#THE OLD ONES WERE SO MUCH BETTER! I WOULD RATHER BE NAMED “Edgar” THEN FUCKIN “GABE”

[i-drew-artz]

Isnt it funny how other countries have badass awesome names like "Kenji", "Wolfgang", "Mikhail", and "Joaquin".

Then the english have names like fuckin bob, charlie, moe, and harry.

[theateared]

It’s Fine.  I Can Wait. ❜

Summary:  Certain things make Moxie a little less angry.

    “You’re being moody again.”

    Since Edgar had returned from hunting, Moxie hadn’t spared him a word.  His place behind the bar was begrudging, back remaining to him as he scrubbed the surface with more force than necessary.  Edgar briefly considered telling him to watch for scratch marks but promptly decided that it didn’t matter.  To hell with it.  People are drunk here anyway.  They’re not going to notice an imperfection that small.

    Still no response, he thought to himself as he watched his packmate busy himself with meaningless tasks.  He flitted around the counter like a fly, cleaning already-washed surfaces, moving things slightly to the side, skirting around tables as if he’d kick up enough dust to warrant wiping them down for a second time.  The Alpha barely held back a chuckle of amusement, tall form hunched over the counter as his cheek nestled into his palm.

    “Moxie.  I know you’re upset,”   he tried again, voice light, almost sing-song, as if it was being carried by a breeze.   “Are you going to speak on your own terms or should I pry until you snap?  Because you will snap.  Like an itty-bitty twig.  Tck!  Just like that.”

    Briefly, his friend’s shoulders squared, though his back remained to him.  Edgar smirked, head tilting against his palm.

    “It’s fine.  I can wait.”

    All at once, the hunter whipped around and flung his rag in the Alpha’s direction. Edgar watched with an aloof smile as the material gathered air, fluttering to the ground some distance away from the counter.  His eyes shifted from the spot it had fallen to Moxie’s face as his hands slammed against the solid oak that formed the bar-top.

    “I’m PISSED OFF, Edgar--”

    “Mhm.”

    “-- this fuckin’ bullshit, livin’ here in Huron--  even if it’s only temporary, I feel like a goddamn CIRCUS ACT!”   Although he was angry, he had the sense not to bare his teeth at the other lye.  The last thing he needed was to provoke his leader.  Quickly, he reared back, before he could make a mistake that he wouldn’t be able to rectify.   “Don’t you feel STUPID?  We’re dancin’ round these motherfuckers like fuckin’--  ballerinas, or some shit!  It’s really gettin’ on my NERVES!”   His arms extended high above his head as if he was about to scream, though all he did was stare at the ceiling for a few seconds before continuing on, leaning close.  His voice dropped to a low, raspy rumble.   “Do you know how many fights I’ve had to not have just to stay doin’ this shitty job that nobody wants to fuckin’ do?  This shit’s embarrassin’, Edgar.  Y’hear me?  Embarrassin’.  We’re fuckin’.  Lyes.  There’s no reason we should be pussy-footin’ like this.”

    “Hm.”   Though he hated to admit it, he harboured some similar frustration.  However, the one thing he had above most of his kind was his brain.  In general, lyes were an aggressive specie; they would rather fight to the death for something than work out an arrangement.  Naturally, a lot of weight fell on an Alpha’s ability to defend their creed members from harm.  The way Edgar saw it, it was better to minimise threats than it was to craft plans to combat them. With less enemies to deal with, the creed’s safety naturally increased.

    Slowly, Edgar stood up straight, turning around and locating an all-too-familiar bottle of whiskey.  He may as well have renamed it at this point -  Moxie’s Kryptonite.

    “Tell me something,”   he said levelly as he began to pour his frustrated friend a drink. Despite the serving regulations, Edgar filled the glass until the liquid sat just shy of the brim. Putting it down gracefully, he turned back around to look at him.   “How long have we been friends now?”

    Moxie huffed, a hand wrapping unceremoniously around his drink, bringing it close to his lips.   “Too fuckin’ long...”   he muttered before downing the contents of his glass.  Only when it was empty did he continue:   “I don’t know.  Centuries, probably.”

    “And in all that time, how many times have I done something that has put my creed in jeopardy?”

    “...”   Whether one liked him or not, Edgar was a respectable leader.  In fact, Moxie would hazard a guess and say that he was the best he could have wound up with.  In his previous creed, his Alpha had been a flight risk.  Though his strength was impressive-- he had once killed a band of six rival hunters single-handedly-- he’d been nothing short of a moron.  His foolhardy ways had cost a lot of his own their lives.  It didn’t help that his means of compensation was mating with those that remained in exchange for their silence.  Edgar, on the other hand, was different.  Not only did he possess a great deal of power, the way his mind worked was unheard of in their community.  To him, he resembled a renowned chess player - a renowned chess player with a body count.   “...’s not like I can say...”   he finished lamely.

    “Yes.  I suspected as much,”   Edgar replied, re-filling his glass.   “And so with that in mind, I would implore you to have a little more faith in me.”   His hand wrapped around the stool tucked beneath the counter, drawing it close enough to sit on.  Slightly more comfortably, he once again leaned on his elbow, head cocked slightly to the side as he stared at the other.  In a patient tone:   “Rest assured, there is a reason for every decision I make.  It pays to be  CLEVER  in this day and age, not a barbarian.  This truce with Huron serves a practical function.  While it continues to do so, these people are not our enemy.”

    Less enemies, less trouble.  That was the way the wild worked.  He doubted many understood that, though he suspected he was only privy to such a thought because he had existed in a different way before this.  Had the No-Mans been all he knew, he likely would have striven for brute strength and nothing more.

    Moxie sighed softly.   “I dunno, boss.  What happened to all the fun we used to have? Tearin’ out throats, takin’ names later?”

    “Don’t talk about the glory days as if they’ve long passed, friend,”   Edgar tutted, reaching forward to pat his arm.   “We’ll have our fun, just in the proper way, at the proper time.  Like gentlemen.  Understand?”

    Sullenly, Moxie nodded his head.

    “Do cheer up,”   the Alpha continued, rising from his seat.   “I have a surprise for you.”

    He watched the other lye’s head incline, normally squinted eyes round with curiosity.  After a moment of silence:   “You know I hate surprises.  What is it?”

    “Ah-ah-ahh!”   Edgar all but sang, ever-present smile splitting into a fully-fledged grin.  He whipped around the bar like a falcon, taloned fingers resting atop Moxie’s shoulders and pulling him up to his feet.   “This was the reason I came looking for you.  It would be senseless to give it away just like that.  Put on your dancing shoes.”

    “My what?”

    He didn’t get the chance to ask anything else as Edgar pushed him along.

                                                                     _____

    “... the fuck am I lookin’ at?”   Moxie asked, eyes squinting hard at the foreign object.  It was tall, and he wondered briefly how he had missed it.  Edgar must have had it moved to the tavern that day while he’d been out hunting for food.  It stood in the corner, arched shape casting an ominous shadow onto the ground.  Pronounced decals lined its edges, a peculiar blend of red, yellow and green, and when Edgar shifted forwards to press one of the many buttons, it made a noise.  Moxie’s ears stood straight up, as if startled.

    “This, my friend, is a jukebox,”   Edgar said, gesturing for the hunter to come closer.  He did so hesitantly, eyes moving across the new object with distrustful fascination.   “It plays music.”   Gently, he pressed another button, the screen lighting up.  The song selection jumped straight to titles that began with L in accordance to what Edgar had selected.   “I figured we could use some ambience for this place.  Nothing livens a scene up quite like music.”

    Moxie watched with a hint of interest.  Edgar knows which buttons to press already…  I have to learn too.   “So what, y’thought a bunch’a noise would help soothe my headaches?”

    “Oh, come.  Don’t be so sour!  I know you love music!”

    It was a strange truth, but a truth nonetheless.  Lyes didn’t often have access to things like that.  There was no such thing as ‘art’ when you came from the wild.  The closest thing you could get to that was a fresh corpse.  Nevertheless, he had heard guitars in the woods before. Ambitious campers or Edgar’s weird friend, he wasn’t sure,  but the point was that he enjoyed the sound.  Though he hadn’t been vocal about it, he knew that his Alpha was likely to notice. He often did, for reasons that escaped him.

    What do you care?  You’re the one with the power.

    “Choose a song!  Any song?  Let’s dance the night away!”

    “I ain’t dancin’.  Especially not with you,”   Moxie huffed, though a hand had already stuck out to toggle with the arrow keys.  He recognised none of the titles, selecting one at random, seeming to jump slightly when the device began to make noise.  Despite being told what it did, it still surprised him to be so close to something so loud.   “Woah.”

    “Grand, isn’t it?”   Edgar exclaimed, spinning in a circle as if inviting him into his personal space.  The hunter scoffed, moving away, though his tail began to sway without his say-so. While he couldn’t see him, Edgar gave him a puzzled kind of smile;  the sort that expressed a deep confusion despite its contentment.  Truthfully, he didn’t understand why Moxie was so standoffish.  He likely had his reasons, but he had no clue what they were.  He felt as if there was a tragic sort of distance between them, one filled with a daunting vacancy that lingered long after a stale goodbye.

    Why do you refuse to have a good time?  Why do you only let pleasure visit you in small, controlled doses?  Why are your claws drawn around somebody who has sworn to protect you?

    He watched as Moxie trudged back behind the bar, half expecting him to begin working again. However, all he did was slump against it, tail swinging from side to side like a macabre metronome;  jagged point catching the lamp-light, glinting like an age-old dagger.  This was as calm as he could get.

    “... decent investment,”   he allowed, hard stare fixed on the wall.  The last thing he wanted to do was feed an Alpha’s ego.  In his experience, the more you did that, the harder you fell when it inevitably shot to their head.  They abused their power almost as easily as they fucked  -  without reason, without warning, and wholly in their best interests.   “It’ll drown out these lousy drunkards’ voices a little.”

    “That it will, my friend!”   He was already busy flipping through tracks on his own accord, grin now eager, genuinely invested.  If there was one thing he would always have room for, it was music.  From the moment he’d decided that a tavern was the establishment that worked most in favour with his desires, he’d known at some point that he would invest in a player of some sort.  Failing that, he would have talked to his talented musician friend about playing live on certain nights.

    Perhaps I should still do that.  Murr would probably be over the moon about it anyway.  It would give him another distraction  -  and me a source of pleasure.  Everybody wins.

    So focused with the jukebox, he missed the slacken of Moxie’s jaw;  the way he nuzzled his cheek into his palm, ears bent in the direction of the sound as his Alpha flitted through song previews, tail swish-swish-swishing like a reed behind his head.  A rare tranquillity had befallen him, one that only visited people in their dreams.

    You’re a weird Alpha, he thought to himself, watching Edgar’s face light up as he found a ragtime track that seemed to resonate with him.  It’s almost as if you care about us.

[zombizombi]

hummingbird heartbeat - pt43

Senior year put a lot on Bitty’s plate. Being out as a team captain was important to him -- being a good captain was important, but how did a person do that, exactly? What made a good captain? What had he appreciated about captains he’d had?

He needed to figure that out. He had a chance to inspire others by being out as an NCAA captain, and after this summer with Kent, he was facing a lot more pressure than before. Whether Bitty liked it or not, his performance as captain would reflect on LGBT people in general, not to mention his coaches, his parents, his boyfriends.

His boyfriends, plural. 

That wasn’t even common knowledge, and Bitty was pretty sure Kent would rather die than have anyone know anything more about their personal life. Kent definitely couldn’t handle being publicly polyamorous, and honestly? Bitty didn’t think he could, either. His stomach hurt just thinking about it. He hadn’t really even told anyone he was also seeing Jack -- Lardo had sort of implied she knew, via text, but they’d never talked about it.

Balancing Kent and Jack was still… kind of hard, especially since Kent was physically so much further away than Jack. It was easy to make time for him because Bitty was used to that, he just -- worried, maybe, that talking on the phone and Skype wouldn’t be good enough. And Kent had Jeff so close, which wasn’t different, exactly, but it seemed more important than it had before. Like it might make Kent miss Bitty less.

Kent did not seem to think so. “How’s my captain?” he asked.

Bitty laughed. “I’m not your captain,” he said, phone to his ear as he walked to Faber.

“Yes you are,” said Kent. He paused. “Babe. What is it?”

“What’s what?”

“Eric,” said Kent. “You just told me you’re not my captain.”

Sometimes it could be really annoying, the way Kent always seemed to know something was wrong. Sweet. But annoying. “It’s just that I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Bitty said, quickly. “And it’s -- I don’t know.”

“Join the club,” Kent said. He paused. “But, Eric -- you’ve already, like, been a leader to some of these guys. I mean, all of last year you talked about Dex and Nursey and the new guys, and I think it was kind of obvious that they looked up to you? At least a little?”

Bitty blinked. Was it? “I guess,” he said. “I hadn’t really thought about that.” He pulled the door open.

“You got this,” said Kent. “You’re gonna be great.”

Maybe he was right.

That night, he RSVP’d yes to a meet and greet, hoping for the best. To his knowledge, Ransom, Holster, and Jack never attended any of the varsity captains’ meetups, but -- well, Bitty wasn’t Ransom, Holster, or Jack. Maybe talking to some other people in the same position would help? It couldn’t hurt to try, anyway.

At Annie’s, he peered around a bookshelf, staring at a group of students for just a moment. Ducking back behind it, he squared his shoulders. “Listen here,” he muttered to himself, “if talkin’ to other captains is what you need to do, then by golly that’s what ya need to --”

A voice interrupted his self pep talk. “Eric?”

He jumped a little. Oh, Lord, there were three of them.

“You’re Eric, right?” a girl asked.

Right, questions needed answers. “Oh! Hi!” he said. “That’s me! Eric Bittle.”

A short, dark-haired girl waved one hand. “I’m Shruti, I captain rugby.”

“And I’m Sharon -- I captain Ultimate,” said the other. “And this is Edgar -- he’s the volleyball captain.”

“We’re so glad you decided to come to the meet n’ greet!” said Edgar, leading them away from the bookcase and toward a group of people.

“Wow,” said Bitty, “everyone’s here. I guess -- I guess I’ve been missing out!”

“We know the men’s hockey team can be insular,” said Shruti.

“Cult-like,” Sharon cut in.

“Confusing and threatening to outsiders,” Edgar muttered.

“So it’s cool that you could make it,” Shruti finished.

Bitty sat in a chair, giving Shruti a nervous smile for a moment. It didn’t take long for them to break into conversation, and once they got going, it was… surprisingly easy. Chill, even.

“Yeah, dude!” said Shruti. “You had a like, a crazy summer? You don’t have to talk about it, but --”

“No, no, no!” Bitty said. He hadn’t wanted to mention the Cup and Kent and everything first, but everyone had to know, and -- Lord, crazy summer was such an understatement. Being the boyfriend of the first openly gay player in the NHL was… a lot. “It’s so weird, bringing it up -- I didn’t want to --”

“I mean, I guess I’ll just say it,” Shruti said. “A lot of the varsity captains are also in Samwell’s LGBT athletes?”

They were? That probably shouldn’t have surprised Bitty so much, but --

Shruti shrugged. “Not like I had the summer you had, so no assumptions... but like, I hope you’re not... overwhelmed.”

Well. “It’s pretty overwhelming,” Bitty admitted. He laughed a little, rubbed at the back of his neck. Overwhelming? Second understatement.

“Yeah… me and Edgar were talking about the write-up in the Samwell Daily,” said Sharon. “Man.”

Bitty winced. That write-up was really something.

“Oh my god, 100% written by a straight student,” said Edgar.

“Just, like, the captains are here for you and stuff, dude,” said Shruti, giving Bitty a warm smile.

“That’s so nice of y’all,” said Bitty.

“Even Chad L. from Lacrosse.” Shruti gestured to a guy in a white backwards cap standing behind them, talking to someone else. At the sound of his name, Chad L. looked up.

“Five on the beef,” he said, giving Bitty a thumbs up. “Brush the fuckin’ narp goss and nip ched all season, bro. Ripped.”

Oh, Lord. What did that even mean? It was a form of bro dialect that Bitty wasn’t entirely prepared for. “Oh! Um, thank you,” said Bitty, trying -- and failing -- not to think of all the times he’d heard Shitty say “fuck the LAX bros”.

“You guys should all come over for a kegster!” Bitty said. “I promise the Haus isn’t that haunted.”

“Oh my gosh, yes!” said Shruti. After a moment, she frowned. “Um, wait, did that loud guy with the giant chiclet teeth graduate yet?”

Chiclet teeth? Bitty laughed. “Holster?” he asked. “Yeah. He graduated.” The obvious relief on only made him laugh harder.

“Okay. Question. How did the fire over the summer start?”

“Well, that’s --” Bitty started to explain, but someone else cut in.

“Can someone please explain the hockey bro - lax bro rivalry I can’t tell most of y’all apart --”

Bitty laughed. It really felt like home. He was glad he’d come. True, he still had… hockey traditions to keep up with, of course, but having other team captains to talk to made him feel a little better about things.

Classes starting did not, to Bitty’s delight, bother him that much. He was done with French, thank the Lord, and since he’d actually enjoyed his classes with Professor Atley, she was serving as his thesis advisor. Not that he knew what he was going to be writing his thesis about, of course. He could… figure that out at a later date. There were plenty of way, way more important things to deal with -- like initiation.

Bitty wanted something good. Something fresh, even. The classics were classic for a reason, sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make it his own. Chatting with Ford as they cleaned dishes one evening, Bitty mentioned the hockey team’s tradition. “You know, before the season starts and everything,” he said. “Just a little welcome to SMH.”

“So, hazing?” asked Ford.

“I mean, not like, hazing,” Bitty said, scrubbing the pan he’d baked the pound cake in. “Goodness. Nothing awful. We certainly won’t have any boys dyin’ on our watch or anything like that!”

“So like, a little Haze by Hazewest, then,” said Ford, drying some plates with a dish towel. “Creative, fun, but not as crazy as Hazing Man.”

Bitty laughed. “Yes,” he said, “exactly. Exactly!” He picked up a towel, running it over his pan. “We’ll just put our own little twist on it.” He paused. “Haze by Hazewest is perfect.”

Ford grinned.

That night, Bitty called Kent at their regular time, surprised to see him pick up the Skype call at his kitchen table. “Hi, honey,” he said.

“Hey, you.” Kent glanced back down at the table.

“You still working on school stuff?” Bitty asked.

“Yeah, but it’s -- it’s fine,” said Kent, waving a hand. His classes had started earlier than Samwell’s, and he was already taking something called multivariate calculus that Bitty had absolutely zero interest in understanding beyond the bright smiles Kent gave him when he figured something out. “How’re you?” Kent asked.

“Oh, you know,” Bitty said, “just gettin’ stuff together. Went through my equipment this morning. Isn’t it amazing how gross stuff gets when it sits for even a little while?”

“Truly,” said Kent. “Like mouth guards.”

Gross. “It reminded me that I meant to ask you the other day,” Bitty said. “Are you gonna wear your cage again this season?” The thought of dealing with another concussion was a little horrifying, if he were honest, and he hadn’t forgotten the last time. Seeing Kent in a cage alleviated a little of that worry, and he’d realized he didn’t know if Kent planned to keep wearing it or not.

Kent let out a deep, irritated sigh, glancing up from his paper. “Yes,” he said, and Bitty could tell by the eye roll that he was only wearing the cage because Jeff was making him. And maybe because he feared Bitty’s wrath, like, a little. Kent’s anxiety over displeasing Bitty had mellowed somewhat with time. “I am.”

“Sweetie,” said Bitty, frowning, “do you need to take a break from the math for a second? Or should we hang up and try this again? Because you’re making your ‘lost in shootout’ face.”

“Sorry, I’m almost done, I swear,” said Kent, rubbing his face with both hands. “Can we talk about something less irritating?” He paused. “What’d you decide about initiation?”

They’d been talking about it the past few days. As he’d said before, Bitty didn’t want to just repeat previous years’ events, he wanted something new. Or, at the very least, old enough that it could be new again. “I was thinking blankets,” Bitty said. “You know, make them carry them around everywhere. Embarrassing but not, like. Bad.”

“Seems harmless enough,” said Kent, still looking at his homework.

“Obviously fines,” Bitty continued. “There’s always fines. And, you know, every year they always do the initiation in underwear, but it’s just so cold in Faber, so I was thinking I’d let them have a sweater --”

“I thought that the whole point was like, being uncomfortable or something,” Kent murmured.

“Well, but I don’t want them getting frostbitten, honey,” Bitty said. “And I have to feed them, obviously. I mean, not everything will be comfortable, I’ll give them some challenges --”

“You should make them figure skate or something,” said Kent, head bent as he scribbled something on his paper. “There.” He slammed his textbook closed. “Done.” Looking up at the camera properly, he grinned.

“You’re a genius,” Bitty said.

Kent shook his head, running fingers through his blond hair. “No, this took me like, hours,” he said, “it’s totally not --”

“I meant the figure skating, baby, not the math,” said Bitty, interrupting him.

“Hey!” Kent yelped. “That math was hard!”

“Yes, you have a very sexy brain,” Bitty said, waving a hand. “But oh my god, figure skating. It’s perfect. We can find little outfits, and I’ll pick a song -- I guess we can just try to get Ford on the ice, I don’t think she can actually skate --”

“Obviously there should be glitter,” Kent added. “And Britney.”

“So much glitter,” said Bitty. “Just. So, so much glitter, babe.”

Kent laughed so hard his face turned red. The next video he posted on YouTube was a cover of Britney Spears’ Gimme More, clearly recorded after he’d hung up with Bitty, warm golden lights on in a dark living room. He still wasn’t showing his face in his covers, even though they both knew it was only a matter of time before the entire internet knew about Kent’s channel. It was honestly a shock that he hadn’t deleted it, because Bitty’s channel sort of led to it, and --

And he needed to stop worrying about it.

Planning initiation now that he had a list of ideas took up the rest of Bitty’s spare time. He had ingredients to buy, a skate routine to plan, music to pick… plus blankets, leotards, and glitter. Bitty recruited the frogs, sending Chowder for the blankets and Nursey for groceries.

It was possible that the hockey team was taking up energy he ought to be using on school, but… it was infinitely more interesting, and Bitty had always been great at putting schoolwork off. The first week wasn’t that intense, anyway. At least, he hoped it wasn’t, because he wasn’t really paying attention.

Fitting a visit to Jack in to his already busy schedule took a little work, but Bitty managed it. Due to his late arrival, they made a quick dinner, nothing fancy -- though Bitty insisted on getting a pie in the oven while Jack cleaned up.

Washing dishes, Jack glanced over at him.

“Yes, honey?” said Bitty, looking up from the lattice of his pie.

“You didn’t bring schoolwork,” Jack said, “did you?”

Oh boy. “Now you listen here,” said Bitty, pointing with a bit of pastry, “I’m already gettin’ enough of this from Kent, I don’t need --”

“It’s your thesis year,” Jack said.

“I know,” Bitty said. “It’ll be fine! I’ve got a long time to -- school just started, you know.” He pressed the pie crust with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

“Kent’s classes started already?” Jack asked, after a moment.

“Yeah, early,” said Bitty. He opened the oven to slide the pie in. “He’s ridiculous. Can you imagine learning calculus for fun?”

“Not really,” Jack said, and Bitty laughed.

“C’mon, handsome, let’s watch a movie.”

Jack let Bitty lead him into the living room, settling on the sofa while Bitty flicked through the streaming menu to find something to watch. “When do you see him again?” Jack asked.

“Hmm?” Bitty paused his scrolling and turned to look at Jack. “Kent, you mean?”

“Yes,” said Jack.

“I’m not sure,” Bitty admitted. “I mean, I’m gonna call him later. But I don’t think I’ll get a chance to see him until they come to Boston.” Maybe New York, but they had multiple schedules to line up. Bitty’s hockey schedule and Kent’s hockey schedule and school and -- Bitty took a breath. “Not like I can drive down to see him,” he added. “Not like you. Why?”

“I was just wondering,” said Jack. He slid an arm around Bitty’s shoulders, pulled him close.

“I’ll see him some time,” Bitty said. “Maybe, um. Maybe you can see him, too?”

“Maybe,” Jack said. He took the remote from Bitty, scrolled through some things on his own. “I think I’d like that.” He chose The Devil Wears Prada, pushing play before Bitty could question him.

They didn’t actually end up watching much of it, anyway.

After cleaning up and brushing his teeth, Bitty ducked into the guest bedroom. He settled onto the bed and set his computer down, chewing his lower lip for a moment before opening Skype. A quick glance at the clock told him he had about two minutes. Bitty pressed his hands to his face, sighing softly.

It was harder than he’d thought, going from seeing someone every day to not being able to see them for months. Being with Kent all summer was maybe the happiest Bitty had ever been. It was like a little window into his future, he’d hoped, waking up with Kent every single day. He’d missed Jack, but -- it was different, still, because he was used to missing Jack over the summer, just talking to him on the phone or whatever.

Kent was in his living room when he answered the call, both cats lounging nearby. There was no sign of Kevin, though. Was Jeff not there? “Hey, you,” Kent said, smiling. His guitar sat next to him.

“Hi, baby,” said Bitty. “How was your day?” He paused. “Were you recording?”

“Yeah.” Letting out a heavy sigh, Kent shook his head. “Conditioning,” he said. “Yours?”

“School,” said Bitty.

“We both suffer so much,” Kent said. They chatted about workouts and school assignments and how all the boys were doing, with occasional breaks as Kent tried desperately to keep Purrs from shredding his favorite blanket.

He was mildly successful.

“You look tired,” said Kent, after a while. “You want me to read to you a little and call it quits?”

“Tell me about Jeff instead,” said Bitty, leaning back into the pillows. He yawned. Kent hadn’t said a single thing about Jeff in days, which was… kind of out of character, really, considering how Jeff was always around.

“What about him?” Kent asked.

“You know,” Bitty said. “What’s the deal? I mean. Just tell me some stuff. We’ll call it your reading for tonight.”

“You know him,” said Kent.

“Not really,” Bitty said. “Beyond Stampede and like, his mom being nice. Humor me, honey.”

Kent let out a soft laugh. “Uh -- okay. Let’s see. Um, Jeff went to Boston University.”

“Don’t tell me stuff I can look up on Wikipedia,” Bitty said.

“Okay, um. I met him the first day I was in Vegas,” Kent said, then. “At the airport. He thought I was gonna be a total asshole.”

Did he? Bitty laughed. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” said Kent, “because nineteen year old boys aren’t famous for being like, sensitive or well-mannered?”

“I forget Jeff is older than you,” Bitty said.

“Yeah, by four years.” Kent paused. “Anyway, uh. He was nice to me, though, I think because Christopher told him to be --”

“Jeff is kind of a nice guy in general,” said Bitty. “Right?”

“Uh, kind of?” said Kent. He laughed. “He can be a huge dick, you have no idea.”

Actually, Bitty did have an idea. Jeff had warmed to him, but he hadn’t exactly been friendly at first. And Bitty hadn’t forgotten the way Jeff talked to him in his apartment a while back, when he made him stand out in the hallway and almost didn’t even let him inside. Plus, he got his fair share of penalty minutes with that temper on the ice. “I believe that,” he said.

“Yeah.” Kent picked at one of his cuticles, stayed quiet for a few minutes.

Bitty frowned. “Is everything okay?” he asked. Kent’s answering nod wasn’t reassuring. Had he said something and Jeff rejected him? Surely not. There was no way he’d do that.

Would he?

The truth was that Bitty didn’t really know Jeff that well. They’d had exactly zero intimate conversations, no true bonding moments. From what he could tell, they didn’t share any interests besides hockey and Kent. Even during the time they’d spent together in Calgary, Jeff seemed to kind of… hold back from Bitty, just a little, and he was intimidating enough that Bitty had never pushed his luck. Southern charm and pie did not work on Jeffrey Troy, that much was clear.

“Everything is fine,” said Kent.

“Did you, um.” Bitty maybe shouldn’t ask about what Kent talked about in therapy, but -- “Did you talk to Brian about Jeff?” he asked. Kent didn’t really talk to very many people, he’d realized. Not the way Bitty did.

Kent’s eyes flicked up from his hands for a moment. “Yes,” he said, after a long stretch of silence.

He clearly did not want to talk about it. “Okay,” Bitty said. “I’m -- nevermind, sweetie.” He cleared his throat. “Um, Jack was asking when I’d see you again,” he said.

Kent blinked. “Uh -- whenever we have a roadie out there,” he said. “Or bye week. Whichever comes first.”

“D’you think that maybe, um.” Bitty twisted his covers in his fingers a little. “Maybe we could all have lunch or something? Like, you and me and Jeff and Jack.”

Kent laughed a little. “What, you wanna be a witness to a murder?”

“Excuse me?”

“Jeff and Jack,” Kent said. “In the same room. For, like, an extended period of time.”

“Yes,” said Bitty.

“It’s madness,” Kent said. He grinned. “But yeah, I’ll totally arrange it.”

Sliding into bed beside Jack once he’d bid Kent good night, Bitty wiggled until he could rest his head on Jack’s chest.

“Hey,” Jack murmured. “Good call?”

“Yeah,” said Bitty. He closed his eyes.

The following Thursday, armed with some impressive shades and flanked by upperclassmen, Bitty set his plans in motion.

“Listen up, eggs,” he said, facing the freshman. “I explain the Samwell rookie blanket once.” He hefted them in his hands. “Let this blankets serve as reminders, you’ll carry them with you every day until initiation.” He paused. “Hops.” He tossed a blue blanket at one of the freshmen.

“Uh,” said Hops, catching it, “but, what if I have class tomorrow?”

“Bully,” Bitty said, tossing the duck print blanket.

“Hey, cool. Ducks,” Bully said.

“And Louis.” Bitty tossed the last blanket.

“This doesn’t seem that bad,” Louis said.

“And to better ensure camaraderie on and off the ice,” Bitty continued, “fines incurred by one frog will be incurred by all frogs.” He lowered his shades. “Because you’re a team. Get it?”

“Yes sir!”

Oh, it was perfect. Bitty beamed. “Wonderful!” He clapped his hands together. “Then you’re at the disposal of your upperclassmen this weekend. You can turn in your blankets Monday night at --” he glanced at Ford. “Haze by Hazewest!”

She grinned.

The boys racked up fines all over the place -- some for being overheard gossiping about Bitty and Kent, some for horrible playlists, and some for, like, harshing Nursey’s vibe, or something? They incurred reasonable fines, too, of course. Getting on the ice before an upperclassman, finishing Ollie and Wicks’ pre-game cereal, breaking multiple sticks in one game…

Bitty was sure they were more than pleased when Monday night started out with his homemade scones and pizza. They got all settled in, tucked into their little sweaters, guards down, and --

And the fun began.

Making them all work on a figure skating routine was even more fun in practice than Bitty had imagined. He even managed to get Ford on the ice, because -- well, no freshman was safe. And watching her try to skate? Hilarious.

Bitty put so much into initiation and then their hockey games that he honestly forgot to talk to Kent about Jeff again. They were getting busy in Vegas, anyway, with camp coming up. Jack had his own things going as well, including Tater being back in town and informing all of Twitter about their workout progress, including Instagram-worthy thirst traps. Bitty did his best to keep up with schoolwork, but he still ended up getting to bed pretty late sometimes, unable to keep up with Jack or Kent’s strict bedtimes.

It felt like he’d only just fallen asleep when shrill noise interrupted what could’ve been a very nice dream. Bitty rubbed his eyes and picked up his phone before leaning over to turn the lamp on. It was a Skype call. Pushing the button to accept, Bitty pushed himself upright just a little further. “Mmm?”

Kent stared at the screen, worrying his lip between his teeth. The pale light of his computer reflected off his glasses. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late,” he said. “I just needed to talk to you.”

Oh. That didn’t sound great. “Hi, honey,” Bitty said, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Hey,” Kent said. He swallowed. “Jeff, um. Jeff --”

Had it finally happened, then? Bitty’s stomach tightened a little. “Did you talk to him?” Lord, what if he’d been wrong?

“You were right,” Kent said. “About everything.”

Thank god. A warm smile spread over Bitty’s face. “Oh, baby. That’s great,” he said. To clarify, did that mean -- “You tell him you love him?”

“I --” Kent paused. “Yeah. Well, he said it first. I mean, I was gonna say it first, I just. It’s not cheating, right?”

Bitty rubbed his face with one hand. “No,” he said, “not unless what I’m doing with Jack is cheating.”

“No,” Kent said. “We talked about it, it’s fi--”

“It’s the same as that,” said Bitty, cutting him off. “For me. You and Jeff, I mean. It’s the same as me and Jack for you, except -- I mean, I wouldn’t kick Jeff out of bed, y’know? Everything’s fine.”

“Eric,” Kent hissed.

“What? Jeff Troy’s hotness is, like, an acknowledged fact. You know there’s a whole Twitter account dedicated to the length of his hair,” Bitty pointed out.

It took a second, but Kent laughed. “God,” he said, pressing his hands to his face. “I love you. I freaked out, didn’t I?”

“Little bit,” Bitty admitted, because it was like, three in the morning and he was still half asleep. He paused. ��Did you make out with him?”

“Oh my God, Eric,” said Kent, his face reddening. That was a yes, right?

“Hot. How was he?” Bitty asked, grinning. “Can I watch next time?”

“Oh my God, Eric,” Kent said, again, and he pressed a hand to his face. “Stop. Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I don’t -- Jesus, fuck. It was just kissing.”

It was like a romantic comedy. “You precious thing,” Bitty said. He yawned. “He’s good, right?”

“This is gross,” said Kent. “Go back to sleep.”

“So he’s good,” Bitty said. Confirmed. He’d have to ask Kent about it again later. “I bet he’s into --”

“I’m hanging up,” said Kent.

( HH is on AO3 if you need to start from the beginning! )

[rfsak2]

Cactus, Part V

Cactus, Part V Summary: Families. Harry/Jamie Warnings: None.. pure fluff.

“Yer phone is ringin’.”

She turned to Harry, who stood in the doorway to her kitchen singing along dramatically to the Jurassic Park theme.

She grinned, rubbing biscuit dough off her hands. “Who is it?”

“It just says ‘Mamacita’. Yer mother?”

She shook her head. “My cousin, Lola. Answer it?”

He froze. “Sure?”

“I’m covered in dough. Answer it, please, and put it on speaker.”

He grinned. “Hello?”

“Holy fuckin’ shit!” There was a sound like something hitting the floor. “I better not have broken my phone. Is this Harry Styles?”

Jamie huffed out a laugh. “Well hello to you too.”

“Don’t ‘well hello to you too’ me. Is that Harry fuckin’ Styles, who the tabloids are saying is dating some mystery blonde girl who looks an awful lot like you?”

She pat out the dough and picked up a biscuit cutter. “I’ve had a good day too. Thanks for askin’.” Harry blew her a kiss and she smiled, catching it.

“Bitch, please. IS. THAT. HARRY. STYLES? No me mientas.”

Harry grimaced, glancing at her. With a small smile, she shrugged and mouthed, it’s up to you. He grinned and leaned over to kiss her forehead. He placed the phone on the counter next to her and leaned over it. “It might be. Who’s this?”

“I knew it! I knew it was you!” She laughed triumphantly. “I’m Lola, your girlfriend’s favorite cousin. Assuming that you’re datin’.”

Jamie made a face but didn’t say anything.

“Ha! You’re silence speaks volumes.” She laughed. “I knew there was something going down during all those promo performances.”

Harry frowned. “I had thought we had kept it all rather tame. Didn’t yeh, love?”

“I certainly had thought so.”

“Love? That’s presh. See here, m’hijo, I know my cousin, so yeah I noticed that she went red every time you looked at her. Which you did an awful lot, like more than I would assume is normal.”

She blushed, avoiding Harry’s beaming smile. “It’s been lovely, speaking to you, Lola, but unfortunately, I have to do just about anything but t-”

Her cousin laughed. “Don’t you dare hang up on me, chica!”

“Was it really that obvious?”

“Not for someone who doesn’t know that you don’t normally smile the whole way through a performance. I’m on speaker yeah?”

“Yep.”

“Como estuvo?”

She grinned. “How was what? I would also like to remind you that it is rude for you to talk about someone in a language they can’t understand.”

“No me importa. Es un buen besador?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She winked at Harry who laughed.

“Yes, I would.”

“Too bad.”

“Bitch!”

“Don’t call me names! You’re the one being rude!”

“Fine. I’ll behave.” She huffed. “You still coming to Edgar’s wedding?”

“Course I am.” She placed the biscuits onto a baking tray and placed them into the oven. “Where are they registered again?”

“I’ll send ya the list.” Lola chuckled. “Did you hear about the dress controversy?”

She scoffed, washing her hands. “No, but I’m not surprised. My brothers don’t care about dresses.”

“Just you wait ‘til you see it. She flew out to New York.”

“She does have couture taste, that one.”

“Oh you don’t even know… The weddin’ is formal, by the way.”

“Yeah, I think I remember seeing that on the invite. Where are they havin’ it?”

“The ceremony is at San Fernando and the reception is at the Menger.”

Jamie whistled lowly. “Well then, I’d imagine you’d have to buy a dress in New York.” She shrugged at Harry. “San Fernando is San Antonio’s cathedral and the Menger is a historic hotel.”

He nodded.

“Just take whatever you’re expectin’ and blow it out of the fuckin’ water. It’s insane. Anyways, I’m gonna go, the nino is out of school.”

“Give Emilio like five kisses for me.”

“You got it, dude. Te amo.”

“Te amo.”

“It was nice to meet- talk? -to you, Harry.”

“‘Ave a good day, Lola.” He waited for her to end the call and chuckled. “Well, so much for keeping secrets. If I had known that yer pretty skin was gonna give us away, I wouldn’t have looked at yeh so often.”

She blushed, putting her hands over her face. “Shut up.”

He wrapped his hands gently around her wrists and pulled her to his chest. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and wrapped himself around her. “It’s fine, love, honestly.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder, muffling her voice. “Y’know, this means my entire family knows about us. Lola is a big mouth, God bless her.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“That she’s a big mouth or that my family is literally a bunch of gossipy, old biddies?”

He grinned against her hair. “That yer family knows yer in a relationship?”

“You don’t know my family.”

“But I will after the wedding, yeah? I can come?”

She pulled away to gape up at him. “You want to come?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I like weddings. Do yeh not want me to come?”

She smiled. “Of course I want you too. If you really want to. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.”

“I do. It’ll be fun.”

Her phone rang and she answered it without checking the caller ID. “Hello?” She sighed. “Yes, Jorge. I’m dating someone.” She let her head fall against his chest and he snickered. “Yes, it’s Harry.”

**

“You’ll stay with m’mum?”

She nodded. “Course.” She smiled at Anne and threaded her fingers with hers. “We’ll have a grand ole time.”

Anne patted their hands. “Really, Harry. I don’t know what you’re so worried about. We’ll be fine.”

“We’re just going to run off to the salon. Screw the premiere.”

“Oh!” Anne smiled. “That sounds lovely. A bit ‘a girl time. We’ll call Gemma.”

She nodded. “He don’t need us anyways.”

Harry grinned. “Not true.”

“Uh-huh.” She smiled. “Sure thing, pretty boy.”

He leaned over her, hand coming up to rest on her knee. “You look beautiful, monster.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, avoiding her lipstick.

She smiled, blushing, and caught Anne’s soft smile.

“We’re here, Mr. Styles.” The car pulled to a stop and Harry popped out of the car, waving at his fans as he came around to the other side of the car. He opened the door and held his hand out for his mum and then Jamie, in turn.

The minute her foot hit pavement, the crowd went strangely hushed.

Harry chuckled and like that the tension was broken and she pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “Jesus, Haz.”

Smiling, he led her to his mother and kissed the back of her hand. “Okay. I’ll be back.” He leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek.

“I like you.”

Jamie jumped. She had definitely been staring at Harry’s ass. “You do?”

Anne smiled and linked arms with her. “Of course. He’s comfortable around you. I feel like it’s nice for him to be with someone more like him.”

She tilted her head, slightly confused. “What do you mean?”

“This will sound strange.” Anne chuckled. “If Harry is the ‘bad boy’ then most of his girlfriends have been the ‘good girl’. You don’t seem to think of him like that. He’s not a… a foil to your goodness. You’re not trying to tame him.”

Jamie smiled and she happened to look over at where Harry was being interviewed. He caught her eye and winked.

“Why would anyone want to tame him. He’s lovely just the way he is.”

Anne wrapped an arm around her waist. “I know, lovely.”

**

“No, you can’t come.”

Harry groaned, falling back against the bed. “Why? I wanna.”

She smiled and shrugged on a jean jacket. “Cause it’s a girl’s brunch. Me, your mum and your sister, mimosas and waffles. No Harry.”

“But I like mimosas.”

“Then go get mimosas with Nick or something.”

He grinned and reached out for her. Almost hesitantly, she let him take her hand, not at all surprised when he yanked her onto the bed.

She caught herself on his chest, sitting astride hips that were definitely naked underneath the sheet. “You need to stop.”

He grinned and sat up to mouth at her neck. “Not wha’ yeh said last night.”

She laughed, fingers gliding through his hair. “You are bad.”

“Only for yeh, love.” He grinned against her skin. “I’ll miss yeh.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” She leaned forward and kissed him, hands on his jaw. “Now I’ve got to go. Your mom and sister will be here any minute.”

She started to get up and he grabbed her hips. “One more. To tide me ova.”

She shook her head at him, but kissed him again. “So needy.”

“But yeh don’t hate it, d’yeh, monster?” He lifted one hand and cupped the back of her neck, deepening the kiss.

“No, I don’t think so.” She moaned into his mouth, smiling as he captured her bottom lip. “I love kissing you.”

He grinned and slipped his tongue into her mouth again-

The doorbell rang.

She sat back and swiped at her bottom lip, absentmindedly. “That’ll be your mom and Gemma.”

He groaned, falling back onto the bed and pouting at her. “Go on then.”

She smiled down at him, pecked him on the lips and got up, running shaking hands through her hair to tame the mess he had made.

She blew him a kiss before crossing the room.

As she left, he shoved to his feet and threw on a pair of joggers, following her into the main living area of the flat.

She leaned over to tie her boots and adjust the legs of her jeans. She stood as he opened the door and tried to squeeze around him to get outside.

Harry grinned at her and poked his head out the door, using his body to block her. “What d’yeh wan’?”

“Your girlfriend.” Gemma crossed her arms over her chest, fighting a smile off her face.

“No, sorry, dun wan’ any. Cheers.”

She managed to get a hand on the door as he tried to close it. “Harry! Behave!”

He grinned. “Neva!”

Rolling her eyes, Jamie smiled at Gemma and Anne. “Good morning.”

Anne pulled her into a hug. “You ready to go, lovely?”

She nodded and turned to press a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Be back later.”

He nodded as she followed Gemma down the stairs to the street level. “Love yeh.”

She froze and Harry felt his heart freeze as well, but when she turned with one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen on her face, he breathed deep.

“Love you too.” She ran up the stairs to kiss him again, giggling as she followed his mother and sister to the car.

Later in the car, Gemma turned to her with a broad smile. “You’re adorable.”

Jamie blushed. “Thanks.”

“Funnily enough, Harry is adorable with you.”

“Is he really, though?”

Gemma smiled, throwing her head back and laughing. “Have you seen the interview?”

“Which one?”

Gemma tapped a bit on her phone and then passed it over.

“Who’s the blonde girl, Harry?”

Harry grinned a bit cryptically. “Gemma’s been blonde before, I think.”

The interviewer huffed out an unamused laugh. “I don’t think that was Gemma.”

“Oh! You mean my girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Who is she?”

“My girlfriend.”

The interview smiled tightly. “I gathered but who is she?”

Harry grinned. “My girlfriend.”

**

She sat carefully, smoothing the ballet pink silk of her dress, and smiled when Harry settled against her, arm along the back of the pew behind her.

Lola turned around and smiled, her husband Eduardo shaking his head and focusing on the ceremony. “Told ya. That dress is fuckin’ ridiculous.”

She laughed and leaned forward, whispering. “You’re in a church, woman. Pipe down.” Harry laughed from beside her.

“It’s a two-hour Mass. What exactly do you think we’ll miss?”

“Tia Chavela is glaring at us.”

She shrugged. “She already hates us, so what does it matter? It’s Pnina. It cost over ten thousand dollars.”

Jamie sighed, resigned. “It’s beautiful though. Money well-spent if you’ve got it to spend.”

Lola smiled. “It’s a bit…” She made a motion that vaguely reminded Jamie of the Michelin Man.

Jamie shrugged, fighting the smile off of her face. “I don’t think I could pull it off, I think a dress like that would swallow me, but it’s very pretty on her.”

Lola pulled a face. “Will you just once let me be catty?”

Jamie settled back against Harry, shaking her head. “Nope, you’re gonna be nice if it kills you.”

“It just might.”

“Why did you come if you don’t like her?”

Lola beamed, unashamed. “Open bar… And Edgar of course. She’s just bougie and she’s got attitude.”

Jamie shrugged. “She’s from Alamo Heights.”

“True.”

Harry snickered again and pressed his lips to her temple. “You look beautiful, monster.”

She grinned and laid her hand on his thigh. “Thank you, baby. I like that we match today.”

He smoothed a hand over the ballet pink silk of his shirt. “‘Course, love. We’re a proper couple.”

“Tia…”

Jamie turned over her shoulder and smiled down at her three-year-old niece. “Yes, Espy?”

“Papi said I could sit with you and Hawwy.” She shuffled her Mary Janes and batted her eyes at Harry.

She turned to face her brother and his partner, Angus. “Es verdad?”

Angus nodded and Freddy snickered into his fist. “She won’t sit still unless she’s with her new favorite ‘Hawwy.’”

Harry grinned, and reached down to tickle her. “‘Lo, love.” Espy giggled.

Smiling, she showed Espy the way to go. “C’mon then, bonita.”

Later that night, after dinner, a couple glasses of wine between them and the first couple of dances, her dad pulled her out onto the dance floor and smiled down at her. “I like him. He’s a sweet boy.”

She smiled and laid her head against his chest. “I’m glad.”

“He treat you this well all the time?”

She nodded and chuckled when she saw Harry pull her mom onto the dancefloor. “All the time.”

“Good.” Her dad kissed her hair. “Wouldn’t want anything less for my princess.”

Part IV Up Next: Part VI