soncfthewitch

[soncfthewitch]

Toby nearly dropped the spatula. Those words—enchanting, delivered in that sleep-rough voice while Haru stood there half-dressed like some model who'd rolled out of a posh hotel bed and somehow still managed to look perfect—hit him square in the chest.

He reached over and lowered the volume on his phone, the Korean lyrics fading to a murmur. The spatula dripped eggs onto the counter. "Didn't hear you come in."

Heat crept up his neck. Christ, how long had Haru been standing there? Toby turned back to the pan, giving the eggs a final stir before sliding them onto the plate. They were perfect—fluffy, just set, still creamy in the centre. He'd been cooking for years, but somehow having an audience made his hands feel clumsy.

"Made extra," he said, nodding toward the pan. "If you're hungry."

The kitchen felt smaller with Haru in it. Toby could smell his cologne—something clean that cut through the scent of butter and herbs. He kept his eyes on the eggs, dividing them between two plates. Safer than looking at Haru's face and trying to work out what that expression meant.

The music shifted to the next track, something softer. Toby reached for his phone again, thumb hovering over the pause button. "Sorry about the... you know." He gestured vaguely at the space where he'd been moving. "Bit early for me to be prancing about the kitchen like a tit."

The bacon spat from the pan, a drop of grease catching Toby's wrist. He flinched, wiping it on his boxers without thinking. The plates sat there between them on the counter, eggs steaming gently, bacon crisp around the edges.

"Coffee?" Toby asked, already reaching for another mug. His hands needed something to do. "Only got instant, but it's not complete shite."

The kettle was still warm. He spooned coffee into the mug, watching the granules dissolve as he poured. No milk, no sugar on the counter—he'd have to ask. But asking felt like admitting he didn't know what Haru took in his coffee, which felt like admitting last night had been... what? A one-off? The start of something?

"There's jam somewhere," he said, opening cupboards. "For the toast. If you want toast. Should've asked—"

His mobile buzzed against the counter. New message notification. Probably work. The screen showed three missed calls from an unknown Tokyo number. He turned the phone face-down.

"Help?" The word came out steadier than he'd expected. Good. He managed a half-smile, the kind that could mean anything depending on how Haru wanted to read it. "Well..."

He tapped his cheek with one finger, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Could start here." His finger moved to his lips, just a light touch. "Work your way up."

The kitchen counter pressed against Toby's hip as he leaned back slightly, giving Haru space to move closer if he wanted. Or not. The bacon was definitely going cold now, grease starting to congeal on the plates. Breakfast could wait.

His thumb traced the rim of the coffee mug. "Take your time," he added, voice gone quieter. "No rush."

The phone buzzed again against the counter, but Toby didn't glance at it this time. Whatever Tokyo wanted could bloody well wait.

It was a night Haru would remember — that much was certain. Ever since they first spoke at the temple, their paths kept crossing, as if fate had ordained it. Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising, given how often they saw each other, but those early conversations soon evolved into something more genuine — and flirtatious. What began as passing encounters had grown into a dynamic charged with palpable tension.

They had fallen into the routine of grabbing dinner at least once a week after Haru wrapped up his work at the charm booth. Last night, the mage had a few things to finish, so dinner was something simpler — shared in the privacy of Toby's flat. Pizza, a TV show playing in the background, and idle conversation to pass the time. At least, that was what Haru had imagined before he found himself kissing the other man. Whatever hunger had been building over time bubbled forth in his careful yet eager display of affection.

The rest of the night was long and satisfying. Haru doubted either of them got much rest, given the activities they got up to. It was hard to hold himself back, not when he was so drawn to Toby. And since it was his first time spending the night over, the mage wanted to bask in the moment for as long as he could. He hadn't slept so peacefully in ages — bliss wrapping around him like a warm blanket, Toby’s embrace offering a much-needed sense of comfort.

His eyes opened blearily, blinking a few times to clear the fog of sleep. Rubbing at his face, Haru stretched out like a cat sunbathing, body languid and slow to wake. His gaze drifted to the otherwise empty space beside him in bed, brows furrowing in quiet thought. Where had Toby gone off to? This was his home, after all. Haru was just a guest here.

Whatever thoughts were forming quickly faded at the sound of music drifting in from outside the room. The rich, oily scent of bacon and eggs slipped in beneath the door, summoning him from the sheets. Haru sifted through the pile of clothes on the floor, fishing out yesterday’s underwear and socks. As he slipped them on, he ruffled his unkempt bedhead and padded quietly out of the bedroom.

His dark eyes landed on Toby, who was busy at the stovetop. It was an idyllic sight — something Haru found himself admiring as if it were a piece of art. The image of Toby dancing along to the music as he cooked made him smile. He didn’t want to interrupt; rather, it made him wish for more mornings like this. In his line of work, Haru rarely had the chance to simply enjoy life. But with Toby, he was learning how.

For a moment, his gaze wandered around the space, taking in the little details of Toby’s home. It felt lived-in with signs of daily life in every corner. Haru’s own place felt untouched, like an unopened box of toys. He barely spent time there, and it showed. But here, with the sharp scent of brewed coffee mixing with splatters of oil and the flicker of the stove flame, the air felt warm. Comforting. Real. Haru let it wash over him before returning his gaze to Toby’s back as he leaned against the wall, admiration still written on his face even as the other man finally turned around.

"Morning," Haru said with a smile, still standing in his minimal state of dress. "You know, I didn’t think I could find you any sexier. And yet, you keep enchanting me." His voice was soft, fond, as he stepped closer. He closed the space between them, much like they had done the night before.

"Can I help with anything? It smells amazing out here."

[soncfthewitch]

Tian's arms felt like dead weight as he draped them over the northerner's shoulders. His fingers couldn't grip the thick wool properly—the cold had stolen whatever strength he'd had left. He settled his weight against Taff's back, grateful for anything solid to lean against.

The wool was rough against his cheek, smelled of woodsmoke and something sharper—pine sap, maybe. Taff's back was solid, warm through the layers of fur and cloth. Tian found himself pressing closer without meaning to, chasing that warmth.

His chest was heating up like a bloody furnace. Sweat prickled along his spine despite the freezing wind. If the northerner noticed how hot he was running when he should be half-dead from cold...

"Large objects," he managed, his voice muffled against Taff's shoulder. The words came easier now that he wasn't fighting to stay upright. "How large?"

What did they see when I fell? A meteor? A landslide?

If the northerners thought something more than a man had come over the border, the emperor would have an easier time of tracking him. His uncle had eyes everywhere, and even in another land's winter, he had a thousand ways to make Tian's life hell.

Tian shifted, and the pain in his leg nearly sent him to his knees. The cut he'd taken in the initial fall must've gone deeper than he'd realised; it burned now with every step.

"What kind of shape were these 'large objects'? Were they..." he trailed off, coughed to clear the tightness from his throat, "...shaped like animals, or were they more like falling stones? Are you worried about invaders?" Tian had seen what happened when his uncle decided he wanted something. Entire villages vanished into the night. The fields of his homeland had been soaked in enough blood to flood the plains.

The ground crunched beneath their boots. Tian couldn't tell how far down the trail went, but the wind was less fierce, the air thicker somehow. If he focused hard enough, he thought he could smell the smoke of cooking fires, though it was hard to tell. His sense of smell was never reliable.

"Never mind. Don't answer that," he added hastily. "It's not important. Your town's quite far, isn't it?" he asked, his breath coming in short, painful gasps. His knee was going numb; he'd be lucky to make it to the bottom of the mountain, much less to shelter.

"If I can't walk, you can leave me here. I'd rather not be carried about like a sack of grain."

It was foolish to take anything at face level. Taff would never trust the word of a stranger, especially from one who was very clearly not from here. The marksman let his eyes roam over the other's injured body, letting his brow raise in slight skeptism at the other's determination to walk. Taff wasn't exactly eager to step any closer towards the stranger, but he doubted they would be able to make it down the mountain in this state. His eyes returned to the injured man's gaze at the question, and Taff's expression steeled into a rather frosty expression.

"There were large objects falling from the sky into the mountains several days ago. It has been causing quite some concern for my people," he remarked. Taff didn't choose to elaborate any more past that, as he wasn't interested in interrogating a half-frozen man. And given the current state of their affairs, was it really such a good time to discuss what he had been hunting? Taff's eyes didn't stray from the other as he watched the stranger attempt to grip onto the icy cracks of the stone behind him. Whatever he was attempting to do, whether it was to confront him or flee, it didn't seem like it would bear much success.

"You'll likely bleed out or simply freeze to death if you keep moving like that," the Northern guard said flatly as he watched the other's knees give out once more. His expression clearly indicated just how little he believed the other man, given his insistence that he was 'fine'. Taff let out a long exhale, the warmth of his breath curling into thin, steamy wisps amidst the frosty air. "Your stubbornness is admirable, but likely the only thing that will kill you up here. Even the beasts know better than to climb this high up in this weather," Taff mused. There was a flicker of both annoyance and amusement in his tone as he watched the other man flop down onto the bloody snow again.

While the marksman could appreciate his resilience and determination to push himself up right each time, he doubted there was much energy left to repeat his failed attempts. Dark, unwavering eyes watched as fresh blood began to pool out onto the ground underneath him. But Taff still remained as steady as a statue, watching the messy display before him. It wasn't until he heard the soft plea did the marksman move into action.

Kneeling down onto the ground, the Northerner began to unpack a few things from his bag. He pulled out a tightly-wrapped sheet, draping it over the fallen man. Reaching out with his gloved hands, Taff carefully lifted the other's head to inspect the cut. "It's not deep, but I don't have anything here to patch it. We can clean it when I bring you to town. For now, don't move too much. If you fall again, I'll head to town without you," he muttered. While Taff was certainly confident in his ability to navigate the snowy mountaintops back home, carrying an injured man back was a hefty task in its own right.

"Come then. Hold onto me as best as you can," Taff murmured as he offered his back for the stranger to hold onto. The marksman was wary all the same, and doing something like this certainly exposed him to being attacked by the other man. But there wasn't much time to debate the best way to bring back an injured man. As badly as he wished to interrogate the other, there was no use if they froze to death out here. His hands firmly gripped the other's forearms to make sure he didn't slip out of his grasp. The hike back down would certainly take some time, but Taff knew the routes like the back of his hand even if it was flooded up with snow.

[soncfthewitch]

Toby didn't say anything, just glanced down at his phone. Still going off. He was tempted to chuck it out the window, but that'd probably make everything worse.

"I'll take anything but a glass of water," he said, not looking up from the screen. "And by anything, I mean a double."

The telly had moved on to some other disaster—probably another politician caught with his trousers down. But Toby kept seeing Min-Jun's face from the helicopter footage. Unconscious. Machines keeping him breathing.

Not exactly the family visit I had planned.

He'd been planning to visit next month anyway. Talk things through properly, maybe sort out this mess with the company. Now? Well, now Min-Jun might not wake up to have that conversation.

"Have you ever been to Korea?" Toby picked at a loose thread on the sofa arm, not quite meeting Sebastian's eyes. "Given everything that's happened, it's probably best I pop over sooner rather than later."

His phone buzzed again. Lee, probably. Or the lawyers. Or any number of people who'd want answers he didn't have.

"I could really use someone at my side for this one." The words came out quieter than he'd intended. "I know it's a lot to ask, but would you come with me? To Seoul, I mean. Just for a bit."

He finally looked up, catching Sebastian's gaze. "He's one of the few blokes I give a toss about, and I need to keep up appearances for everyone else. But with you there..."

Maybe I won't bollocks it up entirely.

He didn't say that part. Didn't need to.

He believed it. Truth is, Sebastián himself hadn't been entirely too honest about the events that shaped up his life to be like this, that forced him to seek the Order of Hermes in the U.S. instead of staying home... It wasn't exactly a secret, but it wasn't something easy to talk to. Toby's aprehension of bringing this up earlier was understandable.

And, truth be told, it was enough of a farfetched story for Seb to believe it if he hadn't seen it play out on T.V. in front of his very eyes.

Of course he noticed Toby's phone going off with messages and the quick willingness of his boyfriend to jump the topic completely. Hence why he knew things were probably more serious than Toby let on.

"Hating on my pizza is not gonna make me forget about your current ongoing shenanigans, love," he warned, sitting up on the couch and feeling the stab of pain of one of his bruised ribs. Or was it broken? Either way, it took him a few grunts to get into a position comfortable enough to eat. "So before we skip the topic altogether, let me strain my initial statement. If you need help, I'm here for you."

Sebastián looked at Toby, offering a smile that was as genuine as it was exhausted. There truly was no rest for the wicked, and somehow the latino looked all too used to that feeling.

"Thank you for answering the door, by the way. Let me pour our drinks, at least. What should I get you?"

[soncfthewitch]

closed starter for @men-of-paradise

Click, click, click—the gas hissed out in little spurts each time, but it never caught fire. He turned the knob off and tried again—same result. The igniter sparked but wouldn't catch, just that metallic tick-tick-tick of flint against steel with no payoff.

"Brilliant," he muttered. The stove was older than most of his clients, probably installed when this flat was worth half what he'd paid for it. White enamel gone slightly yellow around the burner rings. He checked the gas supply, listening for the soft whistle that meant it was flowing. Definitely on.

He glanced toward the bedroom door. Still quiet. The duvet had been pulled up over what was probably Haru's head when Toby had slipped out twenty minutes ago, just a dark mop of hair visible on the pillow. Either still asleep or doing a decent job of pretending. Toby had tried to be quiet—bare feet on the hardwood, closing the door without letting the latch click.

Toby looked back at the stove. He could fiddle about with matches, wake up the whole building with his swearing. Or he could just get on with it. The burner didn't seem too finicky.

He snapped his fingers, feeling the air shift and catch around the friction, pulling it close, snapping his fingers a second time. The flame that flared up at the tip of two fingers was bright, no soot or smoke to it. He held his hand to the burner grate, twisting the knob until he heard the hiss and whoosh as the gas lit. Good enough.

There was bacon in the fridge, and bread that was still edible if he didn't look too closely at the crust. Coffee brewed while Toby rummaged around, trying to remember where the spatula was. He found it tucked between the back of the counter and the coffee maker, like it was trying to run away. "Get back here," Toby muttered. "You'll make me look right amateurish."

He laid strips of bacon in a skillet, listening to them sizzle as they heated up. He liked the smell—almost like the fry-ups he'd made himself back in London when he was still too young to know how to cook anything but breakfast.

Music. He could put some music on, try to wake Haru gently. He didn't think Haru would be much of a morning person. Not after last night, anyway.

Toby set his coffee mug down and reached for his mobile on the countertop. The battery had died sometime in the night. He plugged the red charger into the bottom and tapped the button on top to turn it on.

The Spotify app loaded, and scrolled through his playlists. He found one that he had been listening to earlier in the day—a compilation of songs from South Korea. He clicked on the album cover and scrolled down until he found the song he was looking for. Who by Jimin.

Butter sizzled in a second pan. Toby poured in the eggs, watching them set around the edges. He found himself moving as he stirred the eggs. Nothing dramatic. Just his shoulders picking up the tempo, hips shifting slightly with the beat. The spatula dragged through the pan in steady circles, eggs folding over themselves in soft yellow curls.

He did a small spin as he reached for salt, spatula still working the pan. Proper ridiculous, but no one was watching. Just him and Jimin and a pan full of eggs that were starting to smell right nice. His hips swayed back and forth with the beat, feet following the music.

The music swelled, and Toby turned around to grab a plate, catching sight of Haru. His mouth hung open, but he snapped his jaw shut as their eyes met.

"Er, hey," Toby said. The words felt awkward in his mouth.

[soncfthewitch]

"I can walk," he managed, though his voice came out rougher than intended. The lie tasted bitter. His legs felt like water, and standing upright required more effort than he cared to admit.

The stranger's equipment was proper mountain gear—thick furs, weathered boots, gloves that looked like they'd actually keep fingers from freezing off. Everything Tian should have brought if he'd planned this journey instead of fleeing into it.

"What brings you up here?" He had to pause to catch his breath, teeth chattered slightly. "What are you tracking?"

His fingers found small cracks in the stone behind him. The ice made everything slippery, but if he needed to move fast... He could at least get a head start. It wouldn't take much to outrun the northerner, who didn't seem equipped for chasing anyone. The furs made for excellent winter camouflage, but the rest of him was too exposed to the wind. One well-aimed blast would send the stranger flying, assuming he could muster up enough magic to manage it. But the way his fingers shook now, Tian wasn't certain.

As he tried to stand, Tian's knees gave way, and his body slid down against the stone. Chasing someone, Ha! That's a laugh. I can't even...

He blinked up at the stranger. There were two of him now, blurring at the edges. Tian's head ached; he was starting to feel lightheaded.

"I'm..." Tian trailed off. What could he possibly tell the stranger? That he was a fugitive, running from the emperor of another kingdom's hired swords? From the stories he heard, Northerners hated outsiders. The emperor was the worst kind, but anyone from below the border risked being skinned alive if they wandered into the wrong village.

But the truth didn't seem any less dangerous. His pursuers wouldn't give up, not after following him all this way. His uncle would pay dearly to have Tian's head brought to him on a silver plate, and he'd spend double that for the body.

"Appreciate the... the concern," Tian managed. He paused, brought his hands to his mouth and breathed warm air across his fingers. "But I'm fine."

Tian pressed his palms flat against the rocky surface and began to push himself upward. The stone bit into his hands through his gloves, but the pain helped focus his thoughts.

He made it halfway to standing before his legs simply... stopped working.

One moment he was rising, the next his knees buckled without warning. Tian pitched forward, his hands too numb to break his fall properly. His face struck the snow with enough force to drive ice crystals into his cheek and split his lower lip.

Fresh blood welled up immediately, bright red against the white powder. It pooled beneath his mouth, melting the snow into pink slush. His ribs screamed where they'd twisted during the fall, and something warm trickled down his chin.

Tian pushed himself up just enough to turn his head, spitting bloody snow. His breath came in ragged gasps now, no point in hiding it.

"Please..." He couldn't bring himself to ask for help—not from the Northerners—but he wasn't going to freeze to death up here. He knew the dangers of staying in the mountains overnight; there were reasons these passes remained mostly untraveled, and the snowcats were the least of them. He had no desire to be a meal for anything bigger.

The northern lands were cruel to those unfamiliar with it. Even for Taff, a man who grew up in the cold and had the mountains and icy fissures mapped out like the back of his hand, even he had his fair share of scars and marks from his time spent in the wild. But the archer had always been quite adept with navigating in the snow, blizzards or not. His knack of slipping by undetected and his trained eye caught the attention of the guards in the city, and the young orphan had been tossed into the ranks to train in service to the king.

It wasn't until Taff's natural skills and talent were recognized by the king himself did he receive some more specialized instruction. Some might have called it torture and relentless beating. And many would have given up. But Taff didn't have anything else to return to, and as the king had exepectations for him, he could not bear to let him down. It was only a matter of time before Taff rose up in the ranks, well-equipped and skilled enough to become a member of the king's elite guard. It was a prestigious and well-sought after title, and yet the marksman was one of the few that had obtained it.

As it was his right, the king granted different portions of his kingdom for them to oversee, rule, and protect as they saw fit. The central capitol's resources were always available for them should they return, and whenever the king sought their guidance and their updates, the four guardsmen would return. But until then, Taff spent most of his time in his northern home. The cold was far more comforting and familiar for the archer, and he now had his own people to care for. They had low harvests to worry about, invaders from the north (with whoever was brave enough or foolish enough to attempt scaling the mountains), and yearly blizzards that proved nothing more than nuisances for the Northern folk.

But when his scouts had hurried back to inform him of a large things falling from the sky and into the snowy mountains, Taff's interest was suddenly piqued. It was rare for something to happen in his neck of the wilds, and the leader determined it was in his people's interest for him to investigate. A storm was brewing, and none of his scouts seemed particularly inclined to scale the mountains themselves. So Taff had set out in the morning for a solo expedition to track down just what exactly had fallen in his realm a few days ago. His tracking skills were certainly put to good use as he encountered signs of an injured being even before he came across a crash site. It was no wild beast, and it certainly wasn't something as large as what his scouts had reported. But if it wass someone this deep in the mountains, perhaps they had an idea of what was going on.

So the archer shfited his sights onto the new trail, quickly making his way along the powdered ground until he was face to face with a rather injured and bloodied individual huddled against the curved stone ridges of the mountain. It was barely reminiscent of a cave, only offering some sheltering against the howling winds whipping about the place. Taff's expression was muddled between distrust and confusion as to how someone could be alive this high up while being so poorly equipped for the northern cold.

"You're not from here," Taff said after a long moment, his eyes fixating on the injured, shivering man before him. The marksman's eyes were trained to assess for any threat or danger, and while it didn't seem like the stranger seemed defenseless, Taff figured the injuries on his body seemed like the more pressing matter. "Staying out here this long in the cold in clothes like that will get you sick," the archer said after another beat. "Are you able to walk, or do I need to carry you to town?" While his suspicions were hardly quelled, Taff decided in the moment that it was better to assess the injuries and bring some color back to the other's face. If the stranger died, the archer would have no means of questioning him as to how he came to be in these mountains.

[soncfthewitch]

closed starter for @men-of-paradise

Tian's stomach cramps as his boot breaks through the snow crust, sending him to one knee. It's been three days since he's eaten. He hadn't intended to cross the northern border in winter. The mountain passes were treacherous enough in summer, with imperial patrols watching for creatures like him. But necessity had forced his hand—the emperor's assassins had finally tracked him north, leaving him in the bitter cold of late autumn with few options.

He'd opted to brave the mountains rather than the assassins. The mountains were more merciful than the emperor's men, at least.

Trees are sparse here, far above the timberline, and the wind is fierce, whipping the fresh snowfall into a fine, stinging mist that seems to seep in through every crack and seam of his clothing. Every time he crests a ridge, there's another one beyond it, and it's getting harder and harder to keep going.

The cliff face at the mountain's base is the closest thing he's had to shelter in hours. Tian staggers over, leaning against the cold stone before sliding down. The snow is up to his knees, and it's freezing his skin through the thick leather of his boots. He draws his knees up, curls in on himself.

With his back to the cold stone, he realises he can't stay here. Not if he wants to survive the night. The mountain passes are unforgiving at the best of times. In winter, they're deadly. There is no mercy here.

He tried to stand, but the pain in his legs made that idea laughable, so he slumped back against the stone with his spine crooked and his knees half-bent, and when he forced himself to look down, he caught sight of his bare hand before he remembered pulling the glove off.

The scales were still there, pale gold against his skin, too stubborn to vanish the way they always had before.

He closed his fist around the ache in his palm, not to hide it exactly, but more to feel whether the damn things still moved when his fingers did. They did.

The movement draws his gaze back to the cliff—how the stone face curves up to his left and drops off hard to the right. He shifts his weight, testing the slope. The ice is thinner here, the edge brittle beneath the powder. The fall wouldn’t be clean. Nothing about this route is.

But staying put isn’t an option, and going back means facing what’s behind him. He digs his fingers into the snow and pushes himself upright.

In the valley below, the village's last lights go out one by one. He could try for the village now; there are inns, stables, and warm places to wait out the coming blizzard. But he's not the only stranger haunting these hills.

The agents were still back there. He didn’t need to hear them or see their tracks to know—they were the kind of men who didn’t stop, not because they loved the chase, but because they were afraid of what would happen if they came back empty-handed.

He’d led them up through the highlands, figuring the cold and the altitude would do him a favour, but the mountain had decided to punish him too, and it did a better job than he expected.

The ice had opened up beneath his feet like shattered glass, and then he’d dropped, bounced off a wall of rock hard enough to knock the wind and a mouthful of blood right out of him. He'd woken hours later at the bottom of the icy fissure with cuts and contusions all along his flank. His back aches from where he'd struck a boulder, though whether anything is broken or just bruised is anyone's guess.

Snow shifted behind the ridge, footsteps crunching closer, and Tian pushed himself up. His heart thumped painfully hard in his chest. It was stupid to hope, but he'd figured that his little tumble into the ravine would have killed any of the emperor's men who were following him. There's no way a normal man would have survived that fall.

[soncfthewitch]

Cas got up, following Oscar's lead. "That's what I'm talking about." A grin spread across his face. "But fair warning, if you fall asleep on me mid-meal, I'm ordering you dessert—none of that 'too full' bollocks. You need the calories, mate. And I need to see you stuff your face. It's gonna be my new hobby."

They stepped out, the air hitting them—a bit chilly, but fresh. Better than the stale office smell, that's for sure.

The city around them was a noisy, bustling mess, but it was home. People rushing, cars honking, a typical day.

Cas knew a place two blocks over, one of those hole-in-the-wall joints that smelled like hickory and looked like time forgot it around 1973.

He kept half a step ahead, shoulders angled to block Oscar from the flow of suits and uniforms bustling between buildings. A group of analysts rounded the corner ahead, laughing too loudly about something classified. Cas subtly adjusted their path, steering Oscar to the outer edge of the pavement.

"Place does proper burnt ends," Cas said as they approached the faded sign reading 'Smokey Joe's'. "Taste like they've been cooking since Tuesday. Might actually have been, knowing this place."

Inside, it was dim and nearly empty. Wood-panelled walls, red plastic booths, and ceiling fans that looked about as old and dusty as the menu. But damn, the smell. Smokey and sweet, like a backyard barbecue on a lazy summer day. Made Cas's mouth water.

He led Oscar to a booth far from the door, the better to keep an eye on things. Habit, really, but a handy one.

"Table's ours," Cas said, nodding at the lone waitress who waved at him from behind the counter. She knew him—the regular type. He'd been here often enough that his order might as well have been tattooed on his forehead.

Once they settled in, Cas tossed his jacket in the corner. The vinyl squeaked as he leaned back, arms spread along the back of the bench.

"Owner's a Vietnam vet. Doesn't talk much, doesn't listen much either. Food's good, though." Cas settled in, positioning himself so that Oscar had the wall at his back. "No one'll bother us here. Just you, me, and enough meat to put you in a food coma."

Cas' comments and tone of voice helped Oscar to feel lighter and he smiled softly at his friend, glad that the younger man had come to see him. Truth be told, he saw Cas as the little brother he never had, and he knew that Maja looked up to him a great deal. It was a special bond that they had forged and it made him relieved to see him.

"I'm looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight, that's for sure." He paused, rubbing a hand over his face as if suddenly hyper aware of how exhausted he was, and likely looked. He had barely slept since he had been taken, except for the times when it was either chemically or violently induced. Since he got back, he hadn't really rested either, laying awake in the hospital bed thinking over what happened.

"That actually sounds great. I've not eaten a decent meal in what feels like forever. Let's make a move."

[soncfthewitch]

Terry opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a sharp exhale. His hips lifted, seeking more pressure, more contact, more of whatever Dick was willing to give him.

Whatever Dick said, Terry didn't hear, only noticed when Dick's voice dropped lower, rougher at the edges. His fingers curled around the waistband of Terry's underwear, tugging it away from his skin.

"Fuck you," Terry managed, but there was no heat in it, only need. His cock throbbed against Dick's hand, another bead of wetness soaking through.

Terry's head fell back, a groan tearing from his throat as Dick moved his hand up in one long, slow pull. A flash of heat raced up his spine, lodging somewhere between his shoulders as his hips bucked forward.

All he could do was nod, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as Dick's thumb swiped over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. He didn't trust his voice not to crack. "Fuck me," Terry breathed, his hands balling into tight fists at his sides. "Don't...don't stop."

Another groan tore from Terry's throat. He couldn't think—couldn't even breathe with Dick's hand on him like that, his touch firm. He tried to form words, to make his lips shape the syllables, but his thoughts were scattered, and his tongue felt too thick. All he could do was gasp and buck, his body seeking more contact, more friction, more of everything.

"Jesus," Terry gasped, his head falling back. "You just gonna tease all night? Or are you going to show me what that mini you can do...Dick?"

Terry bit back a groan. Of course, Dick wouldn't make this easy. His cock throbbed painfully in Dick's grip. He'd imagined this—hell, jerked off to the thought—but the reality left him raw, exposed in ways he hadn't prepared for.

Dick expected Terry to say something, but instead all he saw was confusion in his eyes. Almost like part of him couldn't believe this could be happening for real. Grayson would have to show him that this was not a fantasy — erase any doubts from Terry's mind and give him a good time. They've been professionals for too long. Bruce would forgive them if they acted on impulse just once, right? “I’ve never seen you so quiet.” He stopped moving his hand over Terry's bulge and instead reached inside the underwear to close his fingers around the heavy meat. “Come on, Terry. I know you thought about this a hundred times before.” Dick leaned down, his lips hovering just above the young man's. “I need you to tell me to keep going.” His voice lowered to a whisper as he pressed his mouth against Terry's, their lips uniting in a passionate, heated exchange. Dick's hand remained firmly around the bulge, not moving. Only after they broke the kiss did the acrobat's hand begin to move; stroking the assistant's cock at a slow pace, taking pleasure in the feeling of that hardness pulsating in his palm. 

[soncfthewitch]

"It's... a lot. Top secret. I get it." His phone lit up again. Probably Lee, demanding a secure call. Min-Jun's head of security didn't text unless things had gone properly wrong. And they had, hadn't they? "But I wasn't trying to hide anything from you. Never thought I'd get my face splashed across the telly for the world to see. Guess I made the big leagues."

The doorbell rang, Toby had never been so thankful for the sound of a pizza delivery in his entire life. His phone lit up again—a third time in as many minutes—but for now it could bloody well wait. Some problems required immediate attention, and the rumbling in his stomach was one of them.

"Saved by the bell," he said, pushing himself up off the sofa. His knee buckled under the weight, a sharp stab of pain that made his breath catch. He covered it with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Toby limped to the door, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. The delivery girl was young, probably a student. She had blue hair and three piercings in one ear, and she didn't seem bothered by the late hour or the fact that Toby looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a freight train.

"Two pizzas for... Sebastian?" she asked, peering at the receipt stuck to the top box.

"That's us," Toby said, taking the boxes. The smell hit him immediately—hot cheese, tomato sauce, and yes, proper garlic bread too. His stomach growled so loudly the girl heard it and laughed.

Toby tipped her well—probably too well, but twenty-somethings working the night shift deserved it—and kicked the door shut behind him.

"Right then," he said, setting the boxes down on the coffee table. "Let's see what culinary crimes you've committed."

He flipped open the top box and snorted. "Would you look at that? Just sauce and cheese. Beautiful in its simplicity, innit?" He nudged the box toward Sebastian. "At least they used proper tomatoes, not that canned rubbish from the supermarket."

Toby opened the second box, revealing his own pizza loaded with enough toppings to make the base sag in the middle. "Now this," he said, gesturing with exaggerated pride, "this is what pizza should be. None of that minimalist nonsense."

Sebastián listens, as usual. Too tired to make any attempt to leave that comfortable couch, too curious to cut Toby off despite his own anxiety flaring up. But he was thankful for the explaination, especially since Seb could tell it was coming from a place of honesty.

He kept stroking Toby's back mindlessly, letting him rant about the past and parallel personalities of sort. It was quite funny how someone so young could have that much baggage... Although he figured he wasn't any different himself. If he was about to talk about the events of Mexico...

"Tao, Toby, Gideon, e0n... Someone's full of surprises, huh?" he teased with a warmer voice, keeping his anxiety at bay and reminding himself that whatever that TV report said, Toby was actively choosing to be here with him. That was a truth grounding enough for him to put the topic to rest.

"I know we're both exhausted and we're probably not gonna leave this couch for hours," he started then, looking for Toby's eyes. "But it looks like your life is about to get a bit more complicated and I need to state that I'm on your side, alright? If you need help with anything, say the word."

He checked his phone quickly, on the peripheral of his eye. The pizzas would be there soon.

"All of this is top secret, right? I don't wanna mess up by oversharing with someone or anything."

[soncfthewitch]

“So, here’s the thing, I didn’t actually go by ‘Toby’ as a lad.” He rubbed at the seam of his jeans, thumb dragging like he’d only just noticed it was there. The next bit wouldn't come out right away. “The real name’s Tao. Haven’t said it out loud in… Christ. Years.”

A half-glance was all he risked without making a thing of it. Didn’t know what he was hoping to see—anger, maybe, or confusion—but there wasn’t much on show. That didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse.

“Back in Asia, I’m still Tao,” he said, looking off toward the far side of the flat—not at anything in particular. “Anyone who knew me back then, that’s what they call me. Don’t think the name will mean much any more, will it? Not now the whole bloody world’s seen my face. Cheers for that.”

“Gideon Wu’s what they’re meant to see. Whole thing’s made to sound just believable enough—rich bloke’s mistake, bottom of the ladder, keep your head down and smile in photos. I'm not even a bit Korean, not that most of the world can tell the difference between Korean and Chinese.”

Toby sat there, listening to the same old bollocks rattling round that daft head of his. That bit he’d said—it didn’t ring true. Never had. Not back then, and not now. You could paper over it all you liked, but a lie’s still a lie.

“Min-Jun’s the one who sorted it. After we...hmm... when our dads... after we ran away. Mister Wu made sure we had a place to land. He was… family, sort of. Close with our dads. Proper uncle figure when we were kids.”

As he looked down, his bracelet caught his attention, where it sat snug on his wrist. He spun it round once with his left thumb until the crack was facing up again. Then he just held it there, stroking over the jagged line like he was checking if it had got worse, even though he already knew it had.

“Toby, Tobias, if you're being proper and all, is the name I chose. That’s mine. Only give it to people who matter. People like you. Then there's this other bloke—a mad genius hacker called e0n. With a zero. Bit of a tosser, if I'm honest, but good at what he does. Takes down the big brother types, companies that might have ties to Hyeon Technologies. Someone Gideon Wu should bloody well steer clear of. Not that anyone's got actual evidence e0n even exists. Vanishes without a trace. Bit like magic, that. So weird.”

Brows perk up at Toby's mention of his enchantment skills. He appreciated the compliment, of course. Sebastián even managed to get a breath full of air, ready to reply, when Chez' intervention cut him short.

Now, nothing could've truly prepared him for what came next. At first, he failed to understand why Hyeon Technologies was so relevant to the conversation, but as the news report progressed, it soon became self explainatory. There was no denying that the picture it depicted was Toby himself, assuming there wasn't a twin brother or a clone he didn't know about.

And then Toby, in an attempt to approach the conversation, used the word 'alias'. So it was him. Not that it should've been a surprise, he had always known his boyfriend was asian... But he felt suddenly so tired at the idea that this was going to complicate his life even further.

"Huh- And is the alias Gideon... or is it Toby?" he asked, meeting Toby's eyes while finding it impossible to mask the sudden anxiety spike flaring up all over his mind. The idea that he had been falling in love with a fake identity was terrifying, even if it was an unfair one.

But he had no reason to doubt Toby now, had he? Not after everything they'd been through already, not when it was so comfortable to be trapped against the couch by his weight on top.

"You know I hardly press for details on these issues... But I'd love to hear that story now. If only so my anxiety doesn't make a whole movie about this in my head by trying to fill in the gaps myself."

[soncfthewitch]

Toby found himself watching how people just seemed to get out of Haru's way without him even trying. No dodging, no sidestepping—just a clear path wherever he went. Meanwhile, Toby had to practically fence with umbrellas and dodge tourists like it was an Olympic sport.

Watching him made Toby fidgety. His fingers itched for something to do—fix his shirt, check his phone, anything to keep from looking like some nervous teenager. He shoved them into his pockets instead, the charm digging into his palm.

"Depends what you mean by 'good,'" Toby said, stepping around a tourist who'd stopped dead in the middle of the pavement to take a photo. The noodle place Haru mentioned couldn't be far now. "Good enough to knock someone on their arse if needed? Yeah. Mum made me take lessons after some tosser tried to nick my lunch money. Turns out I had a real talent for it. Mum was horrified—had visions of her son becoming some street brawler instead of a nice doctor or boring lawyer. Joke's on her, really. Ended up neither."

The restaurant was just up ahead—squeezed between a newsagent’s that hadn’t updated its posters since the '90s and a laundromat that smelled faintly of bleach and burnt lint. Faded sign, steamed-over windows, flickering neon that buzzed low even over the street noise. The air smelled like garlic, old oil, and chili so sharp it made the back of his throat twitch. After the day he’d had, a place like this was exactly what he needed.

The noise was as subtle as an airhorn—shouts from the kitchen, chopsticks ticking like mad typewriters, chairs screeching tile as if they were being dragged to the gallows. Steam slapped his face as soon as he stepped inside, the heat curling under his collar, making his jacket instantly turn into a mistake he couldn’t take off fast enough. The place was packed elbow to elbow, waiters weaved between chairs, running the floor like it was a timed event, plates rattling in their hands.

"Or maybe you just know someone who works here," he said, eyebrow raised as they somehow bypassed the group waiting by the door. Made more sense than lucky charms, didn't it? The smell of steamed dumplings and fried garlic made his stomach rumble loud enough that he was surprised the next table hadn't complained. How long had it been since breakfast? Lunch?

Toby slid into the chair across from Haru, eyeing the laminated menu already on the table. The plastic was worn thin at the corners, a faint ring of soy sauce staining the bottom corner. He traced it with a thumb, feeling the sticky edge before he realized what he was doing.

“Right, I'm bloody starving," he said, eyes already hunting for xiao long bao before he'd even read the page. "What's actually good here? Besides everything, obviously." He'd learned that lesson young—when it came to family-run joints like this, the chef's special was always the smart order. "And I'm not sharing unless you let me pick half the table."

"Seems a bit presumptuous to ask you about your tragic backstories and your criminal records already. Even if it is our second time meeting. Would you rather I ask you about your life story instead?" Haru asked softly as he moved skillfully through the crowd, despite there not being much for him to avoid.

The mage smiled at the mention of xiao long bao, nodding his head respectfully. It was his dumpling of choice as well, as the Citadel man enjoyed the savory soup inside the dumplings. People often burned their tongues eating it incorrectly, but he quite liked the piping hot nature of the xiao long bao when it was first served. Haru snorted at the following remarks though, only cocking a brow at the other man with mild amusement. "Was I supposed to assume those things about you? I figured you were terrible at kung fu and even worse at maths," he teased lightly.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind sparring with me from time to time then. It's been a while since I've practiced martial arts with someone else, but I do miss the sport of it," Haru hummed softly as they walked along. As for the remaining chapters on Toby's life, the mage only tapped his chin thoughtfully in that moment. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind sharing one of your more 'mental' chapters with me, as you put it. Although I wouldn't assume anything about your life is boring. You seem plenty interesting to me just as you are."

He slowed his pace to follow along with Toby. As the streets were getting busy, so their steps slowed. Haru didn't seem phased by the passing people and bumbling tourists; his gaze remained ever fixated on the man beside him. They neared the restaurant he had planned to take them, but he waited patiently to hear the other's response to his simple and inane questions. While he wasn't the best conversationalist, Haru wondered how Toby would react to his foolish questions.

"A raven sounds lovely. I would think it would be quite freeing to be a bird. You could go wherever you wanted, see the world, and be free," Haru hummed. His eyes glimmered as they reached the restaurant, and he stepped forward to hold open the door for Toby to enter. "I think you're more suited as a dragon though. I'll allow that choice just for you. Something tells me you'd be more powerful than most, and you'd easily hunt down a big cat like me," he teased once more with a low, rumbling chuckle.

Before he heard the other's response, Haru had flagged down the hostess for a conveniently open table for two. No wait was necessary, and it was in a portion of the busy restaurant where conversation would still be audible. "Ah, it seems they still have room for us. How lucky. Your charm must already be working then." A flicker of amusement lingered in his eyes, as if he were suggesting that he was quite skilled in his craftsmanship.

[soncfthewitch]

"Dumplings?" Toby's eyebrow went up. Bit random, that. He'd been braced for the usual getting-to-know-you bollocks, not a food quiz. "Bit of a softball question, innit? Thought you'd open with something properly invasive. My tragic backstory, criminal record, that sort of thing."

He stepped around a puddle, watching Haru's face. Hard to get a read on him—not giving much away, was he?

"But since we're on Chinese food—xiao long bao, obviously. Though my ma would disown me if I admitted most restaurant ones are proper rubbish compared to hers." Something in his chest tightened at the mention of his mum. Been too long since he'd called her. "Next, you'll be asking if I know kung fu or if I'm good at maths. Which—yes and yes, as it happens, but that's beside the point."

He glanced back at Haru, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm an open book, mate. Just fair warning—some chapters are dead boring, others are properly mental. Your call, which ones you want to flip through."

The streets were getting busier now—Friday night crowd starting to pile out. A group of lads in matching shirts stumbled past, probably pre-gaming before the clubs. Toby dodged a bloke who was too busy staring at his mobile to watch where he was walking. Bloody tourists. Always the same, weren't they?

Toby nearly snorted. They'd gone from dumplings to reincarnation in under a minute. Bit of a leap, that. Was this some Buddhist thing or just random chat?

A big cat, huh? Bit on the nose, that. Toby watched him for a second, trying to see it. Yeah, he could picture Haru lounging on a sun-warmed rock, muscles rippling as he stretched, tail flicking lazily. He'd be one of those big, proud cats—the kind that made you feel small. But also... not a complete twat about it, which was... nice. Unexpected.

Toby hadn't given it much thought before. Bit daft, these hypothetical questions. "Does a dragon count? Phoenix? No? I can tell from that look on your face." He shrugged. "Raven, probably, then. Clever little bastards, aren't they? Plus, flying's got to beat being packed like sardines on BART any day."

Nodding respectfully at the monks as they passed them by, Haru began to lead the two of them away from the temple and towards the busier streets of the town. He hummed softly as they walked, an idle tune that he picked up from some of the children scurrying about the temple as he worked during the day. Haru glanced over at Toby curiously every few moments as they walked, his eyes lingering on the other man's expression. There was a strange sense of serenity that seemed to wash over him, where Haru felt like he was at peace watching the other man. What a strange feeling, but not an unwelcome one.

"I suppose you have. Well, then first things first, what sort of dumplings would you like? If I'm paying for your dumplings, I'd like to get you ones that are your favorites," Haru hummed lightly as they made their way through the street. At such a busy time close to dinner, people would have bumped against their shoulders or even stumbled by in a rush to get home. But Haru was used to his good luck guiding people aside, an almost smooth and unhindered path provided for the both of them. The mage was used to this behavior now, and he would no doubt expect an open table ready for the pair when they arrived at the restaurant.

He glanced over at the other's remark, tilting his head with a small smile on his lips. At times, it seemed like Toby was distrusting of him. Perhaps even too cautious. Or perhaps he was guarded after all the things Haru had said to him before. The Citadel member hummed softly, wondering what he could do to help ease the other man. He didn't want them to have an uncomfortable dinner together after all. And Haru certainly hoped Toby would come by his booth again like he mentioned, whether the charm needed fixing or not. Perhaps a more surprising question would be helpful then; something outlandish and unexpected. If the question was too personal, Haru worried the other man would refuse to say much more to him.

"If you were born again as an animal, what would you think you would be born as? I would wish to be born as a lion, I think. Or a tiger. A big cat's life sound relaxing."

[soncfthewitch]

There was something almost too easy about it all, wasn't there? The way he'd stumbled into the temple, nearly ran someone down, and now here he was. If Nan were still around, she'd probably have called it auspicious. Toby wasn’t sure what word fit. The whole thing felt... off.

The temple was still busy—kids running, bowls clinking, voices rising and falling in that steady hum. Sunlight cut through the windows, warm against his skin. A few monks glanced their way as they passed. One gave Haru a nod, like he knew him.

Toby’s fingers found the charm in his pocket, tracing the edges. His thumb caught on the thread again—rougher this time.

That smile of Haru's. Toby felt his chest pull a little tighter—just a bit too close to fluttery. He told himself it was the sunlight. Or maybe the smell of incense. Or even the low rumble of noise around him. Anything but that smile.

He stood slower than he meant to. Hands in his pockets, head down—just a bloke following a smile, he shouldn’t have noticed that much. He didn’t look at anyone, or anything, not even the temple’s jade dragon statue, which always looked like it was about to spring off its pedestal. Instead, he focused on the small, insignificant details. Like the way the tile shifted from glossy to matte as he passed through the door. Or how his fingers traced the edge of his mobile phone in his pocket, the charm’s string brushing his wrist.

Haru had that presence—the one that made people move out of his way on the pavement. Toby noticed that now. Noticed the way people glanced at him as they passed. Noticed how his own body seemed to lean toward Haru without meaning to, drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet.

Toby didn't answer at first, too distracted by the way the setting sun lit up the side of Haru's face, turning his skin to gold. It took a second before he remembered to nod. “Think I’ve earned dumplings.”

It came out almost like a joke. Almost. He felt his shoulders relax just a bit at that. A bit more normal.

"I don't see why not," Toby replied, keeping his eyes on the street ahead, his fingers still combing absently through his hair. "Alright then, have a go." He was used to this—questions, curiosity. The urge to scratch the surface. He'd learned to live with it.

Haru kept his gaze fixated on Toby, even as the other man glanced away from him and looked over the various items and materials scattered over his booth. The Citadel man tilted his head curiously, as if trying to determine if he had done something that was displeasing or made the other man not want to look at him anymore. Perhaps he had shared too much information too soon; people could often be uncomfortable with things like that. But at the very least, his offer to eat a meal together wasn't outright rejected, and that made Haru smile warmly at the other man.

"I look forward to seeing you return to my booth once more then. As for noodles or dumplings, I suppose I'm hungry enough for both. No need to limit ourselves," Haru hummed as he stood up from his chair. He could always come back later to put away the rest of his things, and it wasn't as though there was anyone who would dare steal the meager materials from the booth of a charmsman anyways. His dark eyes rested on Toby carefully when he heard him say that he liked seeing him. Haru was certainly stunned by that, since he wasn't too sure if there was anything to like about seeing him. But he smiled politely all the same at it.

"Then you'll need no pretext of a broken charm to see me, if that's what you'd like," the mage mused. He gestured for Toby to follow him as he stepped away from the booth, slipping both of his hands into the pockets of his pants. "There's a noodle shop down at the corner I'm quite fond of going to now. They tend to give hefty portions for their price, and we could get some fried dumplings to share as well if you'd like."

As he walked, Haru glanced over at the other man with a rather curious glint in his eyes. "If you'd allow me, is this simple man allowed to ask you questions about yourself in turn? If I'm to see you more often, I'd like to know more about the man who brings me good fortune. Of course, you can keep things private for yourself if you wish. I wouldn't wish to overstep my bounds."

[soncfthewitch]

"Listen," he said, fingers tapping once against his bracer before drifting to his jacket pocket where he kept the contacts. Didn't take them out yet—just wanted to know they were there. "Been meaning to ask you something. About your enchantment skills."

He glanced at Sebastian, then away. "That thing you do for yourself sometimes? The mental speed-up bit? Proper impressive, that is."

The television flickered, but there was no sound. A shimmer curled at the bottom corner of the display—tail-first, paws next, ears twitching into shape like the pixels were bored of behaving. Chez. Of course, it was Chez.

"Oi—what the hell—" The words died in his throat.

"Sorry to interrupt your cuddling session, but you should watch this. Urgent news alert from Seoul." His tail flicked as he shrank his window to make room for the broadcast.

A Korean news anchor appeared, speaking rapidly. English subtitles crawled across the bottom of the screen: "BREAKING NEWS: Hyeon Technologies CEO Min-Jun Wu hospitalized following catastrophic boating accident off Jeju Island coast."

The footage cuts to helicopter shots of debris scattered across dark water. Coast guard vessels circled the wreckage, searchlights cutting through the night.

"CEO Wu remains in critical condition," the subtitles continued. "No survivors found among the board members and family aboard the yacht. With Wu now in a medically induced coma, questions arise regarding the leadership of the tech giant. Hyeon's recent negotiations with several multinational corporations, including The Pentex Group, now face an uncertain future."

The anchor's tone shifted, and the screen split to show a stock photo. Toby's own face stared back at him—taken years ago, hair shorter. Professional. The kind of photo that belonged in a corporate profile.

"Industry insiders now look to Wu's youngest son, Gideon Wu, born to the CEO's former assistant outside his marriage with the late Mrs. Wu. The acknowledged but distanced heir has maintained separation from family business operations despite recent reconciliation efforts. Attempts to reach the reclusive son have been unsuccessful."

Chez closed the broadcast with a swipe of his digital paw. The screen went black.

Toby's fingers had gone numb where they gripped the edge of the couch.

"Well, she didn't have to say all that," he said finally, turning to Sebastian with a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Suppose now's a good time to mention my alias, isn't it?"

Ah, so it was a sensitive topic. That much was clear from the shift in Toby's attitude. It meant that Sebastián would keep it a secret, even when he hadn't been asked to.

"I'll confess spirits have never been my strong suit. Too vague, too erratic..." he trailed off, admitting that he didn't really have all the answers despite how smart he came across as. However, he made sure to listen to every word Toby said and take it to heart.

"So-- You and four others have some sort of blessing from a spirit that keeps you from dying," he concluded, lips gentle against Toby's temple before they placed a kiss on it. Seb wasn't appalled or worried by this information; if anything, he found it reassuring. He had already lost too many people to not be happy that Toby was hard to kill.

He continued to caress his arm mindlessly, making sure that Toby was comfortable and cared for. Silently, he promised himself to be more attentive and alert to keep his boyfriend from facing these life threatening situations.

"You know, insulting my napolitan pizza doesn't make me like it any less," Seb added in a gentle tease. "And yes, I remembered the mushrooms. But any more napolitan slander and I will mysteriously forget next time..."

[soncfthewitch]

Oscar's voice still had a bit of his old self in it. Not much, but enough that Cas could see him in there somewhere, buried beneath those fading bruises.

"Teenagers, mate. Can't live with 'em, can't leave 'em by the side of the road," Cas said, shaking his head. "Got to keep her sorted, haven't I? Truth is, she's got brutal taste in music these days—proper torture. Next time you're up to it, you can be the one braving her playlist. I'm retiring."

Poor Maja, though. Tough as nails, that girl. Had to be, with a dad in the game. Four months of nothing but "he's away" and "we'll find him"—and she'd just squared her shoulders and got on with it. Fourteen going on forty, that one.

Cas leaned forward, arms folded, and eyed the dark smudges under Oscar's eyes. "Seriously, though. When you gonna sleep? Looks like you went a few rounds with a pissed-off brick wall."

They weren't ones for big heart-to-hearts, him and Oscar. Never had been. But they'd been mates long enough for Cas to see when something was eating at him.

"You ain't gonna do the world any favours burnt to a crisp, yeah?" Cas cocked a brow. "What you need's a solid twelve hours, a proper meal... and maybe a shag. I'll handle the meal at least. Swear this office’s gotten more depressing since I walked in. Let's go grab something decent or greasy, your pick. But we’re not staying here."

Cont. from @soncfthewitch (x)

Oscar managed a small laugh when he heard the comment about his daughter, nodding his head. "Yeah, she can get like that. They always warned me about the teenage years, I'm sure I was just as insufferable at her age, so I can't really complain." He was glad to see Cas, glad to see a familiar face and especially that of a friend. "Thank you for looking out for her. I'm sure it's made her feel more at ease despite everything..." It couldn't have been easy for Maja, knowing her father was nowhere to be found. He couldn't wait to wrap his arms around her and hold her close.

"Honestly? I don't know... I'm still processing everything that happened, let alone the fact that I'm somehow alive and back. I know I'll be back to my normal self soon but just... I'm not sure I want Maja to see me like this."

[soncfthewitch]

The last bloke dropped with a twitch, air bubbling through his throat like a punctured hose. Cas didn’t watch him finish. Just cleaned the blade on a patch of shirt that wasn’t already soaked, stood up slow, and rolled his shoulders once to keep the tension from locking in.

Pedro had seen it all—every second of it—and Cas could already tell he wasn’t doing well with the view. Still, he seemed to pull himself up. Wobbly at first, like his legs hadn’t decided what kind of day they were having.

Cas didn’t answer straight off. Just looked him over—mess that he was, bleeding from the lip again, shoulder hitching slightly when he moved. But still standing and asking for a weapon like this was just another Tuesday.

He stepped over the body without ceremony and crouched beside it, one hand already reaching for the waistband. Standard issue Glock, half-decent condition, still warm. He popped the mag, checked the count, and slid it back in with a click.

"Catch," he said, holding it out grip-first without looking up. "You drop it, I'm not wasting time digging under furniture."

"You get one chance," he said flatly. "If they grab you again, I'm not rescuing your arse twice in the same night. Unless you're offering proper compensation, this time, dinner at that posh Italian place you're always banging on about might do it."

Cas stood, adjusting the knife in his grip, and shifted half a step to keep the hallway in view. Even looking like he'd been put through a meat grinder, Pedro with a gun had a certain appeal—shame about the timing.

A trap, then. For him specifically. Not the first time someone had come at him sideways—but this lot? The whole setup stank of amateur hour—bottom-shelf muscle, sloppy work, hardly worth the effort. Someone wasn't trying very hard, or they didn't know what they were playing at.

"Right," Cas muttered, checking his blade once more. "So I ought to have left you here, yeah? Don't be daft."

He shifted his weight, positioning himself slightly in front of Pedro without making it obvious. Just a habit. The knife hung loose in his grip, ready.

Whoever wanted a word with him had picked the wrong bloody way to ask for it.

Cont. from @soncfthewitch (x)

Under any other circumstance, Pedro would have laugh at the comment, maybe even snapped back with one of his own, but with the danger that they were both facing in that moment, he couldn't even manage a smile. He watched as Cas easily took down the potential attacker, feeling his stomach twist at the gory mess that he left behind with his blade. He had never been particularly good with the sight of so much blood, something that he had worked on over the years given his line of work. But that had been ruthless and it made him look away.

Getting to his feet, somewhat unsteady, he nodded his head in assurance.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Do you have a gun to spare? Anything I can make myself useful with?" Pedro wasn't about to be the helpless guy who couldn't fight for himself. Now that he was untied, he needed to do something. "I have no idea who they were. They said it was some kind of trap for you, which is exactly why you shouldn't be here."

[soncfthewitch]

Dick hadn’t even done anything, and he was already a wreck, and the flush across his skin had nowhere to go. He wasn't about to give Dick the satisfaction of calling it out again.

"You're the one who grabbed me," he muttered, eyes slightly down, voice low. That was all he had left that felt like control.

His cock strained against the thin material. It felt like Dick had him in a chokehold—one wrong move and he'd snap.

Terry wanted to resist, say something—anything—but his body was already moving on its own. He pushed to his feet, not even catching his balance before Dick's arm slide around his waist, pinning him close against a firm chest. His breath came out ragged, heart slamming wildly against his ribs.

Dick didn't seem to care that Terry could barely keep himself upright. The man was already moving, hauling Terry through the mansion. They passed through the hallway, and of course, Alfred was there—but he only nodded at them, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Terry's face burned. This had to look like something it wasn't. He wasn't injured or weak—he was almost-naked, hard, and clinging to one of his mentors like some lifeline.

But he went where he was led, hitting the mattress hard enough to bounce, his hands shot out, catching himself against the bed, propping up just enough to glare at Dick.

Terry stared at the floor for a second, then up at him. His body hadn’t relaxed. His cock was still straining against fabric that didn’t hide a thing. Every inch of him knew where this was headed. He wasn’t fighting it. Not any more.

One hand braced against the mattress beside him, the other pressed low, landing squarely over Terry’s cock through the thin fabric. There wasn’t anything subtle about it—Terry's hips snapped up hard, his body rolling into the contact. His cock twitched, a wet patch spreading beneath Dick's palm as both hands clenched against the bedding. The noise he made wasn’t loud, but it came from the back of his throat, scraped raw and half-breathed.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do—sit back and take it, say something, reach for Dick in return—but his body wasn’t moving.

“So what are you saying?” Dick raised a brow and crossed his arms in front of his chest, deliberately flexing his muscles. “We should fuck right here and now because Bruce would’ve done the same?” He tilted his chin up a little and squinted his eyes, challengingly. “Where did you get this idea from? Was it something you witnessed personally, or are you just making stuff up to justify your obscene thoughts?” He uncrossed his arms and casually circled Terry, stopping behind. Both of his hands reached for his shoulders, gliding up and down before squeezing them. “Actually, don't say anything. It doesn't matter if they did it or not. We don't expose each other like that.”  A hand moved down to his arm. “Up!” He commanded, giving a few light slaps, forcing him up. “I will take you to my room.” Dick stood by the young man's side and placed an arm around his waist to lock their bodies together. He was very aware that Terry wasn't injured to the point he couldn't walk on his own, but the game was only starting.  “You should've at least put your pants on.” He glanced down and snickered. “I can still see the outline of your cock. Are you still hard?” He dug his nail into flesh, faintly scraping. Dick couldn't wait to pull down those boxers and see what he's been inflicting on this poor boy this whole time. Nonchalantly, he led the two out of the cave and into the manor. The place was pretty much empty except for Alfred, who only shot them an uninterested look and carried on with his tasks. Dick helped Terry climb the stairs, occasionally brushing his hand against his ass. When they reached the room, the acrobat sat Terry on the mattress and stopped in front of him. “Was the trip enough to help with your… condition?” A playful smile tingling at his lips. “You know what? Let me check.” Gently, Dick pushed Terry's back onto the mattress and leaned his body on top of the young man's, a hand reaching low to cop a feel, palming his crotch.