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#also i know he did live claudia and will maybe thought he loved abigail but its their denial of malitent thats interesting
devouringyourson · 1 year
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i like to poke and prod at will graham and louis de pointe du lac's sense of self in a similar fashion because at certains points in both nbc hannibal and iwtv they're defining themselves in contrast to lestat/hannibal the villains of their personal narratives while simultaneously ignoring the similarities that attract them to these estranged lover figures. louis is in his will series 2b era at this point in his retelling where he's trying to convince himself he's contrastingly different to lestat and distancing himself from any culpability or amoral actions like ah yes but I feel bad when I ate all those people and really loved claudia :((((( yeah will wanted to take abigail fishing or whatever like join the club mate
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beatricethecat2 · 5 years
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if/then (2.0) - 19
So this was meant to end in a full arc, thereby getting Myka and Helena’s separation out of the way, but there was too much information to stuff into one chapter (I should know better by now). I’ll finish it up in the next one which will not go up as quickly as this one (give me a few weeks, folks). But the momentum is there and I’m hopeful I can keep going! Typos are all mine and links to previous chapters are in the replies. Also lemme know if there's too many things in italic. PS: Thanks to all of you who are still reading this and have left likes, I really appreciate the support after dropping the ball for so long!
////////////////////
“What about this one?” Abigail holds up a garment covered in clear plastic.
“That’s…” Myka’s stomach knots, she hasn’t pulled it out in ages. “You know what that is?”
"Should I?” Abigail looks it over again. “Oh! Maybe toss it entirely—”
“No!” Myka lunges forward but stops short of grabbing the dress, her hand balling into a fist then falling to her side. “Just pack it away, ok?”
“You sure?”
“It’s all I have left.”
“Of her?”
“Of my apartment. Of my old life. If it reminds me of her, that’s…that’s too bad.” Myka fishes a navy blue sock from the pile to avoid engaging with her grief. Better to gloss over it than risk another lecture from Abigail.
“Bad mojo anyway,” Abigail says, shoehorning the dress into a garment box.
“It’s me who’s cursed,” Myka clarifies, comparing the sock to several others laying over her thigh. “If getting rid of it would solve that, believe me, I would.” Finding no match, she lays it next to a brown one. “How many stray socks can a girl have?”
“You were never in one place long enough to keep track.” Abigail holds up another dress but lays it on the “to go” pile before Myka even responds. “Speaking of places, have you heard from Claudia lately?”
“No. She’s at some conference in San Francisco. We still haven’t managed to meet up.” But at least she’s back in the country, so she’s hopeful they will soon. Claudia did call her the first minute she could, but Myka was already on her residency.
“You’ll be gone again before she gets back?”
“Yeah.”
“Any word about...”
“No. And it’s driving Claudia nuts.” The ‘official’ word on Helena and Christina’s disappearance is that Helena finagled, in an intricate move the police had never seen before, out of her ankle tag and off into the night. Claudia was out buying groceries when it happened, but that alibi didn’t sit well with the cops. She was detained and questioned for weeks, even after a cashier and security footage corroborated her story.
“The nerve of her, cheating on you then taking off her kid. After all you’ve done for her.”
“I should have seen it coming. She talked about taking off all the time.” Myka looks at her lap and counts the socks on her thigh, needing something to help her stay calm. Claudia’s description of the police interrogation was more harrowing than the one she went through. “I’m still worried about them, though.” She’s sick of pretending to be hurt and angry all the time. Maybe she’s at that step in grief where she gets to back off a little.
“You’re too nice,” Abigail answers, pushing the sock pile to the side and sitting next to Myka on the bed.
“If she hears of anything, she’ll call me, but…I-I think they’re really gone.” Though she’s certain Claudia knows where they are, but can’t say and it’s killing her. It’s like living in an arctic winter, one where the sun never fully rises, waiting for the enormity of earth to tilt on its axis so daylight will finally break.
“Do you think they’re with—”
“Don’t.”
“You need to talk about it.”
“I have. I’m moving on. New job, new city, new life.”
“You have a life. Running away from it isn’t the answer.”
“What life? All I have here are shadows.”
“But LA? All muscles and makeup.”
“Why not? My job there won’t remind me of everything I’ve lost.” Myka slips her thumb under the socks on her thigh and slides them towards her knee. “This is stupid. I’ll do it later.” She tosses the bundle on the pile.
“Let’s keep going. I’ll empty your dresser.”
“Just dump it on the bed.”
“Uh-uh. You yelled at me when I dumped the socks.”
“To quote you, ‘I can’t control everything.’“
“I said stop trying to control everything. There’s a difference.” Abigail stands and walks over to the dresser. She slides a drawer out but balances it halfway as postcard flutters the floor. She bends down and picks it up, smiling as she reads the contents.
“I recognize a name here.”
“It’s for a show she’s in.”
“A show in LA. Are you meeting up with her there?”
“No. She’s back in São Paolo already.”
“But you’ve talked to her.”
“Emailed. Why?”
“You like her.”
“I like her work.”
“Her 'work,’ huh?” Abigail tosses the card at Myka.
Myka catches it like it’s a dainty football. She glances at the names then sets it on the bed. “The residency was really intense. It was nice to have a connection, professionally. We talked about our careers, where we wanted them to go. Besides, can’t I have other friends?”
“No.” Abigail teases, raising a brow.
“She’s nice and all but I’m not into her like that.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“Too soon.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Whatever.” Myka grimaces.
“You’ll change your mind once you’re in LA.”
“Now you want me to move?”
“If it improves your love life, I’m all for it.”
“Then you better dump that drawer or I’ll never finish packing.”
Abigail dumps a drawer of t-shirts next to the socks. “Don’t let your new job get in the way of romance.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Myka says adding a small salute. But that’s exactly what she plans to do, and Abigail knows it.
---------------
The instant her boxes arrive in LA, she’s sent back to the East coast to attend several high stakes auctions. She makes a quick stop in New York, though it’s a tight fit between Boston and DC, as she and Claudia’s stars have finally aligned. The few times they’ve talked, Claudia deviated little beyond the standard script. But she constantly reminds herself, were the truth were ever overheard, the whole operation would be in jeopardy.
Coffee shop next to work. You know the one. 8pm, Claudia had texted. It’s now 8:15 and Myka’s waiting, sipping overpriced water, sitting on a stool by a window. She watches people dip in and out of the subway entrance, focused only on their next engagement, envying their seemingly simple lives and ease movement. She’s ignoring the kid with a skateboard, the one texting from a bench outside. He’s probably her tail, or Claudia’s, as she’s learned to sense them these days. Better to be over-cautious than not cautious at all.
The coffee shop staff starts their cleaning duties. She checks the time, 8:23. Where is she?
Claudia bursts in just then. “Sorry, meeting. Stupid dude wouldn’t shut his pie hole. Gimme a hug! I can’t believe you’re here!” She opens her arms and Myka stands abruptly, knocking over her stool as Claudia sweeps her into a bear hug. It takes a moment for her to hug back properly, thankful there’s no pretense where Claudia’s involved.
“They’re gonna close soon. You want something?” Claudia eases up her embrace.
“I’m ok,” Myka says, holding up her water, but not taking her eyes off Claudia. Four months, she thinks. Nearly four months since she’s seen her. Seen them. And three since she talked to Helena.
“What?” Claudia says.
Myka can feel the wide grin tugging at her lips, relieved the see Claudia is safe and sound. She tries to tone it down for appearances but gives up after minimal effort. “It’s really nice to see you. And your hair...it’s, shorter. Redder.” She slips her fingers through Claudia’s brilliant blue streak.
“Needed a change, you know?” Claudia says with a shrug, then nods to the counter. “I’m gonna...”
“Yeah.” Myka watches her go, hyper-aware their every move is being watched and reported back to someone, somewhere. Morgana stressed this, before she left for LA, during a brief but unsettling chat on a packed subway platform. She turns back to the street, the skateboarder’s still there, now joined by friends conveniently skating closer to the window.
“Follow me,” Claudia says, returning with a cup in hand.
Myka grabs her bag and turns left out the door then left again after a few paces. They enter a set of double doors into a lobby, occupied by a giant red sculpture of a balloon rabbit. Corporate culture’s design choices have always confounded her, then again her new job taps into that aesthetic, so she should take note.
“Visitor,” Claudia says as they approach the front desk.
“ID?” the desk guy asks.
Myka fumbles through her bag then hands over her license. The man takes her photo then hands her a pass. She follows Claudia through a set of turnstiles, looking over her shoulder as she goes. The skateboarders have mysteriously disappeared.
“Sooo, how’ve you been?” Claudia asks, tapping her card on the elevator keypad.
“Busy moving. New job and all,” Myka replies.
“Must feel like Siberia here compared to LA.”
“It’s pretty cold. I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Can you believe it snowed last week? And they say climate change isn’t a thing.”
“It snowed in June in Colorado Springs once.”
“Yeah, but spring’s sprung here, man. I shouldn’t be digging out my parka.” The elevator doors open and they step out into a sparse lobby area. “This way,” Claudia says. Myka follows her down a white and clinical corridor, filled with doors like a dystopian office suite. Claudia waves her keycard over a panel and when the light blinks green, she pushes the door open, motioning for Myka to enter.
“All clear,” she says as the door clicks shut.
“Where are they?” Myka asks, dropping her bag on the floor and leaning, palms down, over the conference table.
“I don’t know,” Claudia answers, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You said all clear. I need to know.”
“I thought you knew!” Claudia counters.
“What? No.”
“Seriously? What the fuck H.G.?” Claudia looks towards the ceiling and throws her hands in the air.
“Claudia, I—“
Claudia holds up a hand. “First thing’s first. She didn’t sleep with her. She wouldn’t shut up about you needing to know.”
“I know,” Myka says, but her knees buckle slightly, a true confirmation hitting her harder than she thought.
“Second thing. This fucked up spy thriller shit is all to save your ass. I’m pissed at you for not reading me in when I thought we were working together.”
“We were but—”
Claudia holds up her hand again. “Then I get sucked into HG’s crazy-town vortex and spit out when she and the kid vanish.”
“You didn’t know?” How could that be? Claudia was listening in when Helena called, wasn’t she?
“I did, but not presto, chango, poof! Did you?”
“No! She said was they were being sent somewhere safe, that’s all.”
“Any ideas where they’d go?”
“Somewhere in the UK? It’d have to be, right?”
“They’ll have new identities.”
“Helena must have left some clues.”
“If she knew where they were taking her.” Claudia's eyes light up and she digs out her laptop. She sits at the table taps on keys.
Myka sits next to her. “You think she planned this beforehand?”
“With Christina involved? Hell, yeah.”
“What are you looking up?”
“I put feelers out but maybe we can narrow the search.”
“How?”
“Was there anywhere she blabbed about going? Somewhere she felt safe?”
“Her grandparent’s house.”
“Where were they from again?”
“One of those places with double consonants.”
“Myka, that’s most of Wales.”
“Bring up a map. I can find it. It wasn’t that far from Cardiff.” Claudia does as instructed, Myka angles the laptop, eyes following major roads north. “There.”
“You sure? Because look.” Claudia points to other similarly lettered towns: Cilfyndd, Senghenydd, Trecenydd.
“No, it’s Pontypridd,” Myka says, conjuring hazy recollections of Helena’s stories. “She said something about a bridge and ‘pont’ means ‘bridge’ in French.”
“Welsh ain’t French.” Claudia types in the town and clicks search. “Huh. 'Bridge by the earthen house.’ Bingo. But too obvious a hiding place, no?
“Christina said Helena was teaching her Welsh.”
“No, ‘Merry Christmas’ in Celtic languages.”
“So Scottish and Gaelic.”
“And Cornish. Oh and Guernésiais.”
“What’s that?”
“This weird French they speak on Guernsey."
“Soooo, then we’re back to anywhere in the UK.” Myka slumps down in her chair.
“There’s got to be somewhere else. Think!”
“Anywhere her parents went to a festival? Or along a river or canal. “
“That narrows it down.”
“Somewhere only we would know, somewhere no one else is looking.” Myka chews on a nail as she thinks.
“Where would MacPherson, Mrs. Fredric, Interpol, and The Feds not be looking.”
“The Feds?”
“They tried to hack me once. Must of got wind of what happened across the pond. Such amateurs. I totally screwed with them until they backed off.”
“Huh. Could they be hacking me to?
“Probably.”
“And isn’t Interpol on our side?”
“They want me to chill, so I don’t accidentally give away clues. Czar Kurlansky smacked me on the knuckles.”
“You’ve met her?”
“Kinda jumps on you in the weirdest places. Freak.”
“Yeah, she does that.” So Claudia’s being blocked and she’s being hacked. This is getting even more impossible. “What if we keep looking anyway, but throw out false information. And on the down low keep chasing them for real.”
“If we had something to chase? Sure.”
“Between the two of us, we’ll find something. We have to.”
-----------------
While Myka’s proud of the multilayered tale she and Claudia have been building, a few months later, they’re still no closer to finding Helena. There was some excitement over a legit search of Myka’s name, one originating in the UK, but when Claudia stripped it down, she hit a dead-end server in Estonia. Claudia even went to London to track down clues, talking with work mates and the police. But the longer they spin their wheels, the more their resolve wanes.
Myka throws herself into work to keep her mind off time passing, traveling most weeks across the country and beyond. She keeps to herself whenever possible, concentrating, with difficulty, on her paintings, attending art events only to make contacts for future shows.
She met with Amanda a few times when she was floating through town, her self-absorbed banter providing a slight reprieve from obsessing over Helena. Abigail, on the other hand, is entirely another matter. With her, she has no choice but to soldier through the lies. Details matter, so her front has to be ironclad. It’s exhausting but a good exercise if she’s ever questioned again.
Abigail begs Myka to take time off for her thirtieth birthday, so they can “celebrate being middle-aged together.” Myka tries to brush her off, saying she won’t even be in town, but Abigail forces her hand, threatening to show up on her doorstep anyway.
But when Abigail arrives, Myka is actually excited to see her. A friendly face is few and far between, and no matter the lies. Plus it’s comforting to be in the presence of a friend who knows her so well.
“That red-eye’s a bear,” Abigail says, scanning the room and shoving her bag between a pile of boxes. “Where’s your stuff?”
“I haven’t unpacked.”
“It’s been months! This place looks worse than Helena’s.”
“It’s habitable.”
“My Myka would have decorated place to the hilt by now, but this one…” Abigail waves a hand at her. “I don’t know who she is.”
Myka looks around the room to avoid Abigail’s accusatory glare. She’s right, the place barely has furniture or decorations, a far cry from anywhere else she’s lived.
“Now, come here and give me a hug. I haven’t seen you in ages!”
Myka strides forward into sinks Abigail’s extended arms. The familiar embrace warms her to the core.
“I’ve got a great night planned! But maybe a nap first. You do have a bed, don’t you?”
“Very funny. In there.” Myka points toward a door behind the kitchen.
After a late lunch and some quick shopping, they head out to a not-to-be-missed restaurant. They indulge in an opulent meal with copious wine, all the while catching up. Abigail relays the finer points of her research, while Myka rattles off work-trip anecdotes, and for a moment, it feels like old times.
As the meal winds down, Abigail calls a car but won’t tell Myka were they’re going. Twenty minutes later they’re entering a building with art deco sconces and terra-cotta griffins on the tableau. They take the elevator all the way to the top and step out into an open-air bar.
“Not bad, huh? Great view,” Abigail says, settling onto a stool overlooking downtown LA.
“Yeah. But it’s not New York, is it?” Myka replies.
“Oh, now you miss it?”
“To be fair, I haven’t gone out here much, so there’s no real comparison.” Myka takes a sip of her wine and looks around the room; she’s been avoiding places like this, ones filled with couples laughing, touching, kissing, reminding her of what she once had and maybe will never have again.
“Notice something else?” Abigail swirls the olive in her martini and but points her eyes towards the bar.
“No. What?”
“About the clientele.”
Myka looks again. It takes a moment, but she gets it. “It’s mostly women.”
“Exactly!”
“I’m not looking to meet someone.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Dressed like that, your chances are good.” Myka tips her glass at Abigail’s acquired-for-this-trip little black dress.
“Thank you.” Abigail grins as she looks down at her attire.
“So we’re here because you’re looking?” Myka asks.
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Or…” Myka narrows her eyes and sets her jaw. “You’re going to trick me into telling you who I like so you can try to hook us up. Like up used to do in grad school.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Abigail spears the olive in her glass with a toothpick and pops it into her mouth.
“I didn’t know you were into women.”
“I’m taking a page out of your book. Why limit myself?”
“True.”
“But if you don’t want to play the game, that means….” Abigail narrows her eyes.
Myka holds Abigail’s gaze and takes a sip of her wine, watching the wheels turning in Abigail’s head.
“That Luiza chick, the one from your residency you talk about all the time. What’s going on with her?”
“I don’t…we’re just friends.” It’s true, she has mentioned her a lot, but only to steer clear from talking about Helena.
“But you want to be more than friends, don’t you?” Abigail raises a brow accusingly.
“Why would you think that? You’ve never even met her.”
“There’s this thing called the internet. I looked her up. You have a type, you know: pale, dark, brooding.”
Myka shakes her head. “She’s not brooding. And her hair’s brown.”
“But it’s dark. And long.”
“She has bangs.”
“So?”
“Her eyes are blue.”
Abigail snorts a short laugh. “See, you’re into her!”
“Why?”
“What color are my eyes?”
“They’re, um…” Myka leans forward and Abigail opens her eyes wide. “Brown.”
“You just made my point.”
“It’s the first thing you notice about her! They’re really light.”
“That may be, but the way you’ve talked about her? You’re totally into her.”
“As a friend.’
“Oh, come on!”
“She’s out of my league.”
“A-ha!” Abigail hops a little off of her seat. “You’ve got to go for it. It’s way past time you move on.”
“She has a girlfriend, ok? Can we drop it?” Myka’s lips pinch together, disgusted with the topic and her impromptu fib, but she’ll say what she needs to to get Abigail off her back.
Abigail’s expression says she’s not buying it, that Myka’s knee-jerk reaction was over the top. She stares at Myka, weighing a response. Myka holds steadfastly onto her tongue.
“You could have told me that earlier.”
“I didn’t think I had to,” Myka gripes. These conversations, increasingly the norm, are driving her batty. All the half-truths and outright lies make her queasy to her stomach, like being on a boat that’s perpetually bobbing. If only she could tell Abigail the truth, that Helena’s out there, somewhere, waiting...
Abigail sighs. “How about that icy-hot blonde? The one checking you out when we ordered drinks.”
“No one was checking me out.” Here we go again. This is exactly why she didn’t want to go out.
“Oh, yes they were,” Abigail stresses. She points with her eyes across the room. “The Amanda-esque one, with cheekbones for days. Your other type."
Myka looks towards the bar where Abigail's pointing. The woman in question smiles as she catches her eye. Myka grits her teeth but swigs her wine to hide her disdain. Keep it together, Bering. Don’t let Abigail know you know her. “She wasn’t checking me out.”
“Oh, yes she was.” Abigail waggles her eyebrows and elbows Myka in the ribs.
“I’m not here to hook up.”
“Who cares! You need the practice. Go talk to her, get us more drinks. Oooh, ask her if she’s an actor.”
“Everyone here's an actor.”
“You’re not.”
Myka rolls her eyes. Actually, I kinda am. “If you like her so much, go talk to her yourself.”
“I will!” Abigail rises but Myka grabs her arm.
“Whoa, whoa, hang on. I’ll go.”
“I knew you'd be into her."
Into punching her in the face. Myka closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath, releasing it slowly through her nostrils. This pageantry grinds on her nerves but she has little choice. She reaches for her bag but Abigail blocks her.
“I started a tab, remember?”
“Right.” Myka swallows the lump in her throat as she stands and smooths her dress. She could have good news, give her a chance. She’s just keeping you safe like Helena asked her to.
“Need some flirting tips?” Abigail offers.
Myka turns back. Abigail’s grinning ear to ear.
“Like you have any.”
“Go get her, tiger.” Abigail winks and Myka rolls her eyes again.
She makes her way toward the bar by weaving through a few tables. As she approaches, Morgana scoots to the side, making room for her to stand.
“Can I see the wine list?” Myka asks the bartender, who magically appears to help.
She hands her the list. “Looking for something in particular?”
“Something light and not too sweet.”
“Try the Muscadet. It’s crisp,” Morgana suggests. “Or the Vinho Verde if like a bit of fizz.”
“Do you own this bar, too?” Myka snips.
“Would that surprise you?’
“I guess not.” While it’s absurd to be taking wine recommendations from this woman, she doesn’t have the energy to debate. “A Muscadet and another martini, please,” she says to the bartender.
“Coming right up.” The bartender nods and leaves to fulfill her order.
“Who’s your friend? She’s awfully pretty,” Morgana says eyeing Abigail across the room.
“Stop it. You already know who she is,” Myka grumbles. “Please tell me you’re the bearer of good news for a change?”
“I come with a warning. You and Claudia need to rein it in.”
“Rein what in?”
“Your chatter. You shouldn’t be looking for her so publicly.”
“Are we getting close?” They can’t be, they’ve literally been making things up as they go along.
“Claudia can push, but you can’t. There are rumors you’re not as innocent as you’re supposed to be.”
“So?”
“That puts the operation at risk. Puts Helena at risk. And Christina. You really don’t want that. “
“Did something happen?” Her eyes dart around the room, the queasy sensation returning from earlier. Did she do something to put them in jeopardy? Were they being watched all evening?
“They’re ok, but they won’t be if you don’t rein it in.” Morgana raises a brow so sharply it feels like a slap. “Settle down. Remember where we are.”
“A bar?”
“A public place. A social situation. Read my cues and act accordingly.”
“Flirt with you?”
“Act like we’re having a pleasant conversation or I’ll have to drag you into another room. And how exactly will you explain that to your friend?”
“Fine.” Myka smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
The bartender sets down her drinks.
“My friend Abigail started a tab,” Myka says and looks over at Abigail. Abigail gives a thumbs up and smiles enthusiastically. Myka smiles back, trying harder to play the part she’s been told she has to. She’d forgotten during dinner just how fucked up her life was.
“Got it,” the bartender says and moves on to the next customer.
Morgana lays a hand on Myka’s shoulder. “I know this is hard, but you need to step back. You’re taking too many liberties out in the open.” She squeezes her shoulder and lets go.
“Can’t I be over being mad at her? Can’t I care about her?”
“Publicly, no. Privately, yes. Remember, she cheated on you, disappeared without a trace, kidnapped Christina, ruined your life. You moved three-thousand miles away to forget about her and move on. If that happened for real, would you be looking for her?”
“Maybe?”
There’s a resolve in Morgana’s eyes that snaps Myka into line. This is serious. She’s right. I’m being selfish. We’re being selfish, Claudia and I. She wets her lips and nods in tiny, hesitant strokes. “Tell me what I need to do.”
“Take an interest in someone. Anyone. Maybe your friend, over there.” Morgana nods towards Abigail.
“Abigail? No way. She’s my best friend.”
“What better cover?”
“I need a best friend if I can’t talk to Claudia as much. And I wouldn’t, couldn’t, date anyone else. Lying about you is one thing, but dating…that’s too much.”
“Just take an interest in someone. Take it as far as your comfortable.”
“I hate this,” Myka grumbles.
“It gets easier with time.”
“That’s just a thing people say.”
“Just try.” Morgana twirls her tumbler between a thumb and forefinger, then tosses the remainder of her drink down her throat. She lifts her glass, motioning to the bartender for another. “You need to initiate this interest. Anyone pursuing you might be a plant. One slip up and….” She lays a hand on Myka’s arm again, but this time leans towards her, speaking in a near whisper in her ear. “They’ll use you to force the agency’s hand. And then no one’s safe.”
Myka shivers as Morgana’s hand skims down her arm and takes hold of her hand.
“Be strong for them. You can do this,” Morgana says, squeezing Myka’s hand then letting go. “I’ll give you the number of someone I can read in.”
The bartender delivers Morgana’s drink. Morgana leans over the bar and plucks a pen for the bartender’s apron. She writes a number on a napkin and hands it to Myka.
“Um, thanks, but…” Myka takes the napkin but can’t make a decision like that right now. Lying about dating someone she’s not actually dating might just break her spirit entirely. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Keep it, just in case,” Morgana says and waves the bartender away. “And be more mindful in general. Meticulously so. What will you tell your friend about our meeting just now?”
“That you gave me your number.”
“Good.”
Myka grabs her drinks but lingers. Morgana’s not very forthcoming, but she’s the only link she has to Helena. There must be something else she can pull from her, something to ease her mind, but what exactly that might be eludes her.
“I know this is foreign to you, but this op is a long game. I’m doing everything I can to make sure you both get out intact.”
“Thank you,” Myka says. Her smile is genuine this time.
“Need some flirting tips?”
“No. Why is everyone asking me that today?”
“Don’t overthink it,” Morgana answers. She leans forward and kisses Myka chastely on the cheek. “There. You’ve done your duty for tonight.”
Cool liquid trailing down Myka's skin alerts her that her hands are shaking. She sips Abigail’s drink to not spill more, thinking should have ordered something stronger than wine for herself.
“Happy Birthday, Myka. Now, go join your friend and enjoy the rest of your evening.”
-TBC-
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aaravos-afterdark · 5 years
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Distant from the Talent - Aaravos/Viren
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Rating: Explicit (Smut) Fandom: The Dragon Prince; Aaravos x Viren (Viravos) ft. Harrow Word Count: 6,400
A/N: Two different versions of the same idea - Viren is a manager and Aaravos is the talent. They're not supposed to be anything more than that. // all writing account: @lokiiwood  
Alternatively read on AO3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/18441164/chapters/43685558#workskin
Version 1 - “Call Me Sir”
Inspired by the 80's AU fanart of Abigail Salier! Twitter Link 1 Twitter Link 2 
Viren was early - again, much to his annoyance. He didn’t care what people thought about him, at least that’s what he told himself when he heard the rumors about him ‘not having a life’ and ‘not taking care of his kids’ as the reason he was always first to arrive and last to leave.
Hard work is never appreciated around here. He sighed and debated gathering his belongings and leaving before anyone saw him. No, he wouldn’t do that. This wasn’t college.
“Viren?”
Oh, too late. Viren quickly scattered his folders, pretending he was just rearranging and not packing it up.
“Oh! Harrow!” he said, forcing a smile. Harrow was the only person he wanted to see, but even that wasn’t enough to relax him.
Maybe because Viren still thought of their fling every time Harrow’s gentle eyes fell on him in an empty room. Viren avoided eye contact, but all he saw was Harrow’s beautiful locks falling down his trimmed chest, their rainbow beads accenting his shirtless hot pink suit. Viren couldn't understand how he still dressed as peculiarly as the youth at his age. Was it because no one would ever say anything negative to the ‘King' of Katolis Records? Viren didn't have that luxury and he certainly didn't have the guts.
“Early again I see. I’m so glad we work together,” Harrow laughed, deep and mellow, patting him roughly on the shoulder. As the new co-manager of Katolis Records but an old friend, Harrow could be as friendly as he wanted when they were alone. Viren appreciated that. But not these meetings.
“Now Harrow-”
“I know, I know. I apologize,” Harrow sighed, shaking his head as he went to set his folders at the head seat. “But this is an important one, I promise.” Harrow dropped them and grinned as he turned to face Viren again, a smirk on his face. “Hey, I even moved the morning meetings back an hour so you could drop Soren and Claudia off at school. Am I not the best boss?”
Viren sighed. He couldn’t complain. “Yes, Harrow, you’re the best boss.”
His companion laughed at that and eased down in the head chair, his large - and warm, as Viren couldn’t forget - hands smoothing over the armrests. Even when he wasn’t, Harrow always seemed like the biggest person in the room.
“As I understand it,” Viren began, “We’re headed in a ‘new direction’ despite the council's wishes." He sat down in his own seat at the opposite end of the grand, wooden table, the distance seeming to get longer each time.
“The council will change their minds after today. There are some risks involved, but with your reports from before, I think we’ll be just fine.”
“My reports?” Viren didn’t bother hiding his disbelief. It seemed everyone at K.R. was out to get him. They all used his data but they hardly acknowledged it. If Harrow blatantly used his reports to make a point for a monumental decision, Viren wasn’t sure it’d even go over well no matter how useful.
Harrow smiled and nodded, flexing his fingers as he eyed him down. Reflexively, Viren turned his gaze away.
“I want you managing again.”
“E-excuse me?” Viren scoffed, glancing behind him to make sure no one was else had entered the meeting room just yet.
“I’m quite serious. You used to be fantastic at it. Now you think you’re too high and mighty for it, but I think it’d do you some good. You’re getting too distanced from the talent and from the people.”
Viren scowled. “Oh, I see what this is about. You’re just like the rest of them.”
Harrow laughed, letting his grin speak for itself.
“My kids and I are just fine! C-Claudia even has shown an interest in producing, I’ll have you know.”
“And what of Soren?” Harrow hummed out, eyebrow raising.
“Soren is! Soren is - he's - not eating paste anymore." Viren fumbled his words but looked down his nose proudly.
“Yes, well,” Harrow said with rolled eyes, “When you have more to report to me than the activities of your nearly-adult children, such as dating or leaving your home, please do let me know so I can change my opinion.”
“...I’m not managing.”
“I certainly wouldn’t force you to.”
Harrow returned to checking over his documents with that quiet smile on his face and Viren, defeated, did the same. It wasn’t long until the room was filled in. Viren continued to pretend to be checking his binder, alone while everyone else spoke excitedly amongst themselves.
He’d be disappointed, but it was always like this.
“Alright, let’s settle down now.”
Harrow didn’t have to raise his voice to be commanded, and the council promptly sat down, eager to hear from the King.
“As you all know, Katolis Records has been on a steady decline ever since the XadiAlbums merger, doubling their territory and tripling their efficiency with producing colored records the people are eating up. We’ve been mostly keeping afloat from the goodwill of dedicated fans and our foreign investors, but the time has come to make bold decisions lest we fall entirely. The world is changing quickly, and we need these records top standard and demanded by disc jockeys everywhere.”
Murmurs and nods of agreement came from everyone except Viren, who felt a long shadow passing over him.
“Now, there have been many brilliant proposals from you all and while I do thank you, I am not firing half the staff. Whoever suggested that you're definitely the first to go."
The council laughed but quickly fell silent, shoes tapping and bodies leaning in.
“However, while we will implement many of the proposals over time, time is not our luxury. Thus, I am politely asking for volunteers to manage and take a chance on upcoming talent that I’ve gathered here.”
Viren could’ve sworn Harrow locked eyes with him, but there was no way to prove it. Gasps rang out from the council.
"Go back to managing? Will we take a pay cut?" Opeli inquired.
“No, no, there will be no pay cuts from council members who decide to manage.”
Harrow waited as they whispered amongst themselves for a few moments before he took out a slim, green neon-wrapped binder. What a monstrosity.
“Here, I have the ticket to the revival of Katolis Records. I have three fresh faces that XadiAlbums didn’t swoop up - yet. We have to make decisions and we have to make them today - within the next few hours. I won’t force any of you to manage, but I would appreciate volunteers.”
Amaya raised her hand and signed, to which Harrow shook his head. "No, sorry, I really can't extend the deadline. Alright. Here it goes.”
He pulled out a full-color picture - how much did that cost - of a woman with a thick, black afro and golden hoop earrings longer than her neck. Elarion. A rising star in the choir scene with opera training. The catch? She refused to do anything but acapella and was renouncing her religion for ‘dark magic.’ Oh boy. Viren kept quiet.
Slowly, a hand finally half-raised.
"Thank you very much, Gren." Viren rolled his eyes. Of course, Gren would volunteer first - that young man was fine with just about anything. How did someone with no self-preservation even get here?
“Alright next.”
Another woman, but very young looking, possibly a child. Ellis. Viren couldn’t place his finger on what was off about her. She wore shimmering stripes of tan and neon blue - which was odd enough - except it was also a winter coat. She was a rising star in the pop scene, completely home-grown and relatable to the people. Maybe a bit too relatable, because the catch was that she refused to perform without her pet wolf which was banned in every part of the country he could think of. Viren kept quiet.
“Amaya will do it,” Corvus announced proudly. Small claps rang out as their gazes shifted to a smiling Amaya. Yeah, she would do something deliberately dangerous.
“And last we have a peculiar case. But please, keep an open mind, as I believe it’s the most important one of them all.”
After the last duds, Viren knew for sure he was going to let Harrow down.
But as soon as Harrow produced the picture and before he could explain, Viren’s hand shot up. Everyone in the room turned to stare at him. Awkwardly, his hand began to lower, but he stared straight ahead at the photograph.
Viren didn’t even have his name yet, but he had his appearance. An elf. An elf at Katolis Records. An elf with black and yellow in his gaze and white specs on blue skin. It had to be a painting - was this a joke? Doubt plagued his mind. Oh no, did he just embarrass himself over a joke from Harrow? Words failed him.
“Why thank you, Viren. You will be managing the first elf talent ever employed at K.R. He’s a bass singer who has mastered over three hundred dances, only recently looking into being signed. We’d be extremely lucky to have him here.”
Harrow passed the photograph down the table. Hands hesitated to stare closely at the picture until it finally arrived in front of him.
“Please meet me after this - Gren, Amaya, Viren. Oh, apologies Manager Viren. Your talent’s name? It’s Aaravos.”
----
“Dad? Why are you...like that?”
Viren’s hand was quivering against his cup of coffee. God dammit. He checked the clock - definitely late.
“I-I thought it was hot chocolate,” he admitted, setting the mug down and staring into the thick, brown liquid. Heated swirls filled his nostrils and Viren wondered how he even made such a mistake.
Claudia gingerly joined him at the living room table and Viren looked up only to cringe.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
She grinned. "You don't like my shoulder pads?"
“I don’t like that you’ve torn up those jeans I bought you for your birthday. Did you hate them?”
“No, I love them!” she gasped, frowning before smiling again. “That’s why I made them trendy.”
Viren didn’t have time for this nonsense. But he was wide-awake despite his body’s wishes so he sat there, grumpy.
“Why are you up, Claudia?”
“Soren’s coughing woke me up again.”
Again?
“What...what’s wrong with Soren?” Guilt filled his heart. He thought it was rather quiet around here recently, but he enjoyed it instead of questioning it.
Claudia shrugged, looking towards the stairs that led up to their bedroom. "I think it's a cold. Usually, it only lasts a day for a tank like him, but it’s been three days now and doesn’t seem to be getting better.”
Viren swallowed. He didn’t know colds came and went for Soren. Right now, Claudia was being a better father than he was.
“I-I can’t sleep, so I’m going to the 24-hour pharmacy to get some medicine. So you can sleep in my room, alright?"
“What? Really?” Excitement made Claudia jump up, but then she paused. “Wait, well, how long are you going to be out?”
“Not too long. But don’t wait up for me. Get some rest.”
“Thank you, dad!"
Claudia hugged his sitting form tightly and Viren grimaced as her shoulder pad pressed hard into him.
“Ow…”
“Oops! Sorry! Yeah, goodnight.”
With a pep in her step, she hopped up the stairs. It was just a waterbed, why did his kids always get so excited?
Viren threw his jacket on and snatched the keys from where they hung on the wall before heading out. Oh, he was definitely getting old. The chill of the night air jabbed into his bones much harsher than what he remembered. He hurried to his car, cranking it on and shivering while he waited for the heat to disperse.
What an exhausting week. Ever since he raised his hand to manage that damn elf, his day-to-day had been chaotic. Was he cursed? Was it self-inflicted? Maybe he deserved it, although he couldn’t pinpoint which regret was his downfall. Just thinking of work always circled back to the same thought. The cassette Harrow gave him of Aaravos’ clips haunted him. He felt like it was pornographic with the way he moved his hips, stared directly into the camera, and the number of clothes he didn’t wear. The only thing Viren didn’t have was his singing, which Aaravos would demonstrate tomorrow. They told him that voice could melt a license plate, but what did that even mean? The thoughts always went back to those hips, the barely visible sweat dripping down his toned abs and into his tight pants...
Ugh, it smelled like a gym in here. Viren checked the seat behind him to see Soren's clothes. Yeah, he figured.
With a sigh and a bittersweet smile, he began his long trek to the pharmacy. It wasn’t his favorite one, but it was conveniently open at times like this. The blistering neon lights of clubs and bars that shone through his windows made him shake his head. There were more than before. At this rate, the peace of his neighborhood would shatter under the hypnotic weight of dancing bodies.
Warily, Viren pulled into the parking lot and waited. Was it even safe anymore to just waltz around? He was getting old and he definitely didn’t like to fight. The car beside him was huge with tinted windows - its purple exterior off-set by ‘jewels’ of bedazzled white sprinkled around. How tacky. Its lights were on - more gold than white - and shimmered elegantly in the huge rims of the tires.
Well, whatever. Viren exited and locked the car, fast-walking with his back straight and head high when he entered through the doors. The pharmacy floors were littered gruesomely. What in the world? He couldn’t buy anything for his child from such an establishment!
He glared as he began to walk toward the register to complain, but stopped when saw there was no one behind the counter. Three children - er, young adults - were spraying themselves with glitter and crazy straw and Viren had a suspicion they were the reason the store was in such disarray.
He shouldn’t get involved. No, he shouldn’t, but -
“What exactly are you all doing? Can’t you see you’re making a mess?”
Their laughter quieted to giggles as they sized him up. Viren gritted his teeth and went about his business. He didn’t want to buy from such a place on principle, but Soren came first in the end. Where in the world were the employees? Hearing the door chime, he peeked his head around the corner to see the three people had left. Good. Viren tiptoed over the garbage on the floor as he approached the ‘cold’ aisle, fumbling with the thrown around packages as he desperately searched for anything resembling liquid or chewables.
But it was still quiet. Viren paused his search to check the counter. No one.
He finally found what he needed. Something called ‘Groovy Kids Grape’ had a smiley face on it - perfect for his boy. Soren liked grapes, right? He’d stopped eating them after he accidentally swallowed one whole, but surely he was over that by now.
Viren hurried to the counter, but there was still...no one. He glanced around - no cameras either. He couldn’t wait here forever, he needed to at least attempt to sleep for tomorrow. It was the big day, his ‘talent’ was finally coming and a poor first impression would not be ideal. Viren cursed under his breath.
“Hello? I would like to check out, please.”
He waited for a moment. Nothing.
With a sigh, Viren bit his lip and took out his wallet. Damn, not a lot of cash. It wouldn’t cover the full box. Checking around him one last time, he threw down the quarter and rushed to the exit, straightening his back to leave with dignity. He wasn’t stealing, not really. The shop wouldn’t close over missing a few dimes, they had far bigger problems on their hands than that.
He froze as soon as he exited. Silly straw and glitter mussed the hood of his car. Rage quickly disintegrated into sad resignation. Sigh. Of course, they wouldn't simply leave. When had things gone right in his life to expect something simple like that?
“Car troubles?”
Viren jumped. A deep voice.
“W-who?”
His mouth fell open as he stared into the impossible. The other was there, but he wasn’t. An already dark figure hidden in the pharmacy wall’s shadows smiled down at him. He had to exist, Viren saw his outline - but he felt nothing, as one might a photograph of someone they know. Viren couldn’t even see his full eyes, only the glint of soft yellow that widened for just a moment. Did he know him?
He couldn’t go to jail over Groovy Kids Grape. Did people actually go to prison for petty theft? What would Harrow think? Claudia? Maybe the person didn’t know about the cold medicine, maybe he did just witness the vandalism.
Viren steeled his nerves. "Ahem, yes. It appears I've been vandalized. But it should come off easily."
The person said nothing, pupils eyeing him up and down like a piece of meat. Uncomfortable, Viren began to head for the driver’s seat.
“You are Viren, aren’t you?”
Damn.
He turned to him and squinted. “Yes, I am.”
The shapes of his pupils narrowed. Viren couldn’t see his mouth, but he knew he was smiling. A cold sweat broke out down his back.
They finally removed themselves from their hiding spot and Viren gasped.
“A-ara-you! Aaravos?”
Longer than the shadows suggested, the elf stood tall before him, dressed in subdued colors he never thought he’d catch him wearing. Where were his headbands? His animal prints? The Aaravos before him was nothing like he envisioned, dressed in a plain navy suit that resembled one of his own. The only thing decorative were the pink and yellow feather earrings he wore in one ear. But he still twinkled everywhere his skin was exposed - his neck, his hands, his collarbones, his face.
“I-it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Viren stuffed the box under his armpit and extended his hand to formally shake.
Aaravos didn’t take it, eyeing the medicine.
“They told me you’d keep me ‘in line.’ But what will they think if they know you’re a petty thief?”
And there went his reputation.
Viren didn’t know what to say, flabbergasted by the turn of events. But Aaravos laughed and finally took his hand, shaking it warmly and not letting go. “I’m joking. That employee ran out an hour ago. But…”
“B-but?”
“But I still might tell. I’m not very good at keeping secrets or lying.”
Viren exhaled, trying to maintain control. “I left money.”
“Mm, so you say…”
Aaravos tilted his gorgeous head. “I couldn’t possibly ask for a better first meeting. This is far more comfortable for me. Come, let’s sit in my car.”
He glanced towards the tacky purple truck of a car and Viren scoffed. Right…
“It’s late.”
“I know,” he smiled. “We won’t be long.”
“F-fine...if it won’t be long.”
Viren rescinded his hand and opened his own car, throwing in the medicine before locking it back and following Aaravos to the back doors of his vehicle. Aaravos opened it for him and Viren blinked twice to clear his vision. Colorful mood lights glittered around the ceiling and the plush, red velvet cushions reminded him of a love motel.
Biting back a snarky comment, Viren hopped into the car and Aaravos followed, closing the door behind them and then locking them all.
“So...I-I don’t have any of the documents on me, but I’ll go ahead and introduce myself properly.”
Aaravos laughed and shook his head. “No need for that.”
“Er, then…?” Why was he here?
“I saw your picture and read all about you,” Aaravos explained. “I’m very honored you volunteered to manage me.”
Viren hoped the lights would flush out the heat he knew was crawling on his face. “Oh - er - someone told you that. Yes, well, I-I just thought maybe I was getting a little too detached from the talent...and the people.”
“Oh. Is that the only reason?”
Viren tugged at his jacket sleeve, acutely aware that his knees were brushing Aaravos’. It sure was starting to feel cramped in here. In the close proximity, Viren could see the detail of Aaravos’ glowing freckles and his deep voice rattled him with even the softest of responses.
Talent had only scared him in his early industry years, nowadays it just felt like they were all unruly children who gathered other poorly behaved children around them. The sense of being ‘starstruck’ faded with age, but Aaravos was nothing like them. Viren felt rooted to the spot and unable to pull his eyes away - like how a teenager might in the presence of their idol.
But idols didn’t look like this and especially not naturally.
“Manager Viren?”
“Oh! Sorry, I’m a little tired and distracted tonight.” Not a complete lie.
“It is a sudden meeting. I apologize.”
“Yes, well, what are you doing out so late? If you don’t mind me asking. I’m sure you’re new to the area.” And in this part of town. Viren could already see the trouble Aaravos was going to be if he liked to be in sketchy places at all times of the night. Bodyguards for stars were becoming normal around here.
“Hmm...I just had a feeling.”
“A feeling?”
Aaravos pointed at his freckles as if that was a proper response. Was this an elf thing?
“Sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”
“Oh…” Aaravos sounded disappointed, but an amused smile stayed on his face.
“Well, I also heard you’re close to Mr. Harrow.”
“We’re longtime friends. Um - does anything you know about me have to do with my experience?”
Aaravos laughed. “In a way.”
So Aaravos was a serial not-question-answerer. Viren would have to jot that down.
“How close exactly?”
Viren nearly bit his tongue trying to keep a straight face. “We’ve been friends since high school. Very, very far back.”
Aaravos hummed and checked out the window before facing him again. “Just friends? I heard otherwise.”
“J-just...friends,” he lied.
“So it’s true that you’re single with two kids?”
“Harrow also has two kids and a very lovely wife.”
Aaravos stretched his shoulders in the small space as he eyed Viren.
“Well, how about you, Mr. Aaravos?”
These were not the questions he wanted to ever ask or answer, but he may as well take the pressure off himself.
“I’ve been single and lonely a very long time,” he nearly whispered.
Viren gulped as his eyes fell for just a moment to Aaravos’ pouting lips. Why in the world would he think his new talent was flirting with him? But the idea was there and it sent his heart pounding. He needed to get out of here and reassess his values.
“Is it alright if I call you Viren?”
The words were cruel. They tasted his ear, smokey and deafening. Viren would’ve said no in any other situation.
“Yes, that’s...fine.”
Aaravos leaned in and Viren pretended not to notice. “Well, you did say short...we’ll have lots of time to talk soon.”
“Viren, wait…”
The almost begging tone in his voice was manipulative. Viren’s hands balled into fists. Maybe Aaravos wasn’t so different from the other talents after all - they thought because they were gorgeous or could sing and dance that everyone would do what they wanted.
“I really must be going soon. It’s very late, Aaravos.”
“Okay,” Aaravos sighed. “But before you go, how about a goodnight kiss?”
“Funny. Goodn-”
“Oh, it wasn’t a joke.”
Viren’s teeth clamped against his lip and he hissed. “Ah! Damn, ouch…”
“Oh, it’s bleeding,” Aaravos frowned.
“It’s fine, when I get home-”
Aaravos’ hands flattened under his chin and drew Viren in for a chaste and sweet kiss.
“I-what-”
“I fixed it.”
Viren quickly touched his lip to find it was healed, if not better than it was before.
“How did you…?”
Aaravos grinned. “It’s a secret.”
Right. He was just healing him - somehow. It wasn’t a real kiss. Viren nodded slowly. Now it was really time to go.
“I can fix more than lips,” Aaravos suggested.
“What?”
"Yes...I can show you if you want. I have a special interest in humans."
He should go. He should say no. But Aaravos wanted him here - someone was giving him his full attention, potentially flirting with him, and looked like this.
But Viren was his manager and he wasn’t a young man anymore. Everything happening had the start of a hook-up. Hooking up with an elf, not unheard of but uncommon. No. Viren was entertaining thoughts he never had before. But his curiosity kept him in place.
“Special...interest?”
“Yes, would you like to see?”
Viren licked his lips involuntarily. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and unsure. “Yes.”
Aaravos smiled wider. His arms reached all the way around Viren, resting on his hips and pulling him closer with a strength that didn't fit his toned body.
“What are you going to do?” he said weakly.
But Viren knew. He knew from the hungry look in Aaravos eyes and the sensual way he gripped him, hands slipping under his jacket and shirt to charm skin, and how his leg moved to rest on top and trap his own.
Viren wanted this, and the admittance hurt his chest.
“Kiss you.”
Aaravos nibbled Viren’s pout before pressing a long kiss to his mouth. His arms trembled at his side, unsure what to do as Aaravos’ soft lips consumed him even though they were slow and thoughtful. They were lover’s lips, completely unexpected and flooding Viren’s mind with promise. It wasn’t a hook-up. He wasn’t doing this. Aaravos wasn’t his talent. He was getting medicine for his child and Aaravos was just showing him something - who was he to judge elves? Right?
“You taste so good,” Aaravos moaned low into his mouth, making Viren gasp. The sensation of his deep voice vibration was only beaten by the feel of his long tongue taking the opportunity to slip over his teeth and explore his mouth.
Did he taste...good? Could he still be an object of someone's desire? Was he being set up?
His arms finally reached to press into Aaravos’ chest.
“Wait…” Aaravos slowed and removed his mouth, smiling so sweetly down at him that he almost felt bad for stopping.
“Yes, Viren?”
“I can’t - we shouldn’t - um, it’s not appropriate.”
“Is it appropriate if I want it?”
“Want...it?”
“What if I want you?” Aaravos pressed a kiss to the side of Viren’s mouth and waited patiently, his hands now hot against his bare skin and gently scratching. He almost felt safe here, despite only meeting him minutes ago. Was he under a spell? But it felt so right…
When he didn’t answer, Aaravos leaned forward again to lick across his mouth and continued down, peppering dry and warm kisses to his throat that were achingly smooth. Viren grunted, his hands gripping Aaravos’ suit to steady himself, but he couldn’t move away. He even leaned in. Aaravos’ touches were so comforting, so patient. He didn’t remember the last time someone touched him like this - it was an experience that only came after years of being with someone. But Aaravos gave it all immediately.
It wasn't until the third button down did Viren even realize Aaravos was undressing him. His jacket was neatly placed over the front seat and Aaravos's nimble fingers worked down his button-up. He did it like it was Viren's first time being intimate, careful and loving. Aaravos kissed every newly exposed spot of skin, down, down, down…
Viren huffed, watching what felt like his wedding day lover kiss at his belly button right before the final button was unclasped. Aaravos didn’t care that his skin was wrinkling or that he was developing a belly, it even seemed to entice him. Aaravos purred into his skin, biting playfully before looking back up into his eyes.
“Do you have any requests?” he asked after a moment of silence passed between them.
Viren’s throat was dry. He didn’t know. He wanted everything and nothing. Wasn’t he supposed to be leaving?
“Not...i-in particular…”
Aaravos smiled and continued his work, unzipping his pants while they continued to lock gazes.
“Come on, Viren,” he drawled, his tongue caressing his name, “Help me get you out of your clothes.”
Viren was throbbing. Every word Aaravos uttered snatched him deeper underwater. He only vaguely remembered something about medicine, and his sinking head told him the windows were indeed tinted - that this was alright. His hands moved slowly in the oceanic depths of Aaravos’ control, lifting up and tugging down his pants. Aaravos latched onto him, mouth open.
“Ah!”
He sucked his tip through the fabric and bit by bit, the moisture from his mouth wet through. Was Aaravos really going to...for him? Viren’s arms scrambled to grab onto the cushions around him as he watched the elf nuzzle him, his horns seeming to glow under the drooping lights as he bent his head forward.
Aaravos growled low before his fingers tugged down Viren’s underwear, finally exposing the member he caused to be so embarrassingly beading and eager.
Aaravos laughed, his tongue dangerously close. “You seem like you do have ideas. Tell me.”
His dick twitched. Damn - god - where was his pride?
“I-I’m fine with...what you…” Viren couldn’t finish his sentence and Aaravos tilted his head, the very edge of his lips ghosting his aching cock.
“Hm? Go on. Tell me, Viren. How may I serve you? You’re in charge.”
Viren tried to calm his breathing. He was in charge, that’s what Aaravos said. But he sure didn’t feel in charge. Trying to shake back the sense of authority he furiously clung to every day, Viren sat up a little straighter.
“I-I want you to suck it.”
He felt absolutely ridiculous, but his practiced straight face came through.
“Yes, of course.”
Aaravos’ tongue lapped at the leaking tip. It was longer than any humans, wrapping around the edges of his head and swirling at its entrance. Viren’s knuckles went white as his hands strained to hold onto the cushions. Alright, no one had ever done that.
Satisfied he’d wiped away all the precum, Aaravos adjusted himself and his tongue squeezed around the head. Viren gasped, then again as Aaravos began to swallow him down. The tongue remained pressuring where it was as Aaravos bobbed up and down. One of Viren’s legs involuntarily kicked near Aaravos and he met his eyes, a twinkle in them.
Aaravos’ two arms wrapped around his legs, harshly tugging Viren completely on his back and pushing them apart. Viren couldn’t move in his hold, but he didn’t want to. Control, Aaravos said. What control? Aaravos sped up his bobs, drool leaking from his mouth and pooling at the base of Viren’s cock. Viren’s eyes threatened to flutter close as he lost himself to the sensation, but he quickly remembered his pride and reached his hands forward. He didn’t know much about elf biology - would it hurt?
Testing, his hands fell on Aaravos’ horns and Aaravos responded only by going faster. He was going to milk him out at this rate. But he wanted it - Viren wanted to cum down his gorgeous face's throat, he wanted Aaravos to gag on him. With the admittance, he got bolder. Viren tugged on his horns and got just what he wanted. Aaravos gagged on his cock but didn't slow down, moaning each time Viren pulled and pushed, taking control.
It affected him more than he thought it would.
“W-wait, stop. Stop.”
He pushed Aaravos back, who promptly released him and gasped for air, a pleased smile on his face and wet around his mouth.
“Yes?” he rasped, excitement coating his voice.
“I was close,” he admitted. Of course he wasn’t going to actually cum down this throat. He was a classy man.
"Even more curious why you stopped, then."
“I-it’s...alright?” he asked, incredulous.
“I have a much better idea. Why not take me?”
One of Aaravos’ fingers led Viren’s eyes down his chest and to his crotch.
“An...al?”
Viren’s head was fuzzy again. Images of him bending the taller elf over, seeing if his stars flourished across even his most intimate areas, were making him sweat. They were perverted thoughts he’d thought of only once and briefly when he first saw a picture of him. But Aaravos was here, requesting it.
Aaravos shuffled and bent over between the front seat chairs, reaching into his glove box to pull out two items. Viren’s breath hitched and he timidly took them. A condom and lube.
He’d already gone this far.
“Stay there,” he demanded.
Aaravos froze but obeyed. Viren hurriedly pulled down Aaravos' pants to his ankles and slipped on the condom. Oh, tight. He’d forgotten how tight they were. He poured some of the lube over himself and then pulled down Aaravos’ studded, cheetah boxer briefs. Of course, there was the animal print. He dismissed the thought as soon as it came as his finger traced down the curves of Aaravos’ ass. Not a wrinkle in sight, only stars that all lead to the same hole. Viren’s lubed fingers worked at his asshole, coaxing him open and finding Aaravos was already well-prepared. He stretched easily, meaning Viren didn’t need to wait.
Trying not to appear as eager as he felt, he brushed up against Aaravos, his fingertips outlining the shape of his back before going under his chest to fondle his nipples. Control. He was in control.
Aaravos’ hum of pleasure shot heat down Viren’s body once again. He pressed against him as he lined himself up, slowly pushing in and listening for his reaction. Aaravos did nothing, surrendering himself. It boosted Viren’s confidence. This was easy - he could top. He wanted to top.
Another small push and Aaravos groaned loudly. Damn, he was so tight. Was Aaravos doing it on purpose? Viren wheezed and pushed again, but this time Aaravos pushed back to sink him all the way in.
No. No. He was in control.
Telling himself not to cum, he focused on a steady rhythm, pinching Aaravos’ nipples and watching how his head moved up and down, side to side, unsure where to look to prevent the pleasure. Viren left one nipple to tug a horn back, forcing Aaravos to look up. Aaravos laughed and moaned all at once, still somehow looking so dignified in his suit as Viren pumped into his tight ass.
Viren refused to complain about it, it felt too good.
“Viren…” Aaravos gasped, leaning his head back into his grip.
God in heaven. He almost came from it alone.
The hand still on Aaravos' nipple left to caress the tip of his cock. He couldn't see properly but even so, he could tell how much bigger it was than his. But it was also slathered in precum just as his had, and Viren used it to pump him best he could.
Aaravos got louder with the addition and Viren pounded into his ass. He wasn’t going to be able to last. The more noises Aaravos made, the less he felt himself holding on.
“Please, Viren…” Aaravos sighed.
Relief washed over him. Thank goodness. Viren continued pumping Aaravos’ cock as he came. It felt like years’ worth of buildup shooting out of him - almost uncomfortably. His light moans were drowned by Aaravos’ deeper ones as the elf’s cum pooled in his hand. They both filled the car with gasping voices and ecstasy, trying to come down from a high.
Aaravos reached into the glove box again, taking out a tissue and handing it to Viren.
He couldn’t even manage to thank him, but wiped off the cum and moved out of the way for Aaravos to sit down next to him. Aaravos took out a small garbage bag hidden under the seats and they both discarded their...evidence.
Viren’s cock was still half-hard as he tried to puzzle together what he was supposed to do now. It was the best sex he ever had. And that was an awful thought. The best sex he ever had was a stranger’s one-night stand, off-limits, but going to constantly be at his side. Damn it all.
He almost jumped when Aaravos’ head leaned against his.
“Aaravos…?”
“Yes?”
“It’s...late.”
Aaravos hummed, pulling his head away. Viren turned to look at him, but Aaravos lips were there. He delicately stole a kiss that certainly didn’t feel like a goodbye.
“Alright. Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he smiled.
Viren's heart was beating wildly as it had at the beginning of this. There was something about the way Aaravos touched him that sent him craving. But this was a hook-up. It couldn’t happen again and Viren hoped Aaravos knew that.
They both quickly dressed and Aaravos fixed Viren’s hair, smoothing the top of his head and his beard down. He exited the way he came, the door opened by Aaravos, looking as polite and professional as ever.
“Goodnight, Viren.”
“Goodnight, Aaravos.”
Viren got into his own car and looked at Aaravos’. But like he already knew, he couldn’t see inside. The windows were tinted. Disappointment fell over his face before remembering that Aaravos could very well be watching him. He quickly turned away and cursed this whole night.
He needed to get home and sleep, but he felt more awake than ever. Damn. In fact, his whole body felt rejuvenated. That pain he felt often in his leg was gone, too. Did Aaravos actually heal him somehow? He surely wouldn't go through all of that just to help him? What did this mean to him? Viren nearly hit his horn. It was just a hookup, Viren, get it together. He scoffed.
It was just a hookup, Aaravos didn’t really care about him. It might’ve all been a sick game, to conquer someone he knew he shouldn’t.
So it didn't matter. It was a one-time thing.
It was just a meaningless hookup, he thought to himself as sorrow ached in his bones. It was just a dumb, stupid hook up and tomorrow, he'd been an undesired member of the council again who couldn't touch or kiss Aaravos. He'd do his best to prove what Harrow said he was – distant from the talent.
Alternatively read on AO3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/18441164/chapters/43685558#workskin
Version 1 - “Call Me Sir”
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