#HE'S SUPPOSED TO SUCK AT THIS KIND OF DEXTERITY TASK...COME ON

[cainluvr69]

"A Sympathetic Fruit" Cain SR Card Story - Folding a Special Flower

Cain: Hmm…

Rustica: Why hello there, Cain. Penny for your thoughts?

Cain: Oh, Rustica. I was just thinking about what to do with the flowers for the vases. Ordinary flowers would be fine, but you have to devote a lot of time to them to keep them alive. Magic could make up for some of the difference, but Heine's not healthy enough to do the rest…

Rustica: I see, I see. Of course. Then why not fold some out of fabric? Do you have a handkerchief?

Cain: Wait, so I'd make them with a handkerchief?

Rustica: Yes, yes. Why, just the other day, Chloe made a lily out of a sky-blue handkerchief. It continues to bloom so beautifully on my table, in fact. So I am sure such a flower would continue to bloom eternally for Heine.

Cain: Lilies made from handkerchiefs… They'll look nice and festive, and we'll be able to make a bunch of them. That's a solid idea. Alright, yeah, let's go with that. Hey, by the way, how do we make them…?

Rustica: Chloe showed me how to do it. Watch closely, now. First, line up this corner to this one. Turn the handkerchief into a rectangle.

Cain: …? Uh, that's a triangle.

Rustica: Oh? Maybe if I fold it like this… Here we go, now it's a square.

Cain: That's a pentagon.

Rustica: And then you do this… Hm? Perhaps not? Hmm…

Cain: ……

Rustica: …… My apologies. I seem to have just plumb forgotten how to make them.

Cain: Yeah I, uh, could tell. Thanks for trying anyways, though. But, dang, the handkerchief idea was really good… Hmmmm… …Oh, I know. How about roses?

✦✧☾✧✦

Rustica: Do you know how to fold a rose out fabric, Cain?

Cain: Yeah, more or less. Let's see, this goes like this…and then you round it out like this… …There, finished.

Rustica: Oh, this is indeed a rose! Clap clap clap! I'm surprised that you have experience in this area. I suppose this must be something kids these days enjoy.

Cain: Uh, maybe, but I don't think so…? This was something I came up with on my own ages ago. Back when I was still in the knights, there was this time when while I was patrolling, I found a little girl who'd wandered in on accident and got lost. She was crying about how she'd just wanted to give one of the castle's flowers to her little brother. It was so bad I couldn't even ask her what her name was. All I could think to do right then was fold her a rose. …Something that sort of looked like a rose, at least.

Rustica: My, I'm sure she must have loved it. How wonderfully thoughtful of you. …On that subject…

Cain: Yeah?

Rustica: Could you tell how to fold that rose of yours? I've been trying to copy you for a bit, but…mm…?

Cain: Oh, so that's why you've been fiddling with that handkerchief. I was trying to figure out why you were doing that… How about we get a little more methodical about it. I'll fold the roses, and you give me the cloth. It should be pretty, but also no colors that might mean something bad in flower language, and we'll need a lot of it. Surely this should be child's play for the West's foremost heartbreaker?

Rustica: Oh, but of course. I would gladly take on this role for you. Yes, just for you… Central's kindest and most courteous heartbreaker himself.

Cain: Ahaha, alright. Sounds like they should try to keep everyone from falling in love with us. Well, let's get going!

Training Episode: Shockingly Skillful?

Akira: Rustica told me that the other day you taught him how to fold a rose out of a handkerchief. Do you think you could teach me, too?

Cain: Sure. Uh, but it might be kinda difficult to explain in words. Lemme just show you. First you gotta fold it into a triangle, and then you do this…and roll this… And then you do it all over again, and…

Akira: …Oh, and it became a rose! Amazing! So cool!

Cain: Haha, thanks. Gimme a little more time and I can make other flowers, too. Like a tulip, or a lily…

Akira: Woah, that's amazing! Origami is so difficult, too…

Cain: Ori--what…? Well anyway, it's not like it'll be easy for everyone, but it's nothing super difficult, at least. Some of these I learned from Chloe, though, so don't quote me on it.

Akira: It's still amazing that you know so many, though! You could make a whole bouquet from handkerchiefs alone.

Cain: Oh, now that's an idea. Maybe I'll ask Chloe to make one with me sometime?

Akira: Yes, that sounds so fun! Let me see it once you finish it. (…That flower really is folded beautifully, though. Cain is pretty good with his hands, huh?)

Cain: …Whoops. Now that I'm looking more closely at it, this handkerchief has a few stains on it… Well, whatever. Just means I need to flip it over and then no one will see them.

Akira: (…Bit of a shock, coming from someone like this…)

[yodawgiherd]

Night out

Rating: T

>>>Read on AO3<<<

I know this chapter is kind of short, but I promise that I will post the continuation of it soon, already got it all figured out. ;)

Enjoy!

Out of all sounds, he could come home to, woman’s scream would not exactly be Eren’s first pick. Confused about the source of the ruckus, he took off his coat and entered the living room, trying to locate and possibly defuse the situation before any furniture suffers the consequences of Mikasa’s wrath. She didn’t get heated often, but when she did, the strength with which she could throw, or smash things was terrifying. He saw her now, sitting on the couch in front of the tv, staring at the screen with murderous intent in her eyes. The cause of her anger could be seen now, as the large screen was carelessly brandishing the “you lose” words, proof of her defeat in the Tekken round she apparently just finished. Slowly, as if he was approaching a dangerous animal, Eren shuffled closer, sitting down next to her and clearing his throat.

“Lost a game huh?”, he asked, prompting her to laugh.

“A game? No. I’ve been losing for the last hour.”, she let out a defeated sigh, putting the controller on the floor and leaning back into the soft couch, “Dropped two ranks already.”

Yikes. From his own experience, Eren knew that losing sucks, especially a number of consecutive games where you get demolished and the opponent hits you with a big fat “EZ” after the match anyway. Dickheads. To comfort his crestfallen girlfriend, he put his arm around her shoulder letting her snuggle closer and leech off his body heat, as she always did. The shirt she was wearing was too big, as it was apparently formerly his, the neckline plunging low and exposing one of her shoulders, and that in combination with the fact that she for some reason wasn’t wearing pants couldn’t offer much warmth in the first place.

“You okay?”

Mikasa shook her head, still too devastated by her losses. And as the caring boyfriend he was, Eren could not let that stand.

“How can I cheer you up baby? Do you want something?”

That offer was finally met with some response, as she looked up, her pouty face looking right into his own, concerned one.

“I’m hungry.”, she stated, “Can we go eat somewhere?”

“Sure, do you know what you want?”

A bit of mischief sneaked into her features, and she shook her head.

“Not really, just someplace nice.”

Ah yes, the eternal question that occurs in every relationship. Where are we going to eat tonight? And it doesn’t matter that she says anything is fine because you know that everything you do, no matter what you pick, your choice will be thoroughly judged by a strict committee of one. And if found wanting, the consequences for the incompetence might be dire ones. Luckily for him, Eren had an ace up his sleeve, gained from an over-a-coffee conversation with Erwin, who pointed out an “amazing, modern and innovative” restaurant that opened recently, with the only drawback being that “it’s quite expensive there.” As money was not really a problem, Eren deemed it proper to use that ace now, while being confronted with the choice of today’s dining establishment, hoping that Mikasa will approve.

“A new place, huh?”, the offer itself at least intrigued er, as she was now chewing on her bottom lip with a thoughtful expression, manifested by her fine raven eyebrows being knitted together, “Did Erwin say what’s special about it?”

“Well, it’s a high-class society meeting place. If we’re lucky, we may run into a mayor there.”

The thought of that amused her.

“High-class? And since when are we high class?”

“We aren’t, but if we put on some fine-looking disguises, I bet that we can sneak in.”

As Mikasa was quite a sucker for adventure, that finally did it for her, and the place Eren picked was judged worthy enough of her presence for the evening. However, as he said, it was kind of a higher-class place, which meant that they actually had to get off the couch and go chance into something more representative. They would probably just stop her at the door if she tried going in her boyfriend’s stolen shirt and panties. Couldn’t forget that she wasn’t even wearing a bra, as she preferred to be free while staying home, both because it felt better and because it teased Eren. Win-win situation, really.

While being forced by society to wear a dress would annoy the teenage Mikasa, the current one didn’t mind it that much anymore. Especially lately with the modeling job, she found herself enjoying the feeling of wearing some elegant stuff, the very thing she used to despise. Maturity is a bitch. Lost in thoughts, she picked a dress and retreated to the bathroom to put some makeup on, again, an activity she was never big fan of, but spending so much time in the hands of professionals lately, she did pick up a thing or two and was secretly quite eager to put them to the test. First, she did her nails, black of course, as if that was ever a question, before moving on to the main part of the test, her own face. With a light hand, she added a few touches here and there, nothing too heavy, bringing out the best features of it. To add a bit of personal flair to it, and also because she knew that Eren liked it, she painted her lips with the usual black color, following it up with a bit heavier eyeshade. While the goth style of makeup was not as popular anymore, as she was told at the agency, Mikasa liked the aesthetic and didn’t see a reason to stop using it just because the majority did. Nothing wrong with being yourself. The dress she picked was dark, obviously and combined with black stiletto heels on her feet Mikasa was ready to go, being stylish while also staying true to herself, an ideal combination.

Leaving the bathroom, she could see that Eren was also dressed in a fitting suit, sitting on the bed and fumbling with his tie. He did look up when she entered, however, following her with his eyes as she crossed the distance to where she kept her modest collection of jewelry.

“You look amazing.”, he commented, making Mikasa smirk as she was putting her earring on.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” looking over her shoulder, she winked at him, “and it will be even better once u finish fixing your tie.”

With a chuckle, he returned to the task at hand, giving her time to pick a choker that went well with the dress, put on the metal cross from Levi and finally decorate her fingers with a few choice rings, fewer and not so massive that she used to wear during her hardcore goth period, but surely a bit more than other ladies would wear. Finished and ready to go, she was a bit surprised to see that Eren still hasn’t beaten his tie problem, frowning down at the unyielding cloth.

“Need a hand?”, she asked, doing her best not to sound too mocking. Just a little bit.

“My pride is telling me no.”, he sighed, “But fuck it. Yes, If you would be so kind, I would appreciate the help.”

Both to get closer and to fluster him a bit, she straddled Eren’s waist, leaning in close to inspect the mess he made. With deft fingers, Mikasa managed to undo the failure of a knot and retie it in the correct way, while he was left to just frown at her dexterity. And he was supposed to be the one with the magic touch. Right.

“So, ready to go?”

With her, he was ready for anything. Grinning, Eren nodded.

“Let’s go.”

The restaurant was truly a higher-class place, manifested by the fact that someone came to park their car, which reminded Mikasa of the time they spent at Tybur’s residence, the ball and everything that followed. That was fun. This time not forgetting to help her out of the car, Eren took gentle hold of her hand as they were ushered in by a well-dressed greeter, having apparently passed the clothing check. Maybe it was Erwin’s doing, or just that they were both quite known in the town, with Eren being the star surgeon and Mikasa’s rising fame in both the worlds of professional sport and modeling, but they were immediately led to a table and attended by a waiter, who wanted to know what the pair will want to drink. Mikasa, who spent half of her life drinking cheap beer or box wine didn’t even recognize any of the names on the wine list, so she hid her face behind it instead, letting Eren handle the mess to the best of his ability. However, he was no expert in the field either, but pointing at something that was named the least funny resulted in having a bottle brought to them, and after that the devilish waiter finally gave them a break, retreating and giving them time to pick their food.

“Ah yes, this is an excellent vintage,”, mimicking to the best of his ability the thing he saw on TV from time to time, Eren poured himself a little, circling it in the glass while nodding to himself, overall looking so snob that Mikasa had a hard time not laughing. Winking at her, he took a sip.

“Is it good?”, she asked when he fell silent.

“Well,”, he cleared his throat, “the flavor is quite fruity, and you can smell the earth from the…”

Mikasa kicked him under the table, giggling into her hand.

“Stop that! I don’t want to laugh this much!”

Returning her smirk, Eren shrugged, finally dropping the act.

“Look, Miki, it's surely wine, and it doesn’t taste bad. That’s about everything I can tell you.”

It really wasn’t half bad, and they made it about halfway into the bottle while looking at the menu, doing their best to pronounce some of the more exotic names and failing miserably, much to their amusement. The fits of laughter drew a few judging looks from the other patrons, but no one came to hush them. After placing their orders, kinda really having no idea what they just asked for, Mikasa took another sip of that arguably good wine, watching Eren over the rim of the glass.

“Babe, I have to ask you something.”

“What’s that?”

“I was doing a photoshoot recently, with the theme of like romantic and stuff, and I and a few other girls got to talking…”

“You are a gossip girl now?”, Eren’s eyebrows shot up, “Never took you for one.”

Just for a good measure, she kicked him under the table again and continued as if he didn’t say anything.

“We talked about our first kiss, and that reminded me, I never asked you who your first kiss was.”

“My first kiss?”, Eren repeated after her, “You want to know who it was?”

It was hard not to roll her eyes at him sometimes, but she made it.

“Obviously.”

“Well, if you want to hear that story, you have to share yours first. Who did you kiss first?”

Must have been the wine, but Mikasa felt her lips curl upwards into a flirtatious smile.

“It might surprise you, but It wasn’t with you.”

Leaning forward on the table, Eren’s green eyes met hers, and he smiled right back.

“Do go on.”

Judging that it was fair, him asking for her confession before giving his own, Mikasa drained her glass and set it back, throat wet enough to tell her story.”

“So…”

[bigboobshaunt]

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

Owain/Brady smut, a commission for an anonymous client

~2k words

Commission info

On Ao3

“’Twas a cold and stormy night when the lonesome hero staggered back through the deep, dark forest, breaching the town’s borders. The pungent blood of his enemies still dripped down his sword, being washed ever slowly by the falling rain, but the man did not concern himself with such trifling matters… he had to report his victory to the townsfolk, and he planned to see it through!”

“Is it time for my part yet?”

“Psst, no, not yet! I’ll signal it to you when it is, don’t worry!”

“Sorry, I forgot… yer stories can be weirdly engrossing sometimes.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, and I’ll even ignore the ‘sometimes’ part… but anyways, as I was saying! Ahem… The hero’s legs grow more and more tired, his muscles suddenly seem to weigh like lead... but he is unflinching in his walk. The deed is done, but his quest is not yet truly over before he notified the person who asked that of him in the first place...”

Conspicuously, Owain pointed his index finger at his lover, who cleared his throat before giving off his clearly rehearsed dialogue. “O brave hero with the dark countenance, is it you I spy in this humble church’s worn down gates? Have ya – I mean – have you returned safely from your task? Are the people of this small town truly safe from the er, Battling Brigands of the Bloodthirsty Beast?”

“Heeeey, you promised you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I promised that only IF ya workshopped the name a lil’ more. Didja forget?”

“I suppose you win this one, but... back to the story… Yes, your holiness, I have vanquished the great evil that assailed all of the honorable and fair people of this town! Never again shall you know fear like this. Never again shall you have to lock your doors at night, send your children away in the night, nor lock up your most prized of possessions… and for that I, too, am thankful. I wish, however, that I could say I was unharmed, but that is not so… Fate seems to have seen fit to brand me with this wound in my stomach, and I am afraid I am not long for this world… but it pains me none to go, knowing you shall sleep safely from now on.”

“Please, brave hero, don’t say things like that! Here… I can nurse you back to health, if you follow me to my chambers. I couldn’t bear to lose a soul as noble as yours, especially after such a great deed! I shall devote my all to you until you are safe from harm, just as you have done for us… and for me.”

Grabbing Brady’s left hand, Owain squeezed it and gently lifted it closer to his lips, placing the softest of kisses on the back of it. “O kind priest… your words touch me deeply, stoking the very fires of my soul which slumber in my chest. I’ll accept your offer on the condition that you allow me to stay here after I get better… I would like to help with rebuilding this church and this town. They should shine brightly, as warmly as its inhabitants and as beautiful as you.”

Though such effusive praise was being given to a fictionalized version of himself, Brady couldn’t help but to give Owain a small smile, added to by the pink coloration that began to show on his cheeks.

Tenderly, Brady let go of Owain’s hand and trailed down Owain’s body, undoing the buttons on his nightshirt with dexterous fingers, trained by years of violin practice.

“Impressed by my physique, I see? You needn’t say a thing – it is only within my obligations as a wandering hero to keep my body in top shape, and ensure that I am always ready for combat… I will once again be in peak condition after you finish patching m-” Owain stopped in the middle of his speech, surprised at the look his partner had given him.

Before he knew it, Brady had bridged the gap between them, and he kissed him voraciously. Feeling the healer’s hands cup his pectorals, Owain moaned into the sudden kiss, trying his best to match Brady’s sudden hunger for him.

“Heh… I’m not sure the hero and the priest would start off like this so soon, but I’m certainly not complaining,” Owain snorted, burying his nose in Brady’s neck, embracing him tightly and taking a whiff of the man’s scent.

“Ya don’t know how impatient the priest can get… waitin’ in an empty church, worryin’ ‘bout the hero… specially if he already had feelings for ‘im before.”

“Even with all of my practice… I can’t match up to your artistic touch. You’re a genius, Brady! Backstory! It’s exactly what this tale needs! A slow burn romance between its title characters… I am sure that I can make it happen...” Owain said, sweetly gazing into Brady’s eyes before they kissed again.

Fondling Owain’s plush chest with one hand, Brady used the other one to untie his own nightshirt, finishing that by pulling down his bottoms and freeing his desperate erection.

“Now then… shall I tell you of how I got said wound? I was there, right in the middle of the brigands’ hideout and I knew I must have been getting closer to their boss’ room. When the heat of battle subsided, and silence reigned, I walked atop the goons’ fallen bodies to reach a-”

Without warning, Brady pushed Owain down onto his back, and with a determined tug, he pulled down his husband’s undergarments, licking his lips at the sight of the exposed cock before him, as though he had just found an oasis after being stranded in a desert for weeks.

Leaning closer, Brady dragged his tongue down Owain’s body, starting at his shapely pecs and making his way down the toned, strong abs before arriving at his lower body. Brady wasted no time before pressing Owain’s well-endowed member against his face, nuzzling its length and giving it quick pecks.

Burying his nose at the base of it, where the cock met the balls, Brady sniffed his lover’s privates deeply, taking in their unique scent, which only served to heighten his own arousal. Taking one of Owain’s balls into his mouth, Brady sucked on it, closing his eyes as he tasted the wonderful, salty taste of the sac, which while he loved, he knew it couldn’t compare to another of Owain’s tastes that he hoped to try that night...

Looking up, he noticed how Owain’s face seemed frozen in surprise, and he knew he had to perform expertly and give his all to satisfy. Diligently, Brady wrapped a hand around the mast of Owain’s cock and pulled down the man’s rather tight foreskin, exposing the previously concealed mushroom head.

Vividly, Brady remembered a saying he had heard, that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach… and though he understood what it meant, he had to disagree. The way to hold their attention was definitely through the tip of his cock.

Drawing the head into his mouth, Brady gave it the most thorough of licks, covering all its surface with his saliva and then sucking on it with gusto. Owain’s cock was another of his favorite tastes, and he was determined to treat both himself and his beloved.

Making a show of it, Brady removed the head from his mouth with an audible pop, before giving the entire length of the member a lick – from Owain’s balls, covered with a dusting of blond fur, to the wide tip, which was perfect for spreading out his ass for the thick shaft to come whenever it entered him.

“Oh, Brady… gods,” Owain let out, cursing under his breath as his husband worked on his shaft with his lips and tongue.

Chuckling at the thought of having managed to get Owain himself lost in his roleplay’s script, Brady gave the slit atop Owain’s cockhead a final, teasing lick before he opened up his mouth to swallow more of its size.

No matter how often they fucked, handling Owain’s girth was never truly easy. Brady could feel tears escape the corners of his eyes as he fought his gag reflex. He was not going to back down now. Not before he showed Owain what he was capable of.

Working Owain’s shaft deeper into his throat, Brady massaged his own aching cock, his hand gliding much more smoothly once his fingers and his member were wet with pre cum. He moaned to the best of his abilities, given Owain’s member was still in his mouth.

Pulling it out almost felt unnatural, like his mouth did not feel right when Owain’s throbbing dick wasn’t in it. Not wanting to go without it much longer, Brady caught his breath and swallowed the wet member once more.

Throwing his head back, Owain grabbed a fistful of Brady’s hair, calling out to a multitude of gods when the man sped up his rhythm for bobbing his head up and down the thick shaft.

Feeling his own release draw near, Brady felt a surge of happiness course through his body as he conquered his own gag reflex, being met with a face-full of Owain’s musky dark blond pubes when he finally managed to deepthroat his beloved.

“Fuck my mouth… please,” Brady whispered when he withdrew the member from his mouth. Forcing himself to say such a naughty line may have been difficult for him in any other context, but it was made easier by how prompt Owain was to comply.

Still holding on to Brady’s gelled, spiky hair, Owain pressed the man’s face against his crotch and bucked into it, being careful not to start too roughly, but slowly building the strength of his thrusts until  his balls began to slap against Brady’s chin.

Brady knew he would choke on Owain’s cock and then still thank him, had he been rougher to start with, but the tender approach his husband had, which extended to even something as flagrantly sexual as this, was yet another of Brady’s favorite things about his man.

The way Owain’s cock tasted and the way it twitched inside his mouth, coupled with the rapid nature of the thrusts and the physicality of them, the proximity to Owain’s skin and its scent… Brady could no longer resist and his fast stroking of his own cock lead to his seed splattering onto their sheets.

Pulling himself away from the middle of the swordsman’s muscular thighs, Brady gasped for air and stuck out his tongue, looking up expectantly at Owain as he brought himself closer to the tip of Owain’s cock.

Making a fist around his cock, Owain slapped it softly against Brady’s cheeks, only then noticing the drool that had dripped down the corners of Brady’s mouth.

Pointing his erection towards Brady’s tongue, Owain pleasured himself, feeling how much more sensitive Brady’s blowjob had made his member. He only needed to jerk his cock for a few dozen times before his seed landed on his husband’s tongue and on his face.

Swallowing the plentiful load, Brady used his fingers to find the remaining droplets, which he then licked clean. “So… do ya think I can improvise?”

In lieu of a reply, Owain extended his hand to Brady, pulling him into an impassioned, hungry kiss.

Afterwards, Brady rested his head on Owain’s plump, sweat-covered chest, hearing his beloved’s heartbeats slowing down to a steadier rhythm and feeling as though he was listening to the most calming symphony.

“You caught me… with my guard down this time… next time I’ll be the one who surprises you during roleplay. Mark my words… my love.”

Snorting, Brady sighed contentedly, drifting off to sleep with the most pleasant of smiles upon his lips.

[c-valentino]

Splashes Of Paint

Chapter 2

Fandom: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic

Rating: T

Characters:

Kevin Day, Betsy Dobson, Riko Moriyama, Andrew Minyard, Aaron Minyard

Chapter Two - Brushstrokes

One by one they come, his new teammates. One by one they judge him. Only Andrew is a constant presence in the background, his second shadow. He is the smell of cigarette smoke, a mouth that twists from a bored line into a jackknife smile in a blink of an eye, hazel eyes that never seem to stop criticizing without the need of words. He is also a reassurance and he is the man that keeps Kevin’s demons at bay.

Today it’s his shadow’s twin who comes by to poke his head inside the door of the old, unused  storage room with its single window. Aaron doesn’t knock, only pushes the door halfway open and leans in, keeping his balance with one hand gripping the doorframe.

“Andrew, coach is looking for you.” He finds his brother in his usual place, an old wooden chair in the corner next to the window from where he can keep an eye on Kevin, the door, and even half of the striker’s canvas at an odd angle. The goalkeeper is smoking yet another cigarette, even though Kevin wishes he would just quit. They had that argument, once today and at least a dozen other times before.

Andrew only acknowledges his twin brother with a slightly raised eyebrow. These two don’t talk much, Kevin has noticed. He shares a bedroom with them. They had been there first, and when Kevin came under the protection of the goalkeeper, his cousin Nicky had moved out without a word of protest. Andrew’s doing, Kevin supposes.

Aaron lets go of the door and comes in, shoes noisily scuffling over the plastic covers that keep the floor from getting stained with paint. He steers clear of Kevin, giving him as much space as the room allows him to do and leans against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest to have a look at the canvas. By the look on his face Aaron isn’t impressed. And why should he be?

“Uuwaah… that’s rough. Like a toddler bringing pictures home from Kindergarten.” He pronounces the last word in his second language. They do that sometimes, talk German when they want to exclude Kevin from whatever is being said. Aaron does it out of spite, being not too happy about their new sleeping arrangements and Kevin taking on the position as assistant coach, ordering them around, thinking himself their superior. Andrew does it to strategically keep information from Kevin. If the goalkeeper has to say something hurtful or provocative, he will do so to Kevin’s face. He plays a different kind of mind game than his twin. Kevin likes him better for it. He is also the better player, even if he does his utmost best to hide it. Kevin knows it. He has seen what Andrew is capable of before he has joined the Foxes.

“Yeah?” Kevin asks evenly. Falling for Aaron’s baits is the wrong thing to do. He has learned his lesson by now. Still, it stings. Kevin and criticism don’t get along well. Kevin knowing that he sucks at something either leads to instant abandonment of the task or to a quest of fanatical practice and improvement. He is past the point of abandonment by now. What keeps eluding him though is improvement of his painting skills. “Guess you are right,” he says and rips down the canvas. Aaron watches him but keeps his mouth shut for once.

The striker turns to his goalkeeper, wipes his hand on the stained, old jeans he is wearing. “Coach is looking for you,” he repeats Aaron’s words to Andrew. The blonde leans back, balancing his chair on two legs in a lazy demonstration of his uncaring attitude. Kevin rolls his eyes at him. This is a game they have played before. It’s also one of the few he can win. All he has to do is walk out that door and go to see their coach. Andrew will follow to keep an eye on him. They both know it. He gives Andrew ten more seconds to find the less childish way out of this situation. It takes the young man six to paint a wide grin on his face that tells the story of how amused he gets by their little games —thanks to his drugs, most likely— stand up and walk out of the room as if it had been his idea in the first place. Aaron watches them both, not moving from his spot, and then shrugs. Kevin gives him a sideway glance and follows Andrew out.

The other Foxes get curious too. Renee is the first of them, always the first to bridge the gap, to reach out, and tries to talk to him about his paintings. He doesn’t want to talk about them. They are clumsy and he gets annoyed by them. He cannot figure out what he wants to do. Sketching is impossible. His right hand won’t cooperate. So he reaches straight for the brushes. But then he faces the problem of not knowing what he is supposed to paint in the first place. It doesn’t matter, Bee tells him. Whatever comes to your mind, she tries to encourage him. And he has to admit, the feeling of a wet brush touching the canvas and leaving marks of paint on it is strangely satisfying. Only the results in the end are the complete opposite.

Nicky comes by to chat and to check on his cousin, Kevin thinks, but mostly to chat, and Kevin is not in the mood. Andrew isn’t either, and so it takes only minutes until the friendly backliner with the number eight on his new team leaves them again.

Dan comes by to discuss the new exercise regiment he has created for the Foxes. She only glances at his empty canvas before she tells him what she thinks of his (adapted Raven’s) trainings plan. Long story short: she hates it and he doesn’t care what she thinks. He has seen the —as he calls it— sorry state the team is in, and he thinks the team is in desperate need of some discipline and hard work. They argue for twenty minutes straight, until Renee comes to get Dan with an apologetic smile flashing in Kevin’s direction. It’s his therapeutic painting time, is probably what she thinks and Exy can wait. Exy can never wait, is what he thinks, and so he follows them to argue some more.

The others come by once or twice, not really interested, but at least showing some effort to get to know the newest addition to the team. He doesn’t get it though. The only version of him he cares to show them is the one on the court. They don’t need to get along, let alone become friends. All they have to do is listen to him and improve their gameplay.

His canvases meanwhile are covered in vague ideas of landscapes, of shapes even he has no clue what they are supposed to be. It’s just not right yet. He gets more and more frustrated with them, while Andrew keeps watching him.

The goalkeeper is mostly silent in this room. Sometimes Kevin forces some conversation out of him, but a drugged Andrew Minyard isn’t the best choice to have a pleasant conversation with. Smalltalk bores him and deeper topics usually lead straight to mocking because, even though Kevin knows it isn’t true, Andrew seems to take nothing seriously.

This morning the X-ray of his hand has shown that the healing process will take longer than expected. It has been grave news, and Kevin’s mood has suffered more than just a little. He has been agitated all week, looking forward to promising results, to hope of a near comeback, just to have his dreams crushed once again.

Right now he is throwing an Exy ball into the air with his right hand to improve his dexterity, a half finished painting in front of him. He hates it already, hates everything at the moment. Andrew humors him by tossing the ball back and forth once in a while, but when he keeps it and raises his chin at the canvas to tell Kevin that he should finish what they are here for, the striker suddenly loses it. Something in Kevin snaps. There is no other way to describe it, really. His temperament flares and his aggression needs an outlet. He takes the palette knife, grips it like a weapon, and attacks the canvas like he means to murder it. The knife pierces right through, once, twice, three times, and then he rips it downwards, opening a gaping tear in the still wet paint, twists the knife and slices it upwards diagonally. The easel is the next to break. Kevin’s long legs kick it over, send it flying into the wall, and then he comes after it, like a predator coming for its pray. His foot stomps down on it and he hears the wood crack and splinter. He kicks it again, so that it leans pathetically against the wall in the corner, and has another go at it, snapping one of its legs in two. It takes more force than he thought, takes him three kicks and he puts his weight behind them.

Andrew watches him silently but with a grotesquely wide grin on his face, his eyes gleaming with delight over the sudden outburst of Kevin’s aggression. And really, it’s a thing of beauty, watching this pathetic excuse of a man finally showing some teeth and claws. He has been wondering just how fucked up Evermore could have been to turn a young man like Kevin into a covering, sobbing child; still angry, still hurting, but never violent in his anger. And oh, it looks good on him. He wants to congratulate him on finding the first few vertebras of his missing spine, wants to watch him collect them all, and wants to help him threading them back together. He wants to clap and cheer Kevin on, but Kevin is not done yet, and Andrew doesn’t dare to interfere and risk to snap him out of this spell.

Next are the paint pots and brushes. Two pots he kicks over, they are too heavy to be thrown one-handed. The smaller ones he picks up and throws them against the wall, leaving huge splashes of paint in their wake, all the way over the floor and up the wall. The brushes hit the wall next, creating colorful arcs of paint across the whole room when Kevin demonstrates how powerful even his right arm is. Some of the blue paint hits Andrew in his seat, up from his right boot, over both pant legs, his shirt, his chin, ear and hair. He doesn’t even flinch when the cold mess hits his skin and he becomes part of Kevin’s newest creation. What a mess he is creating.

—And then one of the teachers storms in and ruins everything, comes in barking loudly, voice full of authority and Andrew watches as Kevin regresses into the scared child again, whirls around to face the man and takes a step back, holds his broken hand protectively against his chest and starts to realize what he has done. Before the whole apologizing bullshit can even start, Andrew is up on his feet, steps in front of Kevin and faces the teacher. The man’s eyes switch to him in bewilderment. He hasn’t noticed the short goalkeeper sitting motionlessly in the corner before. Now Andrew comes straight at him and doesn’t stop until the teacher takes a step back and stands in the hallway again. Andrew follows him out and shuts the door behind them, leaving Kevin alone in the room.

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