#AND I AM SO SHAMELESS I JUST INSTANTLY THOUGHT 'OH GOD WHAT IF I THROW HER AT YEO' BECAUSE I JUST

[mythvoiced]

@jeoseungsaja​ | I’M?? FKDLH i’m sorry :’3

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“I’ve known him longer than you have.”

It’s a debate no one had invited her to start but judging from the child-like urgency with which she throws it at his chest, it’s probably important enough to her to warrant an explosive start into a conversation that doesn’t have to exist.

“And he knows I’m trustworthy, that’s why. If anyone’s to blame for Mr Rang worrying enough to send me to check up on you, then it should be you. I don’t see why you should even be allowed to make him worry like this, so why don’t you think about that?”

[empyreanwritings]

A Different Side to You

Pairing: Angel!Sam Wilson x Demon!Reader

Word Count: 7k (yall this is my longest fic that isn’t a series, i’m crying)

Warnings: definitely some blasphemous talk, blood and gore, mentions of sacrifices, language

Summary: You like to get under Sam’s skin because he makes it easy, but he doesn’t realize just how far you’ll really go to make sure he’s safe.

A/N: Hello friends! This is my submission for @buckysknifecollection​ writing challenge, congrats again on reaching 3k bby cause you deserve every follower and more! My prompt was Flirting in Inappropriate Places, and I tried to be as interesting with it as I could asdlkfjd ! Please let me know what y’all think! I crave attention xx

Divider by @whimsicalrogers​ - check them out bc their edits are amazing x

"Do you pray, or is that kind of redundant given your direct line to the big man?"

Sam refused to look over at the intruder. It was bad enough you felt the need to bother him with your presence again but to do it in a church? He feared if he looked over at you, he'd throw the hymnal straight at your thick skull. That kind of behavior was unbecoming for God's favorite, and he knew better than to test his father's patience - even if you tested his own daily.

You sighed dramatically, and he heard the familiar click of your heels as you walked down the center aisle. You traced your finger against the armrest of the pews; your nails dipped in black paint occasionally leaving a small scratch on them. The wood was old and soft, it was easy to leave marks behind, and it made you smile knowing they wouldn't be able to buff it out without ruining the wood altogether. A church marked by a demon. How sad.

For the last year, you brought it upon yourself to cause trouble to Sam. Nat told you not to bother with him; she knew her father would protect him at all costs, but you couldn't stop yourself. There was something about Sam that made every part of your body feel hot - and not in the Hellfire kind of way. Maybe it was his strong will or those arms. Either way, you enjoyed bugging him because you knew you'd make him crack eventually.

It was too hard to resist you, ask any man or woman who was allowed to live after a nightly encounter with you.

"I have to say," you leaned against the pew directly in front of Sam and crossed your arms over your chest, "Orange really is your color, Sammy. I don't think I've ever seen you look so delicious before."

"Can you not flirt with me in a house of worship? It's bad enough that you are here," he hissed. "Do not disrespect my father by flirting with me as well."

"Touchy, touchy. I can see I've struck a nerve, so I'll tell you why I'm here."

Sam's brows raised, and for once, he seemed intrigued by what you had to say. "Oh? It's not to bother me?"

Part of your visit was to bother him, you couldn't deny that, but it was mostly a professional visit. Nat needed to return to Hell and deal with a few demons who were stirring up trouble. The longer Nat stayed on Earth, the more restless they became down below. Some of them even went as far as to say Nat was no longer their queen and wanted to overthrow her. And, of course, she couldn't let that happen, so she left you in charge of any earthly factions trying to rise up while she went down to control the chaos. You hated being left behind, but the company wasn't terrible.

The only way you could really get the demons on Earth under control was if you had Lilith's knife. It was the only knife capable of truly killing a demon, not just send them back to Hell to crawl their way out again. After the war between the angels and demons, the angels took the knife and hid it so no being could ever wield its power again, and you knew Sam was there when Steve hid it.

You suggested a trade: Sam loaned you Lilith's knife in exchange for one of your Souls. No one would ever be willing to give up a soul they took in a deal, but if it meant you'd get your hands on the knife, you would do it.

"Are you out of your mind?" Sam roared, his cool exterior finally cracking at your audacity to ask something of him. "You really think I am going to hand over Lilith's knife to you? You know very well that knife doesn't just kill demons, Y/N."

"I would never use it on you, you drama queen." You paused, and a wicked smile spread across your face. "Unless you asked me to, of course."

He scoffed. You felt the disgust rolling off him, and you tried not to be annoyed that the sheer thought of being with you made him feel sick. You weren't looking for him to love you, or anything like that, but he didn't have to act like sleeping with you was so terrible. It wasn't as if you could get any sort of disease - perks of being a demon, after all.

"I am not giving you the knife, so you might as well leave."

"I can wait," you purred and left your spot on the pew to explore the sanctuary. You knew it would bother Sam if you stayed any longer, so you were going to milk your time there.

The church was one of the oldest in the city. You never fully understood the separate denominations of the church, but you noticed Baptists put less work into their churches than others. The pews were old, the fabric on them was a faded green that was torn in some spots. The white walls were slightly yellowed and peeling in the corners, but you only noticed if you focused long enough. It helped that the lights, which you could see dust hanging from the top of them, were dimmed. The blue carpet on the stage was the only thing that seemed new, and even that didn't seem to be in the best condition.

You walked over to the podium, and from the corner of your eye, you could see Sam tense up. You smirked and continued on. A worn bible sat on top of it; there were tabs sticking out the side, marking several pages for future sermons, you assumed. You grabbed the end of one and flipped it to the marked page, running your fingers across the lines.

You opened your mouth to start reading, but Sam appeared in front of you almost instantly. He slammed the bible closed, barely giving you time to yank your hand back. He knew exactly what you were doing, and he refused to let you speak the words of his father.

Touchy, touchy, you thought.

Sam grabbed your elbow to escort you out, but you whirled around and faced him head on. You pressed your chest against his; you were so close, your nose brushed the tip of his. He hated being this close to you, but he made no sign of backing down. God's favorite was one of the proudest as well. A deadly sin, you chose to remind him.

He watched your eyes flick down to his lips and back to his eyes in a matter of seconds. It happened so quickly, he thought he imagined it, but he knew better. You were shameless.

"I guess I'll get going now, Sammy," you hummed as you trailed your finger down his chest. "Please wear this sweater the next time I see you. Like I said, orange is your color."

You disappeared without another word, and the breath escaped Sam's lips in a cough. Well, it was less of a cough, and more of a strangled gasp. You really had a way of getting under his skin, and he hated admitting that to himself.

He knew one thing was certain, he couldn't let you get Lilith's knife. No matter your intentions.

"What are they doing?"

You jumped at the sound of Sam's voice, thinking you were caught by one of the people you spied on, but instantly relaxed when you saw him standing behind you. You glanced back at the scene in front of you - an altar with fake skulls the group probably bought at Michael's, red fabric thrown carelessly around everything, and three men in black cloaks mumbling to themselves about Lucifer. A woman was tied to the table directly in the middle. She squirmed and screamed for someone to help her, but no one was around these parts for miles, and the group knew it. It was why they picked this spot in the first place.

"Virgin sacrifice," you grumbled. "I could smell the stench of goat's blood miles away, so I popped in to see what they were doing."

"You can't just let them-"

"Relax, Sammy. I'm going to stop them. I actually hate human sacrifices." You turned around and smiled wide when you looked over at Sam. His brows furrowed, confused by your sudden change in mood, but when your eyes looked down at his shirt, he knew what you were about to say. "You're wearing orange."

He rolled his eyes. "I had nothing else to wear."

"You're wearing orange because I said you looked good in it, aren't you? Don't be embarrassed, Sammy, you look absolutely-"

"Don't you have a virgin sacrifice to interrupt?"

Your mouth formed an 'o' as if you just remembered why you were here. You told him to wait one moment before you disappeared behind the red fabric.

Screams filled the abandoned warehouse, but they didn't belong to the woman. The stench of blood and mutilated flesh hung in the air around Sam. It was a smell he was sure you were used to, but he almost lost his lunch thanks to it. When the screaming stopped, Sam thought the worst of it was over until he heard one of the boys beg for their lives. A wretched sob and a plea to be better interrupted by the sound of him choking on his own blood.

You escorted the woman out quietly. The poor thing trembled in your arms, yet it seemed you weren't the thing she was terrified of. You may have been a demon, but the monsters were the men willing to sacrifice her in the name of someone who didn't want human sacrifices to begin with. Well, Nat only liked sacrifices if the one dying was wicked, but that was another story.

The woman thanked you, tears and snot streaming down her face as she clutched onto your torso. You grimaced but did not pull away. Human comfort wasn’t something you fully understood, but you knew she needed a good hug right now, so you let it slide.

"Is there anything I can do to repay you?" She sobbed.

Sam shook his head. He knew what you were about to say - she could offer her soul in exchange for helping her. Demons were all the same. They acted like what they did was for the benefit of others, but it always came at a price. A price the humans could barely afford. And just when he started to believe you did this out of whatever goodness you had in your heart, you were going to prove to him that you were just like every other demon.

"You owe me nothing." He sucked in a sharp breath. That wasn't what he was expecting at all. "Except…maybe don't go on dates with people you meet in cemeteries. This is New Orleans, you can meet better men at the bars."

She nodded and made her way out of the warehouse. You weren't worried about her spreading the tale of what happened today because she could be accused of murder if she did. No one would ever buy the tale that a demon swooped in and killed everyone just to save her. The witches of the French Quarter might, but they weren't lawyers who could bust her out of jail.

You noticed Sam staring at you and huffed. "What? Do you not approve of me killing those bastards?"

"No, I…" He trailed off for a moment, eyes wandering over every inch of your blood covered body.  He wasn't looking at you but trying to look through you and understand why you would do something like spare that woman's soul. "I don't understand why you didn't make a deal with that woman."

You shrugged. You felt no need to explain yourself to him.

"Wait, when you offered to exchange a soul for Lilith's knife, did you even have a soul to offer?"

"Several."

"Ones that aren't centuries old."

"Why does it matter how old they are? A soul is a soul, right?"

It hit Sam that you probably haven't made a deal since you first became a demon. There was a time where Nat required every demon to make deals with people, but even she grew bored of the lifestyle. Many demons continued making deals and ruining people's lives, but Sam wondered when you stopped - and why. You spent most of your days following him around just to bother him, which meant you didn't have much time to harvest souls of the innocent. So, why? Why did you stop, and why did you make it seem like it wasn't a big deal?

You turned away to avoid any questions he was inevitably going to throw at you. You walked around the body parts and looked through the trinkets they gathered for the sacrifice. It was a long shot, but you wanted to see if they got their hands on Lilith's knife. A small bubble of excitement burst in you when you saw a black dagger resting on the table, but you knew it wasn't the right one as soon as you touched it. No magic, no power. Just a boring kitchen knife dipped in paint.

He watched you look around in disappointment. Questions bombarded his mind, made him wonder what else he didn't know about you - what else he might have gotten wrong. You were still a demon, though, and he would never be able to look past that.

When your search turned up empty, you focused right back on Sam and the dark orange V-neck he wore. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he wore that shirt for you. And you knew it.

"So," you began with a smile, "I find it adorable that you are wearing more orange for me. Very fall…very romantic, if you ask me."

"I didn't wear it for you," he quipped. "I told you, I had nothing else to wear."

"Mhm, so you said. Well, if you don't like it, you could always just take it off. I wouldn't mind." You ran your finger along his exposed collarbone, and he quickly swatted at your hand.

"There is nothing sexy about you asking me to take off my shirt when it smells like blood."

You giggled, something that should have been adorable yet somehow sounded evil coming from your lips. "You'll get used to it after a while, but I'll let you change the subject for now. I know it's probably not good for God's favorite to be aroused at the idea of taking me on a sacrificial altar."

Sam deadpanned, and you practically howled out a laugh. He made it far too easy to get under his skin. As much as you would have liked for him to ravish you then and there, you were perfectly satisfied knowing you managed to annoy him. It was the second greatest pleasure in your life, next to torturing evil assholes who thought the world belonged to them.

You tried to turn the conversation back to Lilith's knife. You hoped that your display of mercy would make him willing to give up its location, but he stood his ground. He vowed to never let you see the knife, even if you did swear not to use it on the angels. The knife's power was too much for one to handle; he couldn't guarantee that after you used it on the rowdy demon faction, you wouldn't just turn around and use it on him or his brothers. Once the knife got a taste for blood, it always wanted more.

No matter what you told him about the threats of war in Hell and on Earth, he refused you. His stubbornness made your jaw clench, but you knew when to pick your battles. When the precious humans were in danger, he would be willing to give it up. Despite not wanting for it to get that bad, you knew it was the only way.

So, you'd wait, and until then, you'd drive him crazy with your flirtatious comments.

The next few days were…off, to say the least. You spent a lot of your time trying to get a feel for Sam's godly aura - something that had a distinct smell and feel to it most angels didn't even realize - but there was nothing. Every corner you turned, every chapel you visited, was hollow. Cold and empty, much like the feeling in your chest the longer you didn't see him. You knew it was possible he was just avoiding you, but you couldn't help but feel a little dreadful.

If something happened to Sam, you'd unleash Hell on earth. You would rip through every being you had to in order to get to him. The heavens haven't seen true bloodshed until you've put your mind to it, especially if you were going to avenge your non-existent lover.

But as you sat in one of Sam's favorite sanctuaries, you wondered if he had finally grown tired of your games. He was an angel after all, and you were nothing but a demon. Scum of the earth; knight of darkness and destruction. A small voice in the back of your head reminded you that you would never be any more to him. You looked around and realized, he might not have been missing at all, he may have just decided you were no longer worthy of his presence. You weren't sure which idea hurt more, and you didn't really want to take time to analyze it.

The funny thing about sadness is that it eats you from the inside. The harder you try to push it down, the more power you seem to give it. Even as you sat there, staring at the ethereal paintings on the ceiling, you couldn't stop the sadness from burning a hole into your heart. You closed your eyes and exhaled, feeling the heat from all the Bibles burning around you. And you smiled - not fully, but enough to push down the sadness once more.

"Where is my brother?" You opened your eyes and looked over at Steve, who went to work trying to put out the small fires you set. "For the love of dad, did you really have to burn the Bibles? You could have gone for the hymnals, at least!"

You hummed disinterestedly. "Why are you asking me about Sammy? I figured he went back to Heaven by now."

"He hasn't been home in months, but he usually checked in with me. I haven't heard from him in days now."

Okay, so maybe he was missing, and maybe you were too quick to start throwing yourself a pity party, but could anyone blame you? No one had to know you were willing to burn down a church simply because you thought Sam abandoned you.

"The last I saw Sam he was alive and well, I can promise you," you purred just to get under Steve's skin. "If I'm being honest, though, I haven't seen him since then. He usually pops up to scold me when I start trouble, and I did everything I could to get his attention! I even kicked a toddler, and he never came. I should have realized he could never get bored with me; obviously someone has taken him."

Steve blinked several times, trying his best to process your words. He didn't know where to start - the fact that you both tend to end up in each other's company willingly or that you would go so far as to kick a toddler to see him. He shook his head. How Sam managed to put up with your antics was beyond Steve. He always told his brother that a demon like you wasn't worth watching over, but Sam always had one excuse or another. Lately, he claimed it was to make sure you didn't find Lilith's knife, but even that excuse was flimsy at best.

He wanted to be in your company, and it baffled Steve most of all.

"I'm not going to touch any of that," he quickly shook his head and tried to push the disturbing thoughts out of his head. "Nat said there was rebellion going on in Hell. Do you think demons might have taken him to get under her skin?"

"I wouldn't put it past them, but I honestly think if the demon faction on Earth kidnapped him it's because they want Lilith's knife."

"And let me guess you want me to give it to you."

You nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "If demons are behind Sammy's disappearance, they need to be taken out. Lilith's knife can do that, and you know it!"

"You think I'm foolish enough to give a blade that can kill demons and angels to a psychotic demon with stabbing tendencies?" Steve scoffed. "You're off your rocker even more than usual."

A moment passed, and your passive façade finally cracked. You kicked Steve, full force against his abdomen, and sent him flying towards the altar. He caught himself before he landed on the podium, but he didn't have enough time to block your next blow to his side. You knew it was enough to knock the air from his lungs and catch him off guard, so you quickly grabbed his throat and forced him to his knees. His angel strength usually made him an even match, but your rage was the one thing fueling you. It was too much for him to fight off.

You squeezed until he was gasping for air and slapping at your hands. His eyes grew wide when he looked up at you and realized you were in full demon form - eyes black, teeth pointed behind your sinister snarl, and your skin slowly flaking off and turning to ash. He had never seen you like this, and for once, he feared his life despite knowing you couldn't really kill him.

You leaned in close, letting him get a good whiff of the rotted flesh and brimstone. "Let me make something very clear, Michael, you will give me that knife because the longer you wait, the more danger my Sammy may be in. And if he gets hurt, I will tear the world apart until it rains blood for eternity. You and your daddy will have nothing to protect anymore, do you understand me?"

Steve shuddered as you dropped him to the floor. The use of his real name never brought a chill down his spine until it came from your lips. He knew, somewhere deep inside of him, that you no longer wanted the knife for yourself; you wanted it to end those who dared to take Sam away from you.

Realization dawned on him in that moment. You loved him. It was something he never knew a demon could be capable of, but your protectiveness…your anger…it all made sense now. You wouldn't let anything happen to Sam, and he knew giving you the knife wouldn't be the worst idea. The other angels might frown upon it, but they wouldn't question Steve's judgement. He'd make them understand why he had to, and why you were somehow the most trustworthy person to take it.

"I'll get you the knife," he gasped. "You find out where my brother is, and I will meet you there with the knife."

You slowly turned back into your "presentable" self at his words. The relief that you wouldn't have to torture the information out of Steve flooded you. Sam would be incredibly unhappy if he knew you hurt his family, even if it was a little deserved.

"I can find out within the hour, I have someone who owes me a few favors," you replied. "Keep an eye out for my text. I'll give you the coordinates on where to find me once I know."

Without another word, you disappeared, off to cause trouble wherever you needed to. Steve stood there, hands dropped at his side and a deep sigh escaping his lips. There was one problem to your plan: he didn't have a phone.

The moon just started to rise when you stepped through the dilapidated gates of the cemetery. Fog clung to the ground, making everything damp and humid. Bits of leaves stuck to the bottom of your boots as you walked, but you didn't care. You just wanted to get to Sam.

You felt in your element, oddly enough. Surrounded by darkness, Lilith's knife grasped tightly in your hand. You knew the night would end in a blood bath. The demons weren't going to let Sam go willingly, and you mentally prepared yourself for what he was about to witness. If you lost control, even for a split second, your true form would come out again. You knew he would never love you anyways, but once he got a real look at you, whatever tiny amount of hope you clung onto would be squashed.

None of it mattered, though. You only cared for Sam's safety.

The faction waited for you in one of the larger mausoleums. They almost seemed too relaxed as you walked in, as if the party couldn't start until you arrived. You glanced over and saw Sam bound, gagged, and tossed in the corner. You forced yourself to take a deep breath and not let the rage consume you over the sight of him.

Mystique, the leader of the faction, casually hopped down from the top of the stone casket and made her way to you. Her movements reminded you of a lioness, calm and in control as she stalked closer to her prey. She wasn't scared of you, and that was the one thing you were hoping for; you wanted her to underestimate just how cruel you could be.

She walked around you in circles, taking in your presence with a hungry grin on her face. Her eyes lingered on Lilith's knife longer than anywhere else, but she made no advances to take it from you.

"I see you brought the knife," she practically purred in delight. "I'm surprised the angels were so willing to hand it over, but I see kidnapping one of their own was the best way to get their attention."

"You weren't just trying to get their attention," you replied calmly. "You were trying to get mine as well."

"Well, I did have a feeling taking your lover boy would get you here."

You refused to look back at Sam, even though you wanted to. You had to lie your way out of her trap, and you wouldn't be able to contain yourself if you made eye contact with him in this moment. And you wouldn't be able to hide any of your emotions from Mystique.

"He means nothing to me. He was just a means to get Lilith's knife."

As the words left your mouth, your chest started to ache. You silently prayed - something you never thought you could bring yourself to do - that Sam wouldn't believe your words. Whether he ever planned on loving you back or not, you didn't want him to think you only saw him as a means to an end. If he never gave you the knife, you wouldn't have cared because you got to spend time with him. That was more than enough for you.

"For a demon, you're a terrible liar," Mystique sneered. "I've been watching you two. I know the truth, and honestly? I feel a little sad for you, Y/N."

Your lips formed a tight line, and you took a slow breath through your nose. "Why is that?"

"Because you're dumb enough to think he'll fall for you one day. Do you not see the heartbreak you're setting yourself up for? An angel will never see you as anything but the perverted failure of his father, and you are dumb enough to think he could ever see you as anything else." Her words cut into you, and you had nothing to retort. She was right; you came to terms with this before you ever step foot into his life. You weren't meant to fall for him and yet…you did. You tricked yourself. "Even Nat believes she is better than us, it's why we needed to take action! Can't you see? We're your family. We're able to give you what these angels never could - power and belonging. I know you crave both despite all your past protests."

She wrapped her arm around your shoulders and forced you to look at Sam. Her lips were next to your ear, and though you couldn't see it, you knew she was smirking. "All you have to do is kill him. Kill Gabriel and we'll accept you into our group. I can be a fair better leader than Nat ever could."

Sam's eyes grew wide as you stalked towards him. Mystique's words ran through your mind on a constant loop. He would never see you as anything other than a demon; he would never be able to love you the way you so desperately desired. The longer you stared at him, the easier it was to come to terms with that. But it didn't mean he deserved to die.

"There is one thing I think you are forgetting in all of this," you finally said, turning your back on Sam to face Mystique.

"And what is that, my dear?"

You shoved the knife through her throat, ignoring the spray of blood hitting your face. The other demons stood, ready to attack, but they faltered when they realized no one was going to give them an order. Mystique was too busy choking on her own blood.

Just before the light faded from her eyes, you leaned in close and whispered, "You get on my last fucking nerve."

You pulled the knife out and let her body drop to the ground. She was gone for good this time. Wherever the beings went when they were killed with Lilith's knife, you knew it wasn't Hell; she would never be able to crawl her way back to Earth and cause more trouble.

The other demons stood in shock as you stepped over her body. They didn't want to fight in you in fear of losing their own lives, but as you flipped the knife in your hand, they knew they had no choice. You weren't going to let any of them walk out of there alive. They started too much trouble for you and for Nat. This was your way of tying up loose ends.

You gave them props for putting up a good enough fight. They weren't coordinated without Mystique telling them what to do, but they tried their best. Even when bodies started to drop, and the smell of blood lingered heavily in the air, they fought tooth and nail to get away from you. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Not a single demon stepped through the mausoleum doors alive. Well, besides you of course, but that was kind of obvious.

Once everyone was taken care of, you made your way over to Sam. You looked him over several times, and a pout began to form on your lips.

"You're not wearing orange today!" You whined as you pulled the rag from his mouth. "I thought we agreed you'd wear orange the rest of your life for me."

He let out an exasperated breath. "You're insane, you know that?"

"Well I heard-"

"If quote Alice in Wonderland and tell me all the best people are crazy, I'm going to shoot you," Sam grumbled, kicking away the ropes from his ankles in a hurry.

You beamed over at him. It was the kind of smile that made you look unhinged, and the blood spattered on your cheeks didn't help. "Ooh, gunplay? Sounds kinky, I'm in! But I'm pretty sure you don't even know how to work a gun, so I'll have to teach you."

"Please don't."

Sam took your hand and allowed you to help him stand. He had been tied up for days, and he caught himself using the wall to keep himself from tipping over again as the blood started to rush to his limbs again. He noticed how you stayed close enough to catch him if he fell over but kept your distance to give him some space. You assumed he needed a break from being surrounded by demons, and you weren't entirely wrong. He just didn't include you in the list of demons he wanted to stay away from.

You quietly let him pull himself together and got to work on piling the demons' bodies on top of each other. Not many groundskeepers entered mausoleums, but you didn't want to risk anyone finding them. You made a mental note to return with some lighter fluid and take care of the remains before the sun rose. It wouldn't please Nat to know you left bodies out in the open for anyone to find.

Sam tried to shift his weight onto one foot, and he grunted in surprise when a sharp pain shot through his ankle. You were by his side instantly, using your shoulder support most of his weight.

"Are you okay?" You asked, searching his face for any signs of discomfort.

He nodded. "I'm not sure how, but I think they might have broken my ankle. It should heal soon, though."

"Let's get you to a safe place to rest. I need to get the knife back to Steve, and we don't really need any other demons stumbling on your injured self."

"You're actually giving the knife back?" His surprise made you wince. You told him the only thing you needed the knife for was the get the demon faction under control, but he never believed you.

Because you're a demon, your thoughts reminded you.

"I told you I only needed the knife for one thing Sammy," you huffed and helped him step out into the cemetery. "I would never lie to you."

Sam said nothing, but he quietly examined the side of your face as you walked together. He wasn't sure what he felt in that moment besides confusion. Deep down, he already knew you weren't one to lie to him, but he didn't understand why. Why you went to great lengths just to save him. Why you hated virgin sacrifices and didn't take souls. Why you spent most of your time around him when you could have been doing anything else. You were supposed to be a typical demon consumed by a lust for blood, sex, and souls, yet you had proven time and time again that you were far from his expectation.

He wondered if Mystique had been right - were you in love in with him? The thought of you being in love with him made him question everything he thought he already knew.

He couldn't bring himself to understand why he liked the way you flirted him, or why he wore orange just to see you smile. He easily could have gone back to Heaven by now, but he always found an excuse to stay. To see you.

As you escorted him through the gates and far away from the stench of blood, he sucked in a sharp breath. Perhaps Mystique wasn't right about everything. She claimed Sam could never see you as anything but a demon, but as he looked up at you now, that was the last thing on his mind. All he saw was the woman he finally admitted to himself he was in love with.

You slipped into the pew beside Sam, who had fully recovered from last night's incident. You were exhausted after spending your night burning bodies and tracking down Steve to return the knife. Even he seemed surprised you gave it up willingly, but you didn't bother to banter with him about it. You were tired of the angels always thinking the worst of you.

You leaned your head against Sam's shoulder, half-expecting him to pull away in disgust, but he didn't. He sat there in silence as you closed your eyes and let yourself relax for a few moments.

The silence between you two wasn't uncomfortable. Both of you felt like you had been to Hell and back, and not much needed to be said about that. You were still covered in blood, and your clothes reeked of burnt flesh. Sam, who was fully healed, rubbed at his wrists to try and get the phantom feeling of the rope away. You almost made a joke about how a fucked up demon sat next to an equally fucked up angel, but the humor died on your tongue before you could get it out. It was just too much effort.

Sam sighed and pressed his cheek against the top of your head. "She was wrong, you know."

"About what?" You murmured so softly, you weren't sure you spoke out loud.

"About my feelings for you."

You sat up and groaned, feeling all of your muscles groan along with you. "Don't tease me, Sam. It actually hurts my feeling for you to lie to me like this."

"I'm not lying!"

"Sure, you're not."

He grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. The sincerity in his eyes made your stomach churn. You knew how this played out because he wasn't supposed to love you; he wasn't supposed to see you as anything but a demon. Not a single celestial being would ever approve of him falling in love with you, and you would never be able to find peace.

"Listen to me," he began with a small, hopeful smile, "I love you. Do I fully understand it? Absolutely not. You're crazy, and I'm pretty sure you kill pedophiles for breakfast. You also willingly kick toddlers, which I don't approve but…I love you."

"No one will approve us being together, you know," you whispered as if someone was already listening in on you. "Not God, not Nat, not Steve. They'll always have something to say about us."

"Then let's get out of here for a bit."

"Where?"

"Anywhere you want to go." You quickly glanced to the side, and he rolled his eyes. "If you make another comment about that confessional booth, I will lose my mind."

You softly laughed and leaned in ever so slightly. You were officially invading his space, but you weren't making the first move yet. You wanted to give him one last chance to change his mind, to come to his senses or whatever it was he needed to do, before he turned his back on everything he knew just to be with you. Would it hurt? Absolutely. But you needed to know that this was going to last between you two. You weren't sure if you could live with the heartbreak of losing Sam.

"I think you've already lost your mind, Sammy," you teased. "You want to be with a demon after all."

He cupped your cheek in his hand, gently stroking your bottom lip with his thumb. It was an act so intimate, it almost caught you off guard. He stared at you silently before his lips finally met yours, and you nearly collapsed into his arms with how ecstatic you were to finally get a taste of him.

The kiss was hungry - full of teeth and breathless groans. You were exploring every inch of each other that you possibly could without tearing each other's clothes off. Sam practically came to life underneath you as his hands roamed up your side. Your name died on his lips - a prayer only you could hear. You thought about pulling back and reminding him that you were in the house of his father, but that would require you to stop kissing him, and you had no intention of stopping any time soon.

When he finally pulled away from, your chests were heaving, and you smiled over at him. He appreciated how gentle your smile seemed now. Even with the dried blood on your skin, there was a warmth in your eye that made your smile fill his chest with joy. A lot less unhinged, he would say.

"So," you pushed his back against the pew and crawled onto his lap, your knees straddling either side of his thighs, "You said we could go anywhere in the world, right?"

"Besides the confessional booth," he retorted with a smile as he caressed the side of your face.

You paused, trying to get used to him looking at you like you were the only woman in the universe. It felt odd but not entirely in a bad way. You spent most of your time denying he could ever look at you this way, and here he was, proving your doubts wrong. You weren't sure if it made you want to cry or kiss him until he caved and pulled you right into the confessional.

He claimed you wouldn't convince him, but you'd get him to crack one day.

"Besides the confessional booth," you laughed. "I spent a lot of time here, pestering you and scaring children in the cemetery. I think it'd be nice to get out of the country, explore the world a little bit."

"You haven't done that already?"

You shook your head. "I spent a lot of time staying close to Nat. She needed a strong right-hand woman, and I was the one who wanted to fill the job. I mean, Maria is great, but she's better at handling souls and all their pesky little contracts."  

"Where do you want to go then? We can go anywhere you want, and we can get there for free thanks to my wings."

"Can I convince you to give the confessional booth a whirl?"

Sam sighed dramatically, not in annoyance but enough to make you laugh. "Absolutely not."

"Fine," you pouted. "I guess we can start with Greece, as long as you agree to wear your orange v-neck again."

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - “Teeth”

Okay, it’s here, my first smut piece.  Warnings though.  There is rough sex ahead, borderline exhibitionism, and major, major dirty talk.  This is complete shameless debauchery.

And yeah, okay, there is mild plot to it, as well, because, well, I can’t not be me, I guess.

Takes place before Jon goes to Dragonstone, early Season 7, so that also means this takes place pre-parentage reveal.  If that’s a squick for you, then check out now, because it definitely plays a factor.

“Teeth”

“’Are you going to say you haven’t thought of what it would feel like?’ He continues his approach, rounding the table toward her. ‘What it would taste like?’  The words line his tongue with that stinging, biting shame, but it tastes so good suddenly – it’s still wrong and base and vile but this time –

           This time it’s in all the right ways.”  - Jon and Sansa.  How wolves lay claim.

* * *

She knows exactly what she’s doing.  She must.

           Jon stares at Sansa from across the council table, her hands held primly behind her back, her chin high.  They’re both fairly early for the meeting of the lords – Jon, because he wants to sort his notes and the recent raven scrolls before bringing the meeting to order, and Sansa… Sansa, because –

           Jon narrows his eyes at her, the door sliding shut behind him.  She’d been vocal of her dissent when he’d made his decision to go south to Dragonstone earlier that morning, enough to bring another heated argument to air between them.

           She’d followed him to his chambers.  He’d sighed and sworn and implored her to simply listen.  If she would only listen.

           She’d railed over him – vehement, demanding, accusing.

           And he wasn’t doing this again.

           “Why are you here, Sansa?” he asks lowly.

           She cocks her head to the side.  “You called a meeting of the lords.  Am I not welcome?  As the Lady of Winterfell?”

           Jon sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.  “I don’t have the patience for this anymore, Sansa.”

           “And neither have I,” she hisses, taking a step around the table toward him.

           Jon looks up at her.  “I’ve made my decision.”

           “It’s the wrong one.”

           His chest heaves – a single, warring breath filling his lungs.  A slow release, his jaw tense.  “And what would you have me do?”  It’s a rattle of air that leaves him, hot and burning and threatening to overtake him.

           But Sansa is not cowed.  “Stay.” It is more a demand than anything, something ringing in her voice that he can’t quite place – or won’t, rather.

           Jon shakes his head, unthinking it instantly, because it couldn’t – she wouldn’t – they would never –

           Except he would.  If she only let him – oh what he would do to her.

He sighs, holding that tension tight in his bones, in his marrow.  Swallowing it down in place of pragmatism.  In place of distraction.  “We need her.”

           Sansa makes her way around the table.  “And we need you.  Can you not see that?”  She settles before him, throat flexing with the heat of her anger.  “You’re the King in the North.  Be the King in the North.”

           Jon eyes her darkly. “I already told you – ”

           She scoffs, cutting him off, pacing away.

           Jon’s fists clench at his sides.

           “Yes, you’ve told me,” she seethes, looking back over her shoulder with a cold-cut gaze.

           His brows dip down in frustration, his shoulders bunching with the tension.  “And you’ve yet to listen.”

           She whirls on him then, stalking back.  “Oh, I’m listening, Jon.  Far better than you are.”  She stops just before him, her lips curled back in a near snarl.  A wolf’s bite.

           Something tightens in his chest he doesn’t have the heart to name.

           “And I hear them whispering.  The Northern lords, the Vale soldiers – Baelish.”

           Jon huffs at the name, his gaze cutting to the table, away from her, away from this vile flush of possessiveness he feels at the name.

           Sansa presses on, unhindered.  “If you want to hold the North you must stay in the North.”

           He doesn’t answer her.  Simply stares down at the table, simply breathes.  Simply steadies the quake beneath his skin.

           “So, stay,” she says, almost a whisper, her anger washed from her so instantly he has to look at her.  Sansa blinks at him, chest heaving.  She licks her lips.  “Stay,” she breathes softly, eyes flicking over his face.

           “For the North, or for you?”  He doesn’t know what makes him say it, doesn’t even know the words are on his tongue until they taste air, but then he can’t take them back, and he doesn’t think he wants to.

           Sansa blinks at him, drawing a slow, deep breath.  “What?”

           He watches the way her lips part, the way her throat flexes beneath unspoken words, the way her eyes drift to his mouth for only a moment, for only a single, blinding moment.

           He takes a step closer.  She stiffens, a flush of trepidation coloring her flesh.

           And suddenly it is splashed across her skin, blaring and bright and brilliant and gods how had he not seen it before?

           His sister, he reminds himself.  His sister.  And maybe that’s why he hasn’t let himself think it, not even when he takes himself in hand at the thought of her.  Not even when he pants her name into the night air and imagines the slick heat of her. Not even when he muffles his groan into the sweat-dampened furs of his bed and spills into his hand, hot and ragged and wrong.

           Because it’s always just been Sansa. Never ‘sister’.

           And maybe it’s a lie he tells himself because lies don’t shame him when he imagines slipping that dress from her shoulders and mouthing her bare breast, hitching those pale thighs around his waist and taking her right there atop the table.

           Suddenly, Jon realizes she hasn’t moved from him.  He takes another dangerous step closer.  She reaches for the table behind her, but her feet remain planted.  “For the North,” he repeats, breath catching, “or for you?”

           Her mouth parts, that pink, moist mouth, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

           Jon’s chest heaves.

           “Perhaps for both,” she manages through the tremble in her voice.

           “Sansa,” he urges, still too heated to simply let it go at that.

           She turns away, slipping from the tenuous space between him and the table, her absence like a hollow, gaping stretch in his mind, his skin suddenly blazing, his hands itching for her touch, his teeth grinding behind his cheek.

           “What do you want me to say?”  She wraps her arms around herself, clears her throat when the words end on a hitch. She stares determinedly at the wall.

           But Jon knows now.  He knows far more than he thinks he should, than he thinks she meant him to know, and all he can think about now is the way her gasp would taste when it fills his mouth and how soft the long stretch of her collarbone would feel beneath his calloused thumbs and how delicious the weight of her thighs braced against his shoulders would feel when his tongue is buried inside her.

           His cock twitches at the thought, his breeches suddenly uncomfortable beyond measure.

           “I want you to tell me the truth,” he breathes out, and something in his voice must reveal him, because she whips her gaze back to his.

           “And what truth is that?” she spits almost venomously, but Jon can see it. He can see the tremble in her jaw and the way her hands tighten over her arms.

           “Don’t lie, Sansa.  Not to me.”

           “I’ve never – ”

           “You’re doing it even now!”

           She takes in his approaching form, his dark gaze, his purposeful steps.  She holds a hand out, stepping back.  “Jon, this isn’t… what are you…”

           “Are you going to say you haven’t thought about it?”

           She swallows thickly, and his eyes shift to the motion, to the smooth stretch of her throat and oh, how he’s thought about it.  How he’s thought about it and nothing else for far too long to pretend otherwise.

           She skirts around the table, hand still outstretched.  “Thought about what?”

           He stops his advance, throwing a meaningful look her way, the air tight in his chest.  And he doesn’t think he can go back to pretending.  He doesn’t think he can leave this room without having touched her – just once.  Just once.

           Please, gods, let him touch her just this once.

           He doesn’t have to answer her it seems, because she’s shaking her head, absolutely trembling, quietly frantic.  “You’re my brother, Jon and I… this isn’t…”

           She never finishes the thought.  Because they both realize at this point that she’s thinking it, too, that she knows without him even saying it, without him even need to bring it to air – that foul, dangerous air.

           Because they both realize now that, brother or not, he knows how to pick out her lies at this point, and this denial has been the biggest one between them.

           Until now.

           Until ‘brother’ has ceased to mean anything – or at least to mean enough to stop them.

           “Are you going to say you haven’t thought of what it would feel like?” He continues his approach, rounding the table toward her. “What it would taste like?”  The words line his tongue with that stinging, biting shame, but it tastes so good suddenly – it’s still wrong and base and vile but this time –

           This time it’s in all the right ways.

           “Jon.”  It’s a croak that leaves her, her chest rising and falling so heavily it’s making him lightheaded.  She stumbles back against the table.

           “Are you going to tell me you haven’t thought of my tongue in your mouth? My hands on you?”

           “Jon,” she hisses, desperate, head shaking, fingers curling along the table.

           He’s right there, he’s just steps away, and he swears he can feel her, feel the heat of her, even from here.  “I want to, Sansa, gods I want to.”

           Her teeth sink into her bottom lip and he groans at the sight, blinking furiously through his haze.  “Did you know I take myself in hand every night to the thought of it?”

           Her eyes widen, teeth releasing her lip.

           And he wants to bite down on it himself, suck it between his teeth and lick and pull and tear at her, to lap her up, drink her in, absolutely soak in her, that heat, that cutting mouth, to take it rough and long and breathlessly.

           And he can’t stop.  He thinks he passed the point of stopping long before the door shut behind him.  “Just thinking of it.  That heat, your skin, your eyes, Sansa, your fucking eyes and how fucked up is that?  How fucked up that I can cum at just the thought of your eyes – spilling like a green boy, and it’s never enough – never enough,” he rasps, edging closer.

           “Jon, we can’t…”  But it’s a weak protest, her body still braced along the table, her eyes still wide, that delicious bloom of hunger already staining her skin.

           “What do you want?” he demands, voice hoarse.  

           She pants, swallows tightly, shaking her head.  “I can’t… this isn’t…”  And then her thighs press deliciously together, a subtle rubbing, and a sound so low and soft leaves her that he thinks maybe he imagines it.  But the look on her face at the unexpected release tells him otherwise.

           With a growl he surges toward her, trapping her against the table, his arms going to either side of her.

           Sansa sucks in a sharp breath at the sudden proximity, eyes flicking between his, a noise not unlike a whimper escaping her throat and he very nearly takes her right then, damn propriety, damn the meeting, damn everything.

           But he won’t let her go now, not when she’s so near to admitting it, not when she’s let him closer than he’s ever dreamed possible, not when he’s already hard and aching for her.

           She opens her mouth.  Closes it.

           A low snarl brews in his chest.  The hard way, then.  He leans in, bracing his cheek a whisper away from hers, his hot breath breaking against the shell of her ear when he speaks.  “I think I know what you want.”

           She shudders against him, and he can practically feel it he’s braced so close to her – just a subtle lean forward and he could press his chest to hers, feel her breathe against him, pin her hips to the table and rock into her like he wants to.  But he holds himself back, curls his nails into the table behind her, breath raking over her cheek.

           The hard way it is.

           “You want me on my knees, want my face between your legs, the tight, slick heat of you in my mouth – my tongue – my fucking tongue sliding into you.”  His mouth drags along her jaw, his breath drenching her throat with his wet pants.  “Licking you up, lapping at your soaking wet cunt, sucking your clit between my teeth.”

Sansa whimpers, eyes shutting at his words, slumping against the table until he grabs at her waist with one hand to hold her there. He chuckles darkly, nipping at the space below her ear.  “Letting you ride my face, letting you fuck my mouth until you cum, dripping down my chin, my mouth full of you, and I would let you – again and again – I would tongue fuck you until you screamed my name, until your throat was hoarse with your moans and then I’d fuck you again, only this time – ”

Sansa’s mouth parts, her tongue dipping out to wet her lips, her eyes fluttering closed.

He grabs for her wrist, startling her into snapping her eyes open again when he braces her hand to the tent of his trousers.  He groans into her hair, a deep, rough rumble. “Do you know what you do to me?” he rasps.

He can hear her panting at his ear, and they’re each painfully still, each deliciously still against each other. And then tentatively, almost soft enough to be a mistake, her hand rubs against his hard length.

Jon bucks into her hand without warning, a stuttering groan leaving him, and he presses into her, trapping her hand in the sparse space between them, her breasts crushed up against his chest.  “Fuck, Sansa, you don’t… you have no idea how… fuck…”  And then he’s bucking again at the press of her lips to his jaw, her hand more sure now, fingers curling along his painfully hard cock through the fabric.

He reaches for her skirts, bunching the material in his fingers as he pulls at them frantically.  “Sansa, please, oh fuck, please, just let me… I need to…”  He’s dragging her skirts up, fingers skimming the soft warmth of her thighs and he pulls back just enough to catch a glimpse of the stockings that end at her thighs, held tight with a ribbon he plans on pulling off with his teeth later that night.

Sansa’s hand slips from between them and he stops, breathing heavily, his hands at her thighs, fingers trembling – because she’s right there, she’s right fucking there, that heat – and he catches her gaze, barely keeping from hooking his hands beneath her thighs and hefting her onto the table but she’s looking at him, she’s blinking back at him with a delicious flush along her neck and her lip back between her teeth and he stops.

He stops.  

He waits.

She nods, slowly and stiffly, her eyes never leaving his, and he drags his fingers up toward her heat only to find –

Jon’s head drops down to her shoulder with a body-racking groan, his fingers slipping against her folds when he finds she isn’t wearing any smallclothes.

Yes, Sansa knows exactly what she’s doing. She must.

“Gods, Sansa, you’re so – how can you…”  He can’t finish the sentence, doesn’t even want to, because she’s winding her hands around his neck and curling her fingers into his hair and pressing her breasts back against his chest and she’s so – she’s so –

“Fuck, Sansa, you’re so wet already.  So fucking wet for me and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

It occurs to him that she was already expecting this, or at least, hopeful for it.  His hips cant against hers at the thought, knowing that she’s been without her smallclothes this whole time, perhaps even since this morning, when they argued in his chambers, and oh fuck he can barely keep from spending right then, right there in his breeches, so he takes a soldiering breath, closes his eyes and tries to reign it in.

“Then touch me,” she breathes into his ear, arching against him.

He slips two fingers into her at the command, moaning at the gasp she releases against his neck, the way her fingers tighten in his hair.  “Like this?”

She can only nod, mewling into his skin, and Jon presses his thumb against her clit, circles once, presses back down.  She pants at his ear, her tongue darting out to wet his skin and he growls into her neck, his free hand dropping her skirts to reach around and tug at her laces.  He gets them haphazardly undone, enough to drag her dress down over one shoulder so he can press his wet mouth against her collarbone and suck the skin between his teeth.  

“Jon,” she murmurs, breathless, hips grinding against his hand, an impatience to her voice that urges him on.

He drags his mouth down, brushes his lips against the breast nearly spilling out over her dress, his tongue trailing a wet path along her heated skin when he pumps his fingers slowly in and out of her.

“Jon, the lords…”  She throws her head back, a sigh raking along her throat.  “The meeting…”

He pushes a third finger into her, relishing in her broken cry.  “What about them?”

“We can’t be – they’ll see us if we – ”  She stops, fingers digging into his hair, her mouth parched, a ragged exhale branding the air between them.  “What if Lord Royce… what if Baelish…?”

Jon’s fingers slip from her without warning and she barely has time to voice her protest before he’s hooking his hands beneath her thighs and lifting her to the table, dropping her back against it roughly, shoving so hard and abruptly between her thighs, pressing into her so violently his cock throbs painfully against her, his groan reverberating through them.

“Let them,” he growls out, and then he’s kissing her, and suddenly he doesn’t know why it took them so long to get to this point. Suddenly it’s everything that’s been missing between them, and he’s licking at her mouth, shoving his tongue in when she parts for him without anything more than a mildly surprised flutter of breath.  And it’s just as hot as the slickness between her legs, just as damning, just as deliciously, spectacularly wrong. Just as wet and burning and intoxicating beyond belief.  Just the taste of her, just the fucking taste of her, so ripe and ready for him, so absolutely drenched and begging and he wants to drown in it, wants to bury himself deeply and brutally inside of her.

He pulls from her, panting against her lips, ragged and aching and harder than he’s ever been, his hips grinding into her warmth while he swallows her gasps.

“Let them,” he repeats, pushing her skirts back to bare her sticky, trembling thighs.  He dips his fingers back into her heat, watches as she mouths a silent cry, lashes fluttering in her delirium, head tilting back when he curls his fingers up and into her.  She grinds back against his hand, reaching for his shoulders and gripping at the leather of his jerkin.

“Let Baelish know what you let your bastard brother do to you.”

“Jon!” she admonishes, but it’s hardly more than a gasp while she ruts against his hand.

His mouth returns to her neck.  “You want them to know.  You wouldn’t have come here so early otherwise.  You wouldn’t have gone without your smallclothes if you didn’t want them to know.”

She doesn’t deny him.  Doesn’t do anything but grip at his shoulders even tighter, mewling when his thumb circles her clit once more.

“You want them to know how wet I make you. How absolutely filthy, soaking wet you are for me, how fucking drenched and sodden and ready for me.  How you’d let me take you right here, right against this table.  How you’d let me shove my cock deep inside your cunt, how you’d let me fuck you like you’ve imagined – like I’ve imagined.”

Jon grabs for her chin, pulling her gaze back to his, before his hand retreats from between her legs and he slips his fingers into his mouth, licking up her taste, his tongue gliding between his knuckles, sucking his fingers into his mouth.  He releases her chin, lets her tug at his jerkin as his fingers return to her cunt. “And oh, how I’ve imagined it, Sansa.”

Sansa stares at him with dark eyes, panting heavily, and then she drops her head to his shoulder and moans deeply, shaking with the force of her desire, tugging him closer, all snarls and teeth and frantic, desperate breaths.

She bites at his ear unexpectedly, and he bucks into her, but it’s a painful press of his hard cock against the table, his fingers still thrusting in and out of her, and the growl of frustration that leaves him has her tugging him back as she lays down along the table, her legs coming up around his waist.  “How have you imagined, Jon?”

His hand stutters in its pace, his other hand gripping at her thigh as she presses them around his hips.  “Fuck, Sansa, just… just let me, please, I need… I need to – ”

She reaches for the laces on his breeches, her legs lowering from around his waist, and he’s lost, pulling his fingers out of her, ignoring her whimper of protest as he tugs on his laces, pushing his breeches and smallclothes down frantically and releasing his cock, already seeping at the tip, already painfully hard, so fucking hard it hurts, so fucking ready to bury himself inside her he thinks he might just cum at the thought of it.

Sansa stares down at him, swallowing tightly, but her legs are already winding back around him, her fingers already sliding up his chest and curling into the leather of his jerkin.  He locks eyes with her, gives her a moment, an out, but he doesn’t know what he’ll do if she says no, and he can’t stop now, can’t hold it back any longer, and he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to do anything but plunge his cock inside of her and fuck her into the table, doesn’t want to do anything but suck her skin between his teeth and mark her, bring the blood to the surface and lick the bruise away, slam into her so hard and so rough that she howls.  He doesn’t want to do anything but spill inside of her when she’s moaning his name over and over and over until they both slip over the edge.

“Show me what you imagined, Jon.”

And he doesn’t need any more encouragement. Taking his cock in his hand, he levels himself at her entrance, nudging at her folds.  She tilts her head back, a moan spilling from her when he slides the tip along her slick folds, and then slowly, painstakingly, he pushes inside her.

Sansa clamps down on him, her teeth bared, her snarl matching his own, and he has to still above her, one hand slamming into the table to steady himself, his balls almost tightening already.

She presses her tongue to his neck and he jerks inside her unconsciously, pulling out swiftly only to slam back in.  She moans into his ear, her breath hot and moist against his throat.

“Was it like this?” she whispers into his skin, teeth catching at his throat.

“Yes,” he hisses, pulling almost all the way out, and then driving back in.  “Just like this.”

Sansa cants her hips to meet his, one hand grabbing at her skirts to pull them further up and out of the way and then Jon’s hand is at her chest, pushing her back down along the table as he straightens up, looking down on her.  He yanks her hips tighter to his, so that she’s almost off the edge of the table and he slams back into her with a growl.  She’s so fucking glorious, her hair spilled out around her head, her breasts nearly coming out of her dress, rocking with each of his brutal thrusts, her back arching off the table as she claws at the wood beneath her.

She releases a particularly choked cry, his name reverberating around the room with her moan and Jon’s pace quickens, his teeth gritting.  “Gods, you want them to know, don’t you?  You want them to hear exactly who it is who’s fucking you.”  He grinds into her with staggering force, the table jostling dangerously beneath them.

“Yes,” she gasps, no longer able to keep it from him, no longer able to swallow the words back behind clenched teeth.

“You like the idea of them seeing you like this – beautiful and bare and brutal. You like them seeing what you do to me – how I need you, how I need to be inside you, how you make me take you rough and hard and fast and how you love it, gods how you love it.”

Her mouth tips open, chest heaving as she grapples for purchase against the table.  “Yes, Jon, yes,” she pants – near howls – and Jon’s hips stutter, his fingers curling tightly into the flesh of her thighs as he pushes them back, spreads her further, driving even deeper, pulling another cry of his name from her lips.

One of his hands fumbles for her clit again and she keens at the press of his thumb, her body arching off the table.  “Let them hear you, Sansa, let everyone know. Let them know who makes you moan like this, who gets you soaking wet, who fucks you until you cum screaming.  Let them know it’s your bastard brother – your filthy fucking brother’s cock filling that beautiful cunt.”  Jon groans as he snaps his hips to hers with bruising force, gritting his teeth.  “I want them to know you’re mine – you’re mine.  I want them to know – fuck, I want them… oh fuck, Sansa, you’re so fucking tight, so fucking wet – that hot, dripping wet cunt, I want – ngh, I want – fuck… fuck, I want to spill inside you, Sansa.  I want to bury my cock inside you and cum into that tight, wet cunt – just let me, let me cum inside you, let me – ”

She claws at the table, back bowing when she clamps her knees to his hips, keeping him to her, dragging him deeper, and it’s all the answer he needs but then –

“So cum inside me, Jon,” she releases on a strangled gasp, body tight and arched and ready to snap.

He cums with a roar, slamming into her hard enough to scrape the table jarringly back against the stone floor, spilling his seed inside her, rubbing at her nub frantically, almost painfully, until her orgasm rips from her in a hoarse, rending cry, her knees clamping around his hips when she bucks against him, holding him to her as he spills and spills and spills, hips jerking into hers with a needful, barely coherent rhythm until he stills against her, breathless, quaking, utterly spent.

They stay like this for a while, just breathing, Jon bracing himself over her with a hand against the table, his other still digging into her thigh, eyes locking on the bruise slowly blooming along her flesh, swiping his calloused thumb over the smooth, ruined skin.

“Sansa,” he breathes, his voice a rough exhale, and she stirs beneath him, eyes fluttering open as she tries to calm her breathing.

She glances up at him, a worried crease to her brow, and then he’s reaching for her, his cock slipping out of her and she shudders at the sensitivity, sighing softly as he bundles her in his arms.

Between them, his eventual departure still lingers in the unspoken space, but neither will speak of it now.  Neither of them can.

“Stay” she had said.

And maybe now he has more reason to than before.

“You didn’t lock the door,” she says disapprovingly, her voice muffled in his jerkin.

Jon laughs, a sharp, unexpected burst escaping his lungs, and he pulls back just enough to eye her – to take in her mussed hair and swollen lips and the faint bloom of his mark edging its way from her collar bone to her neck.  He looks down at their state, at his breeches still bunched around his ankles and her skirts still collected at her waist, the top of her dress barely covering her chest, dragged down over her shoulder, and he cocks a brow at her.  “You never wanted me to, anyway,” he challenges, watching as she purses her lips into a thin line, her gaze cool and unbothered.

His heart stutters a moment, his hands stilling in their caress of her hair, and then her lips tilt up into a sly smile, the pads of her fingers running over his lips.  “No, I didn’t,” she agrees.

His kisses the tips of her fingers and she’s just staring at him, silent and unblinking, her chest rising slowly, and something settles between them so utterly quiet and immediate and jarring.

Something that might be enough to make him stay.

She brushes a thumb along his bottom lip, eyes watching the motion, and he can’t help himself.  He pulls her hand gently away, leans in, and kisses her.

Just a soft press of the lips, just the warmth of her breath against his mouth, just the sigh they share in the silence, in their hesitant, floundering reach for each other’s hearts in the aftermath.

She is all snarls and teeth, mauling him with wolfish greed, yes, but she is also the tender press of lips to a rising bruise. She is also the cool compress to his fevered skin.

They end the kiss slowly, reluctantly.

Sansa smiles against his lips, until Jon remembers, suddenly, that wolves have always run in packs –

And Sansa has long since sunk her teeth in.

[drowseoftaylor]

i want your ice cream (roger taylor x reader)

Summary: the reader and Roger spend a hot day in the pool together ;) based off the song “Ice Cream” by MIKA please listen if you haven’t it really gives the vibe this fit is trying to give off and it be a straight BOP. lyrics are in bold

Warnings: fluff?, swearing, smut (18+ for SURE)

Author’s note: Thank you so much for all the support on my writing so far you guys are the best. I hope you like this one. remember I love to hear your feedback and requests are forever open. love xxx alright now lets hit it

//

The laughter of children and the sound of strangers riding around in white square trucks handing out sweet treats to kids fills the air in the town that Roger and you decided to settle down and buy your house in. Summer was in full swing as it was mid July and the UK was in the peak of it’s heat wave. The grasses in all the people’s lawns turned bright yellow while they were either locked in their houses freezing in the air conditioning, or subconsciously trying to drown themselves in the coolness of their pools. Which is exactly what you were trying to do on this 102 degree day.

When I hear that sound, I know what’s coming ‘round

Thirty-nine degrees, too hot for the bees

The grass is turning yellow

Streets are slow and mellow

The faucet keeps on dripping 

And the clock, it keeps on ticking

You get off your pool float and try to swim some laps in the pool. When you feel cooled off enough you decide to lay your beach towel on your deck and try to soak up the blazing hot rays in an effort to get somewhat tan, as 90% of the year, you were shaded by clouds and rain. Classic England.

As you stretch out and hear your radio softly playing the summer hits in the background, you sigh in content and place your arms above your head and slightly cross your lower legs. Your ribcage moving up and down with every breath.

Soon, tiny beads of sweet start to form in the crooks of your neck, down your chest and on the tops of your thighs. You shift uncomfortably and try to just focus on your tan and somehow enjoy this unbearable heat.

After about five minutes it starts to become too much and you start to shift to get up and dive in the pool again, just until a familiar voice startled you.

“Don’t go anywhere baby, I’ve brought you something.” Roger said walking over to you with nothing on but a round pair of sunglasses, his short blonde hair matted to his forehead with sweat, pink swim trunks, and him holding two ice cream cones and a bucket of ice with two wine coolers inside.

“Ooo, what’s all this?” You say propping yourself up on your arms and he bends down to give your lips a quick peck before sitting down at the edge of your towel and putting the ice bucket beside him and then handing you a cone.

“You looked so hot and flustered out here. Thought you needed a little cooling off, yeah?” He says flashing you a quick smile and licking a long stripe of the vanilla on his tongue which causes you to giggle.

“Thank you, Rog. That’s very sweet.” You say running your hand down his chest and eating your treat.

A few minutes pass of mindless chatter and the slow eating.

“I feel like it’s mocking me..” You say narrowing your eyes and turning your head to the pool while putting your sunglasses back on.

“Who’s mocking you?” Roger says putting down his ice cream and moving in between your two knees, sitting on his own.

“The pool! I feel like it knows it’s so cool, and I'm so hot. it’s just unfair.” You say giggling to yourself and looking up at him.

Roger ignores your comment and slowly adjusts your legs so you are leaning on your elbows and your legs are bent while he wraps his hands around your knees and delivers a chaste kiss to your left then right knee.

“Oh yeah?” He says while delivering kisses all down your thighs as he hunches himself over your legs, causing you to move them down. At this point, you forget about the vanilla cream you were once eating and it starts to slowly drip down your hand and eventually down your arm. Roger giggles and he kisses a sweaty patch between your boobs.

“God y/n, your body is sweltering with heat.” Roger says. Right after this comment, his hand slips down your thigh and grazes over your real heat through your now again damp bikini bottoms.

“Mmm yes, baby. You have no idea how hot I am.” You say throwing your head back and taking a deep breath in.

Roger hovers over you and starts hungrily kissing and sucking only our pulse point on your neck and his knee rubs at your core causing you to grown and squish the cone you surely have forgotten about causing a crunching noise.

This causes Roger to look up and a smirk forms on his shapely lips. He leans down to your wrist and licks a thick stripe from your middle finger all the way down your elbow, collecting the sweet vanilla on his tongue before swallowing. You watch him with desire, the heat becoming even more present around you. Your senses start to heighten and the smells around you grow stronger. The smell of the plastic of the pool floats baking, chlorine from the bright blue pool, and the sweetness of the vanilla engulf you as you smile at your blonde boy.

Then, he moves down between your legs and you prop your legs back up and lay flat as you drop the cone on the scorching deck next to you.

Roger hooks a finger on the inside of your bikini and pushes it to the side. He looks at you with hunger and desire and he then blows a cool breath onto your now dripping heat and your groan with anticipation.

“Roger, please...” You say as a hand finds his sweaty hair.

He then takes his tongue and again licks a fat stripe all the way up your folds and circles lightly around your clit which causes your back to arch slightly and your breath to catch in your throat.

Suddenly he sits back up on his knees and he places his hands on your inner thighs and pushes them apart in front of him, causing your head to shoot up in surprise.

“What the fuck?” You say wanting, no, needing more.

“Y/n, have I ever told you that you taste like ice cream? So so sweet, baby. You’re my favorite flavor.”

He smirks and your eyes fall heavy at his words. God, he made you melt.

The swimming pool is laughing with its shiny, bright blue teeth

Laughing at my body as it’s sweltering with heat

The smell of colored plastic baking in the sun

Sweet just like frustration, my senses on the run

After he says this, he moves his hand away from your knee and grabs a large ice cube from the bucket.

“Let me try to cool you off, princess.” He says with a smile and his eyes dart to your core. With one hand his slips of your bottoms and places the cube between his teeth. 

He starts at one end of your folds and moves the ice cube with his mouth up your throbbing core and when it reaches your clit he swirls it around the bundle of nerves and you let out a long moan and grasp his hair tightly.

“Fuck, Roger more please.” 

Your moans are making him insatiable and to see the glistening of your sternum is making him so very hard.

He brings the ice cube up further and brings it all the way past your belly button and past your upper abdomen as he brings it to both your nipples through your thin bikini top and swirls it around each one, him and you groaning as he does so.

Then he takes the cube out of his mouth, “Open up, baby.”

You part your lips and he drops the cube in you mouth and then instantly latches his lips to yours and as you make out, hands go everywhere and the cube starts to melt. Roger then pulls apart and smiles down at you.

You didn’t know if it was early onset heat stroke or just confidence that hit you, but suddenly you were on top of Roger straddling him grinding your bare core harshly onto his hard on through his swimming trunks.

“Babe, I'm too hard for this. Y-you gotta stop, I’m gonna-” His speech is cut off by a loud and shameless moan as you speed your hips up harder and his hands find your hips and he presses his fingers into them hard. Him forcing to keep his eyes open to watch you bounce.

“Oh yeah, baby? What’re you gonna do if I don’t stop? Hmm?” You say teasing and starting to grope yourself through your top as Roger loved seeing you do that whenever you were on top of him.

“Ahh fuck! I-I’ll cum, y/n, I-” He screws his eyes shut and suddenly you stop and pull down his trunks just enough so his hard on slaps against his stomach and you take the base of his length in your warm hand and start to pump him hard and fast, watching his reaction.

“Come on, Roger, cum for me. I want your ice cream.” You say with a devilish smirk.

Roger throws his head back and nothing but harsh moans and groans come from his lips as you egg him on, the pleasure becoming unbearable for him.

“W-where do you...w-want it? Tell me p-pretty girl.” He says his pupils blown wide and sweat dripping from him, his abdomen absolutely sparkling with sweat.

“I want it melting on my tongue. Come on, give it to me. All I want is more.”

And with that, Roger painted your face and mouth with himself and his whole body shook with pleasure as he let out choked sobs and balled up the beach towel beneath him with his fists. After he came down you laid beside him and pulled his trunks back on, along with your bottoms. You clean your face up too, after Roger admires his art work.

“I think we’re gonna need more than an ice cube to cool us off after that.” You say laughing and placing a kiss on your face.

“Mmm, yeah. But you know what?” Roger says looking at you with his ocean blue, constantly nodded eyes.

“What, babe?” You say with a lazy smile.

“Tell me, do I taste like vanilla, too?”

I want your ice cream

I want it lying in the sun

I want your ice cream

I want it melting on my tongue

I want your ice cream

I want it, whatcha waiting for/

Ice cream, every bite

All I want is more

---

Y’all. I hope I didn't ruin ice cream for you haha. my original intention was for this to not be so filthy but whatever. I hope you guys like this little summer thing I am doing. Hopefully I won’t go to the for this. I've for sure read worse. anyway, let me know what you think! <3

[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 30 - 31

We got a special treat for y’all today; a double update! Mostly ‘cause the next few chapters are gonna be massive fish to boil, and ‘cause I love you guys.

After two weeks of inching across the muddy open plains, Elide was tired of using her mother’s name.

Christ, I completely forgot about this subplot. Bad pacing who?

Elide says she’s barely interacted with Lorcan or slept by him which is. What. I thought you were supposed to be smart, Elide! You’re pretending he is your husband, if you two act all distant someone is gonna get suspicious. I thought you were better than this....

Lorcan stalked ahead and said without looking back, “We finished at the three dungeons and their entrances yesterday night. Tell me about what’s inside them.”

Elide gets all nervous and Lorcan points out her scent has changed, which is just, ah.... oof. SJM you uh, you got something you wanna tell the class? Something about a werewolf kink, perhaps?

Elide refuses to spill the beans and Lorcan gets all pissy.

We have a bargain, girl.” Elide met that depthless gaze. “You did not specify when I had to tell you. So I may take as much time as I wish to recall details, if you desire to wring every last one of them from me.”

There’s the Elide I know! Finally, a character doesn’t have to be all powerful and magical to succeed and be an actual force.

“What are you,” [Lorcan] said quietly. “I am nothing,” [Elide] said, voice hollow. Maybe once she found Aelin and Aedion, she’d find some purpose, some way to be of use to the world.

Aaaaand take it back. Unless you’re serving Aelin, you’re useless and have no purpose! Or you’re an evil slutty bitch who should be put down. I am so fucking tired.

They finally finish their bickering session and return to the others, then we switch to Lorcan’s POV. They’re setting up tents for everyone, including one for Elide/Lorcan.

Ombriel came forward, throwing her usual wary glance his way, and slyly informed Elide they’d finally have a night alone together. Arms full of logs, Lorcan could only watch as that pale face of sorrow and despair transformed into youth and mischief, into blushing anticipation, as easily as if Marion had held up a mask.

Finally. It’s like you two want this plan to fail or something.

“I’ll sleep on the ground,” [Lorcan] offered blandly. “You take the roll.” “What if someone comes in?” “Then you’ll say we got into a fight.” “Every night?” Marion pivoted, her rich eyes meeting his. The cold, weary face was back.

zzzzzzzz this drama is so boring please progress the plot or do something of interest

They bicker more about Lorcan getting a bath and he asks her how badly her leg hurts. Such riveting dialogue.

Lorcan’s thoughts drifted toward Rowan and his bitch-queen.

Jfc. At least we’re spared Lorcan splooging over them, instead thinking about how much he hates them and how Rowboat was an idiot for falling in love with Alien. Damn, you know it’s bad when I agree with Lorcan.

Lorcan was about to leave when [Elide] said, “My uncle … He is a commander at Morath.”

So Elide drops that bomb, and Lorcan offers to kill her uncle. Not much else happens. This subplot is so mind numbingly boring and dumb. Next!

Well, on the one hand, at least Rolfe’s map worked. It had been Rowan’s idea, actually. And she might have felt slightly guilty for letting Aedion and Lysandra believe the Pirate Lord had only gone after the Amulet of Orynth, but … at least they now knew his unholy map functioned.

This is the first paragraph + sentence of chapter 31. Who is she? Use names when switching to a new POV gdi!!! Alien doesn’t get name dropped until the bottom half of this page.

As for the rest of it … It was just past midnight when Aelin wondered how the hell she and Rowan would ever go back to normalcy if they survived this war.

I’m imagining it’ll be something akin to the A Court of Wings and Ruin; where you guys will angst about how much the war cost you and how everything is different, but in actuality nobody you cared about died and no one important was even permanently injured, and the supposed trauma was just an excuse for porn.

Alien and Rowboat dramatically sneak into a room through the window, using Rowboat’s magic to close it. Gav and Fenrys are waiting inside.

“You could have used the door,” Fenrys said, arms crossed—a bit too casually. “Why bother when a dramatic entrance is so much more fun?” Aelin countered.

Because this isn’t a video game and you’re a princess who is supposed to be a good diplomat and ruler? I’ll forgive SJM if Alien becomes queen, pulls dramatic shit like this, and is instantly banished from the kingdom and Darrow is crowned king. I’d pay extra to read that.

Gavriel’s tattooed hands closed into loose fists. “You deny me the right to see my son and yet you barge into our room in the dead of the night to demand we divulge information about our blood-sworn queen.” “One, I did not deny you anything, kitty-cat.”

Gav deserves better than to have to put up with Alien’s edgy teenager bullshit. She sounds straight out of the 2012 internet phase.

Fenrys asks if Alien has Settled yet for.... some reason. It’s explained here;

She knew enough about it—the transition pureblooded Fae, and some demi-Fae, went through once their bodies locked into immortal youth. It was a rough process, their bodies and magic needing months to adjust to the sudden freezing and reordering of their aging process. Some Fae had no control over their power—some lost it entirely during the time it took to Settle.

Basically it’s an excuse for SJM’s character to stay young appearing and beautiful forever. Because if you’re old in a SJM book you’re instantly not hot and therefore, not good enough for porn.

“How does she do it?” Aelin asked baldly. “With Rowan, it’s not … Every order I give him, even casual ones, are his to decide what to do with. Only when I actively pull on the bond can I get him to … yield. And even then it’s more of a suggestion.” “It is different with her,” Gavriel said softly. “Dependent on the ruler it is sworn to. You two took the oath to each other with love in your hearts. You had no desire to own or rule him.”

Are we really out here praising and kissing Alien’s ass for not treating her boyfriend like a slave? Are you fucking kidding me???? Next we’ll have them weeping in joy at Alien wiping her ass after taking a shit.

She gave him a little smile that she knew drove Rowan and Aedion insane, and—yes. It seemed it was a surefire way to piss off any Fae male, because ire flashed across Fenrys’s stupidly perfect face.

I fucking hate Alien. Also we get it, Fenrys is drop dead gorgeous like everyone else, you can stop now.

Fenrys’s edged smile flashed. “Oh, the losses of Fae lives would be of little concern to [Maeve]. It likely just increases her excitement about it.” “Careful,” Gavriel said. Gods, he nearly sounded identical to Aedion with that tone.

Hhhhhh stop I hate Assdion.... stop making me fucking have feelings over how much he resembles Gav....

“If we say she gave us the order to take everything,” Fenrys drawled, bracing his hands behind him on the bed, “will you kill us, Heir of Fire?” “It’ll depend on how useful you prove to be as an ally,” Aelin simply said. The weight hanging between her breasts beneath her shirt rumbled as if in answer.

“That’s it?” Fenrys demanded. “Do we get to know what you plan to do with this information, or are we just your lackeys, too?”

Sorry Fenrys, them’s the rules. You either bow down to SJM’s perfect snowflake protagonist or you’re a villain who deserves to be slut shammed and killed off.

Rowboat and Alien start making out. Skip!

Oh, gods—this. This was what drove her out of her mind—this fire between them. They could burn the entire world to ashes with it. He was hers and she was his, and they had found each other across centuries of bloodshed and loss, across oceans and kingdoms and war.

You’re just making out, it is literally not that deep. I hate SJM trying to sell her romances as epic world stoppers. No, you two are not Aragorn and Arwen. You both are just horny assholes who deserve to rot.

“Even when you’re in another kingdom, Aelin, your fire is still in my blood, my mouth.” She let out a soft moan, arching into him as his hand grazed her backside, not caring if anyone spotted them in the streets below.

JESUS CHRIST HAVE SOME RESTRAINT YOU SHAMELESS FUCKERS. And no, they don’t actually have sex here. Just you wait, SJM has something special in store for that.

Thank god this chapter is over. But it is only a preview into the madness SJM has in store for us several chapters down the road......

[yuesya]

Of Dogs and Lions [Prologue][2/2]

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Part 2 of the prologue. Short bonus section coming up, too!

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Title: Of Dogs and Lions

Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender

Summary: In which conspiracies are plotted, children are burned, and a girl dies. But not necessarily in that order. [SI-OC, AU]

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00. Prologue – ‘Promised’ (cont.)

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‘Tall’ is the first descriptor that springs to mind when she sees the stranger behind her. ‘Fiery’ is another. Soot-scarlet hair curled like a heavy mane over his broad shoulders, black as ink but unmistakably crimson all the same, it is easily the most notable feature on his person –and he sure as hell hadn’t been standing there a moment ago, mark her words. There’s no way she would’ve missed something as glaringly obvious as another person hanging around in this empty non-space, a few marbles short of sanity or not.

So. “How the hell did you get here? And how do you get out?”

… That was not what she meant to say. Not with that particular wording, at least, and definitely not as the very first thing to say to another person.

Luckily, the strange redhead who’d spontaneously appeared out of nowhere doesn’t seem to take offense at her words. If anything, he appears to be amused by her, which is… probably for the best, if she ever wants to get around to digging herself out of this baffling post-mortem situation that she’s currently stuck in. (And wow if that isn’t one of the stranger things she’s ever found herself saying… or thinking, at least.) Best not to irritate the only guy who looks like he knows what’s going on around here.

“Er, hi.” Eloquent, she is not. Nice to see that at least some things haven’t been flipped upside-down and sideways while she’d been looking the other way… but that’s a thought better left aside for the moment. “I, uh… sorry, that was rather rude of me. Um. I’ve kind of been lost for a pretty long time around here. I don’t suppose you could show me the way out? … Or at least tell me where I’m supposed to be headed from here?”

To his credit, the man doesn’t even bat an eye at her halting, awkward request. “Then, where is it that you are supposed to go?”

Oh wow. Very reasonable, this guy. So reasonable that she doesn’t even know how to respond to that…

“… Y’know, that’s a very good question,” she finally settles for saying instead. Because really, what else is there to say? Pity, he seemed like someone who knew what was going on. But on that note– “Hey, if I were in charge of the afterlife, you know what would be the very first thing I’d do? Add signposts. I mean, it can’t take too much effort to just add a few signposts around here, right? And it would make everything so much less disorienting! Really, I have no idea how long I’ve been wandering around in this creepy place already… and I still have yet to make any heads or tails out of where I’m supposed to be. It’s all very confusing.”

A short moment of silence falls between them.

“… You are an envoy of Death?”

“No, I’m dead,” Christina replies, with all the deadpan that particular question deserves. Then sighs, at the considering look she receives for that from her sudden companion. “Yeah, sorry… I guess you don’t know much about this place either, huh? Sorry for taking up your time. Geez, what I wouldn’t give to know what’s going on…”

He tilts his head, as if she’s the strange one between the two of them here. Which is rather absurd, really. She’s not the one who instantly appeared out of nowhere in a place where nothing existed. Actually, come to think of it, this guy seems kind of–

“We call this the In-Between World. The boundary, if you will.” The man takes a step closer to her, and it’s almost like something around him flickers along with the movement. Almost as if the very darkness itself of this non-space twists out of his way to accommodate the presence of this man before her. “It is rare, but from time to time there are souls who slip through the Great Cycle and drift here instead of be reborn again. It is unfortunate, but they are never seen again afterwards.”

“So… you mean you do know what’s going on here?”

The redhead taps his chin, a small smile with a touch of something sly curving over his lips. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Does it matter?”

“Well, certainly not to you, at least,” Christina mutters. Geez. What an aggravating man, first throwing out a small tidbit of information, then going back to holding his cards again. That was just mean. But… he was still the only source of information that she had about anything at all in this post-death world, so… “If you don’t want to talk about that, then I don’t suppose I could at least get a few tips on how to get out of here, then?”

“Hm. And what would I receive from imparting such information to you?”

“… My eternal and undying gratitude?” she tries, a wry suggestion delivered in a flat, dry voice. The redhead actually laughs at that, but, well. He’s the one who asked in the first place… and it’s not like she has anything to offer him, what with being dead and all.

Laughter fading, the man straightens to his full height and… it’s still the same person standing before her, but something seems different about him now. There is something about him that blazes. Strangely enough, Christina realizes with a small start that she hadn’t noticed; that it is not until now that she looks at him and truly notices that pair of unnerving golden eyes on his face, pinning her in place–

Eyes that are unmistakably a pale, inhuman gold.

“I am honored among my people for my deeds, and respected as a deity for my power. I am praised and cursed in turn, exalted above all, save for those who are of the same nature as me.” His voice remains unchanged, the same smooth baritone as before. But somehow, the cadence to his words now rings with some unspoken power, implying something more.

Under any other circumstances, Christina knows she would be highly, highly unnerved by what she sees –for good reason– but at the moment, here and now, all she feels is… nothing. Just the same as how she can’t seem to muster up any emotions towards the family she loves anymore.

… Being dead sucks.

“I have no need for empty gratitude, Lost Child of the In-Between World. One who has traveled here from that which lies beyond the Far Shores.” The man shakes his head. “You would ask for my help? Then first show yourself worthy of it and meet my challenge to you: What would you be willing to offer me, in exchange for your continued existence?”

“… Excuse me?”

“Ah, do not mistake me.” He holds up a hand, forestalling any arguments with a gleam in those inhumanly gold eyes. Eyes that glow. The indignant protests crawling up her throat wither and die on her tongue. “I mean you no harm, as there is no harm you can provide to me and mine. That was not a threat.”

Christina blinks slowly, trying to wrap her head around it all. “Then… why would you–?”

“You might not be aware of it… but it is quite the spectacular feat that you have wandered, as you put it, in the In-Between World with your soul as intact as it currently is. Most souls would have instantly disintegrated upon crossing the boundary.”

Disintegrated?

“Wait, you only mentioned ‘never seen again’ earlier when I asked about this place. What do you mean, disintegrate?” Christina narrows her eyes in suspicion. “… Also, I’m kind of already dead here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Well… Disintegration would certainly qualify for ‘never seen again,’ don’t you think?” Gold eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief. “Life and death are simply two different states of being, child. So long as the soul exists, one will never truly cease to be.”

Christina eyes the smiling man with a touch more wariness that she probably should’ve started out with from the very beginning of their encounter. “It’s probably a little late for me to be asking at this point, but… who are you?”

“My titles and identities are varied and many. But that is of no concern at the moment.” Shameless. Utterly shameless. He just completely dodged her question! “Let us return to the topic at hand. I acknowledge that it is most impressive that you have been able to retain you’re spiritual form as well as you have in the shadows of the In-Between World. And truly, I have not seen a soul so entwined with the cold fire in centuries. You are quite remarkable, child.”

“… I’m a photographer.”

The man blinks and pauses, faintly surprised by the sudden non sequitur.

“I’m… a… photographer,” Christina frowns. “Look, I don’t really understand everything you’re going on about and what you’re saying sounds really impressive and all, but… I’m just a photographer. Y’know, someone who takes pictures and sell them? I’m just… oh, for god’s sakes.”

She is done with going in circles.

“Look, I have no idea who you are or what you’re trying to do here; I just died –in a very traumatic manner, might I add– except I think something went wrong afterwards because now I’m here? Instead of… wherever dead people are supposed to go when they die.” Her voice falters and trails off into a half-question at the end, but she shakes her head to get herself back on track again. “Honestly? Right now, I’m just trying to figure out where to go from here and I don’t even care what happens next, as long as I can get out of here before I… before I go insane.”

The strange man falls silent at her outburst, and Christina takes it as her cue to continue. For someone who’s really not all that good with her words, it’s kind of scary that now that she finds herself on a roll, the words aren’t stopping.

… Huh, maybe she’s a little more traumatized than she originally thought.

“There was a giant storm. I got struck by lightning. I died.” There is no waver in her voice at all as she shortly recounts the events resulting in her death, not like there should be. Nothing so much as even a tremble is present in her voice. And for all that the words themselves are brief, she might as well be commenting on the weather, for all the non-reaction she has towards verbalizing her own death. She should be crying, shivering, panicking. This utter lack of reaction is downright unnatural, is what it is.

At least she’s still able to recognize it as something eerily concerning, and not in a good way. But if she doesn’t get out of this crazy non-space soon… what if one day she can’t even realize that it’s off anymore?

“And then… well, I don’t really know what happened after that precisely,” she shrugs. “Next thing I know, I’m just here, in this pitch-black place, and… I tried everything. I was alone for so long, just walking and walking and…”

Her voice grows quiet.

“… When I heard those voices earlier? I thought I finally wasn’t alone anymore, that I’d be able to figure out what I’m supposed to do from here, somehow… fix whatever’s gone wrong with me when I died. I… I’m not…” Christina gestures at herself vaguely, words escaping her for a moment. Because how do you describe something like this? “When something good happens to me, I’m cheerful. When something bad happens, I’m upset. If I’m happy, I smile. If I’m sad, I cry. But there’s something wrong with me now. I don’t… feel anything anymore, not really. It’s highly distressing.”

“You do not feel anymore?” the man echoes softly, a hint of something thoughtful in his voice, and Christina stretches her lips through the motions of an empty smile.

“Y’know, I remembered my family earlier,” she says conversationally. There is no painful twinge in the place where her heart should be, no hesitation on broaching what should be a private, painful matter to a complete stranger… and she’s not even surprised by the non-reaction in herself anymore. “I love them, and now that I’m dead, I’ll never be able to see them again. I’m actually the kind of girl who would bawl her eyes out over something like that. But y’know what’s funny? … I’m not sad. I’m not sad at all. I should be missing my sister and mourning my father, terribly so –but I don’t feel anything about it at all.”

Christina finally laughs, and it’s a completely humorless sound.

“I think dying broke something in me,” she confesses to the strange redhead candidly. “So, it doesn’t matter what you’re trying to do here, or what you’re trying to rope me into. I don’t care about it. As long as it gets me out of this freaky place, as long as I don’t go insane… I don’t think I even have it in myself to care about anything anymore.”

“… I see.” Does he? Does he really? … Christina doubts it. But it’s nice of him to say so. “Touched by the cold fire as you are… ah, I think I can see why. Perhaps… yes. Yes, I think it will be suitable.”

He lifts his eyes towards her.

“I invite you to walk with me, child.”

It’s not a precisely request, the heavy way he says it, but neither is it a command. The man turns and walks without another word, but when she takes a step and follows–

(There’s no real way to describe this.)

The world ripples apart.

“… Holy shit.”

The darkness doesn’t so much as unravel around her as it snaps apart in an instant, all harsh and jagged lines of reality, and for a moment Christina reflexively closes her eyes when color floods into her world again. But there’s no pain, there’s no burn in her eyes, physical or otherwise, from suddenly being assaulted by a wild assortment of bright, vivid colors with no time to adjust from her time spent in a room of ink-black darkness.

“Come, child.”

And almost as if in a daze, she follows. What else can she do?

As for where he has taken her… It is night, wherever this place is. There is a storm going on. Thunder booms, and lightning forks across the sky –it is an all-too-familiar setup that she recognizes instantly. But that’s not what’s immediately caught the bulk of her attention here. Because here, wherever they are? It seems almost like something out of the pages of a history textbook –something that looks a cross between Chinese and Japanese architecture, she thinks?– and there are so many little inconsistencies and discrepancies dotted throughout the entire scene she’s fallen head-over-heels into that she doesn’t even know where to begin.

For starters, what the hell is that thing that looks like it got stuck between a duck and a turtle what the fuck.

“… What is this place?” Her stunned voice comes out a faint whisper, drowned by the howling storm. But somehow the scarlet-haired man lightly gliding over the stepping-stones of the Sino-Japanese garden hears her anyways.

(Why isn’t she surprised?)

“This is a world that is likely much different from the one you left, foreign and unfamiliar to your eyes.” He slants a brief look at her. “But it is a world I cherish and hold dear to my heart, so I advise you to not be so hasty as to cast judgment… and perhaps you might feel the same way as I do one day, child.”

Christina swallows. “… Why did you bring me here? Why are you helping me? I… I don’t even know you!”

At that, the man stops walking. Turns, and regards her with those unnerving golden eyes.

Christina shivers. It has nothing to do with the cold of the storm she cannot feel.

“You ask why?” He takes a step towards her. It is not threatening, but she feels pressure all the same. “Because I am Agni, of Fire and Flame, and though you might not be of this world, you bear Fire upon your soul the cold fire. I have seen your will and your worthiness, and I do not find you wanting. Broken, perhaps, but not unfixable. And so I will offer you a deal.”

It sounds important, but… she doesn’t really understand everything he’s saying. From the corner of her eye, Christina idly notes the flurry of people hurrying back and forth in the garden that they’re standing in –servants, or something to that degree, probably. And strangely enough, no one appears to notice them, simply rushing past them as if they’re not even there at all.

… Then again, Christina has already figured out by this point that whoever this guy is, this Agni… he is definitely, definitely not a normal person. Well. It’s certainly not like a normal person could’ve appeared in that empty non-space in the first place…

“No longer of the living plane, your soul will eventually wither away and crumble to dust,” he informs her. “It is only a temporary measure, your current method of holding your soul intact. Far from home, you would only fade into the emptiness of the In-Between World, should you cease to be… but you are fortunate, for fate has found us.”

“Fate…?” Christina blinks slowly. “Um. What are you trying to say?”

“I offer you an exchange. A deal, for your continued existence.” … It’s hard to say what changes about him in that moment. After all, it’s still dark, still raining around them. But suddenly, there is something about him that blazes and burns, and Christina has no idea how she was able to miss this before. Her head must be a lot more messed up than she’d realized.

With this, Christina thinks she might finally have an inkling of what he had meant by ‘of Fire and Flame.’

“Spirits cannot interfere directly with the mortal plane. It is a law of this world, one that none may cross.” His intonation is grave, serious. “But given the current imbalance, the footsteps of destruction encroaching upon us… I require an envoy. And so, this will be the deal I offer you: A chance to be reborn. With this, you will no longer be a lost and wandering soul of the In-Between, no longer prey to madness nor to fading into obscurity in the abyss. And in return, I ask that you give me your name, and act as an extension of my will upon this earth.”

“… Please understand that I mean this in the politest way possible, but…” Christina hesitates. “This sounds really, really fishy. Um. I don’t know how well the culture of my homeland carries across to another world, but… you’re a spirit? There are stories about making deals with spirits, aren’t there?”

The man –Agni, of Fire and Flame– smiles.

Oh, hell.

“Right… not like I’ve even got much of a choice in the first place,” Christina closes her eyes and sighs. “Just out of curiosity, though… If I refuse your offer, then I’d go back to that no-place ‘Inbetween World,’ right? … And either lose my mind or eventually ‘disintegrate,’ whichever happens first?”

“That would be correct.”

“Fantastic.” Strangely enough, there’s no fear. There’s no fear in her at all at the prospect of dying truly dying… or rather, facing a fate that would most assuredly be worse than death, whatever death is really supposed to be. “Okay, and if I accept… you’re going to, um. Somehow make me be reborn in your world?”

“Yes.” The man gestures towards the open room that she hadn’t even noticed they’d stopped in front of –panicked voices drift out to meet her ears, and the frenzied rush of servants running in and out point towards some sort of ongoing crisis. “You heard their voices earlier, didn’t you? Rasho and Shiji… It is most unfortunate that their child is stillborn. But out of all the voices in this world, it is theirs that you heard from the In-Between World. Coincidence, perhaps? Or perchance is this fate, as well?”

“… One last question. What does it mean to ‘act as an extension of your will?’”

“It is as it appears. To be one of mine, is to be one of Fire,” he replies. “Your honor and loyalty shall be in my stead, and I would have to act to rebalance in this world once more, rendering aid as is necessary.”

“Y’know, that explanation was about as clear as mud… but I guess I’ll take it.” In the end, she doesn’t really have much of a choice at all. And she would take anything over going back to that endless darkness –and possibly go insane and disintegrate there, too. What could possibly be worse than a fate like that? And… even with what he has asked her to do, what sounds like very serious business indeed, she shouldn’t be so cynical about it. Who would help someone else with no reason simply out of the goodness of their heart? It would’ve been more suspicious if he had asked nothing of her. And it was entirely possible that the spirit was hiding something from her, but… well.

How many people can say that they’ve received another chance to live again after dying?

She closes her eyes. “I accept your offer. My name is Christina Situ.”

“Then we have reached an accord, Christina, Wanderer of the In-Between. I, Agni will honor the agreement between us… by Fire and by Flame.”

.

Of Dogs and Lions: Prologue [2/2] - END.

[jeromeswifu-blog]

Ian Gallagher - In Between

Summary: Ian can't decide if hes straight or gay and his friend Mari decides to help him find out Pair: Ian Gallagher and Mari Fandom: Shameless US I walked over to the Gallagher while they were hectic with some bad (really bad) issues. They were still like family especially Ian, I had known him since middle school and I was the first person to know he was gay. But lately he's been acting strange and yesterday he told me a girl looked hot. Thats fucking weird if your a gay male! I knocked on the door and Lip answered. He was smoking a cancer stick "You know you don't have to knock Mari." Lip said letting me in, "I know but its impolite to not. Is Ian here?" I asked looking up at him since he's taller. Yeah hes in our room, Lip left and sat down at the table. I walked to their room and knocked on the door politely. Despite living in the south side I was still rasied in a polite family. "Come in!" I heard Ian call from the otherside, I opened the door and saw him relaxing on his bed doing homework. "Hey ginger what ya doing?" I said hoping on the bed. "Math homework, I don' get any of this shit!" I laughed. And moved to sit next to him looking at what he was doing in math. Despite the fact I was the same age as Ian I was a year ahead since I skipped a grade. "Oh thats not hard--" "Mari can we talk?" Ian cut me off. I nodded "Of course what about?" He looked down shyly, "Ian you know you can tell me anything right?" He nodded. "Mari I'm really confused. Because I like guys...a lot but lately I've been getting attracted to woman and their...parts." He said looking down. "Maybe your bi-curious." He looked up at me. "Whats that?" He asked me "Its when a person like one sex but they have some sexual or romantic feelings for the other sex but their feelings for the other sex in your case men is stronger." He looked at me with his red eyebrows furrowed. "That does sound like that...maybe you could help me found out." He said scooting closer to me. "How can I do that?" I asked looking at him weird "Just see if when you do things that maybe are sexual if I get turned on." He said putting his hand on my  thigh. I looked at him  with wide eyes and then smiled. I have to admit I might have a small crush my ginger haired friend, honestly I was kinda sad when he told me he was gay. Its always the hot ones my mom told me. "Well what kinda sexual things do you want me to do." I asked leaning into him. "Surprise me." He said smirking. I smiled and got up from the bed, "Lets start simple" I said I stood up in front of him as he leaned back using his hands as support. I started slowly taking off my shirt throwing it on the ground next to me. I had a nice body not to brag, I was a little curvy with a pitete frame along with being skinny.

I smiled looking at him as his eyes trailed down "Do you like looking at this?" I asked he looked up at me "Its nice." he immediately went back to looking at m body. "Whats next?" He asked as his smirk grew larger. I smiled looking at him I let my hands go down my body the shorts I was wearing. I smiled at Ian as he intensly watched me un button and unzip my shorts pulling them down. Leaving me complete in my underwear. I'm so happy I decided to wear my black laced matching underwear! Ian nodded smirking looking at me "That gonna come off? He asked me smirking. "Do you want it to?" I asked back. He nodded slowly I crawled back onto the bed sitting infront of him again. "Take it off me." I said putting my hand on his. He let out a sexy chuckle and his hands went to my bra, I felt his chest against mine as he got closer to unhook my bra. My breath hitched, was I really doing this with Ian? Hes one of my best friend and I'm stripping in front of him. I heard my clamps unhook. My bra fell of and Ian moved back words looking at my somewhat small breast. "Now thats fucking great." He laughed a little bit. I blushed looking down "You don't think they're too small?" He laughed again "Honey their perfect. Now do I get to take off your panties?" I looked at him shocked. I'd never seen this side of Ian...kinda perverted. "If you want to..." I said smiling. Is this really happening? "Well stand up then." He said with his happy smile. I stood up and his hands immededitly went to my underwear but I placed my hands on top of his stopping him from taking them off. He looked up at me confused "Whats wrong....am I going to far?" He asked. I smiled at him "No its just...are you sure about this because if you take off my underwear I might not be able to control myself." I said. He looked up at me "Mari the truth is I really like you more than a friend...I always have but I thought I was gay and I was so confused and...I want this." I took my hands off his "Go ahead...I trust you Ian." He smiled up at me and took off my underwear. I sat down and spread my legs for him, he looked smiling at me making me blush. "Stop starring..." I said shyly. He laughed "I can't you just too beautifual." He said "You know it isn't fair." I said. "What isn't fair?" He asked confused "I'm naked and your fully dressed!" I said. He went to take off his shirt but Lip yelling interruped "Hey I'm gonna go out be back in a few hours!" He yelled and then we heard the front door slam shut. Ian looked at me "We're alone...wanna fuck?" I laughed at his bluntness. "Sure..." He instantly pulled me close and I gasped. He pulled me into a soft kiss but it eventually got rougher and more passionate. I moaned into the kiss and I felt Ian grab my bare ass making me gasp. He took the time to shove his tongue in my mouth claiming it as his own. 'He knew he was so dominant...' I thought. (Mickey knows) I started to take off Ian's shirt when his phone rang. "Don't answer it." I whispered against his lips. "I won't.." He helped me get off his shirt and as soon as it was off I went to his belt and started on getting his pants. A voicemail started to play "Hey Ian its me Micky I'm gonna come over later...I'll see you in like 2 hours later man be ready for me." The voicemail ended. "He's coming-" "We got two hours baby..don't worry thats enough." He said calming me down. I couldn't get this guys belt fucking off! "Having trouble?" He smirked I glared up at him. He stood up undoing his belt and pulled his pants off. He was left in his boxers, and I could see his erection in it. I went to him rubbing it slowly "What do you want me to do handsome..." I asked. He groaned feeling my rub it "I want you to get down on your knee's and let me use that pretty mouth." He said in a deep voice. I got down on your knees and pulled his boxers down and his hard dick went into my face. I started rubbing it "Your so big..." I said blushing. He chuckled I licked the tip of his hard dick. And slowly, slowly took it into my mouth. I hallowed out my cheeks slowly bobbing my head up and down. I heard him groan as I bobbed my head faster. He pulled my brown hair back into a ponytail using it to make me go deeper on him. He groaned again and then used my ponytail to make me stop sucking him. "Alright your turn." He smirked. He picked me up since he is much stronger then me and threw me (gently) onto the bed. He crawled onto the bed and spread my leps lowering his hand, "Mmm your so wet.." I felt his tongue flick my clit and I moaned. He started licking my folds "Ah...Ian your so good..." His tongue lapped in my folds as his finger found its way to my clit. "Ian! mmm god I'm gonna cum..." But the jerk stopped. "No, the only way your cumming is around my dick babygirl." He said crawling on top of me. As soon as his face got near mine I pulled him into a passionte kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he poisitioned himself to my entrance. He quickly shoved himself in, me being a bit tight around him. He groaned out feeling my walls, he started pumping in and out of me at a normal pace. Our lips were still locked intamitly. I wrapped my legs around his waist pulling him deeper inside me "You ever fuck a girl before?" I asked "Nope, but I've watched porn so I should know the basics." He said smugly. He started kissing my neck biting at parts on the way down his hands grabbed my breast. I moaned feeling an intense plesaure as he took his time with every part. "Ah...go faster." I moaned. He startd puming into me a lot faster making me let go of his neck  and grip the bed sheets. I felt my orgasm comeback into veiw,  I could tell he was close too. "Ian I'm close!" I moaned loudly. "No, wait I want us to cum together baby" He said in a deep voice. Fuck I loved his voice. He started pounding into me hard and faster the both of us we're moaning mess. "Ready Mari...cum cum for me baby!" It didn't take me long, my orgasm was big. I clenched around his hard (amazing) dick. Ian finally let out a long groan as his thrust got more sloppy. He gave two hard thrust and I felt his hot cum go into my body.  I pulled him into a kiss wrapping my arms around his neck

He flipped off of me grabbing the cover to his bed. He lazily threw it over me and him "Do you want me to leave?" I asked. He looked at me confused "Why would I want that?" He asked me back. "I just didn't know if you wanted me to stay...can I stay?" He nodded smiling. He put his arm around me and I rested my head on his chest along with one of my hands. "That was nice..." I said breaking the ice. "Yeah it was..." Ian replied smiling "Wanna do it again?" I smiled and went to nod but then I thought about something, Micky. "Aren't you with Micky?" You asked. "No...I-I don't know he says were just fucking and honestly I don't just want to be fucking someone." Ian said looking at me. "I'm not opposed to doing more then just fucking..." I said shrugging. Ian laughed "Good, because I wasn't gonna give you a choice. Now Micky's gonna be here in like 30 minutes you might want to hop in the shower, you smell like me." I nodded got dressed and walked to the bathroom running into Lip on the way. "I thought you left." I said he smiled "Well I was going to but then I heard moaning from my brothers room and you had just went into it so I decided to stick around." He said laughing and walked toward his and his brothers room. Just my fucking luck.

[artificialqueens]

"New Man"

A/N: Hi everyone – long time listener (reader), first time caller (writer). Was inspired to write something after listening to “New Man’ by Ed Sheeran (link here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EwzD8U4u76k) on repeat, and because at my core I am shameless Biadore trash. This is angsty, but ideally it leads to something fluffy. As “real world” of a universe as my twisted brain can make up, set in the present. All is from Danny’s POV, because I feel closer to his headspace. If you like, I will do a Part 2 that finishes the story and involves some attempt at fluff and/or smut (I guess?). Anyway ok thanks this may be awful.

Also, lyrics are in italics, but I’m sure you figured that out.

Two things were concerning Danny in this moment. Confusing, distracting, maybe even disturbing – to bundle it up, it was fucking with him.  

 The first – Roy was not a cheater. He was many many things – a talented tailor and designer, a cutting insult comedian, a damn good dog parent, a friend you could really count on…but he was not a cheater. So when Danny saw Roy – Roy, who had a boyfriend of 2 months – cozying up with a race chaser in the back corner of the bar, Danny was confused.

 And when this stranger dude went for it and kissed Roy, and after just a moment’s hesitation Roy jammed his tongue down the stranger’s throat with some real enthusiasm…that’s when the second thing happened.

 The second – so this second one is where it got weird. As a friend Danny was entitled to be confused, but the moment the two men’s lips touched he instantly felt like he was going to throw up. His lungs and his stomach dropped into his ass, at the same time as all his other muscles seemed to tense up. Danny’s heart was thumping and he almost fell of his seat as he sprinted (really, tripped) to the bathroom of the bar.

 Roy had a boyfriend, and it wasn’t Danny. Roy was kissing someone else, and it wasn’t Danny – but it wasn’t his boyfriend either. So why the fuck was he reacting like this?

—

After a few deep breaths – and mentally thanking the city of Seattle for teaching him all kinds of new hippie ways to clear his mind – Danny looked into the mirror. He desperately wanted to throw water on his face, but god dammit he had put good effort into a ‘boy beat’ tonight and he wasn’t going to let tap water and Roy – ugh, Roy – fuck up his cut crease. Continuing to take deep breaths – in for 4, out for 4 – he started to take stock of what was happening around him. People liked to make jokes about Danny’s intelligence, but really he was both very smart and incredibly perceptive. He ran the tape back…

 Roy was in Seattle for a long weekend, on a tour hiatus. This was the first time Danny had seen him in person since moving to up north, a move that Danny knew annoyed Roy. “Really, Queen? I moved my tired ass across the country, where I will no doubt be killed by this hell-hole drought or in a 5-hour traffic jam on Santa Monica, and as soon as I’m settled in you flit off in your Birkenstocks to be the next Kurt Cobain? You know granola makes you fat, right? You and you’re fucking Starbucks…” But a few months later and Roy couldn’t wait to make the trip…

 Roy was alone. He had been so very vocal about his new relationship, particularly with Danny and Shane, and wasted no opportunity to talk about his new man at every chance. This guy was (allegedly) fabulous, beautiful, rich…Danny honest-to-God couldn’t remember his name, but he knew he was an Equinox trainer with a lot of family money that Roy met hiking in Runyon. Which reminded him of that other thing…

 Roy was different. Bad different. Shallower, cuntier, careless. At first Danny chalked it up to his new ultra-mellow Seattle attitude, but seeing Roy do something so very un-Roy convinced him that this wasn’t just his perception. Danny had noticed little things changing since this new guy – Roy developed an obsession with jicama/turmeric/unpronounceable health foods, but drank much more; spent mad money on flashy things almost daily; indulged in social media trash and flame wars; and followed his stinging insults with less and less kindness…but Danny figured Roy was just tired or something, though it was creating real distance between them. Now, publicly cheating on his boyfriend with a stranger in a crowded bar, Danny saw clearly that something was very and truly “up” with B.

 And of course, the last thing – Roy was silent. Not actually silent – bitch never shut up – but he was silent on the subject of him and Danny. A relationship never consummated, two best friends who were clearly attracted but respected each other and the difficulties of their lives too much to but their friendship at risk. They had a system of denial, and it worked…at least it did until 2 weeks ago. The night Roy announced his plans to visit Seattle – to Danny and Jinx, in a group text – he later drunk texted Danny. Ok, drunk sexted. And it happened again, every night until this one, when he arrived in Seattle. Roy’s 3am texts were rapid fire, riddled with boozy typos and anything but poetic advances, but fuck if they didn’t make Danny’s heart race and pants tighten. Danny never responded, refusing to make this a “real” issue to deal with, and Roy seemed equally avoidant. Danny assumed it was just drunken ramblings (for a New Orleans native, Roy was a light-weight) and didn’t want to embarrass his friend (or, let’s be real, himself) by bringing it up.

 But now Roy was here, in person, and Danny was worried. The world famous Bianca Del Rio was going off the rails, and apparently only Adore Delano was going to steer him back. He always wanted to be Superman…and maybe if he could just get Roy out of here and acting normal, Danny wouldn’t have to address the emotion he could finally identify: jealousy.

—

Danny was not in the best head space to confront Roy, this he knew. In addition to the green monster still banging at his chest, he was 4 shots into a night that started off with a bowl shared between him, Jinx and – surprisingly – Roy. He knew his perception was sharp as ever, but his decision making…well Captain, those systems were compromised. 

So when he finally walked out of the bathroom and saw that race chaser –Chase, because no one is working hard to name that guy – with one hand in Roy’s hair and another on his “upper thigh,” Danny decided to do something dramatic. Instead of going back to the table with Jinx and his other friends, he made a beeline for the bar. 

“Todd! Todd! Can I sing tonight?“ 

A big bear of a man made his way past bartenders and bar backs to speak to Danny, who was now flittering his eyelashes in faux seduction.

“Delano, this isn’t drag night. We don’t have the –“

“No, no – I don’t mean do the Adore act. I mean, I’m feeling moved by the spirits to sing a song and I want to sing here for the first time as Danny and I know you have a guitar and an amp and my friends are here from LA and I really need to get this of my chest and performing as Danny and not Adore is really important to me and if you were really mine and Johnny’s friend…” He was officially rambling at this point, leaning into the personality everyone imposed on him to get what he wanted. He smiled doe-eyed as he talked Todd into submission. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, if you sing will you stop talking to me?  

“Absolutely.” Cue the Disney smile.

Todd sighed and waved over 2 of his staff, asking them to set up the guitar, mic and lighting Danny would need to perform.

“Thank you Todd. One of these days you’re going to have to let me…”

“Delano, appreciate the sentiment but this ride is for biological women only. Just get up there and don’t fuck it up.”

“Ok, RuPaul.” Danny grabbed a shot of couple Fireball shots off the bar, ripping them as he thought about the song. This fucking song…

Danny was about to sing a real Top 40, iHeartRadio and Casey Kasem wet dream of a song – “New Man,” by Ed Sheeran. This was all Spotify Discovery’s fault; the track had somehow ended up in his curated weekly recommendations, and before he could realize that he was listening to Taylor Swift’s man BFF he was in love with the words and the melody. And fuck if it didn’t apply to his life in this moment – maybe the universe was sending him a sign here. A catchy song, from the perspective of a man who sees his on-and-off lover cheating on their new man and tries to help sort out their life – Geez, sound familiar? That, plus a song with a simple enough guitar melody that Danny could already play from memory…the stars aligned, and as a Libra Danny was never one to ignore the signs from the stars.

—

Todd quieted the crowd down, announcing that there would be a performance from none other than new hometown boy Danny Noriega. The bar patrons cheered – Danny had made short work of turning this place into his Cheers, and everyone sure knew his name – with the exception of 3: Jinx, who clapped cautiously while mouthing “What are you doing bitch?” at Danny, and the Roy-Chase pretzel. Roy stopped moving (kissing), broke away and stared at Danny for a full 30 seconds before hopping onto his feet to wolf-whistle and cheer with the rest. “Chase” started asking for Adore and pulling out his cellphone to record.

Danny hopped up on the stage, strapped on the guitar, and dropped his head to speak into the mic. God, it felt good to perform as Danny sometimes.

“Hey you weirdos, settle down. Todd, thanks for indulging my last minute request to perform a little diddy for these drunk and stoned hippies.” The good-natured crowd laughed, until Roy – in full Bianca mode – interrupted:

“Christ Delano, leave the insult comedy to the pros,” Roy yelled up at the stage.

Danny knew that Roy wanted to get a rise out of him, this was their usual tour banter. Bianca picks at Adore’s imperfections and they trade insults for a while, but Adore is just so damn charismatic that Bianca ends up (eventually) being sweet. But that wasn’t the point of tonight – this wasn’t Snatch Game for a crowd of RPDR fans, this was drama to shock Roy into behaving himself. Danny wasn’t sure why he thought that was such a good idea – the mix of vodka and Fireball probably had something to do with it – but he wasn’t going to get sidetracked.

“I made Todd haul out the equipment so I could play, but mainly I just want to get this one song out. It’s a cover – nothing new or my own – but it’s been stuck with me over the last few weeks and I feel like some people here tonight really need to hear it. So here we go – “New Man,” by some redhead that isn’t Adele or Ginger Minj.” With that, Danny began to sing and play:

I heard he spent five hundred pounds on jeans Goes to the gym at least six times a week Wears boat shoes with no socks on his feet And I heard he’s on a new diet and watches what he eats

Too early in the song for anyone to know what is about – anyone except Jinx, who Danny could see glaring at him near the front row. He probably should’ve run this plan by his sensible if-always-sleepy friend, but again…this was not a night or an act to be rationalized.

But still, I’m just keeping it real, still looking at your Instagram and I’ll be creeping a little I’ll be trying not to double tap, from way back, cause I know that’s where the trouble’s at Let me remind you of the days when you used to hold my hand And when we sipped champagne out of cider cans I guess if you were Lois Lane, I wasn’t superman, just a young boy trying to be loved

Danny started to freak out a little bit. Fuck – the chorus was coming, and it was going to get really obvious to anyone paying attention at all that this song was directed at Roy. But he wasn’t ever one to do things subtly so…

I don’t wanna know about your new man, cause if it was meant to be You wouldn’t be calling me up trying to fuck Cause I’m positive that he don’t wanna know about me

I don’t wanna know about your new man, we’ll get there eventually I know you’re missing all this kind of love But I’m positive that he don’t wanna know about me

Well, it was out there and nothing was happening. The crowd seemed to dig the song, but he hadn’t seen Roy’s adorably dimpled face go wide or slack jawed or change in any way that showed he understood what was happening here. No choice but to continue. 

You were the type of girl that sat beside the water reading Eating a packet of crisps but you will never find you cheating Now you’re eating kale, hitting the gym, keeping up with Kylie & Kim In the back of the club kissing a boy that ain’t him

How did that 90’s song go – whatever, whoop there it was. Drunk Roy’s eyebrows raised, and his head snapped to look at “Chase” bopping along next to him and recording the song for Snapchat. A look that read simply as Oh fuck washed over his face, and Danny knew it was time to bring it home.  

Ok you need to be alone, and if you wanna talk about it you can call my phone I just thought that I would tell you cause you oughta know You’re still an old man trying to be loved

That changed lyric and his piercing stare at Roy really drove the point home, if Jinx’s undeniably audible “Holy shit” was any indication. Roy continued to watch, looking some mix of embarrassed, guilty, and nervous as he avoided direct eye contact with anyone – especially Danny. Danny was ready to close the song with a bang.

Baby, I’m not trying to ruin your week But you act so differently When you’re with him I know you’re lonely Please, remember you’re still free, to make the choice and leave And don’t call me up you need to show me

With one more round of the chorus, the song was done. The crowd cheered, again with the notable exceptions of Jinx, Johnny and Roy. Jinx and Johnny clapped politely, their eyes darting back and forth between Roy seated and Danny on stage looking for some explanation. Roy stayed in his seat, his expression unreadable except for the clear annoyance that “Chase” was up and clapping. Danny felt this could be a good sign of mission accomplished. 

Never one to renege on his show promises, Danny went ahead and did a 30-minute set for the bar. He mixed covers and originals, racked up some good tips, and got to feel alive in the way that only performing makes him feel. Combining that with the high of potentially shocking Roy back into his old self, and Danny had a great day. It was made better when he realized Roy had abandoned the race chaser and gone to sit back with his and Danny’s crew; though his friend was being uncharacteristically quiet around the crew, at least he wasn’t actively cheating anymore.

As he played through the set, Danny could feel the confusion subsiding. Roy wasn’t a cheater, he was drunk and made a mistake. All he did was kiss that kid, not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. Everything was ok again.

Except it wasn’t. Danny still felt that nasty green monster living in his chest, beating on his ribs and his heart every time he thought of Roy while he sang. This was a feeling Danny made it a point to repress and avoid, but for some reason when he thought of Roy kissing another man he felt possessive and mean and scared and still somehow love… must be the vodka and Fireball. Danny reminded himself not to mix booze again, especially on a night he sings.

— 

After a raucous round of applause and a demand for an encore – which Danny obliged – he jumped of stage and headed out for a smoke. Danny reached into his pocket and grabbed his lighter and cigarettes, but the moment his hand entered his pockets he was pressed up against the brick wall of the building…by none other than his best friend Roy. 

“What the fuck was that, Danny?” Roy was clearly angry, but there was something else in his voice that made it sound husky and almost luxurious. After a painful moments of silence, Danny finally decided to respond.

“Music is a powerful way to– “ Danny’s speech was abruptly cut off as Roy’s lips crashed onto his own. All Danny could do was smile.

— 

[End of Part 1]

[dralentines-day]

Gift #32, @seefin

I can't SEE myself ever FINishing this gift - because I never want it to end! @seefin , good thing it’s for you!

Our gifter says:

“HAPPY DRALENTINE'S DAY!!!

I hope you have an absolutely fabulous day and that you enjoy my little gift. I got the idea from a Tumblr post about how the OP's grandparents met. I tweaked it a bit and it kinda ran away from me! Anyway, it's silly, fluffy and fun so I hope you like it!

Loads of Love! xxx”

Did I Say That Out Loud? - Muggle AU.  When Draco runs into his Aunt and cousin on the way to work he doesn't expect the encounter to end with him somehow accidentally scoring a date with quite possibly the hottest guy on Earth. 9k,

Tags: no smut, some innuendos and heavy petting

Draco checked his watch as he turned the corner into Hyde Park, sweeping his blond hair out of his eyes and pulling his grey-knit scarf tighter around his pale neck. It was early, just gone nine am, so it wasn't as if he needed to take the shortcut but he liked to enjoy the scenic route, especially on days like this when the morning air was crisp and the weak winter sunlight seeped through the hazy clouds.

He knew Pansy would already be waiting for him with a hot, freshly brewed vanilla latte and all the gory details from the previous night, where she had been subjected to yet another ridiculously over the top dinner party thrown by her parents for no other reason than they wanted to. Pansy had tried to get Draco to go with her, but Draco preferred to hear about these things rather than experience them himself. He was sure it would offer some amusement to his otherwise bland Saturday morning.

He had just strode past the kid's play area, which was already teeming with shrieking children running all over the place, apparently not deterred by the brisk February breeze, when a familiar voice called his name. He turned and saw an older woman with greying hair pulled into a loose bun, wrapped against the cold in a dark green overcoat, wave at him.

He smiled in surprise and they met at the edge of the play-park where she folded his taller frame into a warm hug.

"I thought that was you." She said cheerfully, pulling back to gaze up at him.

"Auntie." He replied warmly. "How are you?"

Andromeda Tonks was a stately woman. Sharply dressed, with an air of respect that had you instantly standing straighter, she wasn't one to be trifled with.

"I am very well, thank you. Enjoying the sunny weather." She returned, smoothing back the wayward strands of hair that caught the gentle wind.

Draco smiled inward. Only in England could temperatures of four degrees and a slight glimpse of the sun be considered 'sunny'.

"How are your parents?" She asked.

"Mother is well." Draco responded carefully.

She raised an eyebrow. "And your father?" She continued gently.

Draco winced and glanced away, staring out over the dewy grass.

"He is much the same."

Andromeda patted his arm sympathetically but did not say anything, which Draco was grateful for. What does one say when one's father is in a terminal coma after being brutally attacked by unknown gang members for a business deal gone wrong.

Draco didn't like to linger on such thoughts and quickly cast about for a distraction, which arrived in the form of a small bundle of energy in a bright yellow anorak and an eye-wateringly turquoise bobble-hat jammed over his sandy hair. The little boy shouted out with glee and threw himself at Draco, almost knocking them both to the ground with the force of his enthusiasm.

"Teddy!" Andromeda scolded as Draco let out a surprised huff of air and instinctively threw out his arm to steady himself, grabbing hold of his aunt's shoulder.

"It's alright," Draco assured her, patting the top of the child's wool covered head. "No harm done."

Andromeda hummed, unconvinced as Teddy smiled sheepishly up at his grandmother, but let the incident go.

"How are you Teddy?" Draco asked the exuberant child. He didn't feel especially comfortable around children, never knowing what to say to them, but with Teddy's eager personality and infectious grin it was hard not to like the bouncy six year old.

"I'm great!" He beamed, and held up his hand to show them the little green leaf, his words tumbling out fast in his excitement. "Look what I found! Harry says its a four-leafed collver! No, clover. They're lucky!"

But before either adult could respond, and with the mental dexterity only children possess, Teddy turned to his grandmother, his mind already on the next order of business.

"Nanny, can I have an ice-cream?" He asked hopefully, his honey-gold eyes wide and pleading. He pointed to an ice-cream truck parked on the other side of the play area, where a small crowd of children hovered nearby. "Harry said I could have one if I asked nicely and if you said I could. Please?"

A low chuckle sounded from behind them, and the voice that followed was warm and rich, sending a shiver of heat down Draco's spine.

"Shameless you are, Teddy-bear. I said it was too cold but he kept insisting, so I told him he had to ask you."

Draco turned and froze.

Because holy shit!

Surely this was a god amongst mortals?

Like Draco, the man was tall, lean and probably around the same age as Draco, but that's where the similarities ended. Where Draco was pale and delicate, this man was the exact opposite; vibrant colours and strong angles, with warm, golden bronzed skin, wide pine-green eyes framed with thick lashes, a jaw that could cut glass covered in the most sinful five o'clock shadow, and a shock of ebony hair that defied gravity. He was wearing a leather jacket and a pair of faded, dark blue jeans which hugged his thighs like a second skin.

Draco wasn't sure what expression was on his face in that moment, but it must have been just as slack-jawed as he felt because the man - Harry, the tiny part of his mind that wasn't completely blank supplied helpfully - met his wide-eyed gaze with his own amused grin, his eyes flitting appreciatively over Draco's form.

Draco shuddered, barely suppressing a whimper. Oh, fuck me.

Teddy giggled and clapped his hands over his ears, beside him Andromeda pressed her fingers to her mouth to hide her sudden smile, and Harry's eyes widened a touch before he grinned cheekily.

"Only if you let me buy you dinner first?" He said, tilting his head forward, his hair falling over his eyes.

Draco frowned, confused for a moment, before realisation dawned and horror seeped in. His eyes slid shut in mortification and he prayed to every deity or celestial being who might be listening to make the ground swallow him whole.

It didn't work.

"Please tell me I didn't say that out loud." He whispered, feeling a flush spread over his skin.

"Unfortunately, you did." His aunt replied, failing to hide the mirth from her voice.

Draco opened his eyes, wishing he could hide and never show his face ever again. Obviously, the lack of caffeine coupled with an insanely attractive man was enough to reduce him to a drooling simpleton.

"You said a bad word, Uncle." Teddy sniggered delightedly.

"Uncle?" Harry sounded confused, but Draco didn't dare meet the gaze he could feel burning a hole in his temple. "I didn't know Tonks had siblings."

Andromeda huffed at the use of her daughter's maiden surname name rather than her given, but answered Harry's implied question.

"She doesn't. Draco is my nephew, Narcissa's son." She smiled warmly at Draco.

Draco took strength from his aunts encouraging expression and turned to Harry. Drawing himself to his full height, he ignored the blush still staining his cheeks and held out his hand.

"Draco Malfoy. Pleased to make your acquaintance." Draco winced internally at the posh accent that coloured his voice when he was stressed or nervous.

Harry smirked at the overly polite tone and clasped Draco's outstretched hand, his palm warm and calloused.

"Harry Potter." He returned, then grinned brashly. "And the pleasure is all mine, I'm sure."

Draco felt his blush deepen and took a quick step back glancing at Andromeda. She was smiling, her expression so like her daughter's impish grin Draco did a double-take.

“Come Teddy, lets get you your ice-cream.”

Teddy whooped with joy and took off towards the van, ignoring Andromeda's call to wait and throwing a quick “Bye, Draco!” over his shoulder.

Andromeda sighed and shook her head.

“Well, I'll see you soon I expect, Draco dear.” She said, pulling Draco into a quick hug. She nodded to Harry and followed her exuberant grandchild.

“We'll be just over there.” She called to Harry as she walked away.

Draco watched her leave, and feeling Harry's gaze, he looked up, meeting his vibrant green eyes.

“That was subtle.” Harry chuckled, taking a step closer.

Draco swallowed, forcing himself not to step back. “I apologise for my earlier words. It was inappropriate.”

“That's a shame,” Harry murmured, talking yet another step closer. He was close enough now that Draco could smell his woodsy, cedar cologne. “I was actually sincere in my offer of dinner.

At that, Draco stepped back in surprise. “You've only just met me.”

Harry smiled charmingly, his lips curving crookedly, a dimple winked at Draco.

“Then all the more reason.” He closed in, his hand reaching to curl gently around Draco's wrist. Draco started at the contact, his eyes darting down to where Harry's fingers were pressed against his skin. He blinked rapidly, wondering if Harry could feel his pulse racing.

Judging by Harry's smile, he could. “I would like to get to know you.”

Harry's gaze was intense. Draco had never been looked at like that, like he was the sole focus of another person. They were surrounded by over-excited children and everyday Londoners, but somehow Harry made him feel like they were the only two on the planet.

“Why?”

Harry straightened, tilting his head. “I'm intrigued.” He said simply.

Draco glanced away, his eyes resting on Teddy who was pointing at one of the pictures on the side of the truck. It wasn't that he was unaware that he was attractive, he was quite used to both male and female attention in that regard – although the latter wasn't always entirely welcome. It was just he had never been pursued so intently.

Draco could feel Harry's gaze on him, waiting for his answer. To say he was flattered by Harry's attention was an understatement, Harry was just his type; tall, dark and mysterious – as cliché as that was – and Draco couldn't deny his interest.

His gaze slid back to Harry, who was watching him, his expression so cautiously hopeful Draco had to bite his lip to stop his laughter from bubbling out. Harry's eyes flickered quickly to where his lip was caught between his teeth and Draco couldn't hold back his smile any longer.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” Harry's voice was full of barely suppressed delight.

“Yeah.” Draco nodded, laughing slightly when Harry's face lit up at Draco's acceptance.

“Okay, Great!” He beamed, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his head, causing his hair to fluff up further. “Awesome! That's really, really awesome.”

Draco grinned and Harry coughed, a blush appearing on his face. “Or something, you know, a little less over-enthusiastic.”

Draco smirked at Harry's embarrassed demeanour. Gone was the suave, confident man who had seemed so assured of himself, and in his place was a man who was just as nervous as he was. Draco was glad he wasn't the only one affected by the other's proximity.

“I'm okay with enthusiasm.” Draco smiled, lowering his lashes demurely. Harry licked his lips and Draco's eyes followed the movement, heat curl in his belly. Their eyes met and the air felt thick, only the sound of screaming children stopped Draco from pouncing on the darker man.

He took a step back and sucked in an unsteady breath, closing his eyes against the intensity of Harry's stare.

When he spoke, Harry's voice was rough. “Tonight? At eight?”

Draco's eyes slid open slowly and he nodded, noting that Harry had also moved back.

“Where?”

He didn't care if it sounded eager, in his opinion eight was too far away. But he supposed he should be grateful for the opportunity to take a breather and get his head back on straight.

Harry pulled out a sharpie from his pocket and a scrap bit of paper that looked like it had been torn from a notebook and quickly scribbled a name and address and handed it to Draco. His handwriting was fast and spiky, and leaned to the left suggesting quick thought and creativity. Draco didn't recognise the name of the pub, but the address was familiar and he knew he would be able to find it.

Draco looked back at Harry who snapped the lid back onto the pen with a sharp click and stuffed it inside his pocket.

“Is that okay?” He asked, nodding to the paper in Draco's long fingers. “Its a great place. The ambiance is nice and the food even better.”

“It sounds great.” Draco assure him, folding the piece of paper carefully into his pocket. “Shall I meet you there?”

“If you prefer.” Harry nodded.

It was something Draco usually insisted on for the first two or three dates. One never knew when a date could go sour and having a reliable getaway was a comfort. He seriously doubted, however, that he would need to with Harry, but it was always better to have a just in case.

Their conversation was broken by a child's voice calling out to Harry. They both turned to see Teddy waving impatiently at Harry.

“I'm being summoned.” Harry laughed. He was more relaxed, the cheeky smile back in place now he had Draco's confirmation. “I should probably go before his Highness gives himself an aneurysm.”

Draco nodded, smiling internally at the exasperated fondness in Harry's voice.

“Alright.” Draco's voice was amused without him giving it permission to be so. “I'll see you tonight.”

Harry nodded and took a step back, and then another, backing up slowly. He gave Draco a strange half wave and promptly turned around, his pace quickening. He'd only gone a few paces when he abruptly turned back around, a cocky smirk quirking his lips.

“That blue looks good on you.” He called, gesturing to Draco's powder blue jacket with one hand, the other running once more through his already dishevelled hair. He ignored the other parents and children around them, the corner of his eyes crinkling in a way that was far to adorable for a grown man, for God's sake. “It brings out your eyes.”

And with that he turned back around. Draco stared at his retreating form, not even bothering to pretend he wasn't watching Harry's arse in those snug jeans, feeling the side-ways looks he was getting and not caring one bit. He smiled as he watched Harry pick up a giggling Teddy, hoisting him up from under the shoulders and placing him on his own. Teddy shrieked with laughter, his fingers tangling themselves into Harry's wild mane for balance as Harry bounced playfully on the balls of his feet, gripping Teddy's ankles. Beside them Andromeda laughed, one hand instinctively reaching up to hover behind Teddy in case he fell.

Draco took in the happy scene for a moment, letting it fill him with a warmth that could not be touched by the February cold. Then, burrowing down into his scarf, he turned and pushed his fingers into his pocket, felling the edges of the paper crinkle against his skin.

_____---_____---_____

“For the last time Pans, I said no.”

Draco wove through the different exhibitions, making a note on his clipboard of what was already being showcased. They were going to have a new shipment over the weekend and he needed to make sure he was ready to deal with it come Monday morning.

Something that was becoming increasingly difficult to do with his so called best friend hounding him since he made the mistake of revealing why he had been late to work.

“Oh, spare me Draco.” She huffed, tucking her alarmingly razor-straight black hair behind one ear.

“What part of No do you not understand?” He questioned, his eyes on his clipboard. He didn't need to see her face to know she was rolling her eyes at him.

“You are going to say yes.” Pansy stated, tapping her immaculate fingernails on his clipboard to get him to look at her.

 “I'm really not.” He dismissed, turning to walk back to his office.

He heard the click of her heels against the polished oak flooring as she followed him. She'd obviously realised she was getting nowhere with this and tried a different tactic.

“Please?”

He rolled his eyes, safe in the knowledge that she couldn't see him. “No.”

He dropped the clipboard onto his assistant's desk as he walked passed, tapping it meaningfully in a way that told her it was to be done immediately, and with meticulous care. She nodded quickly, her ponytail bobbing.

“Why not?” Pansy whined, sounding a lot like her teenage self rather than the successful young woman she had come to be. “You know you'll have more fun! Let me help.”

“Its just a dinner date. I'm not going to go through my entire wardrobe.” He didn't bother closing the door as he walked into his office, knowing it wouldn't slow her down in the slightest.

Pansy scoffed, crossing the threshold and muttered under her breath, “Because that would take months.”

Draco glared at her as he sank onto his high-backed leather office chair at his black monochrome and glass desk. She sniffed, unperturbed by his chilling expression, and settled onto the side of his desk, crossing one leg primly over the other.

“It's not just a dinner date though. I've never seen you like this. You've been distracted all morning, dropping things and forgetting stuff.” She peered down at him, concern and confused wonder in her eyes.

“He must be something else.” She murmured.

Draco blushed under her scrutiny and glanced away, his eyes falling on his assistant typing diligently at her computer. Pansy suddenly sat back abruptly, her expression of concern melting back into its usual upturned look.

“Please?”

Draco groaned, leaning back in his chair and throwing his arm over his eyes. “For God's sake, No!”

“Please!”

“No.”

“Please!”

“No!”

“I can do this all day, you know.” She threatened.

Draco ignored her, pinching the bridge of his nose with his long, slender fingers.

“Please, please, please, please, please, please, plea-”

“Okay!” Draco cried, giving in, sitting up and throwing his hands up to stop her mid-flow. “Okay, damn it! Fine!”

“Yay!” She squealed triumphantly, clapping her hands together. She leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I'll be there when you get home.” She promised, hopping down from the desk and ignoring his half-hearted protest.

“Ciao, darling.” She called over her shoulder, grabbing her – fake, of course – fur-lined chocolate brown coat from the coat-rack as she passed. He heard her call out a chirpy farewell to his assistant, pleased to have gotten her way once more.

Draco collapsed back against his chair, barely suppressing a groan and wondering fervently if it was too early to break out the whiskey.

A stifled giggle broke through his contemplation. His assistant was standing by his door, a black folder in her hands and a badly concealed grin on her face.

“What is it, Myrtle?” He sighed, feeling a headache start to brew behind his eyes.

She managed to control her expression into a much more professional smile.

“Your two o'clock is here, sir.” she said, adjusting her glasses and hurrying forward to place the thick folder on his desk. He glanced down at the embossed script on the front of the folder and sighed again. He couldn't reschedule this one.

He stood and adjusted his waistcoat. “Alright,” he nodded, “Show them in.”

____---____---____

Draco peered out of the windscreen at the establishment across the street, Pansy sat in the driver's seat after insisting (and once again winning) to drive him over. Draco hadn't had the energy – or the mental concentration with every minute that slid by – to argue with her.

She was quiet for once, letting Draco gather his thoughts. His mind flitted back to that morning, wondering if Harry really was everything he remembered. Surely his caffeine deprived brain had exaggerated most of it. No-one could have eyes that green, right?

“If you're thinking about backing out, I will personally kick your skinny arse, Draco Malfoy.” Pansy stated, obviously getting tired of the silence.

“I'm not.” Draco muttered, running a hand through his silken tresses.

“You better not.” Pansy said darkly. “This guy sound far to good to be true.”

Draco tilted his head back against the headrest. “Exactly.”

He could feel Pansy's gaze boring into the side of his temple, but did not turn to meet it. That was until her hand shot out to slap him across the chest.

“Ow!” He yelped, sitting bolt upright and rubbing his torso. “What the Hell was that for?”

“Don't you dare start getting maudlin! Malfoys do not do insecurities. They do not mope or sulk, and they definitely do not let something great and potentially life changing pass them by!” She declared sharply.

He stared at her.

“You've been spending far to much time with Mother.” He muttered under his breath.

She smirked at him.

“Come on Drey, put on your big boy panties, march in there and knock that guy's socks off.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.” He glared at her.

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him before silently pointing at the pub, a wordless order to get the hell out.

He chuckled internally at her expression, but opened the door. She was right, he was being pathetic.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her soft cheek, watching her soften as he murmured a quiet, “Thank you, Pansy. Where would I be without you?”

“I shudder to think about it.” She giggled. “Now, go blow him away.” And waggling her eyebrows suggestively added, “And if you're lucky, actually blow him.”

Draco groaned, “That was awful, Pans. Truly.”

He climbed out, shivering slightly in the winter night. He heard the driver door open and glanced back to see Pansy's head pop up over the roof of the car, a mischievously coy expression on her features.

“I mean it, Draco. I better not see you in the morning. I will be most displeased.”

Draco shook his head in amusement.

“I'll keep that in mind.” He drawled.

He turned towards the pub as she slid back into the car, the door slamming and the engine humming to life. He glanced up and down the car-lined road before crossing to the other side, jogging slightly as he reached the door, his body craving the warmth that emanated from the pub.

Inside was cosy and rustic with exposed brickwork and low-hanging beams. The interior was furbished with browns, reds, and golds giving off a homely and welcoming feel. Draco spotted Harry almost immediately amongst the crowd, lounging carelessly against the bar chatting to a busty red-headed barmaid. Before he could make any conscious decision on how he felt about that, it was rendered moot as Harry straightened, a grin splitting his face wide as he noticed Draco walking towards him. Draco pushed away the fluttery feeling in his chest at the sight and couldn't help his own grin from curving his lips.

Apparently his memory was not only intact, but also woefully understated. If anything, Harry's eyes were somehow greener than he remembered. How on earth was that possible?

“You came!”

Draco shivered at the low baritone of Harry's voice. Could this guy get any fucking hotter? Like Draco he'd obviously changed clothes for the date. His leather jacket was folded over a nearby barstool, his legs clad in charcoal grey, thigh-hugging jeans, and a dark green button down with the sleeves rolled over his elbows was taunt across his broad shoulders.

“Of course.” Draco replied, shrugging off the coat Harry had complimented that morning. Pansy had insisted he wore it. “Why wouldn't I?”

Harry's eyes followed the movement; taking in the snug, white turtleneck and sharp, black slacks, before snapping back to meet Draco's. Draco smirked internally, vowing not to tell Pansy she had been right. She didn't need her ego fluffed any further.

“I had kind of convinced myself you were just humouring me.” He shrugged, his fingers curling around the neck of a beer bottle sat on the bar-top, his thumb circling the rim.

“But still you came?” Draco questioned curiously, pushing his own sleeves up to his elbows.

“Well, if there was a slight chance you might turn up, I would have kicked myself if I had missed you.” Harry chuckled quietly. His eyes slid once more down Draco's form, taking his time and evidently not caring if Draco caught him.

“What would you have done if I hadn't showed?” Draco asked, mimicking Harry's relaxed pose against the bar.

“Nursed a large glass of whiskey before heading home to brood.” Harry flashed him a smile and bringing his beer to his lips, “Speaking of which, what are you having?”

“Same as you is fine.” Draco nodded to the bottle in Harry's hand, noting the abrupt change of subject, but letting it slide.

Harry gestured to the woman he had been talking to earlier, who quickly pulled out another bottle, expertly popping the lid off and placing it in front of Draco. He nodded his thanks and she smiled at him flirtatiously, before turning to Harry.

“You want me to put that on your tab, Honey?” She asked, already typing up the addition.

“Thanks, Rosmerta.” Harry threw her a smile as she walked away to tend to other patrons.

“Come here often?” Draco queried teasingly, lifting his bottle to his lips.

“Sometimes,” Harry acquiesced, his gaze following the movement, “Two of my friends own this place.”

Before either of them could say any more, a dark-skinned girl approached them wearing a uniform of dark jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and a small apron. She smiled professionally and greeted them politely.

“Your table is ready now, Mr Potter.” She motioned for them to follow her.

Harry grabbed his jacket and his half-drunken beer and gestured for Draco to go first. Draco wondered if Harry was just being polite or if he was using the opportunity to check out his arse. He found he didn't really mind if that was the case.

The waitress led them out of the main room towards the back of the adjoining lounge where it was quieter. The lighting was dimmer, more intimate, the background music softer. She stopped at square booth in the corner and waited for them to get settled before asking if they wanted any more drinks.

Harry glanced to Draco who nodded. "Another beer, please." He smiled, "And a Coke for me, Romilda."

The girl quickly wrote down the order on her mini jotter, ducking her head slightly in an attempt to hide the blush that spread across her cheeks at Harry's use of her name. Draco shot Harry a look, who rolled his eyes slightly but showed no other sign that he had noticed.

Romilda lifted her head, her professional smile back in place, "Okay, I'll be right back with those and I'll take your order." She pulled out two menus from her apron pocket and handed them over before taking her leave.

"A coke?" Draco asked, watching Harry drain the last of his beer, his eyes lingering on the way Harry's lips curved around the rim of the bottle.

"I'm driving." Harry said by way of explanation. He set the bottle down and met Draco's gaze. Draco admired the way the soft lighting fell across Harry's cheekbones, feeling his throat go dry as he realised once more just how attractive Harry was.

Harry looked like he was having similar thoughts, if his expression was anything to go by and Draco took a hasty sip of his drink, willing himself not to blush.

“How did you get here?” Harry asked, leaning towards Draco across the table.

“A friend of mine drove me over.” He said, tracing the rim of the bottle with the tip of his pointer finger. “She was rather, uh... enthusiastic about this.” He admitted.

Harry chuckled softly. “Will she be driving you back?” There was no mistaking the question in Harry's eyes.

“Well, that depends.” He answered archly, smirking at Harry and laughing internally when his eyes widened as he understood what Draco was implying.

“Okay then.” Harry coughed, diverting his attention back to the menu. Draco smiled inwards, Harry was cute when he was flustered.

Draco took his cue from Harry and dropped his eyes to the menu, but he'd gotten no further than scanning past the starters when Romilda popped up beside them and set down their drinks. The both started, having been engrossed in the little bubble they had created, but Romilda gave no sign she had noticed.

“Are you ready to order?” She asked, pulling out her jotter and a pencil.

Draco gestured for Harry to go first, having not had enough time to pursue his choices.

Harry scanned the menu quickly before sighing ruefully.

“I'll just stick with my usual, I think.” He said, handing the menu back to Romilda, who tucked it under her arm and turned to Draco expectantly.

Draco glanced back down to his menu but nothing seemed to jump out at him.

“I'll have what he's having.” He said, holding the menu out.

“That's bold.” Harry said in surprise as Romilda headed back to the kitchen. “How do you know you'll like it?”

Draco shrugged, “I trust you.”

Harry's eyebrows rose but he smiled, pleased.

Draco leaned towards him, resting his arms on the table and cocking his head to one side. “So, how do you know my Aunt?”

“I'm Teddy's godfather.” Harry replied, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion as he too leaned across the table. “No-one told you?”

“I knew he had a godfather, I just didn't know it was you.” Draco explained. “You're younger than I expected.”

Harry chuckled, “I'm twenty-seven. That's not that young any more.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, ignoring that last comment. “Considering you were about twenty-one when Teddy was born, that's quite young to become someone's godfather.”

“That's true.” Harry laughed, taking a sip of his drink. “I was completely hopeless at first, I was so worried I was going to drop him. He was so small.” Harry smiled down at the table, his expression fond as he remembered. “Remus was very patient with me, Tonks just laughed at me.”

Draco chuckled, seeing it clearly in his head. “That sounds like Nym.”

He'd only seen photos of Teddy as a baby, having only met him when the child was four after his mother decided that she wanted to get back in touch with her older sister. Harry seemed to sense Draco's next question because he continued without needing any prompting.

“Remus was one of my dad's best friends, he's basically an uncle to me.”

Draco could hear the fondness in his voice, the obvious respect and affection that coloured his words as he spoke of the older man, but something about the way Harry held himself – or maybe the look in his eyes - told Draco that family was a sensitive subject. He couldn't explain how he knew, he just did.

“Well they obviously made a good choice, you're very good with him.” Draco stated, attempting to steer the conversation towards safer grounds and remembering the easy manner Harry had with the little boy. “He clearly adores you.”

Harry flushed at the praise. “Well, he's a brilliant kid. I don't have any siblings, but I imagine this is what having a nephew or a little brother is like.”

“I wouldn't know,” Draco responded, “I don't have either of those.”

“Teddy is technically like your nephew, in a manner of speaking. And he does call you uncle.” Harry pointed out.

“True.” Draco conceded with a nod. “But that could just be because 'Cousin Draco' sounds strange to a child.”

“There is that.” Harry nodded, smirking slightly.

Draco licked his lips, feeling something warm wash over him. He felt comfortable with Harry, they talked easily and the chemistry between them was obvious. He felt like he'd known Harry for years despite having only met the man that morning. It surprised him in a way that didn't surprise him at all.

Their conversation was halted by the arrival of their food – which turned out to be a deconstructed gourmet beef burger on top a bed of salad leaves, the buttered seeded buns propped on the side, and a basket of thickly cut, golden chips to share between them.

“Dean!” Harry cried, getting up to embrace the dark-skinned man who had brought over their food. “I thought you were still in Bristol?”

“I got back a few days ago.” The newcomer – Dean – said, pulling back from Harry and clapping him on the shoulder. “Everyone got sick so I came back before I could catch it.”

He glanced down at Draco, who was watching the exchange with interest, his eyes appraising.

“I let Romilda take her break.” He said, looking back at Harry, and his voice turned pointed. “I wanted to meet your friend.”

Harry laughed at the man's tone. “Dean, this is Draco,” he introduced them, “Draco, this is Dean, an old friend from school. He and his husband own the place.”

“Nice to meet you.” Draco held out his hand for Dean to shake.

“Likewise,” Dean grinned, “Harry hardly ever dates, I was curious to see who caught his eye.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was being tested.

“Don't be a prat, Dean.” Harry said good-naturedly, shoving his friend lightly on the shoulder.

“Sure thing, Saviour.” Dean replied, smirking when Harry groaned.

“Seriously? Will you please stop calling me that?” He sounded as if they'd had this conversation many times before. Draco shot him a quizzical look.

“Stupid high school nickname.” He muttered.

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Draco, and it took him a moment to place it.

“As in Godric's Saviour?” he questioned.

“How did you know that?” Harry asked, whilst Dean laughed in delight.

“Because I played for Salazar Academy. We had a game with you every year.” Draco responded, remembering the times he had played against Godric High, as well as Ravenclaw Institute and Hufflepuff Secondary school.

“Well this is an interesting turn of events.” Dean laughed. “I'll leave you two to it, I think.” He turned to Harry and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Don't be a stranger, Mate.”

“Course.” Harry replied.

Dean smiled at Draco who nodded back.

“Oh, and Seamus said this is on the house,” Dean held up his hand, anticipating Harry's protest and waving it away. “We insist.”

Harry grumbled as Dean walked away and Draco couldn't help but laugh at his expression.

“My friends are idiots.” He huffed.

“Why?” Draco asked, picking up a fluffy chip and taking a delicate bite. He chewed it thoughtfully. It was good, lightly seasoned, crispy on the outside and softer than air on the inside. “For giving us free food?”

“It sounds reasonable when you put it like that.” Harry sighed, taking a bite of his own food. “So you played in High School?”

“Midfielder,” he nodded, “Then as Striker during Sixth Form.”

Harry frowned in thought. “I don't remember you.” he said apologetically.

“I didn't make the main team till year ten, and I was three years behind you.” Draco explained.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. “You're twenty-four?”

Draco smirked at Harry's surprise. “Yes.”

Harry sat back in his seat. “I thought you were older.”

Draco stilled.

“Does that change things?” he asked carefully.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “Unless it does for you?”

Draco relaxed. “Definitely not.”

The two men shared a smile as the unspoken words hung in the air. They returned to their food, their conversation flowing easily. They spoke further about their school days, Harry explaining (very reluctantly) where his nickname had come from. He had transferred to Godric High when he was fifteen and was recruited to the team when their captain saw him sprint to the bus one afternoon. He had been made striker immediately, and as well as being very fast, he was ruthless in his determination and attempted moves that others would not.

From school they moved on to friends. Draco was very careful not to pry into anything Harry seemed reluctant to talk about. It was only their first date after all, it wasn't as if they had to spill their entire life story in one go. Harry told Draco about Ron and Hermione, his best friends, who had gotten married the previous summer. Harry's love for his friends was obvious, and they were clearly very close. Draco felt an irrational flash of jealously flair up as Harry recounted stories of adventurer and drama.

In turn, Draco talked about Pansy, his very best friend, practically his sister, and how they had known each other since before they could walk. He talked about Blaise and Theo from school, and Luna who he'd met at University. She was an artist and Draco explained how he had liked to study by the lake. One day, during the autumn term, he had sensed someone sitting next to him and looked up to find a pale, blonde girl wearing paint splattered, off-white overalls over a thick-knit pink and yellow stripped jumper, with odd matching socks and green wellington boots sat cross-legged across from him. She'd had a huge sketch book propped on her knees, a necklace made of corks and beer bottle caps and was drawing Draco in oil pastels, her fingers covered in different colours. Her hair had been in a messy bun, most of it falling down over her shoulders, with a paintbrush and a pencil stuck in it. She had seemed unconcerned at being caught by her muse, and Draco had been so shocked he had stared at her for a full minute before asking her what the hell she thought he was doing.

Harry had been in stitches over Draco's description of Luna and their bizarre friendship that still bemused him to that day. Talk of Luna had led to Draco mentioning his Art Gallery and their current showcase of local artists. He explained how he wanted to support the local art community and give new and unknown artists a chance to showcase – and perhaps sell - their work. He sometimes rented out unused space to the nearby Universities and schools who wanted to put on an 'end of year' show for their students.

Harry talked about his own students, boisterous, rambunctious six and seven year olds who were far too shrewd for their own good. He expressed amusement at Draco's surprise over his career choice.

“You don't think I'd make a good teacher?” He'd asked as Romilda took their plates away.

“It's not that, I just didn't image you as a teacher.” Draco replied. “I was thinking something more along the lines of law enforcement.”

Harry laughed loudly at that, causing the few nearby to turn their heads.

“It's funny you should say that.” He chortled, his eyes dancing in the low lighting. “That was my first choice.”

“Really?” Draco leaned towards Harry. “What happened?

Harry shrugged, “Turned out it wasn't really my thing.” He chuckled then, “Apparently, I'm not very good at taking orders. I left after a few months.”

“What happened then?”

“I floundered for about a year. I did odd jobs here and there, but nothing seemed right.” Harry gazed thoughtfully down at his fingers, which were intertwined on the table-top. “Then Remus got really sick and Tonks had to take time off work to take care of him. She was struggling with both him and a three year old Teddy, so I told her I'd take care of him when she needed a break. I took him to school and back, went grocery shopping with him when Tonks was to tired. I started helping out at the nursery that he went to and realised I love being around kids. I started looking into teaching, talked to Teddy's Headteacher about what I would have to do. I didn't tell anyone until Remus got better and Tonks went back to work. Everyone was really encouraging and three years later, here we are.”

“And you enjoy it?” Draco asked, although it wasn't really necessary as anyone with half a brain could see just how much Harry loved it.

Harry's answer was enthusiastic and he spent some time recounting some of the more wild shenanigans his students had gotten up to.

They talked well into the night, neither of them noticing just how much time was passing by, too caught up in each other. Draco couldn't believe how much they had in common, or just how easy it was to talk to Harry. It was so comfortable, like slipping into a hot bath at the end of a long day. And that was not to mention the underlining stream of delicious tension that fizzed and hummed every time their eyes met. Draco couldn't help but watch the way that Harry's lips moved with every word they formed, or the way his throat worked when he threw his head back and laughed. Draco couldn't ignore they way that Harry's voice made him feel, or the flair of heat in his stomach whenever Harry ran a hand through his unruly locks. He knew that Harry was watching him in the same way and the knowledge that Harry found him just as attractive, just as distracting, only made his desire burn hotter.

It was only when – hours later – a blond man with a lilting Irish accent threatened to kick them out, friend or not, that Harry suggested they make a move.

“So... have I earned you the right to drive you home?” He asked, his expression endearingly hopeful.

Draco hummed thoughtfully, dropping his eyes to the table top and running a finger over a knot in the wood.

“That depends,” he murmured, remembering Pansy's words as she kicked him out of the car. Slowly, he raised his eyes to gaze at Harry through his lashes. “How far away is your place?”

____---____---____

The interior of Harry's basement flat was open and welcoming, with a miss-match of old and modern furniture that somehow worked harmoniously together. The kitchen was along the side of the flat and along with the dining and living rooms was open plan. There were two doors at the back which Draco assumed lead to the bathroom and bedroom.

Harry walked into the kitchen calling out to Draco to make himself comfortable. Draco puled of his coat and draped it across the back of one of the armchairs, looking about himself in interest. His eye caught on a wall absolutely covered in an array of framed photographs, canvas' and paintings. They were arranged in a fashion Draco couldn't make sense of but was somehow aesthetically pleasing.

He moved closer, taking in all the different colours and memories. His eyes lingered on a strip of photos, like the kind you get at a photo booth, depicting a younger Harry smiling widely  with a laughing red-headed man and a grinning dark-skinned girl who were obviously (from the description Harry had given him) Ron and Hermione. Draco smiled at the happy scene, the strong bond between them evident even in print. Draco searched for them in the other photos and found that they featured in most of them, along side a whole host of red-headed people that Draco understood to be the Weasleys, Ron's family, and a few other familiar faces that Draco recognised as Dean and Seamus, Remus, Tonks, and Teddy. There were a few Draco didn't recognise; a chubby teenager holding a frog, a blond boy with a camera, and a handsome, dark haired man leaning against a sleek black motorbike.

Draco felt Harry walk up behind him and turned, smiling as he accepted the glass of wine Harry held out.

“Thanks.” He murmured, turning back to the photo of the dark haired man. “Who's that?”

He had a feeling he knew who the person was, but wanted Harry to confirm it.

Harry smiled when he saw who Draco was referring to. “Sirius Black, my godfather.”

Draco nodded to himself. He recognised the name of course, and marvelled internally at just how interwound his and Harry's lives already were. How had they not met before then?

“He died, didn't he?” Draco didn't want to push, but he was curious.

Harry nodded, “When I was nineteen.”

Draco winced, “I'm sorry.” The words felt lame, but there wasn't much else he could say.

Harry was quiet for a moment, his index finger reaching out to brush the frame.

“He was my dad's best friend.” Harry said, pointing to another picture, this one faded, of four boys, around fifteen or so, grinning widely at the camera. Sirius had his arms around a much younger Remus and a boy who looked the spitting image of Harry. On the doppleganger's other side was a small mousey looking boy who looked awed and excited to be included.

Draco pointed to Harry's look-a-like, “Your dad?”

Harry nodded, “James Potter,” he pointed to another photo where an older James had his arm around a laughing red-headed girl with Harry's green eyes, “And my mum, Lily.”

“You have her eyes.” Draco remarked. “And her smile.”

Harry laughed, gazing at the photo of his parents. “Everyone says that. Usually its preceded by, Wow, you look so much like your dad!”

“Well, people often go for the obvious in lieu of original thought.” Draco stated, feeling warm when Harry laughed.

“We should toast to that, I think.” Harry grinned, holding up his glass.

Draco chuckled in agreement, “To the obvious.”

“To the obvious.” Harry echoed, clinking his glass against Draco's.

They held each others eyes as they drank, and Draco felt a shiver of heat slide up his spine. Harry's gaze was liquid hot and Draco had no delusions about where this was headed. He took Harry's glass gently from his fingers and set it down on the coffee table with his own. Harry's eyes were fixed on him when Draco turned back around and they widened when he stepped closer, closing the distance between them. Their fingers slid together and twined and Draco's breath caught in his throat at the feeling something as simple as holding Harry's hand caused. Harry's eyes fluttered closed at the touch.

“Do you...” he murmured, opening his eyes lazily and licking his lips. “Do you want to see my snake?”

“What?”

Draco took a step back, his eyes wide at Harry's words.

Harry's jaw went slack an he jumped forward. “Shit! Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, you did.” Draco wasn't sure whether he should laugh at Harry's panicked expression or not. “And that was by far the most awful come-on I've ever heard.”

“Shit, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that, I swear!” Harry said vehemently. “You make my brain go mushy. I meant an actual snake. I have a pet snake.”

Draco softened slightly. “What's wrong with a cat? Or a dog?”

Harry looked relieved when Draco made no move to leave. “Where's the fun in that?”

“Where indeed.” Draco murmured, but gestured for Harry to lead the way.

When Harry opened the door to what was clearly his bedroom, Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Not exactly making a case for yourself, Potter.” He teased, following Harry into the room.

Harry grinned at Draco's tone and crossed the room to a large glass tank in the corner. He reached inside and after some soft coxing, lifted out a beautiful pale yellow snake with faint white coils about two foot long. Draco approached carefully as the snake curled its body around Harry's arm. Harry seemed to be talking quietly, but when Draco got close enough he could hear the soft hissing sounds Harry was making. The sibilant sounds sent shivers running over Draco's skin, and not in an unpleasant way.

As Draco approached, Harry turned to face him, “Draco, this is Kalia.” He said, his voice soft, but not whispering. “She's a California King snake.”

“She's beautiful.” Draco said, taking his cue from Harry and keeping his voice soft. He reached out to stroke her back, but hesitated, waiting for Harry's nod before touching her.

“She's not venomous or poisonous, but she does have a pretty powerful bite.” Harry explained, sound for all the world like he was talking about a normal pet.

“Would you like to hold her?

Draco's eyes widened and he shook his head forcefully.

Harry chuckled, “Scared, Malfoy?” he teased.

Draco's eyes hardened and he smirked. “You wish.”

Harry carefully lifted Kalia and set her on Draco's shoulders, demonstrating how to hold himself so Kalia could move freely. Draco tensed when he felt Harry's hand slide down his back in a soothing manner, coming to rest at the base of his spine.

He eyed Harry shrewdly, almost forgetting that there was a snake slowly winding her way down his arm.

“If this was just a ploy to grope me...” he trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence because, lets be honest, he wouldn't be adverse to some groping... or any form of touching really.

“Do I need a reason to touch you.” Harry asked quietly, his eyes like two pools of liquid jade.

Draco shivered slightly at the intensity of Harry's gaze. Neither man was paying any attention to the snake any more, far to caught up in each other.

“Do you have any idea how hot you look right now?” Harry breathed.

Draco's eyes darkened. “You like me touching your snake, do you? He murmured. Harry smirked at the continuation of the awful pun.

Draco carefully stepped away from Harry and gently lowered Kalia back into her home. He slid the lid shut and flicked the latch to lock it before turning back to Harry.

“I'm sure there's much more fun things we can do with your other snake.” And with that he pulled Harry into a bruising, heat-filled kiss that left them both reeling, desperately craving more.

Harry groaned into the kiss, his hands flying to grip Draco's hips, tugging him closer. Their mouths moulded together and Harry's tongue traced Draco's lips, sliding past into the heat of his mouth when they parted.

Draco slid his fingers up over Harry's broad shoulders and into his unruly hair like he had been wanting to do since that morning. The strands were softer than Draco imagined and he tugged on them softly, needing to be closer to Harry than physically possible

Harry gasped into Draco's mouth, the sound hot and filthy. He twisted them around and shoved Draco forcefully into the wall, pressing the entire length of his body against Draco's in the most delicious way possible and sliding a knee between Draco's thighs. Draco moaned into Harry, arching, seeking more. Harry rocked their hips together, feeling their cloth covered arousals press together desperately.

Draco couldn't think, his mind filled with nothing but Harry, Harry, Harry!

He gasped out loud when Harry tore himself away from Draco's lips, tugging down the neck of the turtleneck he's still wearing for some inexplicable reason, and latched onto his pulse point, sucking hard.

Draco wasn't aware any more of the noises he was making. Harry made him feel like his skin was on fire, like there was something needy and wild inside him desperate to get out. No one has ever made him feel like this. No one has ever kissed him like this. Like he's the last breath on earth, the final ray of the sun.

When Harry tugged his earlobe into the wet heat of his mouth and whispered and husky, desperate, “Stay.” Draco pulled his lips back to his hungrily.

He had no intention of leaving.

____---____---____

Monday morning finds Pansy sat impatiently on top of the reception desk, her polished nails tapping a quick beat in the monochrome surface, ignoring the young girl behind her, quietly tapping away at the keyboard.

It was ten to ten and Draco's usually arrived by nine thirty at the latest. This coupled with the fact that she hasn't seen or heard from him for the entire weekend since she kicked him out of her car has her restless and eager for information.

Just then, a sleek black motorcycle pulls up outside the gallery, and through the floor to ceiling windows Pansy can see quite clearly as the tall man wearing a powdered blue coat disembarks from the bike, pulling off the helmet as the leather wearing driver does the same.

Pansy's jaw drops when Draco's admirer comes into view, because holy fuck! Draco has really stepped up his game.

The glass prevents Pansy from hearing what's being said, but it does nothing to stop her from watching the dark haired man throw his head back and laugh, before pulling Draco into a kiss so scorching it would have melted her brain had she been the one to receive it.

Hours later – or more precisely, a few minutes later – they break apart, smiling at each other in a way that tells Pansy the date went very well indeed, and that there will definitely be more dates – and kisses – in the future.

Pansy watches as Draco steps back and his lover bends low over the bike-handles, zooming off down the road. Draco turns around and enters the building, running a hand through his hair, the smile on his face one that Pansy will definitely be teasing him about mercilessly later.

He must sense her presence because his head snaps up, his eyes filling with horror as he watches Pansy hop down from the desk, cackling gleefully.

“Tell me everything!”

END.

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