cases of ghosts, five of grave desecration and one of a huge hickey at a guys fifteen years old daughter. I sorted them out for you.” You sigh checking the movement patterns of Ted’s son once again.

“You sorted them out?” Sam asks glancing at the file stack.

“I did. Most of the cases aren’t cases, Sam. The hickey was not a vampire, it was a horny teenager. The ghost stories - five were someone trying to prank another person or the wind, an old house and stuff. The grave desecrations were trickier. Four seem to be genuine but one was the ex-husband trying to get a precious ring back…” Shuddering you scrunch up your nose.

“Seriously?” Dean asks disgusted at the thought someone dug out his ex-wife to get a stupid ring back.

“People are greedy and sick, Dean. You should have a look at the rest. I got a feeling some of the remaining ‘ghosts’ are no real monsters either. You two are the experts – go, GHOSTBUSTERS!” You chuckle playing Ray Parker jr.’s song.

“If there's something strange in your neighborhood

Who you gonna call? (Winchesters)

If there's something weird

And it don't look good

Who you gonna call? (Winchesters)”

You sing along, dancing to the music as Sam and Dean watch you with darkened eyes.

“Come on! Don’t be spoilsports.” You squeal grabbing Dean’s hand to dance with you. He’s silently groaning when you grind against him.

“We’ve got no time to waste with dancing.” Sam tries but you grab his shirt dragging him off the desk he was sitting on. “Just one dance move, Samuel.” You say dancing around the tall man, shaking your butt.

“Damn, she will be the death of me.” Dean whispers and Sam gulps hard as you bend over to fix your shoelaces.

“Same…” Sam coughs tilting his head to get a glimpse of your cleavage.

“Mine…” The elder Winchesters says and Sam glares at him, shaking his head.

“No way! I saw her first. I was the one doing all the tests and meeting her for the job interview. You can’t just lay a claim on her, Dean.”

“Why not? I bet she likes me more, spoilsport.” Dean retorts dancing toward you.

“What the heck is going on here? I’m away for a week and suddenly our base is turned into Studio 54?” John rumbles and you give him a wink. “Do you want to dance too, John?”

“No, doll. I’m not much a dancer nowadays.” John rasps walking toward his sons. “Hand’s off, both of you.” He whispers before leaving the library.

“Back to the cases, boys. I think the one lying on top of the stack might be a real one. Looks like someone killed the little daughter of the owner’s grandmother around thirty years ago. Since two months the new owner can hear a child crying…then screams…then blood was dripping down the walls.” You explain and Sam gets the file to check the information you collected.

“You even found the cemetery where she got buried?” Sam asks and you nod.

“Sure, I’m thoroughly, Samuel.” You state. “It’s Sam, not Samuel or Sammy.” The younger brother mutters.

“But Dean can call you Sammy.”

“You have to earn to call me Sammy.” Sam retorts and you nod, pinching the bridge of your nose. “How?”

“Huh?” Sam looks at you, lost in thoughts he didn’t hear your question.

“How do I earn it, Sam?” You ask crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don’t think we should…” Clearing his throat Sam glances at his grinning brother.

“Sammy wants you to be very nice to him to be able to call him so…” Dean answers your question and you hum.

“Nah, not going to happen.” You put Sam off. “I’ do not shit where I eat, guys.” You state walking toward your room, swaying your hips on purpose.

“You have to earn it…” Dean chuckles grimacing. “Dick move, now my dick will be able to make a move.” He states wiggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t you dare! I’m warning you, Dean!” Sam is tossing the file onto the desk, towering over his brother who looks unimpressed so far. “Stop hitting on Y/N!”

“Make me.” Dean scoffs.

“I will!” Sam says through gritted teeth as his elder brother follows you toward your room.

----

“Can we talk?” Dean asks entering your room. “I wanted to ask you if you would have a coffee with me.”

“Dean, I’m not going to get between you and your brother. I know you two are into sibling rivalry. Always trying to get my attention or be better at something. I won’t play your or Sam’s prize, ‘k.” You say poking a finger into Dean’s chest. He sighs now, nodding before he leaves your room.

Not five minutes later Sam comes to your room, asking you awkwardly out too.

“Sam, I already told Dean I’m not going to get involved in your sibling rivalry nonsense. Look for someone else. I want to find Ted’s and my parents’ murderer and not play your or Dean’s bedwarmer.” You state.

“It’s not like that. We like you; we respect you…both.” Sam stammers.

“If you would respect me, you wouldn’t stare at my cleavage all the time you believe I’m not looking.”

Sam is flustered, looking away. “I didn’t say you are not attractive…” He mumbles and you feel almost sorry.

“Sam, we need to keep this professional. Not four months ago you would’ve killed me, believing I’m a monster and now you want to do what? Share me with your brother?” You scoff, shoving Sam out of your room.

----

“Sam, I won’t back down. I want to go out with her.” Dean mutters waving his hands.

“Same. Rock, paper, scissors?” Sam asks but this time Dean shakes his head, glaring at his taller brother. “No way, bitch. She is mine! I won’t lose another round by choosing scissors. I’ll court for her.”

Sam tilts his head, chuckling. “Court, Dean…you? When was the last time you didn’t just go straight to bed with a girl? You better give up right now. I don’t want to see you getting hurt by thinking too hard about a way to seduce, Y/N.” Sam cackles.

“We’ll see that.” Dean scoffs.

“Game on, big brother. May the better brother win…” Sam teases. “Which will be me…old man.” Dean glares at his brother before he pounces on him, causing Sam to fall. Both brothers are on the floor. Limbs tangled, tugging at each others hair as you stand in the library, starting to laugh.

“Uh…guys…are you into full-body contact?” You ask and just now the brothers realize how their ‘fight’ must look to you.

“We were…uh….fighting…” Sam stammers.

“Yeah, fighting to decide who is allowed to court for you…” Dean adds.

“You both know we are living in the 21st century…right? I mean court, that’s not old-school that’s medieval school…” You scold. “You want to win me over? Show me respect. Stop playing stupid games and act like the man I watched killing demons and help innocent people. Till then, I’m not talking to you anymore. I’ll hand all my information to Castiel or John.” Turning on your heels you walk into your room, slamming the door shut.

Dean glares at his brother, starting to wrestle with him once again. John is shaking his head, hands on his hips he clears his throat.

“I didn’t raise you to act like teenagers around a young woman. If you like her for real, do what she was asking you to do. Act like man, be attentive, friendly and stop staring at her cleavage. We are no cavemen, boys. We are legacies, Winchesters…ghostbusters…” John chuckles at the last word. “If you didn’t recognize it due to your fights and playing stupid games, this girl went through a lot of shit.”

“We know and we are sorry, Sir,” Dean mutters. “Same…” Sam adds.

Before John turns to enter his room the get some well-deserved rest he smirks at his sons. “By the way, she likes you…”

“Sammy or me?” Dean gasps glancing up at his father. John sighs, shaking his head.

“Both, Dean. She likes you both. Now find a way to act like gentlemen and court for her…”

“Court…? But she said…” Sam stammers.

“Son, she wants your attention but not like this…” John says pointing toward his sons, still holding each other in a tight grip. “Make her feel special, beautiful and show her respect. This girl is smart, boys. She found connections between cases and movement patterns without knowing about the supernatural.”

“Yes, Sir,” Dean mumbles letting go of his brother.

“Yes, Sir…” Sam adds glancing at the files on your desk. “Winchester Investigations at her service…”

Winchester investigations Tags

@hopefulmoonobject, @hippychick912

Poly Tags

@akshi8278, @deanmonandnegansbitch

SPN Forever Tags

@donnaintx, @screechingartisancashbailiff, @fallen-wolf22, @sister-winchesters99, @mogaruke, @the-is13, @helloitsmeamie203, @strayrosesbloom, @thewinchesterco, @hobby27, @kittycatlover18, @gh0stgurl, @marvelfansworld , @sandlee44, @hawaiianohana31, @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt, @katpatrova17, @notyourtypicalrose , @heyitscam99, @onethingthatkeepsmealive, @natura1phenomenon, @flamencodiva, @echoesofpassion, @cocklesbelli, @voltage-my2dlove, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @thenamelesschibi, @lauravic, @fandomsrourlives, @wittysunflower, @drakelover78, @lemondropirwin, @lonewolf471, @wronglanemendes, @spnhollis, @void-imaginations, @jay-and-dean, @shatteredabby, @juniorhuntersam, @helpmeluci, @neii3n, @goodgodimaweirdperson, @alltimesamantha, @chonisberonica, @supernaturalonice @stuckys-whore, @shadowkat-83, @officialmarvelwhore, @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel, @wecantgiggleitsafandom, @meganywinchester, @shikshinkwon, @miraclesoflove, @yolobloggers, @guardian-tn, @lu-sullivan, @maniacproffesor, @hollymac79, @straycuties9, @kayla-2000, @ilovefanfic86, @gracefultrenchcoat494, @babygirls-fav, @sadn0va, @spnwoman @amiquette, @linki-locks11, @geekofmanyforms, @eggingamazinglove, @jessica-marsh09, @spnficgirl, @shut-themoonscone

If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you for some reason. Sorry.

#spn #spn fanfiction #angst #sibling rivalry #john winchester #Sam Winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam x reader #sam x you #dean x reader #dean x you #Winchester Investigations Masterlist #winchesters series

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hellogoodbye741 · 7 years ago

Note

A very young but badass Clint Barton with the avengers

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, IT’S HARD DOING THINGS ON TUMBLR WITH JUST MY CELL PHONE. THIS FIC RAN AWAY FROM ME, HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!

Read it here at:G is for Grounded or under the cut below!

“So how come he can be an Avenger, but I can’t?”

Clint pushed at Peter’s shoulder, “Because you’re smarter than me and need to stay in school.”

“Unfair!!!!”

Clint raised an eyebrow, “You want to drop out of school?”

Peter looked down at the ground and kicked his foot back and forth, “Maybe.”

“No you don’t. Besides, you still get all the cool powers - just without all the Avengers bureaucracy bullshit.”

“But why don’t they force you to go to school?”

Clint shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I’m not smart enough. Now, get going before your Aunt May has a conniption fit. We’ll hang out later, okay?”

Peter sighed, but didn’t argue.

*******

Clint jumped off the building right as it exploded, his rappel arrow already flying towards the closest solid, non-falling, object.

“Don’t go through the window. Don’t go through the window. DON’T GO THROUGH THE WINDOW” Clint screeched as his body propelled him through the flimsiest glass he had ever had the pleasure of going through.

“Fuck me” He gasped as he lay on the floor.

“Language!” Tony screeched as he flew past the building.

“Jesus Stark, let the kid curse. Didn’t you read the science article that said cursing helps you get through pain?” Steve said over the comms with a laugh.

“Don’t you try and argue science with me, Steven. The children aren’t allowed to curse.”

Clint groaned and stood up. “Hey Tony?”

“Yes?”

“Fuck off.”

Tony gasped in mock horror.

Clint rolled his eyes, “I’ll be on the ground in 5. The building exploding should have taken care of most of the whatever the fucks we’re fighting.”

“Be careful!” Tony yelled over the comms.

“I’ll be sure to trip down every flight of stairs for you Stark.”

“You’re a terrible child. You’re killing me Clint. You’re killing your father.”

Clint snorted and made his way down the stairs. “Not my father. You can’t just adopt every teenagerthat shows Avengers potential my dude.”

“I can try!!!”

“Can we please keep the chatter to a minimum gentlemen? Some of us are actually doing our jobs.”

“Sorry Tasha”

*******

“What are thoooooooose!!!!”

Clint looked over at Peter, then down at his shoes. “…My converse?”

“But what the hell did you do to them?”

“Jesus, they’re just purple and blue. It’s not like I put a face and clown nose on them.”

Peter sighed and shook his head, “If you weren’t my friend I would roast the fuck out of you.”

Clint tipped his head, “You’d do what now?”

“Roast you.”

“Cook me? What the fuck Parker??”

Peter shook his head. “You were in the circus for too long, you don’t know any memes do you?”

“Any what?”

“Yeah that’s what I thought. Come on, we’re gonna go skype Shuri.”

Clint frowned and followed behind Peter, very confused about what was going on.

*******

Clint stood in front of the mirror in the gym and looked at his reflection. A scarred body with an exhausted look to it stared back at him. The boy in the mirror was only 17, but he looked much older.

Clint had seen a lot in his short life, and a lot of it showed if you looked close enough. Shaking his head, Clint turned away from the mirror and walked over to his weapons cabinet. Once there, Clint opened up a secret compartment and pulled out his broadsword.

It was three in the morning, he should be in bed like everyone else, but he just couldn’t.

Every time he closed his eyes his past would flash by his eyelids. It was driving him insane.

He knew his best course of action would be to train himself to exhaustion.

He would usually go for his bow, but today he just knew that wouldn’t be enough.

No one knew that he had ever been trained on the broadsword. No one knew what he used to have to do with this weapon.

Though, in their defense, they didn’t know a lot about Clint period.

Taking the sword from its sheath, Clintswung it back and forth a few times before facing his imaginary opponent.

Taking a deep breath, Clint got himself into position.

Clint put his sword away an hour and a half later, finally ready to go to bed.

“Avengers Assemble!!!”

Clint groaned. “Shit”

*******

Peter looked over at Clint. “Are you dead?”

Clint groaned from his prone position on the floor of Peter’s bedroom. “No. Unfortunately.”

Ned looked over at Peter, before switching his gaze back to Clint. “Should I like… Call an ambulance?”

“No, I’m good. Just needed a nap where no one could find me.”

“Cool. Ned and I are gonna work on some homework, we’ll leave you alone.”

“Thank you!”

Clint closed his eyes again and curled into a tight ball. Right as he was drifting off he could swear he heard Ned whisper to Peter. “Holy shit that’s Hawkeye!!!”

“I told you I knew him!”

“That’s so fucking cool.”

Clint walked out of Peter’s bedroom two hours later with a yawn. “Thanks Peter”

Peter waved a hand. “It’s cool. You gonna head back to the tower?”

Clint shrugged. “Maybe. Not much to do there to be honest.”

“What wouldn’t there be to do? It’s the Avengers tower!”

Clint laughed at Ned and sat down next to him at Peter’s kitchen table. “Sure, if you want to watch TV or go to the gym for sixteen hours of your day. Everyone is a lot older than me and has their own problems and issues. Not much time to hang out with a teenager, you know? Sometimes I feel like I only exist when there’s a call for service.”

“That’s how I feel too! At least you’re actually an Avenger.” Peter grimaced. “I’m just the friendly, neighborhood Spiderman.”

Ned nodded. “Which is totally cool, not gonna lie Pete. But like, you’re an Avenger dude!”

Clint nodded. “Yeah I know, I know. But just because I am an Avenger, doesn’t mean the Avenger is me. Sometimes Clint wants to go to the mall and hang. But I’m not really allowed to go out without one of the Avengers with me.”

“Oh wow… That sucks.”

Clint sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

Peter and Ned looked at each other.

“So… How about you play hooky a little longer and hang with us for a bit?” Peter asked.

Clint smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

*******

“In latest news, heroes Hawkeye and Spiderman were seen helping civilians in the latest home grown terrorist attack. While out at the park yesterday evening, an active shooter began to open fire on the unsuspecting public. Within minutes you can see that both the heroes were on the scene and were actively fighting the shooter. It seems that in the crossfire, Hawkeye has been injured. Unknown what his injuries are at present. There were no other causalities and only minor injuries thanks to their timely presence. More at eight. Thank you”

“What in the HELL did you think you were doing?!”

Clint winced and looked up at Natasha, “Helping?”

“Helping? Helping?! You could have been killed!”

Clint looked over at the rest of the team for help. “Isn’t that what we do all the time?”

Steve shook his head. “Clint, in those settings you have an entire team to watch your back. You didn’t even call us. You and Peter both could have been killed after that little stunt. You should both know better.”

“Jesus it was just two armed gun men. They weren’t even that hard to fight. I only got hurt because the gun exploded in the guy’s hand.”

“Only got hurt. You ONLY got hurt…. Clint, I’m gonna murder you.”

“But wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of lecturing me?”

Natasha glared at him. “You’re right. You’re grounded.”

“What.”

“G-r-o-u-n-d-e-d. Grounded. Do you want me to give you a definition?“

Clint tipped his head. “But…. I’m 17!”

Steve smiled. “That’s not 18. Technically you’re still our kid, which means we can ground you.”

Clint’s mouth dropped open, and he turned his head over to Tony.

“Don’t look at me kid, I’m all for it. In fact, I’m talking with May to make sure Peter is grounded too.”

“… This is some shit.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe kiddo.”

*******

Clint sat on the couch, arms crossed, pouting.

“Hey…. It could be worse?”

Clint looked over at Peter, “They put an ankle monitor on us Pete. An ankle monitor!!!”

Peter shrugged, “We could have to clean the toilets?”

Clint groaned and flopped over to the side.

#Clint Barton #Hawkeye #Peter Parker #Spiderman #Tony Stark #Iron Man #Steve Rogers #Captain America #Natasha Romanova #Black Widow #Shuri #Ned #Aunt May #Prompt #Ao3 #Fan Fic #HawkyBarton

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gplusbfics · 7 years ago

Text

DS9 Garashir Fanfic Rec: “Kadz & Moxh"

We’ve all read the post-canon Cardassia fic where Bashir is either visiting or living with Garak while doing medical work on the planet. They’re not really in a relationship yet, but they’re friendly. Well, imagine this... but then imagine if Bashir happens upon two teenagers who are the last people Garak or any other upstanding or even half-upstanding Cardassian would want to associate themselves with -- and Bashir of course wants to help them. It could ruin their friendship... or maybe transform it? Without giving away all the twists and turns of this trilogy, I’ll reveal that it’s the latter; their lives, and the teens’ lives, are transformed in all kinds of ways. Nothing comes easy, though.

Background: I came across this amazing three-parter, by Henrietta Wotton, a couple of years ago and I was all set to share it last summer when nooooooo! I got a 404 on it. But thanks to the waybackmachine, I found it again -- all three parts. And rather than risk losing them to the sands of time, posting them here below. Inevitably somebody will have to use waybackmachine to find this too, but at least it’s 14 years later. I have read this over and over on the copy I put on Instapaper (imported from waybackmachine) and I sooooo think it’s worth saving.

Note: The poll I posted earlier today is running 96% saying “We want more fic recs!” so I’m immediately giving people what they want! :)

Metadata

Title: “Taking In Trouble” | “Letting In Love” | “Kudos” Author: Henrietta Wotton Year Posted: 2004 Approx. Word Count: 23,000 Chapters: 3 (stories) GB - Slash or Platonic: Slash My Rating (1-5): 5 Keywords: Post-Canon Cardassia, Cardassian Class System, Friends to Lovers, Teenage Prostitution, Cultural Misunderstandings, Sexual Hangups, Deafness

Taking in Trouble

The two moons orbiting Cardassia Prime stood high above the horizon, casting grotesque shadows onto the winding paths of the ruined Park of State Heroes. Now, a year after the end of the Dominion War, most of the rubble to which the planet had been reduced by the Jem'Hadar had been vaporized or recycled. The new ruling council had decreed that the blasted statuary of the looming war memorials here remain as they were, however. The purpose, the plaque at the park's entrance stated, was "to remind all Cardassians of the consequences of our past." The only addition took the shape of a new statue, honoring Damar as the martyred leader of the Cardassian Resistance. It stood at the center point where all the paths converged. Surrounding it were a grove of bacherben bushes, their silver petals and waxy green-black leaves glistening in the moonlight.

Dr. Julian Bashir paused to contemplate the memorial, as the heavy, warm breezes of Cardassia Prime rattled through the foliage. He'd often felt the urge to tear off his suffocating Starfleet uniform during the past five weeks that he'd been in the Cardassian system. Thankfully he was off-duty now. He had changed into the open-weave turquoise Tholian tunic and navy blue silk shorts he'd bought the last time he and Ezri had been on Risa. But he wasn't thinking of Ezri now, or of the victims of the Cardassian holocaust, but of his old friend Garak. More precisely he was thinking of a certain path their relationship had appeared destined to follow, and the detour it had taken instead.

Bashir had known from the minute they met that Garak was interested in a sexual relationship, and he had also known that there would never be one unless he himself made the first move. That he had not done, for a host of reasons, not least that someone with a very dangerous secret in his own past didn't need to invite the stepped-up Starfleet intelligence scrutiny that a liaison with a former Cardassian spy would inevitably bring about. Many times he told himself that he should simply back off from the friendship, since he wasn't prepared to take it through to a physical level. Jadzia used to chide him frequently about "leading poor Garak on," and he had to agree that she was right. Yet he had persisted in their lunches, a relationship by appointment only, feeling that the absence of any spontaneous invitations to get together on other occasions would give Garak fair warning that any further intimacy wasn't in the offing. Did Bashir himself desire further intimacy? He resolutely refused to consider the question, since it couldn't happen, no matter what he desired.

Then the secret of his genetic enhancements came to light, and everything changed. But Garak changed, too, mocking him as computer or Vulcan and spending ever more time with Ziyal. What did you expect, Julian, old man? he had thought. It's the rare person who isn't put off by the idea of sleeping with some unnatural freak, re-invented in a laboratory. So he had taken comfort in the acceptance shown by Miles and both Daxes and consigned any longing for Garak to the category of transient fantasy.

Recently, however, that longing had ambushed him in a very odd fashion. After the Cardassian holocaust, Starfleet Medical had rushed in personnel to treat the survivors, and the Cardassians had at long last made all their medical, biological, and physiological databases available to outsiders. Bashir kept finding himself drifting away from the sections on infectious diseases and the effects of cold and hunger, and instead studying in great detail everything he could download on Cardassian sexuality. He recalled his surprise, given the strict Cardassian prohibitions against "non-procreative practices," that both Cardassian males and females came equipped with self-lubricating anal passages lined with highly sensitive nerve clusters quite as capable of producing pleasure as those found in their genitalia. What a waste! he mused. And then came the further realization: You've wanted nothing these past eight years, Julian Bashir, so much as to aim your dart squarely at the center of that inviting, round Cardassian backside of Garak's.

Bashir had cursed himself for arriving at this realization only after Garak had left the station, but he knew that physical distance wasn't the main obstacle to their becoming lovers.. He and Garak had in fact been together a number of times since Bashir had returned to DS9, leaving behind the tailor, spy and Resistance fighter to begin the mammoth task of restoring his devastated planet. The ruling council had appointed Garak its special envoy to Bajor, and he often came to the station en route to various contentious meetings with first minister Shakaar and the new Kai. Twice Julian and Ezri had joined him and Col. Kira for dinner.

No, it wasn't physical distance, it was emotional distance. Garak and Bashir had replaced their weekly lunch appointments with weekly subspace conversations. Yet Bashir always felt a certain awkwardness between them in these instances, as if they were going through the motions of having once been friends, but were friends no longer. This awkwardness convinced him that he had irretrievably lost the moment at which he and Garak might have consummated their relationship. Therefore, when the doctor was assigned to assess whether the Cardassian medical infrastructure had recovered sufficiently for Starfleet to reassign the many physicians, nurses, and health technicians it had stationed throughout the system during the past year, he almost hesitated to inform Garak that he would be "in the neighborhood." Bashir had considerable doubts whether the Cardassian would welcome him.

As it turned out, the doctor was glad he had informed him, because the announcement brought a warm invitation to visit Garak on Cardassia Prime if he could find time to take "a little vacation" between performing his inspections and returning to Deep Space Nine. The Garak who greeted him at the spaceport, however, was the same distant Garak of the subspace chats. He had no sooner taken Bashir to his house and shown him the guest quarters, than he announced that he would be involved in long discussions with a Klingon delegation until late into the evening.

Bashir had killed some time exploring Garak's new dwelling. The Federation had rebuilt the house of Enabran Tain upon its old, ruined foundation, an acknowledgment of his friend's great service during the Dominion War. They'd worked from the original plans, but Garak complained that "Federation utilitarianism" had crept into the design, and that the beauty of the original had been lost. Julian studied the architecture carefully, so as to be prepared for the debate about the Federation's lack of taste that would no doubt accompany their dinner. Then he took a very long sonic shower, changed into his civvies, and, feeling restless and not a little apprehensive at soon being alone with Garak, went for a walk that brought him here to the memorial park. Part of him felt that he had judged correctly, that it was too late for intimacy. Another part, though, more stubbornly hopeful than the first, knew that it wasn't only the Cardassian heat that had made him put on this particular outfit.

"Hey, Terran, want some scales?"

Bashir jumped. It was as if someone had just been reading his thoughts. The voice came from behind the bacherben thicket. Bashir instinctively reached for his phaser. Garak had warned that the catastrophe had obliterated the once vaunted safety of Cardassian streets. "Who's there?" he called out in his sternest tones.

"Don't ruffle yourself. This studder's no robber." Two figures emerged from the shadows. Both had unkempt, shoulder-length hair and nearly identical height, build and features. They looked to be only a year or two past puberty. That they were a boy and a girl became apparent only from the trousers on the one who was speaking, and the dress on the one who was not. As they slowly approached him, the boy kept talking in what were obviously meant to be seductive tones.

"Any sport that appeals, we can do." He grabbed his crotch and gyrated suggestively. At the same time, the girl fondled her breasts through the thin material that revealed her utter lack of undergarments. "Want a girl, Moxh is game. Want a boy, Kadz is ready. Or we'll do each other and let you watch. Only one strip of latinum. Want us both, that's just another strip."

Bashir gazed at them horrified. They were little more than children. He'd read about abandoned urchins selling themselves on city streets on hundreds of worlds throughout hundreds of centuries, but he had never come up against the sordid fact of it like this. All he wanted to do was get away from them. "Sorry, not interested," he said, turning and heading swiftly for the path out of the park.

But the boy ran after him, persisting in his sales pitch. "You know you're curious how the Cardies do it. We always leave our sports satisfied." He stationed the girl in front of Bashir, blocking his way, and began to raise her dress over her head. "Don't go before you see what you're missing," he cajoled, giving the doctor a lewd wink.

"I told you I was not interested," Bashir repeated, pushing both of them aside. As a result, the girl lost her balance and fell, triggering a spasm of gasping and coughing. The doctor halted, raising her to her feet and taking a good look at her for the first time. Her eyes were red, and the tips of the scales on her neck looked white and brittle. He'd seen the symptoms often enough in the Federation resettlement centers for homeless Cardassians. In the crowded conditions a fairly minor respiratory virus had mutated into a potentially fatal disease. Many Cardassians had perished before a combined Federation-Cardassian research team developed an anti-viral agent.

"Listen," Bashir said to the boy, "your friend--"

"My sister, my pouch mate.. Pretty game sportin' with two of a kind, eh?"

"Your sister is very ill." Bashir resolutely put to one side the fact that the boy had offered to "do" his twin for a customer's amusement. "She shouldn't be out... sporting... in her condition."

"Don't ruffle. Kardasi sick-bugs don't bite Terrans."

"Some of them do, as a matter of fact." Bashir couldn't suppress a grin at the boy's expression of medical certainties. "But you're right, azmeri fever doesn't jump from Cardassians to humans."

"How do you know?" Kadz asked suspiciously.

"I'm a Federation doctor, and I'm telling you that you should get your sister to the nearest hospital immediately."

"Oh, no. Hospitals don't take accies, 'less it's to cut us up." The boy grasped his sister's hand and began to lead her back to their lair behind the statue.

Suddenly Bashir found himself doing the following, as he pursued the retreating pair. "Wait. What do you mean? What are accies?" His universal translator didn't seem to be coping very well with the boy's slang-filled street patois.

Kadz stopped and looked at him as if he were extremely stupid. "Acci-dentals, you know." Bashir shook his head, still not comprehending. "Kids not meant to be born, accies with no parents," the boy explained with a world-weary air.

Ah, now Bashir understood. Garak had long ago told him that children without parents had no place in Cardassian society. Somehow the doctor had never considered thoroughly just how appalling the end results of such a social policy could be. "Well at least take her home, put her to bed with lots of blankets, and give her plenty of liquids to drink."

"How long you been on Prime, Fedder, you think accies got homes and blankets?" The boy inquired sarcastically. "Half the gitters is homeless these moons. Me and Moxh live in those bushes there. And we'd best go back to them and wait for some sport that's eager."

"She could die if she doesn't get the proper care, " Bashir implored. "Back where I'm staying, I've got some medicines that can help her. What do you say, Moxh? Will you come with me?"

"She might, for the overnight rate," Kadz replied, his expression showing renewed interest in the possibility of profiting from the "Fedder."

Bashir had to restrain himself from punching the insolent street urchin in the mouth. "I want to help Moxh, not sleep with her. And I'm talking to your sister, not you. Let her answer," he insisted.

"Can't. Doesn't talk. Doesn't hear. Born that way. But Kadz takes care of her, he does."

Take care of her, by turning her into a whore? Bashir thought to himself. Could the situation get any more dismal, he wondered, torn between pity and revulsion. "Fine. I'll pay the overnight rate. Both of you just follow me."

"That's more like it, sport. Good time guaranteed. Coulda saved lots of time if you'd just said you wanted to do it at home in the first place, though," Kadz said in reproachful tones as he fell in behind the doctor with his sister in tow. Bashir ignored him, except to sigh a very deep sigh.

"Tell your sister to lie down on that sofa there," Bashir instructed Kadz, once he'd accomplished the considerable feat of getting Garak's multi-access-code-encumbered front door to open and ushered the two young people into the Cardassian's living room. "I'll go get my medical bag."

Retrieving the bag from the guest room, Bashir also picked up a blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed. When he came back to the living room Kadz was sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, while Moxh had herself posed seductively on the couch, totally naked. Just as Bashir had suspected. It was the reason he'd brought the blanket. The doctor quickly covered her with it, took out some of his medical scanners, and began his examination. He immediately ascertained that his diagnosis of azmeri fever had been correct, so he filled a hypospray with the antiviral agent and put it to her neck.

"Don't have to drug her up to make her willing," Kadz offered. "Unless playing doctor gets you excited."

"Look, I am not playing doctor. I am a doctor. I am treating your sister for an illness, and I have no intention of having sex with her."

"Sure, sure," the boy replied, totally unconvinced. His sister was evidently of the same mind, because she grabbed Bashir's hand and pulled it under the blanket to rest on her breast. He snatched it away and turned to the boy. "Please tell her just to lie still and keep her hands to herself."

"If that's the way you like it," Kadz said, making gestures in his sister's direction. "She'll be as quiet as the dead now."

Bashir leaned down and ran his scanner over the boy, who amazingly showed no infection from the virus. He refilled the hypospray and pressed it to Kadz's neck. "Hey, hey," the boy squealed, rising to his feet and putting several meters between himself and Bashir. "Kadz don't need drugging up either."

"This will simply help prevent your catching what Moxh has," Bashir reassured him. "Now, why don't you come into the kitchen and get something to eat while I finish my examination."

"Thought you'd want privacy at some point."

Bashir stifled an angry response and led the boy to the replicator in the adjoining kitchen. "Just tell the computer what you want."

"Heard of these. Never used one." For the first time, the boy actually seemed somewhat uncertain of himself. "Two zabu steaks?" When they materialized, he jumped back a few centimeters, then laughed and removed the food to the table. "A dozen regova eggs. A larish pie. A cup of yamok sauce. A bottle of kanar."

"That's quite an appetite you have," Bashir grinned.

"Got to save some for Moxh."

"I'd go easy on the kanar, though. Aren't you a little young for that?"

"Been drinking it since I got my second molars. Moxh too. Helps on cold nights."

"Well, cheers and bon appetit, then," Bashir said darkly. The boy only raised a quizzical eye-ridge and fell to with relish. The doctor returned to his patient.

Moxh was indeed lying as motionless as the dead. Bashir's scanner hummed as its data readouts told the depressing story. Malnutrition, no surprise. Complete absence of the auditory nerve, a congenital deafness that no advanced medical wizardry could fix. A number of ulcers and topical infections, a secondary effect of the azmeri fever. He pulled down the blanket and treated each one in turn with a sonic debrider and a dermal regenerator. There was a particularly nasty accumulation of peccant matter around the hinge of her birthing pouch, and after he had cleaned it out, he knew why. The two lips of the pouch were still about a centimeter apart. Bashir cursed inwardly, tried to give the girl a smile that conveyed reassurance, and charged straight ahead to where Kadz was wolfing down his feast.

"Your sister's had a baby recently. Where is it?" Bashir hissed.

"Mff," Kadz hastily swallowed half a regova egg. "Don't ruffle. Came early, came dead," he responded matter-of-factly. He took a mouthful of kanar and looked up at the doctor's scowling face. "Good thing. Saved me getting rid of it. My mate Zanto showed me with his girl's first acci, how to cover up the nose and mouth till it stops breathing, but turned out I didn't have to."

"I'm sure you were terribly disappointed at not being able to show off your skills at infanticide." Bashir made no effort to conceal his disgust.

The boy glanced away, but not before the doctor thought he spotted a flicker of genuine emotion in the until-now hard, bright eyes and belligerent features. "No. Wasn't looking forward to it." Then Kadz glared back at him in defiance. "Would have done it, though, don't you doubt it. No choice in bad times. But Moxh would have been hard to manage after. Had herself set on keeping it. Must have caught some of our mo-mo's soft-headedness. I mean," he continued expansively as the kanar took effect, "Can you grab it, two accies at once, and the girl a dummy besides, and she don't throttle either?" The boy shook his head in bewilderment and took another drink.

"Where is your mother now?" Bashir asked.

"Gone. One, two moons after the Jemmies came. Went out to find sporters, never came back. Maybe she got grabbed by sec, maybe she got cracked by a bad one, maybe she found a keeper with no taste for accies hanging around."

"Surely you don't imagine that your mother would just abandon you to become some man's mistress?"

"Why not?" Kadz shot back. "Moxh and me was earning our keep. Good for mo-mo, if she finds a keeper 'fore her sporting days are over."

In the unforgiving street life the boy had been born into, his sentiments were perfectly logical, Bashir reflected. The fewer children born into such a life, the better. "I'm going to give Moxh another injection, one that will make sure she doesn't have any accies for at least a year," he told the brother.

"You got that stuff, Fedder?" For the first time, Kadz seemed to take him seriously as a doctor. "Ara Beldon on Kheramka Square sells it, but most of us studders can't pay her price."

"It's free of charge from me," Bashir returned with a smile. "You finish your meal here, and I'll go inject your sister with the contraceptive and offer her a few eggs and a slice of pie. Then I'll give her something so she can sleep--alone."

When Bashir returned to the girl, she'd made a good start toward falling asleep without requiring any of his healing arts. Her eyes were half closed and her breathing regular. He put the hypospray to her neck and then shook her gently. She blinked and flashed a sleepy smile. The provocative seductress was nowhere to be seen. This was only an exhausted child. Bashir helped her sit up and offered her the plate. She snatched at it eagerly and began cramming in the food with both hands. The doctor patted her on the head and turned back toward the kitchen to keep his eye on Kadz.

Kadz had left the kitchen, however, and Bashir's eyes met the boy striding toward him, barechested, his tunic cast over one shoulder.

"If you've not jumped Moxh yet, I'd say it's the boys that gets you worked up, eh, Fedder?" the young Cardassian smirked, as he sinuously stepped out of his trousers. "Kadz is ready to pay for the meal, he is." He displayed himself front and back to Bashir. "Is the coin to your liking?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Put your clothes back on at once!"

"You've not said how the scales and ridges strike your fancy." The boy had moved to within half a meter and was undoing the fasteners on Bashir's shorts. Whatever protest the doctor was preparing to make next died in his throat, however, as the door slid open and Garak walked in. Good God, there go my hopes for a romantic evening, the doctor thought, dismayed.

"Uh . . . this isn't what it looks like, Garak." Bashir stammered. The Cardassian's understandable expression of surprise had not turned into amusement at Bashir's plight, as the doctor had expected. His features were tight with anger, more naked anger than Bashir had ever seen him display. He hurriedly poured out further explanation, "Or rather it is what it looks like but... you see Kadz's sister there has azmeri fever and when I brought her here for treatment, Kadz got the wrong idea and... oh, for heaven's sake, Kadz, put your clothes back on."

Still Garak stared at the two of them in anger and did not speak. The tense situation did nothing to curb the ever-voluble Kadz, however. "Didn't tell me you had a keeper, Fedder," he said as he lazily stepped into one trouser leg, "And a jealous one too, by the look of him."

Garak fixed the boy with a malevolent stare of the most icy imaginable blueness. "I am not Dr. Bashir's keeper. He and I are old friends, and I am offering him my hospitality while he is on Cardassia Prime as part of his duties to Starfleet Medical." The words were all cordiality, the tone all threat.

Kadz appeared oblivious to the danger. "Sure, sure, all you twofie gitters got some story." He finally pulled his trousers all the way up, but, remaining shirtless, approached Bashir and draped himself over his shoulders. "You're a bit of an old one to keep him all to yourself," the boy remarked to Garak. "Sure you're not going to rob him of a nice young pretty like Kadz. You can always join the fun too, or just watch, if that's your sport."

Bashir hastily disengaged himself. "Kadz, how many times do I have to tell you that you've got this all wrong--" Suddenly Garak sprang, like a razorcat, grabbed the boy by the shoulders and shoved him up against the far wall. "Dr. Bashir is in no mood for your street boy impudence, and neither am I," he hissed. "Is that understood?"

Kadz thrashed and kicked in Garak's grasp, earning a knee to his groin. He gasped in pain and fell still. "Is that understood?" Garak repeated. The boy nodded vigorously, eyes wide and struggling for breath. Garak continued to hold him pinned to the wall, a look on his face that reminded Bashir of Miles's account of the time Garak had lost his reason on Empok Nor. The doctor moved to the Cardassian and put his hand on his shoulder. "Garak," he said, trying to sound calm. "Let him go."

Garak took a couple of deep breaths and then favored Bashir with his customary urbane smile. "Of course, doctor." He released his hold, ambled over to a chair, sat down, and crossed his legs, the picture of casualness. Yet Bashir saw clearly that he was trembling with rage.

Kadz had scurried over to where his tunic lay on the floor. He pulled it over his head, retrieved his sister's dress, and then grabbed Moxh up off the couch, where she had huddled in terror while the confrontation was in progress. "Can't say that Kadz stays where he's not wanted," the boy whispered to Bashir as they headed for the door.

"You can't go," Bashir implored him. "Moxh still needs more treatments." Kadz glanced sideways at Garak and shook his head. Bashir turned to Garak also. "Please, Garak, she's very ill."

"She may stay if you think it best, doctor." The Cardassian's tone hardened. "But not him."

The boy shook his head again. "Kadz and Moxh is a team--unless you're meaning to keep her. Kadz wouldn't stand in her way, if you make it worth his while."

"You'd sell us your sister, just like that?" Bashir exploded, but Garak rose calmly and addressed the boy. "Wait here," he said. He disappeared into his bedroom and emerged a minute later carrying a bar of latinum. "I think this will more than compensate you."

"No lies!" Kadz exclaimed, his eye-ridges rising half way up to his hairline. "Just let me give Moxh the score." He began to communicate with his sister in their private sign language, at some length. She nodded several times and signed back briefly. "She's game," the boy said to Bashir and Garak and then walked out of the house without looking back. Moxh returned to the couch, crawled under the blanket, and appeared to settle down for a nap. No teary good-byes, no last embraces, just a business deal concluded to the satisfaction of all parties. A Ferengi couldn't have done it better, thought Bashir.

Garak rubbed his hands together and turned to his friend, all smiles. "Ah, now that we've settled that delicate matter, I'm taking you out to dinner. There's a charming restaurant at the Federation recreation compound on the third moon of Cardassia Five-- the place all the dedicated relief workers repair to when the dust and the stench become too much for them. We heroes of the Cardassian Resistance have honorary guest privileges, of course."

Bashir stared at him in disbelief, at the mood change, at his decision to act as if nothing out of the way had happened. "But Garak, surely you don't think we should go off and leave the girl here alone?"

"Of course we should. She's asleep already, probably won't even realize we're gone. She'd doubtless prefer not to be disturbed by strangers in any event."

Bashir would have thought it impossible for Garak to grow any more inscrutable than he had been on the station, but clearly it had happened. The doctor had no idea what could be motivating him to treat the presence of a naked and feverish child prostitute on his living room couch as a matter of no importance. But he'd violated Garak's hospitality by bringing the two of them here in the first place, and he had no choice but to go along with what his host had planned. "I suppose I should change clothes before we go to this restaurant," Bashir asked, "something a bit more formal?"

"That would be appropriate," Garak concurred. "Oh, and while you're changing, my dear doctor, a cold sonic shower would also be advisable." His gaze halted deliberately at the decided bulge barely masked by the silk shorts.

"Uh, right, it won't take a minute," Bashir replied, blushing furiously.

"Take all the time you need, doctor," Garak purred.

They travelled to the moon in the runabout that the ruling council had assigned to Garak to facilitate his diplomatic efforts. All the way there, and through the appetizers, and the main course, and the dessert Garak made relentless small talk. He regaled Bashir with pointed barbs about Klingon intransigence and Bajoran grudge-holding and inquired about Kira and Ezri and Miles and the recent progress of the Sisko baby. Bashir numbly returned equally superficial answers, feeling more and more that he was in one of his holosuite programs talking to a mere simulacrum of his Cardassian friend. The doctor waited for some acknowledgment of that rage he had seen in Garak's eyes hours before and some kind of explanation for it. None was forthcoming.

Finally, on the return trip, he brought the subject up himself. Walking back from the replicator with a cup of Tarkalean tea in hand, he said. "I'm sorry for bringing those street children into your home, Garak. I never should have done it without your permission."

"No, you should not have, doctor. But when you see healing to be done, you don't ever stop for social niceties, do you? At any rate, there's no permanent harm done."

"You certainly seemed angry at the time."

"That little vermin's insolence could try anyone's patience. I was angry at him, not at you," Garak replied, in a manner that suggested there was nothing more to say.

Bashir tried another tack. "You know, those two have very odd names. Kadz and Moxh don't sound like any Cardassians I've ever encountered."

"They aren't names in the ordinary sense of the term. Sometimes these trash haven't even been given a name, just dumped on the street with no identity. Most of them usually pick up some slang nickname and use it, as our young visitors have," Garak chuckled.

"Why do you laugh?" the doctor asked, perplexed at Garak's complete lack of feeling for the twins' plight.

"'Kadz' and 'Moxh' are particularly vulgar street terms for male and female genitalia."

Bashir practically choked on his tea. "My God! I suppose they believe in truth in advertising."

"Apparently."

"That slang of Kadz's is pretty impenetrable. Half the time I didn't know what he was talking about. When he called us "twofie gitters," for instance."

Garak let Bashir's comment hang in the air for several seconds. To explicate it apparently meant committing himself to discussing the incident in depth, and the doctor had concluded from all the evening's evasions that he decidedly did not want to do so. Garak shifted in his seat uneasily. At length he spoke in subdued tones, staring out the view screen. "A twofie gitter is a bisexual of legitimate birth, the class of men that makes up the bulk of Kadz's clients, the class to which the boy erroneously presumed you and I belong, doctor." Then the Cardassian sucked in his breath and looked Bashir in the eye, "At least I presume that he is in error?"

"Garak, you can't believe that I wanted that boy, that I brought him back with me for any other purpose than to help his sister?" Bashir hadn't expected the conversation to take this turn.

"No, I never thought that," Garak smiled enigmatically.

"I know that's what it looked like when I became aroused," Bashir rushed on. "But I can assure you I felt no attraction for him whatsoever."

"Of course you didn't. Kadz makes his living arousing the bodies of men who have no attraction whatsoever toward him. I'm sure his hands are very skilled--"

"No, Garak, it wasn't like that--"

"I once knew a pain technician in the Order, Groblo," Garak continued, as if he hadn't heard the doctor's denial. "He had grown up like Kadz, servicing men on the streets. Sometimes when interrogations were dragging on and getting nowhere, he'd put down the instrument, pass his hands over the subject's body a few times, and bring him to arousal and climax, just like that. These were men in agony, mind you, an agony this fellow had inflicted. Yet he could get their bodies to respond just as if the touch were that of a lover rather than a torturer. Groblo said these little exercises of his helped ease the tension. Although I'm afraid I always thought them in questionable taste. An interrogation room is no place for parlor tricks, wouldn't you agree, doctor?"

"I'm afraid I have little use for anything that goes on in Cardassian interrogation rooms," Bashir returned with some heat. Why had Garak told him this chilling anecdote? Was this his friend's revenge for broaching the subject of Kadz and his advances?

"I was simply trying to show you that I understood the effect our young visitor could produce," Garak explained amiably, "not to defend my former profession."

"I'm surprised that someone with an 'acci's' background would be employed by the Order," Bashir pushed the point. "You've told me that these street children have no legitimate place in your society."

"Ah, the Order was always a special case. These accies have no scruples, as you've seen. That can make them very useful as informers, assassins or torturers. Of course, there was never a question of trusting them with any of the higher-level activities, those involving sensitive state secrets. Anyone that would sell his mother--or his sister--without qualm, wouldn't hesitate to sell out Cardassia if the price were right."

Bashir nodded, but did not otherwise comment. The conversation was too depressing to continue. Apparently any hope he'd had of restoring his friendship with Garak to its previous level of intimacy had vanished at the moment Garak saw Kadz standing there naked. He set his teacup down and idly glanced over at the navigational array. They were only a few minutes from entering orbit around Cardassia Prime. It was going to be damned uncomfortable with the girl still there in Garak's house. Once the reality of her situation sank in, she was bound to get agitated, and neither of them even knew how to communicate with her. What a mess he'd made of things!

"It's hard to believe that Moxh won't panic when she realizes that her brother really has abandoned her for good," he said softly, thinking aloud.

"Oh, don't concern yourself about that," Garak replied while making some course adjustments. "He hasn't abandoned her at all. The minute we were out of sight, she will have opened the door for him, and the two of them will have spent an hour or so looting my house. I made sure to secure anything of real value, but you'll have to get Starfleet to reimburse me for a depleted replicator power unit, which I'm sure they've quite used up in provisioning themselves."

"What?" Bashir exclaimed. "How can you know that?"

Garak smiled one of his patented infuriating smiles. "It's a very old street trick. That's how Mila ended up becoming Tain's housekeeper. He'd brought her home for an evening's pleasure and found her unconscious inside his front door the next morning, still grasping a bag full of the contents of his safe. She'd not anticipated his disrupter field that triggered every time anyone tried to exit the house without giving the proper security code. When she failed to divulge the identity of her accomplice, despite Tain's most persuasive entreaties, he decided that someone who could keep a secret that well might be of use to him. So he let her stay rather than turn her over to the security forces."

"So you think we'll return to find Kadz and Moxh unconscious inside your door?"

"Not at all, doctor. We'll find them gone. I deactivated my disrupter field."

"But the girl is ill, she can't just go back to the streets," Bashir protested.

"I'm sorry to annul your generous impulse, but I can't allow either of those creatures to remain in my house. They will at least leave better-supplied for survival than when you found them." Garak's tone left no doubt that the subject was closed.

Bashir had no intention of letting the matter drop, however. Nevertheless, he judged that a slight change of tactics was in order. "You seem to know quite a bit about the way these 'creatures' operate. Did Mila share the secrets of her past with you?"

Garak glared at him. "You are one of the most infuriatingly persistent young men I have ever met," he said. "No, Mila did not care to speak of her past with me, and no, I did not engage in long conversational sessions in which Order operatives who came up from the streets reminisced about the good old days." His features hardened, as he went on, "It was Tain who made sure that I was intimately familiar with the kinds of lives that children lived on the streets, so that I would appreciate what he had spared me by taking me under his protection. Of course, there was always the implied threat that he could send me out there to fend for myself if I didn't please him."

I should have suspected that Tain had something to do with this, Bashir thought. Whenever Garak starts behaving irrationally, it always seems to go back to Tain. "I can see why having those 'accies' in the house disturbed you then," the doctor murmured.

"Good, I'm glad you do--at last," Garak replied. "Now, we've achieved docking orbit, and we're going to beam down to my residence. I trust that as a thoughtful guest you will not bring up this subject again."

The place was a shambles, or at least the kitchen and living room were. (Garak had not disabled the security system that blocked off the other rooms with force fields upon attempted unauthorized entry.) As Garak had predicted, the replicator's power cell was completely exhausted, the blanket and sofa pillows gone and every drawer opened and looted, with items of no interest tossed all about the floor. The Cardassian went back to his bedroom and returned with a replacement cell. "Doctor, if you would go into the replicator menu and reproduce my couch cushions and the blanket, I'll tidy up the rest."

After the pillows materialized, the doctor repositioned them on the sofa. As he backed up to see if they were properly aligned, he inadvertently brushed his buttocks against those of Garak, who was bending over to pick up some of the items from the floor. The physical contact produced an overwhelming desire that astonished Bashir with its force. No matter how unpropitious the evening had been thus far, he had to disclose his true feelings to Garak.

The Cardassian was returning several PADDs to a drawer in his computer workstation. Bashir stepped in front of the desk and leaned forward. "Garak, it wasn't Kadz's skills that gave me an erection earlier," he began.

"My dear doctor, I told you I don't want to talk about Kadz any further," Garak said, his voice rising.

"Just hear me out. What aroused me was seeing how angry you were, how jealous of him, because that told me that you wanted me again."

Bashir saw a dozen subtle changes come over Garak's posture and features, as if he were a vessel that had suddenly lowered its shields. "Wanted you again, doctor?" he said in a whisper.

"You can't expect me to believe that you didn't want me once. But after you found out about--" Two elegant gray fingers were suddenly pressed to his lips. "Shh, shh. I'm not denying that I had once wanted you, I am telling you that I've never stopped wanting you." Garak caressed Bashir's lips with a brush of the fingertips and stepped back a few paces. "But am I now to understand that you want me?"

Bashir broke out into a broad grin. "Of course! Why do you think I brought this up?"

Garak cocked a skeptical brow-ridge. "And what do you think Counselor Dax will make of all this?"

"A month ago Ezri told me that she wanted to put our relationship on hold till I properly sorted out my feelings for Miles and for you. Now, the thought of making Miles my lover, it was ridiculous. I couldn't even begin to imagine myself in bed with him. When I thought about you that way, however, the scenario seemed perfectly logical. After all, for weeks before I'd been reacting to Cardassian anatomical schematics as if they were pornographic pictures." Bashir stepped to the side of the desk while the Cardassian moved out from behind it to meet him. The doctor took Garak's head in both hands and kissed him hard, reveling in the leathery texture of the lips and then the sensations of the strong and agile tongue that soon thrust itself inside his mouth. At length the Cardassian broke off the kiss, and when Bashir caught his breath and leaned forward again, Garak pushed him back with a soft touch of his hand to the doctor's chest.

"I've thought about this moment for so long, my dear boy," Garak began a little hesitantly. "And I'm afraid I've constructed a rather elaborate ritual fantasy of how I would want us to begin. Will you humor me in this? I think you'll find it very pleasurable."

Bashir paused to consider for a split second. What would it be like to live out one of Garak's fantasies? Immediately the answer came, it will be bliss--you wouldn't have kept longing for him all this while if you didn't trust it to be so.

"I am completely at your disposal," Bashir replied, smiling. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

Garak took his hand and led him into the bedroom. "Why, doctor, I don't want you to do anything at all." The Cardassian helped him out of the white linen jacket Bashir had put on over the oatmeal colored, open-necked shirt that Garak had made for him for a birthday present when he turned thirty-five. He folded it neatly on a chair, then unbuttoned the shirt and slipped it off Bashir as well. Placing each of his hands on his partner's shoulders, Garak applied to each a series of brief patting motions, as if he were straightening a garment on one of the mannequins in his tailor shop. He stared into the younger man's eyes with an expression of tenderness Bashir had never seen on his face before. Slowly one hand moved down Bashir's breast-bone and continued on to his navel, while the other massaged each of his vertebrae in turn. Bashir inhaled sharply at the intense and totally unexpected pleasure these motions produced in him. Soon Garak was covering him with light caresses to all sorts of places that Bashir had never considered very erogenous--the flesh inside his upper arms, the hollow at the base of his skull, his collarbones. With every touch the pleasure grew more and more exquisite. He moaned softly, and his legs felt weak. Garak put an arm around his waist to keep him from falling and guided him expertly to the bed. Bashir sat down and leaned back, balancing himself on his forearms and elbows. Garak deftly relieved him of his linen trousers, made a soft sound of surprise when he found no underwear beneath them, and then used a few vigorous strokes of his hands to relieve him also of the pressure that had built up in his eagerly awaiting cock. Bashir groaned with delight as he reclined fully on the bed.

"Did you find my little fantasy enjoyable?" Garak whispered as he leaned over and kissed Bashir lightly on the lips. Bashir reached up and pulled the Cardassian down beside him. "Indescribably so," the doctor said. He was, and was not, telling the truth. Certainly the pure physical sensations had been breath-taking. Garak was a master of technique. Yet there was something distant and remote about the whole experience--Garak making him stand there like a mannequin while the Cardassian remained fully clothed, receiving no stimulation himself, using only his hands, not his mouth or his cock. I suppose it's meant to be a special gift, giving all the pleasure and taking none yourself. And Garak does like to control situations. Still, I'd expect any man's fantasy to involve pleasure for himself, first and foremost.

Bashir's own fantasies were definitely less refined and predicated on more mutual satisfaction. Well, his moment had arrived. "Now it's my turn, Garak," he said, breathing heavily. "I can't promise to do it quite so . . . artistically as you." His eager hands pushed up Garak's tunic till it gathered just above the breast ridge. Then he thrust his thumbs under the fourth rib bones on either side. There he felt the small patches of scaleless skin his research had told him were there.. He pressured the area again and again with his fingertips while his mouth worked the scales on Garak's neck-ridges. The Cardassian gripped him hard across the back and thrust his body up to meet his lover's touch. Bashir kept on until he felt Garak grow hard beneath him. He slid off the bed, pulling down the Cardassian's trousers and loincloth as he went. His tongue worked the delicate edges of the softer scales at the base of the cock while his hands returned to the even softer skin beneath the ribcage. "Ah... doctor... uhh..." Garak groaned, "I see... you... ahhh... studied the schematics... ohh... very well."

Bashir raised his head. "Elim, don't you think it's about time you called me Julian?"

"I think you have a point, Julian," Garak nodded and pushed the human's head down to his crotch. Bashir took the Cardassian's cock into his mouth and slid his tongue up and down the shaft. "Oh, yesss, Julian, ohh yess," Garak repeated as he writhed beneath his lover, while gripping him tightly with strong calf muscles. His climax came quickly thereafter, all in a rush of gray foam that made Julian pull back a little as it streamed against the back of his throat.

Garak gave a contented sigh and released the grip of his legs, letting them dangle over the edge of the bed. The doctor rose to his feet, gratified that his efforts at pleasuring Garak had reinstated his own ability to act out his long-cherished fantasy, what he had been so impatient to do that all that had gone before seemed mere foreplay. He trembled at the thought of sliding his organ between the rippling scales that fanned out on both sides of the Cardassian's buttocks. Julian launched himself with a little spring onto the bed, rolled the panting Garak over, and climbed astride him, hands reaching inside the cleft--only to find himself flat on the floor a second later, expertly tossed off with one motion of Garak's left leg. He gave an inquiring look at his partner, wondering if this were some kind of Cardassian love play. Garak had sat up and was looking back at him with a serious expression. "No, Julian, there will be none of that," he said, calmly but firmly.

"None of what? Do you mean no fucking?" Bashir asked incredulously.

"Precisely. In Cardassian culture, no man would ever even consider fucking a man who was his equal. Such impulses are generally worked off with the assistance of little vermin like your friend Kadz."

Bashir clambered up and sat beside Garak. "It doesn't mean that in my culture at all. I had no intention of trying to assert my superiority over you. To me it's just the way of achieving complete closeness, getting inside your lover--figuratively as well as literally. If it will make you feel more comfortable, you can fuck me first."

"I would never take what I was not prepared to give, Julian." Garak sighed. "Because I have always kept my origins... mysterious... many of the Cardassian men with whom I became involved believed that they had a right to master me. None of them ever succeeded. It is a violation I could never allow, no matter how desperately I wished to satisfy a lover. The situation became so frustrating that I had resolved to restrict my sexual partners to women. Then I saw you sitting there in the Replimat, my dear boy, and my resolve evaporated. But even for you, this is something I cannot tolerate."

Julian struggled to hide his massive disappointment. He would not try to manipulate the situation by playing on Garak's fear of displeasing him. Now that they were finally lovers, the last thing he would risk was to hurt Garak through insisting on his own kind of gratification, no matter how fervently his cock was calling out for it. "I would never ask you to, Elim," he said, running his fingers through the Cardassian's sleek black hair and planting a kiss on his "spoon."

Garak responded by tracing the outline of Julian's right ear with his expert forefinger and flicking his tongue over the doctor's slightly parted lips, making the doctor's erection ache even more. "Don't despair, my dear. I can guarantee you that you will nevertheless not lack for pleasures while we're together." And with that he bent down his head and proved his point.

Letting in Love

Lake Ent'rakh sat in a small valley formed midway up the face of the tallest mountain of the Shimat chain that ran along the coastline of the northernmost tip of Cardassia Prime's northern continent. Here temperatures rarely exceeded 10 C. in full daylight--an unusually bright daylight--and fell well below freezing during the very long nights. Hardly a climate for heat-loving Cardassians, and no permanent Kardasi settlements had ever been established here. However, Lake Ent'rakh held a secret that the ancient Hebitians had discovered. Beneath it churned the molten core of a volcano not yet gone dead, as all the others in the Shimat chain had. Its waters therefore maintained a constant 27 C. temperature, and the Hebitians had duly established a combination resort and retreat here in the otherwise deserted mountains, its purpose to "chill the fevered spirit and warm the cold heart."

It must have been a remarkable sight in its day, Bashir reflected. A wall four meters thick and twenty meters high had ringed the entire lake. Archways opened out of it every ten meters, their interiors decorated in intricate patterns with thousands of tiny, multi-colored gemstones. At the portion of the wall which faced the entrance into the valley, a curving stairway led to the top. Garak told him that eight swaying rope bridges had allowed passage from one side of the wall to the other, but that a true spiritual experience required that a visitor walk the entire circumference, a distance of more than ten kilometers, before descending by these same stairs and then diving into the warm and welcoming waters. Now only about a fifth of the wall remained, in a dozen freestanding sections. The stairs no longer existed, the rope bridges had rotted centuries ago, and the gemstones had been torn out by generations of desperate men and women hoping to stave off starvation during one or the other of Cardassia's recurrent famines. And yet, even in it's ruined state, the place was magnificent. Garak had planned the excursion even before they became lovers. "I wanted you to see what we were before nature conspired against us and we lost our way," he had said solemnly upon their arrival. "Fortunately, they had no energy weapons when the Hebitian civilization fell, and its traces still linger. All that was ancient and beautiful in my Cardassia has been vaporized clean and replaced with bright new Federation functional."

Their first day here they had hiked the entire perimeter of the lake in the four hours of daylight that came around between 26 hour stretches of chill darkness. Today, the second and last of their camping trip, they had spent in the water. Bashir's enhanced reflexes enabled him to catch in his bare hands a dozen of the silver and rose colored fish that darted everywhere in the azure green water. They planned to cook them over an actual fire when night fell and hunger beckoned. Then Garak had suggested they swim to the opposite shore and back. It surprised Julian somewhat how strong a swimmer Garak was for a man of his years. As long as the doctor did not particularly exert himself, the Cardassian kept pace at his side. Three-quarters of the way back, however, Bashir's exuberance took hold, and he crossed the remaining meters at the maximum speed his special gifts allowed, leaving Garak far behind.

Now he treaded water a small distance from shore and studied his lover's approach. Garak swam in a very peculiar way, at least to human eyes. He held the top of his head out of the water just below his nostrils, leaving the rest submerged. All four limbs churned underneath the surface as well, rarely causing the slightest wave or ripple. As Bashir watched, he realized that all those racist jokes about "Cardies" as lizards or snakes had got their reptiles mixed. What the man swimming toward him resembled was more powerful, more dangerous by far. And Julian had to admit that he had always been attracted to danger. Ah, my clever, charming crocodile, he said to himself, as he set out with rapid strokes to enfold the Cardassian in an embrace. Then, like a rescuer pulling a drowning man to safety, he practically dragged Garak ashore, where they made passionate love just as the sun began to dip beneath the horizon.

They were ironically spending the nights in pure Federation functional, a small emergency tent, thousands of which spread across the emptied landscape of Prime to house homeless Cardassians. They'd brought four portable heating units, and the interior temperature, even at night, was for Bashir a comfortable 15 C., but Garak complained constantly of the cold, and spent all his time wrapped in or huddled underneath three superinsulated thermal blankets. Julian felt lucky he had been able to persuade Elim to sleep naked under the blankets, but he found snuggling beneath them so stifling that he kept having to get up and cool off. They'd only been asleep an hour when he fought his way out of the covers, went over to the water container, and poured a cup of the icy liquid over his head. He dried off with a towel, stepped out into the cold night for a few seconds, and only then felt shivery enough to dive back into the overheated cocoon with Elim. The Cardassian was sleeping heavily, his breathing deep and regular. Julian slipped in beside him, his chest nestled against the scaly back, his head resting on the shoulder just where the neck bones stopped. Garak shifted slightly but soon grew still.

Why did I wait so long for this? I'm so happy, Julian's no longer sleepy mind told him. Unfortunately, his body told him something else. What was the matter with him, that he still longed to fuck Garak. Hadn't his lover shown him countless ways to experience exquisite pleasure without any necessity for penetration? Was it because most of his previous partners had been women, that he didn't think you'd really made love unless you'd stuck your cock in someone's hole? He could just hear Elim saying, "What an unimaginative notion, my dear boy, so narrow-minded." Nevertheless his cock was now definitely ready to poke itself in between those silver gray buttocks. Bashir cursed his weakness and reached down to do something about the situation. As if it had a will of its own, however, his hand instead delved down into the scale-lined crevice. Garak stirred and murmured softly. Julian let his index and middle fingers probe further, past the guardian muscles, to stimulate the pleasure cluster he knew lay right beyond. The Cardassian's body jerked as if an electric current had passed through it. Now fully awake, he arched his back and moaned loudly. Julian rubbed harder and faster, and his lover's cries increased in tempo accordingly. "Oohh, my dear, go deeper, deeper," Garak whimpered.

"I'd have to use my cock for that," Julian said ruefully.

"Yes, yes, do it."

What the hell was going on? After all Elim's protestations about not tolerating anal penetration? Was this another of his elaborate obfuscations, designed to work Bashir up into this very state? Well, he certainly wasn't going to refuse the long hoped for invitation. He quickly straddled his lover and thrust eagerly as Garak writhed in apparent ecstasy. Try as he might, Julian couldn't prolong the experience to the extent his partner would obviously have preferred. He came in a convulsive rush, and withdrew, rolling over on his back in a haze of bliss.

Without a word, Garak was on him, flipping him onto his back and pinioning his wrists with a powerful grip while he used his knees to spread Bashir's legs so that he could, seconds later, slam into him hard. Bashir was momentarily puzzled. Garak had shown absolutely no interest previously in playing rough, but then he had shown complete aversion to fucking, too. Obviously their sex games were simply being switched into a different register. Just enjoy the excitement, Bashir, he told himself.

Human anal clefts were definitely not self-lubricating, but fortunately the fine scales that lined a Cardassian's organ ruffled out, soft and moist, when the man was fully aroused. The first time he saw it, Bashir had thought "feather duster"; the first time he had taken it into his mouth, he revised the metaphor to "cotton candy on a stick." Still, the impact of Garak pounding away at him, coupled with the uncomfortable position of his arms, was not making this the most pleasant fuck he'd ever experienced. "Elim, can you take it a little easier?" he said.

For an answer, Elim jerked his arms back in an extremely painful way, and, matching his syllables to the rhythm of his thrusts, barked, "Doc... tor... for... once... in... your... life... just... shut... up."

Julian felt a little frisson of fear. This seemed to be something other than his partner's desire for new kinds of sexual stimulation. Everything in Garak's voice said rage, not passion. The doctor reassured himself with the knowledge that his superior strength and agility would allow him to break free if he felt in danger of serious injury. Besides, how much longer could the Cardassian keep this up? He had always come very rapidly in Julian's hands or mouth. Now, however, he seemed unwilling or unable to let go. He grunted with each thrust like a man chopping away with an ancient axe at a tree that refused to fall.

For what seemed like an eternity to his partner, the Cardassian labored, until at last his body stiffened. He gave a shrill cry like that of an animal howling at the moon, and Julian felt the rush of warm liquid inside him. Then Garak uttered another cry, almost like a sob. He let go of Julian's wrists and clambered up. The doctor rolled over and got to his feet, seeing that Garak had retreated to the far corner of the tent. He was standing there naked, his back turned, and his whole body heaving convulsively. Partly it was the cold, but the rest of it was either grief or anger. Bashir couldn't tell. He gathered up one of the thermal blankets and made to wrap it around Elim's shoulders. Without turning to look at him, Garak pushed him away savagely.

"Elim, what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" came a strangled reply. "Surely you cannot have failed to notice that I just raped you."

"Raped me? How can it be rape when I've been begging you to fuck me for the past five days. Granted you were a little more forceful than--"

Garak turned around then, his face anguished. "Oh, please, doctor, spare me the hair-splitting. It was my intention to violate you, to master you utterly, and I know that you are quite intelligent enough to realize it."

"All right," Bashir went on, carefully measuring his words. "You warned me that you wouldn't tolerate being fucked, and I pressed on anyway. Your reaction wasn't exactly welcome, but it's psychologically understandable. I shouldn't have been so eager to take a few drowsy syllables as consent. Although you certainly did seem to enjoy the whole process."

"Oh yes, I did enjoy it. I've never felt anything so erotic in my life. That was the problem." Garak's voice was filled with a bitterness and self-loathing Bashir had only heard once before, when the Cardassian was having his worst moments of withdrawal from the endorphin implant. "And just as my pleasure was about to crest, I heard HIM, as clearly as if he were standing in this tent. He laughed at me. 'So, Elim, at last we see you for what you really are. All that veneer of sophistication and cleverness, all that fine appreciation of literature and art you acquired under my protection, it can't hide the fact that you're the bastard son of a street whore who can find no greater joy than letting himself be fucked up the ass by his betters.' Suddenly I was overcome with the irresistible urge to take you and dominate you and prove to Tain that he was wrong, that I belonged on top, that I was nothing like that contemptible piece of filth, Kadz."

"Kadz?" Bashir said incredulously. "Do you mean to tell me that you hate him so much because you think you might have become him?"

"Of course. Isn't that the obvious reaction? Suppose you were to encounter a young man who had been born with limitations similar to yours, and had not had the good fortune to be genetically enhanced. Wouldn't the sight of him fill you with hatred?"

Bashir shivered. The unreconstructed Jules was a figure who stalked his nightmares. "I think he might frighten me, Elim, but I wouldn't hate him. I would hope that I would simply feel sympathy for him."

"Pity," Garak snorted. "No thank you."

"Not pity, compassion. Is that not an emotion known to Cardassians?"

Garak didn't answer. Instead he began to put on his clothes, then to roll up the blankets. "Gather your things, doctor," he said at length. "I can't bear to remain here. I'll drop you off at the nearest starbase."

Julian gripped him by the shoulders and forced him to look him in the eye. "I agree we should get out of here, but I won't leave you like this. We'll return to your house. I'll move back into the guest room. We'll forego being intimate until we can rebuild each other's a trust, a step at a time. I won't give up on us, Elim."

"Always the optimist," Garak whispered, his face a picture of hopelessness. "Very well, we'll go home together, for all the good it will do us. Although I can't fathom how you can stand to be anywhere near me, after what I've done."

Julian had lain in his bed sleepless, replaying the disturbing events over and over in his mind. So he leapt up immediately when the security alarm sounded. But Garak had reacted even more quickly. The Cardassian stood checking out the video feed from his external security cameras. Underneath the whine of the alarm, the doctor's ears discerned a series of dull thuds. Someone was pounding on the front door. Bashir came up behind Garak and looked at the screen as the rate of the pounding accelerated. Its source was about the last he would have imagined. Moxh stood outside, kicking at the door desperately while struggling to hold up Kadz, who leaned against his sister, supporting all his weight on his right leg, while the left dangled a few centimeters off the ground, twisted into an unnatural shape. A bone protruded at mid-calf. The boy's head lolled like a rag doll's upon the girl's shoulder. His face was a blur of blood and bruises.

"Garak, what are you waiting for? Let them in," the doctor insisted.

"Not so fast. It might be a trap."

"I doubt that he beat himself to a pulp just so he could get another crack at your replicator."

"No, but whoever did this to him might be using those creatures to gain entry." Garak gestured at Bashir with his disrupter. "Get your weapon also, and we'll risk opening the door."

Julian went to his room, shaking his head at Garak's paranoia. Still, he supposed that his friend had made plenty of enemies with very long memories during his career in the Obsidian Order. He would probably never be able to let his guard down. The doctor retrieved his phaser from his luggage and stood to one side of the door, covering Garak, as the Cardassian programmed it to open. The two young people stumbled inside as the door immediately slid back and locked behind them. Moxh looked around in dismay at the two men's weapons and froze for several seconds before pushing her brother toward the doctor. She uttered strangled cries of distress while imploring him with frightened brown eyes, still rheumy with the after-effects of her illness.

"My God!" Bashir exclaimed after getting a close look at Kadz's injuries. He swept the boy up in his arms and started barking orders, not now lover or houseguest but CMO. "Garak, beam up to your runabout and bring down the emergency medkit. I'm taking him into the guestroom. When you get back, I'll need all the blankets you have in the house." The doctor half expected a protest, but Garak only nodded silently and did as he had been requested.

That Kadz had made it to Garak's house from the park, the assumed location of the attack, was nothing short of a miracle. The cuts and bruises looked to be a day or two old. His sister must have dragged him here slowly, meter by meter. The boy was now only semi-conscious, dehydrated and delirious. And in excruciating pain. Every step Bashir made, every arrangement of his patient on the bed brought a little bleat of agony. The doctor fumbled through his bag, took out the most powerful painkiller he had and injected Kadz with the maximum dose. By this time Garak had returned with the medkit. The doctor started some intravenous fluids and then began the arduous task of trying to repair the damage.

He found his efforts impeded, however, by Moxh, who was clinging to his robe and addressing him with a series of incomprehensible grunts. "Garak, take the girl into the kitchen and try to quiet her down, will you," he asked. But when the Cardassian approached, Moxh screamed and dived under the bed.

"She hasn't seen me at my most ingratiating,"Garak apologized with a shrug of his shoulders. "One has to admire her courage, returning to a house they had robbed, risking immediate confinement in a labor camp. She must love her brother very much. And trust in your compassion even more."

Julian smiled at Elim's managing to say "compassion" without a sneer. "Well, she's at least out of the way at present. It's probably best just to leave her there."

Refocusing his attention after the interruption, Bashir rechecked the readouts on his diagnostic instruments. They gave a grim account. There was internal bleeding where a cracked rib had punctured a lung and more from a lacerated organ that served Cardassians as both spleen and liver. He injected cloptamarine to slow the blood flow; to stop it would require surgery. An operation would also be needed on the crushed and mangled leg. For now he simply straightened it out as best he could, made preliminary repairs with a bone regenerator, and immobilized the limb in a cast. The other fractures, and there were many, fortunately had come as clean breaks, and the bone regenerator sufficed to mend them. Finally Bashir took out his dermal regenerator and worked carefully to restore Kadz's battered face, to reduce his swollen eyes and mouth to normal proportions.

Just as he erased the last bruise, Kadz stirred to consciousness. "Fedder?" he asked, confused. "Where's Moxh?"

"She brought you here, she's just fine," Bashir said in soothing tones. "What the hell happened to you?"

The boy tried to scoot up into a sitting position, but the effort soon caused him to groan and lie still. "Mmmmmmm. Head hurts, dizzy." he gasped. "What happened? Klingon. Made him mad."

"You certainly did," Bashir observed. "Whatever did you say to him?"

"Klingon asked... that I do Moxh for him... wanted to watch how Cardies sport. Then, he's not pleased... Said I don't do it like a real man--he's going to show me how... Fine I say, but that's one strip more... Klingon just laughs, says it's free, 'cause I'm such a... disappointment." Kadz paused and struggled for breath. "No one cheats Kadz out of what's his, though. So I pulled him off her. Said cheaters got no honor. He grabbed me up by the leg... Don't remember much else..." he trailed off into a wracking cough that brought up a trickle of fresh blood to the corner of his mouth. "Not easy to talk," he gurgled.

"Don't try. I shouldn't have asked you to. Here, I'm going to give you something that will let you rest." Bashir filled a hypospray with a strong sedative and put it to Kadz's neck. The boy's eyelids fluttered a few times, and then he drifted off to sleep. The doctor bent down and gently pulled Moxh from under the bed, lifting her up to have a look at Kadz. She reacted with a happy chirp at seeing her brother's face returned more or less to its usual appearance and then climbed in carefully beside him, draping one arm over his shoulder. Bashir covered both of them with two of the blankets Garak had brought in and then beckoned the Cardassian to leave the room with him. "I can't believe he'd take on a Klingon-- all for one strip of latinum," Bashir confided as they walked into the living room.

"Oh, it wasn't just the latinum, my dear doctor. Poor Kadz was defending his manhood. I suppose there's been no one to tell him that he lost it the first time he bent over for a twofie gitter."

"I think he'll live," the doctor said as he reclined on the couch with his feet propped up on its arm. He stifled a yawn. "When his vital signs have stabilized, I'll beam over with him to the nearest hospital, because he'll need surgery for the internal bleeding and a major reconstruction job on the leg."

"Julian, there isn't a hospital on Cardassia that would admit him. He won't ever have had his birth registered. He'll never pass the DNA scan."

Bashir shot him a disbelieving look. "You can't be serious," he exclaimed. "When they see how much he's suffering, they certainly won't turn him away just because he's illegitimate."

"The most they will do is offer him a lethal injection to end that suffering," Garak explained calmly.

"Good heavens, it's not as if he were some animal who'd been run down in the road."

"That's precisely what he is, to Cardassian eyes."

"With all the people you lost in the Dominion exterminations, you'd think that every surviving Cardassian life would be precious," Bashir said accusingly.

"Yes, but we lost an even greater percentage of our resources," Garak responded. "If the hospitals wouldn't treat accies during prosperous times, they're hardly likely to change now that everything from hyposprays to biobeds are in short supply."

It was true that the Cardassian medical institutions had only returned to a subsistence level of care, capable of handling the life-and-death cases, but little else. The doctor had noted in his report that the less seriously ill should be accepted into Federation hospitals for elective treatments for at least another year. Otherwise it would be unconscionable for Starfleet Medical to pull out completely, which had been the recommendation of the commission he had served on. "I suppose I could evacuate him out to the Infirmary on Starbase 419," Bashir mused, "but he really doesn't need to be dragged about again." Then his eyes lit up. "Wait, I've got a plan. The big medical supply depot for the relief effort is on Cardassia Two. If you've got space you could clear, I can get what I need from the industrial replicators there, load them on your runabout, and perform the surgery here. It will only take a few hours."

"If I pack up the materials in my sewing room, it could serve your purpose," Garak replied.

"You don't mind?" Bashir felt a twinge of guilt. He'd landed Garak with these two unwanted guests, and now he was about to turn his lover's home into an outpatient clinic.

"Consider it a small recompense--for what happened earlier."

"Right." Bashir ducked his head, feeling awkward. He dared to give Garak's hand a little squeeze. "Uh, I'll go dress and then be off immediately. Kadz should stay asleep the whole time, with all the sedation he's under, but you might check in on him every half hour or so, to be on the safe side. Sorry to keep you up all night."

"I don't think I would have slept in any event," Garak said with a tight smile.

"No, nor I." The doctor took two steps toward the door, then stopped. "Um, Garak," he began, regarding the Cardassian with slight apprehension, "I hate even to ask this, but I can trust you not to give him a lethal injection, can't I?"

Garak's face relaxed into a more genuine smile. "It would be the best solution for all concerned, but you need have no fears. You will find him just as you left him."

Bashir piled the three supply containers onto the biobed, hopped up beside them, and beamed down from the runabout into Garak's sewing room. The Cardassian had moved all the rooms's regular furnishings up against the walls, leaving ample space for the doctor to set up his surgery. He activated the biobed's energy source and opened the first container, sorting its contents by the order of the planned procedures. He hadn't been there for more than a minute or two, however, when he heard several piercing screams, followed by a repeated anxious cry of "He's going to catch me, he's going to catch me." Damn, Bashir swore. Kadz must be that one in a thousand Cardassians in whom cloptamarine induces nightmarish hallucinations. Elim will be delighted if he's been having to listen to that for long!

He had to open the second container and rummage through it before he came up with the anesthetic he planned to use for the boy's surgery. Loading a hypospray, he took off at a brisk pace for the guest room at the other end of the hall. By the time he reached the doorway, however, the screaming had died down into a few whimpers. The doctor halted at the threshold to take in an unexpected tableau. Garak was seated by Kadz's bed, his back to Bashir. His index and middle fingers were stroking the two bone-ridges that ran along the boy's jawline and met at a thirty degree angle just below the ear. "Shh, shh now," he said softly. "You're safe here. He can't hurt you any more." With his other hand, Garak was caressing the youngster's hair. Moxh, sensing her brother's distress, had retreated to a corner of the room, where she was signing emphatically to no one in particular.

Kadz's own hands groped about wildly until he grabbed onto the one with which Garak was stroking his face. He nuzzled against it with his cheek, heaving several contented sighs. "Mmm Mo-mo, Mo-mo," he finally whispered.

Julian stepped deliberately into the room and laid his hand on Garak's shoulder. The Cardassian didn't flinch. Well, Julian hadn't really imagined that he could sneak up on one of the Obsidian Order's finest. "He's not always a contemptible piece of filth, is he, Elim?" he said, leaning down to inject Kadz with the anesthetic.

Garak extracted his hand from the boy's grasp with great care and got up. "No, not always," he replied. Then he shook off his tender mood and gave the doctor that little smirk so familiar from countless lunch table debates. "Only when he's awake."

The surgery took three hours. Bashir did the trickiest procedure first, the one that required Garak's hands in support of his own: the reconstruction of the shattered leg. He had to piece the fragments together and then attach the ragged bone ends one to the other with synthetic skeletal grafts. Both knee and ankle also had to be replaced. To assure that the limb would heal straight, he put pins through the two artificial joints and attached four external knee to ankle rods to brace the leg and hold it immobile. This done, he sent Garak off to bed. Moxh had evidently been impressed sufficiently by the Cardassian's recent solicitude toward Kadz that she allowed him to lead her to the couch and tuck her in for what little was left of the night before he retired himself.

Bashir's genetic enhancements allowed him to function at his peak through extended periods with very little sleep, but he was more than ready to crawl into his own bed as the first murky light appeared above the horizon. He took off his uniform and threw it into a chair, told the computer to awake him in two hours, and was snoring softly two seconds after his head settled into the pillow.

He awoke to what passed for blazing sunlight on Cardassia Prime and knew that he had slept for far more than two hours. A check of the chronometer revealed his slumber's duration to be in fact nearly six. He scrambled up to go check on his patient, but before he'd even got his shirt on,

he encountered Garak at the door bearing a tray of hot Tarkalean tea and buttered scones

"Just sit back down on your bed, doctor. Your breakfast is right here," his friend said.

"I have to see if Kadz is doing all right,"Bashir protested.

"He is. I've been checking on him regularly."

"But you're not a doctor."

"No, but I do know what normal Cardassian life signs look like, and which abnormalities indicate a crisis," Garak responded smoothly. "I can assure you that the boy's condition is quite stable." He produced a PADD from under the napkin, "This is the last five hours' readout from the biobed. You can look it over while you drink your tea."

Julian reluctantly got back into bed and took up the PADD in one hand and the teacup in the other. Garak was right, the life signs were just as they should be. But they indicated that the patient had come out of the anesthesia three hours earlier. "He's been conscious?" the doctor inquired, taking a bite out of a scone.

"Not entirely focused, but conscious, yes. A little scared, too, although he tried to hide it. Whether the source of the fear was me or that contraption on his leg, I'm not sure." Garak observed with his customary irony. "I told him that you would explain everything to him shortly and gave him a bowl of taspar broth. He ate about half of it before he dropped off to sleep again."

Bashir wolfed down the second scone and drained the rest of the tea. "Thanks for playing nurse and letting me sleep, Elim. I'll go see to him myself now."

"Julian, don't, not yet." Garak's tone was half command and half plea. As the doctor's brow creased in puzzlement, the Cardassian quickly divested himself of his clothes and slid into the bed, his agile fingers moving over those places that produced in Julian the swiftest arousal. Then he turned over on his belly and spread out his legs. "My dear, I want you to come inside me, I want us to be as close as lovers can be."

"Elim, how can you be asking me this, after what happened last night?" Julian's mouth was hanging open in disbelief. "We agreed we would take things slowly from now on."

"Please, don't argue with me," Garak urged. "It's what I want, and I want it now."

Bashir bent over and massaged the powerful neck. His cock ached to find its way into the welcoming cleft, but he held himself back. "You're sure?" he whispered into Garak's ear. "I don't want you to subject yourself to something that feels like a violation, just to please me."

Garak thrust his hips upward, brushing his buttocks against the doctor's erect organ. "A silly prejudice," he gasped. "Please, Julian, come inside me now."

Bashir hardly needed further persuasion, his own desire had grown so powerful. Yet he couldn't get rid of the fear that he would make some false move that would sunder them forever. You can't be overpowering him in any way. It's a joining. You're becoming one. Every moment of pleasure must be secondary to that, he told himself. He entered slowly, gently, wrapping his legs around Garak's as he ran his hands rhythmically up and down the Cardassian's powerful gray arms. Very gradually the force and speed of his thrusts increased as their reciprocal sounds of pleasure struck up an almost musical counterpoint. As Julian approached his release, Garak took his lover's hand and drew it to his own fully expressed cotton candy. The Cardassian came in the doctor's hand a fraction of a second before Bashir stiffened and then relaxed with the rhythm of his own orgasm. He withdrew quickly and tumbled off Garak, seeking his lover's face and covering it with wave after wave of kisses. He felt absolutely overwhelmed with pure joy. "Oh, Elim, I've never loved anyone so much as I love you now," he sighed.

Garak stroked Julian's hair with both hands and sent his tongue probing deliciously deep into the human's mouth, but suddenly the doctor broke off the kiss and sat upright, clutching the discarded covers to him. "Uh oh, we've got company," he yelped, pointing to the doorway, where Moxh was standing, studying them with rapt attention. The minute Bashir's eyes lighted on her she skittered away.

Garak laughed heartily. "You can tell, my dear boy, that I'm not used to having children in the house. I never even thought to lock the door."

Before Julian could say anything further, the voice of Kadz echoed from the end of the hall. "Hey, hey, if you twofies is through fucking each other, this studder here is starving."

Garak got out of bed and put his clothes back on. "The operation has been a success, doctor, and your patient obviously is on the way to a full recovery," he observed, with an amusement tempered by an equal dose of annoyance. "Shall I prepare the meal for his highness?"

Julian still had eight days leave to spend with Elim, but it was clear that they were also going to have to share the precious time together with Kadz and Moxh. Garak immediately laid down some ground rules, which he asked the doctor to communicate to their guests, since both children were still deeply distrustful of their host. They were to learn and observe the rudimentary elements of Cardassian hygiene. The makeshift infirmary would be the place they both ate and slept; they were under no circumstances to intrude on Garak's bedroom when both he and his lover were in it. Nor were they to interrupt the meals Garak and Bashir shared in the kitchen.

The twins' ragged clothing was filthy and blood-stained beyond restoration, so Garak made them each a set of sleeping robes, two daytime outfits, and also provided the unfamiliar novelty of several pairs of underwear. He also replicated for each a tooth polisher, a scale buffer, and a comb. Moxh, especially, was delighted with these new toys, and spent hours grooming her bed-ridden brother, who tolerated her efforts without protest, although he was obviously mortified at the spectacle he presented every time Bashir walked in to check up on him.

Today was the third since the surgery. Garak had a council meeting that promised to take up the entire afternoon. Julian, reading in the living room, had just managed to sort out all the guilts in one of the enigma tales in Garak's library--his first complete success after struggling through a half dozen of the damned things. He rose and stretched, then decided to go in and examine his patient. The doctor had by observation picked up the meaning of a number of Moxh's signs, and he gestured to her to leave off styling her brother's hair so that he could make his examination. She hopped down with a smile and took up one of the sewing tools Garak had shown her how to use after he noticed her fascination with how he pieced the various cloth shapes together in order to produce their garments. She had gathered some of the scraps from his recycle basket, and, climbing onto her own bed, the girl took up again her project of attaching them together in a number of fantastic configurations.

The doctor ran his scanner over Kadz's leg and smiled with satisfaction at what it told him. The natural and synthetic bones were knitting together well. He clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Your leg is coming along splendidly, Kadz. Tomorrow I think we'll start letting you put some weight on it. I imagine you're more than ready to get out of bed, eh?

"Sure, sure," the boy replied without enthusiasm, his attention focused not on his physician but on his sister. Then he turned toward Bashir with an unusually earnest expression. "Fedder, the old twofie bought Moxh fair up. I know the girls don't excite him, but maybe he could keep her as his slavey, let her clean and fix, so's he don't have to mind about the dirty work?"

"Garak wouldn't want her here, Kadz. He only pretended to buy Moxh so he could get you both out of his home as quickly as possible."

"Oh, that's a ruffler." The boy's countenance was glum.

"Why would you want her to be his 'slavey' anyway?"

"Sure you've grabbed it, Fedder, how happy she is in this gitter house. Soft bed, clean clothes, food for the asking. Kadz won't ever get her those, no matter how hard he sports. She's never been as strong as me, and ever since her acci died, she don't have much heart for the work. After that Klingon, I don't think she'll ever do a sport again. Kadz can't get enough on his own to keep us both." He lifted up his broken leg and tapped it up and down on the bed several times. "Can't even get enough to keep myself these moons. Moxh stays with the twofie, at least Moxh don't starve."

The doctor just stared at him for a second. What have you been thinking Bashir? You're going home in less than a week, and you know that Elim's only letting them stay here to indulge you. What exactly did you suppose was going to happen to them when you'd gone? Maybe Elim is right to distrust compassion. Shaking off such doubts, however, he grasped the boy's shoulder and said to him earnestly, "Don't worry. I'll see to it that neither one of you starves."

Kadz shook his head. "That Damar, the one in our park, used to come on the big screens. Once he told us, those Fedders always think they can save everyone just by wishing. Kardasi know there's plenty of things--nobody can save," he said pointedly.

"Well, despite Damar, I prefer to cling to my Federation delusions a little longer," Bashir responded stiffly, and left the room.

He went immediately to Garak's comm console and logged on. The girl's deafness might actually provide an opportunity for placing her. He searched his enhanced memory. Which one of his medical school classmates was it who had gone into speech and audiology? Right, Bhatt, the one with the hearing-impaired parents. "Computer, find comm location for Bhatt, Dr. Adger V...

"So Adger Bhatt told me about the research his sister was doing into gestural communication, and she told me about the Institute on Camerzion." Julian was in full explanatory mode, excitedly filling Garak in over dinner of the positive results of his search for a better life for Moxh. "The Camerz have no vocal chords--their mouths go directly into their stomachs. They communicate with their hands and their facial expressions. They're the leading experts on all kinds of sign language in the galaxy, and they maintain a training program for gestural speakers from non-gestural species. Of course there's a waiting list a kilometer long, but they reserve spaces for any subjects needed by their resident scholars. As luck would have it, Professor Bhatt is a linguist who studies gestural systems unique to a few individuals. She'll take Moxh to the Institute and map out the system she and Kadz use with each other. In return she'll teach the girl one of the standard gestural languages that universal translators can handle. And the Camerz are also working on a chip that can be implanted behind the retina and then convert speech into sign. She might not want to go that far, but at least she'll have the choice and--" Bashir stopped for breath, at the same time noticing Garak's preoccupied air "--you stopped listening to me about five minutes ago."

"You've found the girl a school where she will learn to communicate with someone other than that reprobate brother of hers," Garak said. "I've heard every word you've said. I don't suppose they are going to invite him to Camerzion also?"

"Professor Bhatt will want to observe the two together. I was hoping that you'd let them stay on here until she arrives next week. But, no, she won't be taking Kadz with her. I-I suspect you'll have to send him to me on the station. He'll probably cause as many problems as that young Jem'Hadar Odo tried to tame, but I can't think of any other alternative until his leg heals."

"I think it would be better for all concerned if Kadz remained here."

"I agree that he shouldn't necessarily leave Cardassia, but there's no way he can survive on the streets now," Bashir replied.

"You misunderstand, Julian. I meant that Kadz should remain here, in my house."

"You can't be serious," Bashir exclaimed. "The very sight of him makes you livid."

"Ah, but the sight of you makes me indescribably happy. You'll want to check up on him often, like the dedicated physician you are. If he's here, that gives you an excellent excuse to come see me. You know I'm never without my ulterior motives."

"I don't need any excuses to come see you. I love you."

"Not an excuse, then, but an explanation-- to your colleagues, in case you'd rather not tell them about your devious Cardassian lover," Garak said.

"Look, Elim, I'm not ashamed of our relationship. If this is about my not resigning my post on DS9--"

Garak put his hand to Bashir's lips. "Of course it's not. I don't expect you to change everything in your life just because we're lovers. As Preloc says, 'To have one's beloved in one's arms for only an hour suffices if one's beloved dwells always in one's heart.' Besides, I'm probably doomed to end up Cardassian ambassador to Bajor, and you'll eventually have more than enough of me in your quarters every night complaining about quarrelsome Kais and Vedeks and First Ministers. In the meantime, you must allow me my little intrigues. I can't let my skills get rusty." He folded his napkin and reached for Julian's empty plate . "I'll clear up, and then we can go find out how well our guests take to the new futures we have mapped out for them."

The doctor went in alone to tell Kadz of the plans for Moxh. The boy listened to him intently. When Bashir had completed his recitation, he inquired, "This Ins-ti-tute that will study Moxh, you're sure it's no hospital to cut her up?"

"Of course not! It's really a school. The researchers will learn from Moxh, and she'll learn from them. She'll have a room all to herself and everything she wants to eat."

"Can't say no then," Kadz beamed.

"Now Kadz, you do realize that Camerzion is very far away. You and Moxh may not see each other for a very long time. I know how close you are. It may be hard." The doctor didn't want to deceive the boy that the advantages of the proposition came without any cost.

"Hard, yes, but has to be," Kadz said. "Better that Moxh gets close to other studders than Kadz. Lately she's been talking that no one does her like her brother, wants us to go off by ourselves and have some accies. Guess she thinks their food's going to fall from the sky. But even if it did, we can't be doing the rest. Ara Beldon, the one that knows all about how babies come, she says that it's not the best thing for sisters to have accies with their brothers." He turned an inquiring countenance toward Bashir. "That true, Fedder?"

The doctor did everything in his power not to sound judgmental. "Yes, it's not at all the best thing , Kadz."

The boy sucked in his breath sharply. "Then she'll go to the Institute, and Kadz will stay behind. If I tell her slow, she'll be ready when the study woman comes to take her."

"Good man," Bashir said, impressed at this unexpected capacity for self-sacrifice. "It's not just Moxh who'll be well cared for, though. Garak has agreed to let you stay with him until your leg is better. Here he is to tell you about it himself." This was the cue for Garak to enter, but before he had taken two steps into the room, Kadz delivered his analysis of the situation.

"It's fair, I nabbed his keepings, cheated him out of the latinum rock. He gets more from working me than calling sec." He looked Garak up and down with an appraising eye. "Won't be so bad. Kadz been fucked by half the twofies on Prime, lots of them older and uglier than he is."

"No, no, you've got it all wrong. Garak isn't demanding anything in return for his hospitality--certainly not sexual favors."

"Why else would a gitter keep an acci around?" Kadz asked skeptically.

Behind him, Bashir heard Garak suck in his breath, much as Kadz had done moments before. "No other reason Kadz. Except that I'm not a gitter, I'm an acci, just like you."

"You lie!" the boy declared.

"Frequently. However, this happens to be the truth." Kadz looked with incredulity at Bashir, seeking confirmation. The doctor nodded.

"Can't grab it. No acci gets a big house like this. 'Cept maybe the Jemmies got his keeper, and he's just squatting."

"My mother's... keeper took an interest in me when I was small," Garak explained. "He gave me the opportunity to learn what he could teach me, so I could become an asset to the state, rather than a nuisance to it. I'm willing to pass on that opportunity to you."

"Why? You don't even like me."

"And I imagine I will like you even less before our time together has ended. However, these days Cardassia is in no position to throw away any of its people, even impudent street boys."

"I hope you can appreciate the chance Garak is offering you," Bashir intoned sententiously, all the while wondering why this was the first he was hearing of this motivation for Elim to keep the boy with him.

Garak raised his eye-ridges slightly at Julian's pronouncement. "The doctor has, however, mislead you in respect to my requiring nothing in return for my hospitality. Becoming capable of productive service to the state will require extremely hard work from you."

Kadz hardly looked overjoyed at the prospect. "Kadz says no thanks, you call sec, right?"

Garak grabbed Bashir hard by the wrist to forestall any indignant denial by the doctor. "That's right. Hard work for me or hard labor for the security forces."

"Guess you win then, old twofie."

Garak stepped forward and grabbed both the boy's wrists even harder than he had Bashir's. "All right Kadz. We're going to have your first lesson right now. Kardasi is a rich and beautiful language. You will use it properly and respectfully in this house. The correct response is "I accept your offer, Garak."

"I accept your offer, Garak," the boy spat out, his eyes blazing defiance.

"Good." The Cardassian released his grip. He gave Kadz his characteristic little mocking bow of the head and walked out.

Whew, what a battle of wills this is going to be, Bashir thought to himself. Before going out himself, he bent down and said to his patient. "Before you think about taking Garak on, Kadz, let me give you a little advice. He's the man who made it possible for your Damar to drive the Jemmies out. After facing down the leader of the whole Dominion, I don't think he'll have any trouble with you."

And Kadz, his eyes as big as Prime's two moons at full, for once had not a word to say.

The day he had to return to Deep Space Nine came all too soon for Julian Bashir. Being apart from Elim, having to explain things to Ezri--it wasn't going to be easy. Yet the joy these past days had given him made any future difficulties appear eminently surmountable. He smiled as he folded each of the six pairs of the briefest of silver silk briefs his lover had made for him and packed them at the top of his travel bag. "The more I have to peel off that lovely body of yours," Elim had said, "the more satisfying it is." Julian then closed the bag's fasteners, picked up his uniform jacket from the bed and put it on. A glance at the antique Cardassian chronometer told him that they wouldn't have to leave for the spaceport for another quarter hour. He sighed and went into the living room.

Garak was sitting on the couch studying a PADD; Moxh, curled up beside him, was concentrating on piecing together a pile of colored cloth squares according to a simple pattern Garak had provided. In contrast to these two still figures was Kadz, fidgeting like mad in his seat in front of the computer console. The boy took Bashir's entrance as a welcome cue to swivel his chair around and hop up on his good leg. He limped energetically toward the doctor and reached for his bag. "Ready to go, Fedder? Kadz will take that out and beam it to the runabout."

Garak rose and put his hand on Kadz's shoulder. "Kadz will do no such thing. Kadz will go back to the computer and attend to his lessons."

"Lessons? Stupid time-wasting more like--ugh" As the boy was in the middle of his protest, Garak's hand slid up the neck bones, provided a little pressure, and Kadz was suddenly flailing like a sea-gettle washed up on shore. Garak caught him before he fell, dragged him back to the computer, and with another touch to his neck restored his muscle control.

Despite the painful correction, Kadz was unrepentant. "Aw, Garak, what's the good of lessons for an acci?"

"I've told you that you'll have no chance of getting off the streets and being of service to the state unless you acquire some useful skills."

"Sure, sure. And then what? Cleaner at Central Waste Extraction's the best state service they'd trust to the likes of Kadz. I'd rather stay with the sportin'."

"Until another Klingon you insult decides to finish the job?" Garak inquired acidly. This reminder of his failure finally sufficed to quell the boy. He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the desk and balancing his chin on them with a surly expression. "Kadz got honor too, not just those Klingon gitters," he muttered.

Julian patted him on the head. "Of course you do," he said earnestly, casting a reproachful look at Garak, who however showed no remorse. True, that it's a hard case to make when you've named yourself after your own testicles, the doctor thought. That thought led to a question. "Kadz, did your mother ever call you and Moxh by different names than you have now?"

The boy nodded, "Jilana"--he motioned toward his sister-- "and Jogal. Rich gitter names. Our mo-mo was a dreamer." Kadz gave a little snort. "How our street mates laughed when we said 'em. Dropped 'em soon enough for names more fitting."

Garak knelt beside the boy and held him with his famous interrogator's stare. "Listen, you learn what I can teach you, and I promise you that I'll find you work far more to your liking than either sporting or waste extraction maintenance."

The boy regarded him with suspicion. "No lies, Garak?"

"No lies, Jogal." Garak insisted. "Now, while I take Dr. Bashir to the spaceport, you will therefore memorize every single symbol on those five screens and be able to reproduce them for me, in order, by the time I return. Is that understood?"

"Understood, Garak." Kadz sighed loudly and screwed up his face into an exaggerated representation of concentration as he stared at the computer.

"And the next time I come back to check on your leg, you can amaze me with your powers of recall," Bashir said.

The boy's face brightened. "Will do Fedder. And you can count on Kadz to see the old twofie here don't get too lonesome those moons, case you're worried."

Garak's hand hovered over the boy's shoulder again. "Ah, my dear pupil, another lesson you're going to learn is the positive effect of abstinence in cultivating self-discipline."

"Hey, hey, a sport can't do lessons all the time."

The hand moved lower, but did not go for the nerve. "True. And when you need some relaxation, you can do some needlework. Perhaps you have as natural an aptitude as your sister."

Kadz laughed. "Studders don't do no sewing, not this one at least."

"I hardly think that someone who boasts that he's 'been fucked by half the twofies on Prime' is going to suffer any further damage to his masculinity because he knows how to hem a pair of trousers in an emergency." The hand rested lightly on the boy's shoulder. Kadz lowered his eyes and chewed on his lip. He reached up and carefully removed Garak's hand. "Kadz has to work on his screens," he muttered. Garak stepped back and said, "I think we should be going, Julian."

Bashir clapped Kadz heartily on the back, but the boy shrugged him off and continued to stare at the computer display. The doctor then went over to Moxh and gave her a hug and planted a kiss on her forehead. She favored him with a dazzling smile and one of her little happy sounds. He'd figured out the sign she used for good-bye and made the gesture to her. The smile faded. The girl bent down and returned to her sewing. Evidently she and her brother handled partings by ignoring them. Garak had already stepped outside, and Bashir, feeling ever more reluctant to go, nevertheless saw no further reason to linger.

Garak carefully programmed the outside door locks and then tilted the transporter device around his wrist toward Bashir. "Shall we?" he asked.

In these last few minutes alone together in the runabout before they would have to part for at least a month, Julian knew he should not breathe a word about Kadz, who always seemed to be annoyingly tangled up in their relationship. Yet he had nagging doubts as to whether leaving the boy with Garak was a good idea. "Elim," he ventured, "don't you think you're being awfully hard on Kadz- on Jogal?"

"Julian, every day of that boy's life he's learned that gentleness, that compassion are weaknesses he should relentlessly exploit in others and crush absolutely in himself if he's going to survive. He never thanked you for saving his life, did he? And he never will. If there is even the slightest chance he is to learn to respect himself, to set worthy goals and persevere until he meets them, to become anything more meaningful to his devastated planet than a sexual parasite, then I cannot afford to let up on him for a minute." Garak paused and shook his head. "It's probably too late. He's done as he pleases during all the years that properly raised Cardassian children learn to subordinate their wilfulness to the greater good of the state."

"What will happen to him, if you fail?"

"When his injuries are healed, I'll send him back where he came from. He'll be no worse off there for my tutelage. On the slight chance that he applies himself to his lessons in good faith--well, the government is establishing residential schools for the many orphans the Dominion has left us with, and if the boy had my recommendation, the authorities would probably not look too closely into his background. I warn you though, my dear Julian, if that happens, and he should come to us on his holidays, I will not have you destroy all my hard work by infecting him with your sentimental Federation ideas."

Bashir leaned over and kissed him. "Oh, Elim, I do love you," he said.

"So you have convinced me."

Bashir felt a twinge of disappointment. Come on, you didn't really expect him to say he loved you, not this soon. That would be just as likely as an expression of gratitude from Kadz.

However, Garak had already deciphered his lover's countenance. "You're unhappy, are you, that I didn't return your declaration of affection?"

"No, it's all right, Elim. I know you're not the type to wear your heart on your sleeve."

"What a gruesome expression!" Garak said with a teasing air. "But surely you're aware how often I've told you I love you."

Bashir wrinkled his nose to nearly Bajoran proportions to express his exasperation. "Really, Elim, I don't think that's something I would have forgot!"

"Why, Julian, my dear, I tell you I love you every time I ask you to come inside."

Kudos

"A toast now, everyone," said Miles O'Brien, holding his glass of champagne aloft. "To my old chum Julian Bashir. We've got used to his winning every biochemistry prize in the quadrant for his cures for genetically engineered diseases. But even the venerable Nobel pales beside this one. The Federation has only awarded the Leonard McCoy medal for medical practice as a humane discipline twice in the last hundred years. Garak, why don't you read the inscription?"

The Cardassian's blue eyes sparkled as he proclaimed in a voice husky with emotion, "To Dr. Julian Subatoi Bashir, whose brilliant research has given hope that no power will ever again willfully induce suffering in entire peoples, secure in the knowledge that nothing can end that suffering, but whose true greatness is revealed in the words of the former patient who nominated him for this award, 'There was never a hurt so small or a sufferer so base that he would not stop to heal.'" Garak touched his glass to O'Brien's and said, "Gh'mak entar, praise to the praiseworthy."

"Gh'mak entar," repeated the small circle of friends who surrounded the doctor-- Miles and Keiko, Ezri and Jake, Jilana and Jogal. Then they all touched glasses and downed the bubbly liquor. Julian embraced Elim and clapped Miles on the back. "I, uh, want to thank all of you for being with me tonight. Honors don't mean much unless you've someone to share them with.

And Elim's not lost his touch, bringing you all to Cardassia without my ever suspecting a thing. I do know that the replicator's been working overtime, so let's all go into the kitchen and see what delicacies are on offer."

"Wait a minute," O'Brien put in. "We've had the Cardassian sentiment, now it's time for the human." With that he launched into a rousing version of "For he's a jolly good fellow" in his slightly off-key baritone. Keiko and Jake joined in enthusiastically, while the Trill and the three Cardassians maintained a slightly puzzled silence.

Just as the singers were stretching out the last syllable of the last repetition of "And so say all of us," a small girl ran into the room from the hallway. She was wearing a bright print nightgown whose background matched her shock of flaming red hair. The hair came as quite a contrast to her slate blue complexion and the white nubby antennae that protruded from her forehead. She made her way to Jilana's side and signed to her, in words converted to speech by everyone's universal translators, "Mo-mo, these people are too loud. I can't sleep."

"Shh, Trel'ammi, it's a party for Doctor Julian, remember?" Jilana signed back. "Don't insult all his friends who've come from so far away."

The child extended her lower lip in a pout. "You tell me always to let you know if sounds keep me awake, so you can get my ear shields."

"That's right," Julian intervened. "We've got to protect those super sensitive ears of yours." He

swept the girl up in his arms. "But you're in luck, Trel'ammi, because now that all my noisy friends have awakened you, we're going to get you some of Takkon Garak's sweeties." She nodded her head and gave him a dazzling smile as he led the other guests to the dessert table.

Garak had asked all the invited guests to send him the replicator formulas for their favorite desserts, so the table was laden with everything from Idanian spice pudding to larish pie to trifle. Julian even caught sight of the date and honey cake his mother always made for him as a boy. Of course Amsha and Elim had been exchanging recipes for years, and Julian had laughed long and hard at his lover's discomfiture when one of them came inscribed to "the best daughter-in-law any fond mother could have."

Julian picked up an Andorrian confection made of menala seeds rolled into balls of spun sugar made from the sap of the menala tree. "Open wide Trel'ammi, " he said, popping it into the little girl's mouth. He planned to dig into the keva-flavored sponge cake topped with Delavian chocolate icing that Garak always made for him on special occasions, but he wanted to wait for his guests to serve themselves first. As he stood popping still more menala balls into Trel'ammi's eagerly anticipatory mouth, he saw Jogal cut a slice of the larish pie and hurriedly return with it and a glass of kanar into the living room. Trying to stay well out of Elim's way, Julian concluded with a sigh.

The relationships he and Elim had maintained with these twin Cardassian street children whom they had rescued ten years ago couldn't be more different. Jilana had stayed five years at the Institute for Gestural Communication on Camerzion, and the instant she had learned a standard sign language, she had kept in regular touch with them both (although she was in many respects noticeably partial to Garak). She visited two or three times a year, had invited them to her wedding to Telar, a mute Andorrian fellow student at the Institute, and had insisted that Julian deliver her baby. She behaved, in general, as if she were their daughter.

Jogal, on the other hand--it had been one melodrama after another. He had spent a half year under Garak's tutelage, demonstrating a quick intelligence and aptitude for computer codes, and a complete unwillingness to cultivate self-discipline. He and Garak battled constantly, and Julian wasn't at all pleased by how often his lover would resort to physical punishment to control the boy. Finally Garak, with decided misgivings, managed to enroll his charge in a state-sponsored boarding school, from which he was promptly expelled two months later for "being a corrupting influence on the other students." The school had provided Jogal with transit vouchers to return to Bajor, where Garak was serving as the Cardassian ambassador, but he never showed up.

Julian had been frantic, Elim resigned. "We did our best for him, and he chose his own gratification instead," the Cardassian said. "He's no doubt gone back to the streets where he belongs."

Three weeks after Jogal had disappeared, he turned up completely unexpectedly at the Infirmary on DS9, looking decidedly the worse for wear. Gradually Julian got out of him that the boy had indeed returned to selling himself on the streets of Cardassia Prime, only to find that the business was not what it had been. He no longer could offer the novelty of being part of a twin act, there were fewer curious aliens on Prime now that Cardassia was beginning to be self-sufficient again, and, he confessed, "there's younger and prettier studders out there in Kadz's park these moons." He begged Bashir just to let him live with him on the station, away from that "horrible old twofie," but the Doctor couldn't agree. While Jogal had in a peculiar way brought him and Elim together, he wasn't going to allow the boy to play them against each other and thus drive them apart. "Elim will be coming here in four hours. You'll have to make your peace with him before we can talk about your future."

Elim had no sooner caught sight of Jogal than he said, "Well, have you come crawling back so soon?" Without waiting for an answer, which the boy seemed unlikely to supply, he then told Julian, "Go entertain yourself at Quark's for an hour, my dear. Jogal and I have matters to discuss." The boy had pleaded for Julian to stay, claiming that Garak was bound to kill him.

"I will not lay a finger on him, I promise you," Garak insisted, and Julian took him at his word and left.

When he returned, Jogal wasn't in his and Elim's quarters. Garak explained that he had found the boy his own accommodations on the station for now and that he was planning to enroll him in a training school for computer technicians in the Chin'toka system. He had made it clear that this was absolutely the last chance he would offer Jogal but that no matter how things worked out, he refused ever to let the boy enter his residence again. "I know you are fond of him, Julian, and I don't object to your maintaining contact, but I refuse to have anything more to do with him myself."

Bashir had never got Jogal to tell him what had transpired during the interview with Garak. The boy shipped out for Chin'toka without protest the next day. He communicated with the doctor on a haphazard basis and occasionally dropped by the station when his school holidays and Garak's trips back to Prime coincided. He claimed to have been awarded a certificate for completing his training course two years later, and to have been flooded with job offers to serve as a data systems designer, although Bashir never saw any hard and fast proof of these stories. The only fact about Jogal's post-graduation activities that Julian could verify was that he had for the past three years been working as a sales representative for a Ferengi wholesaler whom he had met one day at Quark's. His product was "pleasure enhancers"--sex toys-- and he had his own runabout, "The Kadz," with which he traveled from Orion to Risa to Earth and dozens of systems in between to contact potential clients. Bashir couldn't help laughing at the appropriateness of the young Cardassian's career choice, but Garak had been furious to hear of it. "The State invests in his training and then he abandons Cardassia for a life of promoting degeneracy," his lover had thundered, and he couldn't be teased out of his anger by Julian calling him a prude and asking whether he might buy one of Jogal's wares for Elim's birthday.

Julian reflected that it proved Elim's great love for him that he would have invited Jogal once more to enter his home on Cardassia Prime, where he now served as Minister of Culture, in order to have their entire "family" present to celebrate the great honor Starfleet had bestowed upon the doctor. Ever since Jogal's arrival with Jilana and Trel'ammi this morning, however, he and Garak had devoted most of their energies to avoiding each other. They had exchanged at best a few perfunctory phrases. The doctor wished he knew why these two people who were both dear to him could not get over their deep-seated animosity toward each other.

A hand on his arm brought him out of his reverie. "Julian," Jilana signed, "how much candy have you been feeding Trel'ammi?" While he had been lost in thought, the little girl had stuffed her mouth full to bursting with the Andorrian delicacies. "If she gets sick, you're the doctor who's going to deal with it while I enjoy the party," her mother joked.

"Uh, sorry, I got distracted," he replied apologetically.

Jilana reached up to take the girl from him and shook her head with an affectionate smile. She expertly balanced the child on one arm as she carried her plate and drink in her other hand on the way back to the living room.

Julian glanced around and saw that he was the sole remaining inhabitant of the kitchen. He cut himself a sizable piece of the sponge cake, poured a glass of the very old port Miles had brought, and rejoined his friends.

The party had resolved itself into three little clusters. Jilana sat on the couch with Trel'ammi on her lap while Miles stood in front of her demonstrating something on a PADD. Engineering talk, Julian concluded. Jilana did structural designs for large industrial installations. Over in the corner by the window, Garak was engaged in animated conversation with Keiko. Since his return to his native planet, Garak had gradually let gardening overtake sewing as his passion, and he was no doubt taking advantage of Dr. O'Brien's skills as a botanist. Up against the bookcases that lined the rear wall, Ezri and Jake were talking to Jogal. Julian decided that this conversation would be the most congenial and walked over to them.

"So how's the man of the hour?" Ezri said with a smile, and then a kiss on the cheek. Julian saw Jake stiffen. Although Garak and Bashir had been together for ten years now, and Jake and Ezri had been married for four, the young human never seemed totally comfortable about the doctor's previous relationship with his wife.

"Rather overwhelmed at all the fuss, to be honest," Julian muttered, ducking his head. "Jake must know what it's like, after all the praise he got for his definitive history of the Dominion War last year."

"Yeah," Jogal chimed in. "It seems every planet I land on to make my sales, you see his book in the shops, or find out he's coming to give a lecture. Got to read it when I get the chance. We didn't exactly hear the full story on Cardassia, with the Jemmies and Vorta saying what was what."

"I'm not sure even my book gets at the full story," Jake said. "I've never been satisfied with the chapter on how the Romulans came into the war against the Founders. Senator Vreenak's ship blowing up, that stolen data rod--it always seemed too, too... convenient. I've always wondered if some anti-Dominion faction of the Romulan senate in fact arranged the whole thing, to get rid of opposition at home. Maybe I should ask Garak what he thinks. He knows a lot about the Romulans, doesn't he?"

"He knows a lot about everything, if you can believe what he tells you," Jogal replied dismissively. There was an awkward silence, until Ezri launched an obvious attempt to change the subject. "So, Julian, are you enjoying your work on Starbase 274?"

"Yes, it's very challenging. We gather data on any illness that makes a first occurrence in Federation space, track epidemics, do research on vaccines. And besides its quarantine wing for infectious disease patients, the Infirmary that's affiliated with the laboratory also receives any trauma cases that occur on ships in the entire sector. There's really never a dull moment. Still, I must admit that the main attraction is that it's only an hour from Cardassia Prime, instead of twenty. Now I can come home to Elim every evening I'm not on duty."

"Wouldn't trade that for Quark's holosuites myself," Jogal said. Julian shot him a disapproving look. "Speaking of which," the Cardassian added, unrepentant, "how's that wreck of a Kardasi station doing without the services of the Fedder doc here?"

"Oh, it's very grim," Ezri intoned with mock solemnity. "The new CMO is a Vulcan--very skilled, but absolutely no bedside manner. Patients of hers no sooner check out of the Infirmary than they come straight to me to receive counseling for depression."

"Let's have no talk of depression on such a festive occasion!" Garak had come up behind them, putting his arm around Julian. "I hope you're all enjoying yourselves."

"I think I'll get some more pie," Jogal answered, bolting for the kitchen.

"All the desserts are great," Jake said. "It's the best Idanian spice pudding I've had in years."

"A secret ingredient I learned from some Idanians themselves, many years ago. I'm glad it pleases you. Julian and I have both been fascinated by your account of the War in that history you so kindly sent us."

"Elim is especially fascinated that you gave him an entire chapter to himself," Julian teased. Elim responded by making those small motions with his fingers on his lover's collar bone that usually were a signal for them to retire to the bedroom. The doctor disengaged himself, breathing hard to keep his composure. "I'd better go mingle with the rest of the guests," he gasped out.

"Always so polite, my Julian," Garak observed with a smirk.

Julian found Jilana still sitting on the sofa with Trel'ammi, but now her conversational partner was Keiko rather than Miles. The two women were deeply engaged in "mother" discussions. "I haven't seen hair as red as Trel'ammi's since Miles' last family reunion in Dublin. It's quite amazing," Keiko was saying as the doctor approached. "You'd think Cardassians and Andorrians would produce gray haired children somehow."

It wasn't really so amazing, Julian reflected. All you had to do was understand the peculiar properties of the chromosome sequence that determined Andorrian pigmentation. Red hair had actually been the most likely result of this particular cross-species mating.. He refrained from saying so, however. Elim was always chiding him afterwards when he became too explanatory: "My dear boy, when people say in casual conversation how miraculous they find some occurrence, they really do not want you to tell them that it is in fact quite commonplace to anyone who has a brain."

Jilana smiled as he came up and stood beside Keiko's chair. "Not as amazing as Trel'ammi's having hearing. Isn't that right, Julian?"

"That's right. The genetic tests placed the likelihood of Jilana and Telar having a deaf and mute child at 95% and of the child having hearing without speech at less than .0001%."

"Of course, we would have been perfectly content if she hadn't been able to hear, but Telar speaks so eloquently through his music, they tell me, that it's a truly special gift his child can share that with him, since his wife cannot. Of course," Jilana continued, noticing that her daughter was fidgeting and rubbing at her ears, "the gift is sometimes too much of a good thing. There are definite drawbacks to raising a little one whose hearing would, how do you say it, Julian, put a Ferengi to shame?"

Jogal returned from the kitchen at this point, engaged in an animated conversation with Miles about sending him "a catalog and some free samples." But O'Brien turned beet red and shushed him once they were in range of the others. Jogal laughed and scooped up his niece, then settled down next to his sister with the child on his lap. "Believe me, there's very little that would put a Ferengi to shame," he said, "and certainly not Uncle Kadz's own little sharp-eared gettle here." He tickled Trel'ammi's stomach, evoking peals of silent laughter.

"Kadz?" Keiko asked. "I thought your name was Jogal."

"Oh, it is, but Kadz is the nickname I had as a kid, and I've always thought it suited me better than my given name." He winked at Julian, who fervently hoped that no further explanations of the nickname's origins would be forthcoming. To forestall that possibility he hurried to say to the little girl, "And where did you get that pretty nightgown you're wearing, Trel'ammi?"

"Grandpa Elim made it for me," the child signed, casting her eyes over to where Garak stood with Ezri and Jake. "Come say to everyone where the pieces came from, Grandpa Elim."

Not daring refuse this august summons, Garak ambled over and knelt in front of Trel'ammi. With the child on his lap, Jogal for once had no way to escape, but leaned back as far as he could get, with a surly expression on his face. Garak pointed to various fabrics that made up the child's garment. "Here's a piece of Cardassian ilm for where your mo-mo was born, and here's a piece of Andorrian tilapo seed cloth for where your rakka was born, and here's some Camerzion leather for where they met. And here's some Terran cotton from the Federation hospital where Doctor Julian delivered you, and underneath there's a lining of Tholian silk, because that's Takkon Elim's favorite fabricl in the whole galaxy."

"And this is Trel'ammi's favorite thing to wear in the whole galaxy," the child said and then bent forward to kiss him on his spoon.

"Of course Elim never got over my becoming a structural engineer instead of a fashion designer,"

Jilana chuckled.

"You had such a talent for putting patterns together, my dear, but then the Cardassian female's predilection for working in metals and polymers led you astray from satins and velvets," Garak replied with mock regret.

"Grandpa, don't fight with mo-mo," Trel'ammi said with an anxious expression.

"Grandpa is only teasing mo-mo, don't worry," Julian hastened to reassure her.

"So how come Garak is her 'grandpa' and you're not?" Miles asked with some amusement.

"That's very complicated." Bashir answered. "Andorrians define family with almost complete disregard to actual blood relationships. All adults who are involved in raising a child qualify as a rakka or rakke, a father or mother. The same goes for takkons and takkens, grandparents who've helped raise the child's parents. However, Andorrians feel about species the way Cardassians feel about biological parentage. So, as a human, I don't qualify for any kinship relation to Jilana or her child. I just have to settle for being Doctor Julian."

"I'll take the Cardassian way anytime," Jogal interjected with a scowl. "No way I'd want anyone to think Garak was my rakka."

"Kadz!" Jilana exclaimed. Then she began to sign in their own private gestural language, which the translators couldn't decode. Bashir had gotten pretty rusty on understanding those signs, but there was no mistaking Jilana's anger at her brother's rudeness and hostility toward their host. He was signing back just as angrily. As the other guests studiously attended to their refreshments, Garak picked up Trel'ammi and retreated with her out of the line of fire. However, the child soon began to cry and wriggled free. She ran to her mother and grabbed her hands, thus stopping

the conversation. When Jilana gathered her into her arms, the little girl then grabbed the eyeglass-type device that her mother wore to translate oral speech into sign and threw it to the floor. Then she covered her ears with her own little hands and started rocking back and forth in Jilana's arms.

Jogal got up and said in Alpha Quadrant standard sign language, "Here, she's tired. Let me put her to bed." His sister handed her daughter over with a glare, and no one protested when the young Cardassian and his niece left the room.

There wasn't much that could be done to rescue the evening after that. The O'Briens and the Siskos made embarrassed good-byes and returned to the orbiting transport that had brought them to Prime. Jilana started to clean up, pausing every few minutes to make apologies to Garak for her brother's conduct. When Jogal failed to reappear after a half hour, Julian went looking for him. The doctor found him sitting in a chair beside his sleeping niece's bed, apparently lost in thought. Bashir tiptoed in and motioned Jogal out into the hall.

"You can't hide from Elim forever, you know," Julian began.

"Oh, no? I've done a good enough job of it until now. It was a mistake for me to come, doc, even for your sake. I'm leaving early in the morning. Telar's concert tour is over in a couple of days, and he'll fetch Moxh and Trel'ammi back home."

Julian didn't know what else to say about Jogal's feud with Garak beyond what he had said to both of them, to no avail, throughout the years. "Did Trel'ammi calm down right away," he asked instead.

"No, she's always gets upset around oral speakers, even if she can hear. Specially when the voices overlap. She does like it, though, when her uncle Kadz reads her the tale of the ghostly riding hound of the Ghetakeret plain and imitates the wail of the hound as it hunts down the unwary enemies of Cardassia. I had to read it through four times before she dropped off, and I've put on the ear shields to keep her from waking up this time." Jogal shook his head. "To think of my Moxh married and with her own little gitter. Wouldn't have grabbed that as anyway possible when we first met all that time ago."

"Trel'ammi is a very special child," Julian agreed. "I'm just sorry they live so far away, and we see them so rarely. I wish they'd chosen to settle on Cardassia. Have you ever thought about coming home, Jogal? I can't imagine the cold, damp climate of Ferenginar would be very attractive to a Cardassian."

"I'm travelling nine days out of ten, plenty of hot dry planets on my route. Besides, I've no love for Cardassia. It's still no place for an acci."

"How can you say that? They repealed the bastardy laws six years ago. You'd be a full citizen now."

"Didn't repeal people's opinions," Jogal retorted. "Those will never change. Look how they've treated Garak. First he has to wrangle with those ungrateful Bajorans, then they bring him home to be Minister of Culture. Running around giving speeches and opening museums and libraries! If he'd been a gitter, it would have been different. He'd be in charge of everyone. Even that human Jake thinks more of him than his own people do."

"This human thinks pretty much of him, too, as you well know," Julian laughed. "Besides, Elim loves giving lectures and dedicating libraries. He's in his element." Then he realized the oddness of what Jogal had just said. "Since when do you care whether he gets the respect he deserves from Cardassia," the doctor asked. "You can't manage to stay in the same room with him for more than a quarter hour."

"Just because I still think he's a right bloody bastard, as your friend Miles would say, doesn't change the fact of him driving the Jemmies out and getting nothing in return for it. He should have stayed on that station with you and left those Cardie gitters to fend for themselves. That's what this acci is doing."

Suddenly Bashir's communicator chirped: "Level five emergency at Starbase 274 trauma center. All off-duty staff report at once."

Bashir hurriedly changed into his uniform and summoned his runabout from orbit. He paused briefly to say his good-byes to Elim, who was still putting dishes in the recycler and leftovers in the preserver. "There's been a rupture of the main plasma conduit that runs the length of deck five on the Starship Verdun. The area's been sealed off, but the bridge has lost communications with the trapped crewmen. The ship's traveling to Starbase 274 at Warp 8.5. They think there may be hundreds of casualties. I expect to be in surgery most of the night, so I'll just sleep over in my quarters on the base. I'll call you in the morning about when I'll be back, as soon as I know myself."

Elim kissed him passionately on the lips. "I hope it's soon," he said a little wistfully.

"I'm sorry the party fell apart on us Elim," Julian commiserated, returning the kiss. "It was a wonderful idea, and I love you for planning it." Then he pressed his communicator and beamed up to the runabout.

Bashir arrived at the base a few minutes after the Verdun docked, only to discover that, thankfully, the casualties had been far fewer than anticipated. A young assistant engineer had contained the plasma eruption before it contaminated the whole deck. There turned out to be a ratio of only one trauma patient per doctor, so Bashir was released from duty about midnight, Cardassian time.

There was no need to stay on the base, he reasoned. What could be better than surprising Elim by slipping into his bed with hours of darkness still before them? It would make up a bit for the party debacle. Besides, the doctor felt decidedly uneasy about the prospect of Jogal and Elim in the same house without him there to mediate.

Garak's security was such that even the residents of his house couldn't beam directly inside. You had to transport down to the front door and then enter the access codes. As Julian programmed in one complex series of letters, numbers and symbols after another, he heard voices and male laughter. Who could be visiting so late, he wondered. Finally the door sprang open and he walked into the living room, where Elim and Jogal were sitting on the couch, smiles on their faces, toasting each other with glasses of kanar. They turned and regarded Bashir with surprised expressions.

"Julian, you're back early, how delightful," Garak beamed, not missing a beat. "As you can see, Jogal and I have finally decided to put this feud of ours behind us."

The truth of it hit Bashir in a flash. How could he have been so blind all these years? Jogal's job, servicing a clientele that no doubt specialized in pleasuring some of the most influential people on dozens of Alpha Quadrant worlds--it was a perfect cover.

"You can drop the pretense, Elim," he said, his face dark with anger.

Jogal and Garak exchanged meaningful glances. "Oh my, I've stayed up much too late," the younger Cardassian mumbled. "I'd better get to sleep--since I'm shipping out so early. Night, doc." He scrambled up and hurried off down the hall.

Bashir plopped down into the nearest chair, clenching and unclenching his fists. He stared straight into Garak's eyes. "You turned him into a spy, didn't you?"

The Cardassian smiled, "I promised long ago that I would teach him what I knew. Since he absolutely refused to take up the needle, and his taste in literature was even worse than yours, what else was there left for me to do? "

"It's not funny, Elim," Bashir returned with a snort.

"I don't know.. I find it most amusing that you've only now figured things out. I must congratulate Jogal on his performance."

"And yourself. He learned from the master."

"Thank you very kindly, my love. I did worry through the years that both of us might have overplayed our parts."

"Perhaps you did," Julian replied. "I'm obviously not much of a drama critic. How could you do this to him, Elim, after all the Obsidian Order did to you?"

Garak finally grew serious. "Every great power has to have an intelligence service, your precious Federation included. I've never been able to fathom your fascination with espionage as a fantasy and your contempt for it as a reality."

Julian absorbed the rebuke for several seconds. "And you don't care whether the memories will make him wake up screaming thirty years from now, as they do you?" he asked, his voice almost breaking.

Garak leaned forward and took the doctor's hand. "I've not trained him to be a torturer or an assassin, believe me. He simply gathers intelligence. That's all."

"Right you are Garak," Jogal chimed in, returning from the corridor from which he had been listening in on their conversation, like the able spy he was. "I only kill them in self-defense, doc, so don't ruffle." He perched on the arm of Bashir's chair, grinning broadly. "So, Julian here has tumbled to our little charade at last?"

"He has," Garak said.

"About time I'd say. Wasn't any fun keeping up the pretense. But I thought you were Mr. Superbrain, doc. What took you so long?"

"I suppose I didn't want to see it, so I didn't see it."

"I never grabbed why Garak wanted you in the dark in the first place. I mean, we could trust you. Now, it would have blown my cover the first week if people thought too closely about my being virtually the adopted son of Garak of the Obsidian Order, but you could have still told them how much he and I hated each other, even if it was just a game."

"He's not a very good liar, Kadz," Garak said. "I've told you that often enough."

"Well, I hope some of the skill's rubbed off from being with you all this time, 'cause he's going to have to keep our secret now."

"Or you could quit the business, now that your cover's blown," Bashir suggested.

"Doc, don't make me do that," the young man pleaded. "I was born to be a spy. At least I took to it like a wompet to alcara trees."

"And you've no regrets?"

"Not a one. Plus I really am the quadrant's leading profit generator for Graks and Zag Pleasure Enhancers, Ltd. It's a great life. Only--" Jogal's exuberance dimmed slightly.

"Only what?"

"Only, don't tell Moxh, all right? She'd worry herself sick."

Julian could see that he had long ago lost this battle. "Your secret is safe with me, from your sister and everyone else."

Jogal clapped him on the back heartily. "I knew you'd go along. Kept telling Garak we shouldn't wait till you found out on your own. And now that we're all of us friends again, how about a threesome? I've got a number of my top of the line accessories in my sample kit."

"Kadz! Go to bed," both Garak and Bashir shouted in unison. "And we do mean alone," Garak added, once he stopped laughing.

"You are the most conventional pair of old twofies I've ever met." the young man exclaimed in annoyance. "But I'll seduce the pair of you yet. 'Cause, till you've done it with Kadz, you don't know what you're missing." He caressed each of them on the neck in his most provocative manner, planted a kiss square on each of their lips, and then dashed off to his bedroom before they could retaliate.

"That boy is utterly shameless, always has been," Julian observed after Kadz had departed.

"It helps him in the work, of course," Garak said, as he began caressing Julian's face and working to unfasten his uniform.

"Ummm," Julian replied breathlessly, as he reached inside Elim's trousers. "With all the action he sees, I don't understand why he's set on getting 'two old twofies' like us into his bed."

"Isn't it obvious, my dear?" Garak purred as he maneuvered his lover to their bedroom. "He knows full well that he is the one who is missing out on something very special."

#garashir #garashir fanfic #ds9 #ds9 fanfic #elim garak #juliar bashir #post-canon cardassia #deep space nine #star trek ds9

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samayla · 7 years ago

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Fic: Gemini Chapter 3

AO3

Bilbo may be a Baggins of a Bag End, but his twin sister Bella inherited all their mother’s Tookish tendencies. If one Hobbit burglar is good, surely two will be better… right?

Rating: G

This is going to be a huge multi-part fic. I’ll be tagging it #HobbitGemini for anyone who wants to follow it, or shoot me a message if you’d like me to tag you specifically. I’ll post another chapter or two tonight, but then it’ll probably be a week before I update. I’ll settle on a schedule of some sort once I figure out how fast I can crank out chapters.

Chapter 1: Late for Dinner

Chapter 2: An Unexpected Party

Chapter 3: No One West of Bree

“I don’t like it, Ki,” Fili growled as his brother thunked two mugs onto the table and slid into the seat facing him.

Kili glanced around, one side of his mouth quirking upward skeptically. “What’s not to like, Fi? We could take this lot without even breaking a sweat.”

“That’s what I mean,” Fili answered darkly. He wrapped his hands around his ale but didn’t yet take a drink. Too many of the assembled halflings were looking their way. Too few looked friendly. “These are some mighty strong glares for folk who don’t seem to have a chance of backing ‘em up.” Sure, they had numbers, but that was about it, as far as he could tell. They were small and soft and round, dressed in the garish colors that adorned their gardens. They weren’t fighters. But he wasn’t sure what that made them instead.

He nodded toward a particularly venomous-looking halfling sitting in the corner. “Take that toadish character in green back behind you,” he said. “What does he think he can do? We’re missing something, Ki. We’ve got to be.” It was hard to explain, but Fili couldn’t help but feel uneasy. There just had to be something more to these strange little creatures than looks would suggest. Why else would Gandalf want Thorin to engage one of them in their quest? And what’s more, brave Thorin’s wrath in making the very suggestion? If a halfling could be expected to best a dragon when an army of dwarves could not…

Kili shrugged, unconcerned, and lifted his mug to drink. “I think you’re just - hey! Where’s my ale gone?”

That got his attention. “What?”

Kili tipped his mug toward Fili. It was half empty. “Did you drink it?” he demanded, punching Fili in the shoulder before he could even think to answer.

“What? No. Ki, I haven’t touched it.”

Kili didn’t look convinced. He snatched up Fili’s mug and peered inside. Fili took advantage of his brother’s momentary distraction to rub surreptitiously at his shoulder. He could feel it bruising already. “Yours is short too!” Kili exclaimed. “What’s the big idea?”

Both brothers about jumped out of their skin when three more mugs of ale and a plate of fruit tarts clattered onto the worn table between them, and Fili nearly skewered the cheerful lass who dropped into the seat beside him.

“Don’t take it personally - Old Wil always pours short for strangers,” she chirped, apparently unaware of her brush with death. Or of the intensified scowls now directed at their table. Fili half expected to burst into flames. “Bella Baggins, at your service.” The lass bobbed her head and then grinned expectantly.

“Fili,” he supplied slowly.

Kili was quicker to add his own name to the introduction, though his attention had already been snagged by the plate of tarts. When Fili saw his brother’s hand slide away from his knife and toward the sweets, he allowed himself to relax slightly. Kili’s stomach hadn’t led them astray yet. Well, not since that cask of dandelion wine when they were in their twenties, but that was completely beside the point.

Kili took an enormous bite of one tart, but Fili was relieved to note that he’d at least smelled it first. “’Ooks ‘ike ‘e pourth thort for ‘oo, too.” Kili sprayed them both with crumbs as he spoke. He downed the ale in one of his mugs in a single gulp, and then swept the back of his hand across his mouth. “Sorry. These are great!”

Bella laughed as she shook crumbs from her sandstone curls. “Forgiven.” She peered into her own mug and sighed. “Wil’s pouring may be lacking, but his wife’s cooking certainly isn’t. Alessia Bracegirdle’s blueberry tarts are local legend.” She glanced sideways at Fili as she took a more moderate drink from her own mug. “Your hands would be much better occupied with her tarts than your weapons,” she commented with a wry twist of her mouth. Perhaps she was not so unaware after all. “Terrifying though I know I seem, I really just thought the pair of you could use a friendly drink.”

Fili smiled back a little guiltily and relinquished his grip on the knife in his sleeve. He still had plenty of others in easy reach.

Just in case.

Kili grinned and flicked a bit of tart at him. “Don’t mind him, Bella. He’s just tense from being on the road. It’s sucked all the fun out of him.”

Fili flicked the morsel back at his brother. “Has not.” And even if it had, someone had to be the responsible one after Kili went and got them lost. ‘Shortcut,’ indeed.

Kili snatched up another tart from the plate. “Has so! You’re seeing threats everywhere. You’re worse than Mister Dwalin! Even unarmed, these halflings have you jumping at every shadow. And then you nearly kill the only friendly face in the whole place! Imagine - not even trusting a blueberry tart!” He took another huge bite to prove his point, and when he spoke again, he sprayed Fili and Bella with crumbs once more. “’M worried ‘bout choo, Fi. “S’not righ’.”

Bella glanced over her shoulder, then looked from one to the other of them with amber eyes as large as dinner plates. “Oh,” she breathed, leaning close over the worn wooden table. “But Fili is quite right to be on his guard, for your kind hasn’t any defense against our secret weapon.”

Kili swallowed with difficulty. “What’s that?” he croaked, leaning toward the halfling lass, his eyes growing wide to match hers.

“It’s a fearsome thing indeed. Makes even the biggest of big Men fall to pieces and go running back for the Wilds past Buckland.”

Though Fili suspected - or perhaps hoped for - a joke, he found himself listening just as attentively as his brother. He knew there had to be a reason Gandalf wanted a halfling along.

“It’s the Look.” And she leveled a truly impressive glare at Kili.

Fili burst out laughing, both at the halfling’s answer and the look of confused horror on his brother’s face.

Bella managed to hold her expression a second longer before she, too, broke down in laughter, Kili joining in almost immediately in obvious relief. She leaned back in her chair, taking her mug with her. “Oh, we’ll glare you do death, and no mistake,” she boasted, a raised eyebrow replacing her smile, and both dwarves ceased their laughter at once. Then she grinned again, an easy, crooked thing that made her eyes twinkle. “That’s about it though, I’m afraid, unless one can be killed by a short drink.”

“I hope you didn’t pay full price for these,” Fili commented, reaching for one of the mugs she’d brought them. It held even less ale than the first mug had.

Bella shrugged. “Seems cruel to deprive Wil of his petty revenge when there are real strangers about to bear the brunt of it. Usually, he has to content himself with shorting me, as I’m widely regarded as the strangest thing around these parts.”

She deftly snatched the last two tarts from the plate before Kili could grab one. She passed Fili one, but broke hers and passed half of it to Kili. Fili shot her a grateful look on his brother’s behalf, but Kili, for his part, was too busy inhaling the treat to thank her for it.

“But if you were hoping to get drunk tonight,” Bella continued, “you’d have had better luck at the Green Dragon in Bywater. It gets all the outside traffic. We’re a bit isolated here in the heart of the Shire.”

“So I’m learning,” Fili answered. “But we were told Hobbiton, and this place seemed as likely as any around here to hold a meeting about an adventure.”

The lass choked on the last bite of her tart.

Fili thumped her on the back in alarm, but as soon as her airway was clear of crumbs, she doubled over laughing. “You won’t find any adventures here, lads,” she panted as soon as she was able. “Even the mildest sort won’t come any closer than Bree, I’m afraid.”

“But Gandalf said Hobbiton,” Kili protested. “Very clearly!”

Bella frowned and took another drink, clearly thinking hard.

“What is it?” Fili asked. “Is something the matter?”

She shook her head. “Gandalf, you say? Old fellow dressed all in grey? Wears a pointed hat, as if he weren’t tall enough already?”

“That’s him!” Kili exclaimed, jostling the table in his excitement. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s hardly been seen around these parts since I was a child, but he was always fond of a good story, and turning dwarves loose on unsuspecting hobbits sounds like as good a start to a tale as any I’ve ever heard.”

Fili shared a grim look with his brother as Bella chuckled to herself and returned to her drink. “You think this is some sort of joke?” Fili inquired, careful to keep his face and tone from betraying his worry, while Kili looked downright offended at the very idea. If they weren’t careful, Kili was going to blunder right into revealing their whole quest in a room full of hostile halflings.

“Oh, yes,” Bella replied at once. “Though there are few enough around here who’ll see the humor in it. When news of you two gets out, there’ll be a scandal in the neighborhood! Old Wil may never recover!”

“Still,” Fili reasoned, trying to reassure himself and also keep Kili from causing a scene, “better a joke than a trap, I suppose.”

That notion backfired.

Kili jerked upright so quickly he nearly overturned the table. As it was, several of the halflings in the nearest seats shot them especially dirty looks at the clatter. “You don’t think it could be, do you?” Kili hissed. “A trap, I mean.”

“Of course not,” Bella soothed, beginning to pick up their overturned mugs. The short pouring was a good thing after all. All five had been empty, or near enough, when they’d fallen. The little bit of ale that seeped across the table was quickly mopped up with a rag Bella snagged off a passing server’s arm. The lass made eye contact with Kili when she spoke next, all laughter aside. “Gandalf may not have visited the Shire in ages, but I have had some dealings with him outside of it. He’s a good sort. A little meddlesome, but he means well, and that’s got to count for something, hasn’t it? And from what I understand, by the end of things, he’s usually righter than one would have expected at the beginning.”

Fili shot her another grateful smile for her efforts at calming his brother. And her words had gone a long way toward easing his own mind as well. Balin had seemed confident when he’d suggested the pair of them set out ahead at the edge of the Shire, but as the hours had passed and they’d grown more and more hopelessly lost in all the halflings’ tangled footpaths and hills, Fili had been unable to shake the growing suspicion that this whole thing was a test. One he was failing miserably. But this chance meeting made him feel as though he wasn’t botching absolutely everything. At the very least, they’d managed to secure an outside perspective on their wizard. He smiled to himself at the thought of Balin’s approving nod when he shared Bella’s vote of confidence at the meeting.

“Well,” Kili mused, interrupting Fili’s thoughts, “I hope you’re right about the wizard’s scheming.” He still didn’t look entirely convinced that the whole thing wasn’t some sort of elaborate trap. “I’d hate to have come so far out of our way to collect a burglar for nothing.”

“A burglar, you say?”

“Uncle didn’t think much of the idea at first, to be honest, but -”

Fili kicked Kili beneath the table before he could spill any more details. Their uncle would kill them. “Yes,” he interjected to distract Bella from Kili’s pained indignation. “But here we are. You haven’t heard anything about a burglar advertising around Hobbiton, have you?”

Bella laughed again at that. “Of course not! In my experience, that is not usually the sort of activity one advertises!”

“Oh, not petty burglars, or hobbyists, certainly,” Fili acknowledged, “but professional burglars quite frequently advertise their services so as to attract respectable clients. There’s nothing saying one cannot steal back something that is already one’s rightful property.”

Kili brightened suddenly, obviously picking up on Fili’s intent. “We’re on our way to visit kin in the Iron Hills,” he recited dutifully, only making the line sound slightly rehearsed, “but we’ve had some things stolen from our company.” He looked to Fili for approval of his addition to Balin’s sketchy cover story.

“Hardly the most auspicious start to a journey, as I’m sure you can imagine,” Fili added with a shrug, hoping to distract Bella from his brother’s blundering again.

Bella nodded sagely, but Fili could see the twinkle of laughter in her eyes once more. He let it go. Better she think them joking than lying. And it wasn’t a lie, not really. An entire mountain kingdom was probably just likely to be rather larger than whatever she was picturing they’d lost.

“Of course,” Bella said. “If Gandalf’s involved, I suppose it can’t be nearly as disreputable an affair as it sounds. But I’m afraid you still won’t find any burglars, professional or otherwise, advertising their craft here in Hobbiton. Hobbits, as a rule, frown upon burglary at any level of dedication.”

“But can you think of no one at all?” Kili asked forlornly. He fixed the lass with the same look he’d give their mother to coax her into allowing him a second helping of dessert.

Bella shook her head, and for a moment, Fili thought they might have at last met someone immune to Kili’s puppy dog eyes. But then she sighed. “I really can’t think of anyone who would fit your needs.” Fili waited. It was coming. He knew it, and Kili did too. Neither of them spoke, and sure enough, she continued after another sigh. “But perhaps we can have a spot of dinner, and you can tell me more about your adventure, and what it is, exactly, that Gandalf told you. Maybe then I’ll be able to think of who he could possibly have meant.”

As she surged to her feet and headed for the bar, Kili flashed a triumphant grin across the table. Fili nodded in acknowledgment of his mastery, but couldn’t help a few words of caution as well. “We still have to be careful what we say, Ki. Uncle won’t like us giving everything away to a stranger.”

“But it’s to get help,” Kili reasoned. “After all, if we can’t find this supposed burglar, what’s to say any of the others can either? We could be heroes, Fi, and find him before anyone else!”

“Gandalf will know him, if he can recommend him,” Fili reminded him. “And the others, at least, might remember the fellow’s name.”

Kili pouted at his tone. “How is it my fault that you didn’t listen on your turn?”

“I was trying,” Fili shot back, “but someone was pulling faces behind Gandalf’s back the entire time, ruining my concentration.” It really was unfair. He hadn’t known of Balin’s plan to send them ahead. If he had, he would have made Kili listen to Gandalf’s instructions as well, and then they would both know the burglar’s name, and they wouldn’t be in this predicament at all. They could have stopped and asked for proper directions to the fellow’s house, instead of trying to make sense of the garbled nonsense Kili had rattled off about “pretunies.”

Kili opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by Bella returning to her seat with a huff. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Kitchen’s closed,” Bella snapped, just as a serving girl whisked past their table with plates piled high with roast pork and potatoes. She pressed her lips into a thin line.

Kili was aghast, and Fili suspected his own face wasn’t much more composed. “But-”

Bella cut Kili off. “Well, it’s closed to us, anyway. Wil wants us out. ‘Putting his patrons off their drinking,’ he says, with all our talk of adventuring and burgling. Ill-tempered old goat.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then forced a bright smile. “There’s nothing for it,” she declared. “You’ll have to come home with me. Bilbo will have cooked something up, I’m sure, late as I am, and if not, then there’s plenty of cold food in the pantry for all of us.”

“Bilbo?” Fili asked. Of course a lass with a smile like that would have someone waiting at home.

“Oh, yes. He’ll probably be much more help than I could be. He’s much more sociable, you see, and has a good ear for gossip. Perhaps he’s heard something about this burglar of yours. And if not, than at the very least, he’s got a library full of maps and things, and we can get you two pointed in the right direction. I’m sure there must be any number of places that sound like ‘Hobbiton’ if one is distracted from listening.”

“Of course we’ll come!” Kili exclaimed at once, not bothering to consult his older brother.

For his part, Bella’s sly smile was enough to make Fili forgive her for overhearing their argument - it seemed these halflings had exceptional hearing, information which he filed away for later - but at the same time, he couldn’t forget the weight of responsibility on his shoulders in Thorin’s absence. “I don’t know,” he murmured reluctantly. “That’s a generous offer, but we’re to meet the rest of our party tonight, if we can find them. We probably shouldn’t go wandering about the countryside at random. Uncle always says it’s important to stay where you are when you’re lost, and let the others find you.”

“Uncle has a good deal of experience at being lost,” Kili piped up helpfully.

“No more than most,” Fili shot back in his uncle’s defense. “And it’s sound advice, anyway. The others have a much better chance of finding us if we just stay put.”

“We could always leave a message with Wil, in case any of your friends come looking for you here,” Bella suggested.

Fili was skeptical, to say the least. Could the peevish barkeeper really be trusted to pass along a message faithfully?

Bella must have read the look on his face. “It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Old Wil may be petty and vengeful when it comes to strangers, but he won’t hesitate to send those strangers in another hobbit’s direction if given half a chance. Odds are, you’d have been sent up my way sooner or later, if I hadn’t met you here first. Come on. Good food and a good night’s sleep - not to mention better company than this lot -” she gestured at the still-glaring halflings scattered around the room “- will set you up right proper for whatever the morning will bring.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “And there’s a strawberry-rhubarb pie in it for you if you’ll at least walk me home. You’re my excuse, you see. I’m abominably late for supper, but if I go home and start spinning tales of drinking with dwarves, Bilbo will never believe me. The only way I’m getting off the hook tonight is if I bring you lot around as -”

The lass’s face went suddenly blank.

Well, not blank, exactly. Fili was sure it was supposed to be something resembling politely cheery, but it was off somehow. Like a pane of spun sugar. Sickly sweet, but fragile, with no substance underneath. He was just about to ask what was wrong when a shadow fell across their table.

“Cousin Belladonna!” The voice was just as rotund at the rest of the green-clad hobbit, and Fili inwardly cringed at his false cheer, as if the fellow hadn’t just spent the last half hour glaring daggers at their table. It explained Bella’s face, at least.

“Cousin Otho,” she replied, her tone just as false as his. Fili noticed her knuckles were white around the handle of her empty mug. “I didn’t see you there. Would you care to join me and my friends for a drink?”

Fili saw Kili open his mouth to protest and kicked him under the table again. Better to let the lass handle her relations herself. For now, at least.

“Goodness, no!” Otho forced a chuckle that was as false as everything else about him. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his gaudy green waistcoat. “I was just about to head home to the missus. Getting late, you know, and supper’s waiting. But I’d be happy to walk you home, Belladonna. The Hill isn’t too far out of my way, after all, and you wouldn’t want to keep Bilbo waiting up too long.”

Bella made a big show of looking past Otho and out the darkened window. “Oh, Sweet Lady! You’re right,” she gasped, and Fili had to admire how realistic she made her astonishment seem. “He expected us home ages ago!”

Noting Bella’s ‘us’ at the same time Otho did, but taking it as an invitation, Fili spoke up, doing his best to match her performance. He peered out the window and then hung his head, reaching for his pack. “Sorry about that, Bell. But you know Kili and his ‘shortcuts.’” He elbowed Kili, who elbowed him back with a scowl.

Bella laughed. “Well, I know you do. You don’t have to take them, you know.” She smiled warmly at the indignant Kili, her facade temporarily abandoned. “Even if he does give you his Look.”

All three of them burst out laughing at that, leaving poor Otho to sputter and try to come up with a way to retake control of a situation that was obviously not going at all as he’d planned.

Bella was the first to come back to herself. “Oh, dear,” she breathed. “I’m afraid this isn’t making us any less late, is it? We’d best be going, lads.” She rose and turned back to Otho with an - almost - apologetic smile. “Sorry to run, cousin, but you know how Bilbo is about his cooking. If his supper is ruined, I’ll never hear the end of it. Give my best to Lobelia, won’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer from her cousin before issuing orders to the dwarves. “You lads can go gather your things, and I’ll settle matters with Wil and meet you out front.”

“Cousin Otho,” Fili intoned gravely as he stood. He bowed with an exaggerated flourish.

“Pleasure,” Kili added, mimicking Fili’s bow. It was all Fili could do not to laugh at the look of shocked dismay on the poor halfling’s face. His face had become nearly as green as his shirt. They collected their packs from the heap beneath the table, and Fili adopted his best princely strut. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kili doing the same, and they left the poor fellow standing, completely befuddled, beside their table.

They both burst into laughter as soon as they stepped out into the lane and the door swung shut behind them.

“Bella is a natural,” Kili declared. “I thought he’d faint when she said we were expected!”

“Poor fellow didn’t know what hit him,” Fili agreed, adjusting his pack to sit more evenly across his shoulders. “Do you really think that sour old barman will send the others our way?”

Kili shrugged. “I don’t know, but Bella should know how to handle her own people, right?”

“She should. And waiting at her house for the others can’t put us in much worse of a position than waiting here would, I suppose.”

Kili’s eyes got dreamy. “Especially if there’s pie…”

“You always think with your stomach, Ki,” Fili chided, chuckling.

“Well, it got us excellent blueberry tarts and a good joke, didn’t it? And pie! These halflings know how to get things done! Imagine if Bella’s pie is even half as good as those tarts… Maybe that’s why Gandalf wants a halfling along - someone has to sweeten Uncle Thorin up, or he’s liable to kill everyone before we even lay eyes on the mountain.”

“If that’s his plan, he’ll have to hire two - one to cook Uncle’s pies, and one to cook Dwalin’s. Otherwise Uncle will never get so much as a bite!”

It felt good just to laugh for a bit. Maybe Kili was right, Fili reflected, and he had been too serious since they went on ahead of the company. What had being serious gotten him? Lost in the dark. Everything seemed to be turning out alright after all, so why worry?

“I just hope we wind up with someone like Bella,” Kili confided. “A pie from that Otho character would probably just make everyone sick.”

Fili’s smile faded in spite of his resolve to stop worrying. “You don’t think she’s having any trouble in there, do you?”

By unspoken agreement, they both dropped their packs behind the bushes at the side of the road and started for the door. Fili took the lead, and Kili fell in half a step behind him, watching his back as always.

Suddenly, the door flew open, and Bella came storming out, dragging a very startled-looking Otho along behind her. “…one whit what sort of company you think that makes me, Otho Sackville-Baggins!” She spun to face the stout halfling, and Fili realized that instead of her holding him, it was he who held her wrist in a bruising grip. The stupid sod had apparently been too shocked to let go when Bella started moving.

“You having any trouble, Bell?” Kili growled, his eyes on her arm too.

“None at all,” Bella replied, trying to twist out of his grip. “Oh, Otho!” she exclaims, stomping her foot. “Let go of me this instant!”

That seemed to bring the fellow back to his senses somewhat. But instead of releasing the lass, he dragged her around in front of himself, like a shield. “Now, see here,” he stammered, his eyes darting wildly between the two armed dwarves. Neither had drawn a weapon yet, but both Fili and Kili had taken up defensive stances, and neither of them looked kindly on the halfling’s treatment of their new friend. “I’ll call the Sherriff on you!”

“For what?” Fili asked, taking a step forward and resting his hand on the hilt of one of his swords.

“Yeah,” Kili agreed. “Far as I can see, the only one causing trouble here is you.” Kili stepped forward as well, and Otho backed away, dragging Bella with him.

“See, Belladonna? I told you these strange folk shouldn’t be trusted. Troublemakers, the lot! Who knows what sort of trouble you’d have gotten yourself into if I hadn’t been here!”

Fili saw Bella’s jaw clench. “I’d release the lass right now, if I was you,” Fili stated slowly and calmly. He moved his hand away from his sword.

If the halfling had had a lick of sense, he’d have backed down by now, but Fili hadn’t forgotten the powerful glares this stammering idiot had directed their way back in the tavern. Nor had he forgotten the wizard’s stubborn insistence that they hire a halfling to handle a dragon. Despite the amused smirk growing on his brother’s face, Fili wasn’t ready to count this fellow out just yet. Not until Bella was safely out of his grasp.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Otho declared, trying to wave a very disgruntled Bella in front of him by way of proof. “Belladonna is my cousin, and I say what she -”

Bella elbowed him in the face with her free arm, spinning to follow through and drop with him to the ground. “Don’t call me Belladonna,” she snarled, tearing her arm out of his grasp. She ducked back into the building as Otho’s startled silence gave way to pained howls. Judging from the blood pouring through his fingers, she’d broken his nose.

“Come on, lads,” Bella said briskly as she came back out, a pack slung over her shoulder and a walking stick in her hand. “I do believe I owe you a pie.”

#hobbit fic #HobbitGemini #fili #kili #bilbo #thorin #gandalf #my writing #the hobbit

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