#also just love the image of sleepy Barb waking up

[misc-obeyme]

I saw posts from another obey me blogger talking about demons and their body language. I saw a post about MC yawning showing off their teeth and the brothers mistaking it for them trying to be intimidating. It was funny.

Anyways doing this with barbatos and diavolo because for some reason the phrase 'im tired' makes me yawn even if I'm not tired. Diavolo talking about how he's tired of paperwork and suddenly I'm yawning.

Or watching barbatos work and yawning like props to him. I could never, even if physically capable. I'm too lazy for that.

Yawning back and forth with Solomon and the others Wondering why were 'fighting' and who's gonna back down first.

Bows for barb

I really love the idea that the demons read body language differently. Things that are just regular stuff for us humans has some kind of alternate, deeper meaning to them.

I yawn a lot due to be perpetually sleepy, but my eyes always water a lot from it, too.

Imagine a bunch of demons who don't understand that MC isn't crying while aggressively baring their teeth... they're just like ??? you wanna fight, but you're sad about it??

Diavolo is doing paperwork, mentions he's tired and then you yawn and it's like, have I offended you somehow, MC??? Mess with him by responding no I just get angry about the piles of paperwork you always have to do >:(

Oh wow now I really wanna see Barbatos yawn. For some reason, I think it'd be super cute. I don't think he'd do it while he was working - or at least, not so anybody could see. Maybe he's ironing alone and just can't stifle a yawn. But I especially like the image of him just waking up, maybe in his demon form, stretching out his arms and his tail and his little hand-horns and yawning all huge. Ahahaha it'd be so cuuuute~

Right, sorry, didn't mean to get all simpy for Barb again...

Anyway, it would be interesting if demons don't have that thing that makes yawns contagious, too. Because then you and Solomon would be the only ones with that particular tendency. You guys are sitting next to each other just yawning in turns. Eventually you're like stop yawning, it's making me yawn! And Solomon's like me? you're the one making me yawn!

Meanwhile the demons are like... what are those two fighting about?

In the end, you both yawn enough that you just end up falling asleep, your head on his shoulder, his head on your head, just snoring away.

Then the demons are really perplexed. Weren't they just fighting?!?! Now they're asleep??? Humans are weird. (Maybe Belphie is the only one who knows this isn't how it works, but he lets the others stay confused because it's funny.)

[callmefitz]

Two Weeks Ago, Today - Rumir Fic 4.1k words

Amir character study poorly disguised as a Rumir kidnap fic. Mild blood/injury description, hurt/comfort, happy ending and fluff.

(Forgive my lack of read below, I’m new and don’t know how to add a cutoff)

When Amir returned back to their room, Rupert was gone. The sheets were tousled and pushed back in typical Rupert fashion, something Amir has resigned to believing will never change. The windows were pushed open ever so slightly, allowing for some morning sunlight to spill onto the messy desk. Rupert’s desk, with unanswered correspondences, still cluttered the edges. He knew Rupert probably just got up when he left to check security with Joan. But still, the image from two weeks ago today still flashed in his mind.

The rain was roaring in his ears as Amir clambered back to bed. He loved Fitzroy, he loved Rupert... but when Fitzroy had to go the whole castle had to know.

“Rupert?” Amir whispered conspiratorially. Maybe tonight they sneak out to have a date night in the kitchens. With the rescheduled wedding on the way and the completion of the castle, they barely had time to each other anymore. They only really saw each other at night, when no reasonable person would request their counsel.

“Rupert...” Amir whispered again as his eyes adjusted to the dark, searching for the sleeping form of his fiancé. As the downpour intensified, a singular strike of lightening illuminated the room like daylight to reveal a horrifyingly gruesome sight.

The sheets and blankets were in knots on the floor, as if they were kicked and twisted as something was torn from them. The books on their desk were strewn about the floor. One of the swords resting in a rack above their bed was missing, left on the floor with a singular red stripe running along the sharp end and a few splatters beside it. The wrought-iron window overlooking the heartlands was bent beyond recognition as if claws sunk into it and pullled. Shards of glass glittered wet and sharp on the floor like diamonds.

Amir suddenly couldn’t breathe.

“Rupert?” He yelled, but the room was deserted. Already there were footsteps running to their room, he had probably altered half the castle by now, no matter, Rupert was gone... he was gone and-

“Your Majesty,” Sir Joan exhaled as she pushed open the door, torch in hand. For a moment Amir wished what he had seen was a nightmare, but the same scene greeted him cast in the sinister warm lighting.

“Oh Guiniverre,” he heard her whisper. Rupert was gone... someone had taken him right in his own home. He was gone and hurt and probably-

“Amir?” Rupert said softly, and Amir whipped around. Standing in the morning sunlight, Rupert leaned against the doorframe with a silver breakfest tray in hand. His eyes were tired and worn and his skin was pale, but underneath the horrors of the last two weeks he was still the same Rupert he’s always been. Amir released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Rupert still was.

He didn’t realize he was crying until a pale hand cupped his cheek, stalling tears in their wake. He held it to his face, feeling its warmth against his face. Fingers that, two weeks ago today, were bloodied and bruised beyond recognition. Now they were porcelain pale and un-Rupertly soft. They were still his. They were still alive.

Small wonders.

The silver breakfest tray was long abandoned, set off to the side and growing colder by the minute. Without words, they slowly moved to the bed, the hand not leaving his face. They sat near the foot, in the safety of the warm sunrise, for a few silent moments.

“Amir... you gotta talk to me here. What’s going on in that big ol head of yours?” Rupert said, so so softly, as if Amir was the one who was taken.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good head, a very nice head. Lots of hair on it, some pretty eyes, a left dimple that you show off all the time... very nice head, but not transparent.” Rupert rambled, and Amir laughed, his throat barbed with tears.

“I was a mess when you were gone,” Amir mumbled after a prolonged silence.

Rupert pulled away and regarded Amir for a few minutes. His face was drawn up in sadness, a loving silence, a deep compassion.

“Well, I think you did pretty ok.” He finally said, gathering Amir’s hands in his. “I mean, look at us. You saved me. We’re home. I have breakfest in bed with me and Fitzroy is still asleep. Normally this would call for a celebration.”

There was still a shadow of a bruise on Rupert’s cheek. Another reminder of Amir’s failure to do one right thing.

Two weeks ago today, Amir sat in this same place, his hands in fists by his side. The rain had long subsided, and Fitzroy sat his head on the bed longingly. He scratched his head, but it didn’t fill the void. Rupert was gone.

“Percy is leading a scan of the castle in case they’re still in the walls. I have Cecily leading the new recruits through the city and outer bands looking for evidence. Until we hear back, however, there’s only so much we can do,” Joan looked down at Amir with sadness in her eyes, “Hey.”

Amir met her gaze.

“He’s going to be ok.” She smiled, more to convince Amir than herself. There was almost nothing to go by, no notes or discernible trace of a captor. The room was a bloody mess, with splatters on the lower half of the walls and pooling around the untouched sword. Rupert’s sword. The sword of the west.

“Joan, I really appreciate your optimism, and I know we aren’t close so I may be over-stepping here, but please cut the crap.” Amir said sharply, “I know we have nothing. The guards have already cleared the castle. The watchmen in the outer bands have reported no exit or entry. He’s gone.”

“Guiniverre, he’s gone.” Amir’s resolve crumpled. His fingers dug into his hair as he pressed his palms in his eyes. He took a few deep, shuddery breaths before continuing in a painfully monotone speech.

“I just.... I really need Rupert right now. I need him. He always knows what to do. I always tease him for over-reacting... but at least he has plans! I’m no good at this, and we have nothing to work with. No trace. He’s just gone.”

Something stirred within Joan. She knows the hollow feeling, the guilty helpless. Except she’s had the luxury of false alarms thus far. Her eyes couldn’t help but to wander again toward The empty slot above the bed, where the western sword once hung. Now only the eastern one remained, and it was hauntingly incomplete without the other. “I-“

“It’s my fault. Rupert is awful with a sword. I meant to teach him, I really did. We’ve just been so busy, and with peace talks in the North and trade in the South we both agreed it would be pointless in the short term. If I had-“

“Considering the number he did, he isn’t completely awful with a sword,” Joan said with a smile and faux amiability, then lost it when she saw Amir’s composure. He was right. They weren’t particularly close, Rupert was the bridge between them with his friendship with Cecily. They saw each other in passing, exchanged commentary, but never had the chance of be alone together without a crisis.

Judging my Amir’s face, or lack therefore of, they were in another crisis.

“This isn’t your fault, Prince Amir,” Joan said forcefully. She sat next to Amir on the bed, and after a moment’s hesitation rested her open palm on his back. Something grounding.

“But it kind of is,” Amir brought his face up, “It can’t be coincidence that they came while I was gone. They must have been watching us all night... waiting for me to leave. They knew they couldn’t take us both. There’s no way-“

“No way you could have known,” Joan corrected the thought before it rose.

The rain continued its onslaught, and in the darkness Rupert felt farther and farther away from Amir.

“We shouldn’t be celebrating until your limp is gone.” Amir said with finality, breaking from the memory and entering the present. His hands left Ruperts and rested below his shoulders, “Seriously. Is your pain returning?”

Rupert pushed him aside and smiled wearily. His eyes were still half-lidded and dreamy with sleepiness from his medicine, “You’re worse than my mother. Amir, I’m fine. It’s ok. You saved the day in the end.”

“Hardly feels like it,” Amir laughed, but there was no jot behind it.

Rupert sighed.

“You know, when you and Joan finally found me, I was so exhausted and sweaty and gross and in a world of pain. I thought I was going to pass out,” he began.

Amir’s face fell into concerned pain, “Rupert-“

“But when I heard you dismount your horse and come running up, it was like I was meeting you all again. When you burst through that tent, it was like kissing you for the first time.”

Rupert was a total sap.

“I think we remember it differently then,” Amir said dryly, “because when I saw you, I was thinking a lot of not good words.”

Rupert smiled, “Well, duh. They were jerks. But you have to realize, Amir, I was terrified.”

Amir tensed.

“I was hurt and lost and stuck with a bunch of jerks and also thinking not good words, but when I saw you it all went away. I knew you were going to save me. At that moment, I was going to be ok.”

“Then you passed out,” Amir added.

“Well, then I actually did pass out.” Rupert agreed. “But you did saved me Amir. The window is fixed and Joan told me the minute I can walk the Castle circuit without a limp she’s going to have me run sword drills so much that I’ll collapse. We’re stronger and safer and happy again.”

“Are we?” asked Amir, “because everytime you leave me sight it’s like I can’t breathe again.”

Rupert pulled Amir close.

“The castle should have been safe to begin with. We should have trained more often. Something like this was bound to happen-“ Amir rambled, as Rupert hooked his arms around his neck and unceremoniously flopped backwards on the bed, taking Amir with him with an oof. He pushed himself slightly away, as if the fall somehow opened up all those nasty wounds.

“I’m serious, Rupert,” Amir continued, “You act like everything is fine, and maybe for you it is, but it wasn’t for me. You didn’t see it! You didn’t see our room and what those thugs were planning... you didn’t see yourself half-alive and drenched in blood. I saw it, and I still see it. It won’t go away.”

A part of Rupert wants to be mad. After all, he was the one who was taken. He was the one bound to a post in a stuffy old tent at the mercy of former Eastern kingsmen. But watching Amir, seeing the guilt in his eyes whenever Rupert’s step faltered, the detached expression when night fell and they lay silent in bed, the cold determination that filled his voice when passing new security policies; sure, Rupert was the one taken, but Amir was left behind. That alone was a different type of torture, and right now was his time to speak of it. This was only the first conversation of many.

Amir is crying now, harder than before. Somehow he felt shame in that- he rarely cries, even when it’s just Rupert.

“Rupert you’re... you’re my everything. I don’t think I could live without you... and that scares me. It scares me so much.”

“‘Mir,” Rupert said softly. His own eyes were wet with tears and he shuffled closer until their hands could interlock. The morning sunlight glinted off the two circular bands adoring their fingers. Engagement rings. A formality from the East that promised a lifetime together. For a moment neither of them said anything. For a moment it was as if it were two weeks ago, right before Amir left to relive Fitzroy and there was no concept of fear in the dark. For a moment their weakness remained concealed. A moment that lasted that lifetime tenfold.

“How are you ok with this?” Amir asked after an eternity.

This. This chasm that the last two weeks drew between them. The sleepless nights full of painful groans. The long days where he was barely conscious and breathing, miles away from home. The stormy night where he woke up alone and scared, and blindly attempted to fight off his attacker with a sword he barely knew how to wield.

“I’m not,” Rupert replied, barely above a whisper, “I almost didn’t get out of bed.”

Amir took a moment to absorb that information and turn it over in his mind.

“While you went to check with Joan, I considered one-hundred and twenty-nine reasons why I shouldn’t leave our bedchamber. All of them ended up with that tent. I think I hate tents now. I really hope you secretly aren’t a camping guy, because unless it’s a life or death situation I’m not going inside a tent again. No sir. You should call me No-Tent-“

“Rupert-“ Amir began.

“Exactly! But as I was saying, I thought of so many reasons why I shouldn’t get out of bed today. But then I thought of you, and how you’re probably exhausted, and then my stomach started grumbling, and I decided today I was going to get breakfest for us. So I did.”

“And you just, did it?” Amir looked away, to the window. Reinforced with dragon’s steel. Lavinia saw to it that the panes were too small off even a mouse to fit through if broken, so now the kaleidoscope window threw colors on the walls, floors, and bed of the room. Rupert’s face was tossed in a brilliant shade of blue.

“I didn’t just do it. First I counted to one-hundred and twenty-nine. Then I took my sword off the wall and debated bringing it with me. But Porridge doesn’t like weapons, so I put it back.” Rupert began carding his fingers through Amir’s hair, “Then I called for Cecily because my leg was so stiff, and she can throw knives scarily well so I decided she was much better than a lousy sword...”

The itemized description of Rupert’s morning was more to fodder the oppressive silence and diffuse any latent guilt via distraction that anything else. It must have worked, for as he went on the tears began drying and Amir’s stiff shoulders slowly went undone.

“... there was this whole thing with like, jam or marmalade? It was a whole debacle, then I couldn’t get a good grip on the tray and almost dropped it, which was a disaster. But we got back and I saw Cecily on her way and walked in, where I saw my brave, perfect fiancé on the verge of tears and decided that just wouldn’t do.”

Amir didn’t reply.

“I’m not fine, Amir. As much as you hate walking into a room without me, I hate waking up in a bed without you. I’m still really, really scared,” Rupert said, “But I don’t want this to break us. I can’t be scared to get breakfest. I’ve spent too much of my life being scared to do that.”

Amir adjusted on the bed so that he lay on his back with his head tucked underneath Ruperts chin.

“I think you’re pretty brave,” Amir announced after a moment of deliberation.

One week ago today, nothing but the thunderous, vengeful drumbeat of hooves and the air whistling past filled Amir’s ears. Joan was beside him, equally engaged in the chase, leaning forward and slightly standing on the back of her horse. Ahead, Fitzroy and Porridge led the trail, and behind some of Joan’s best recruits filled the rear.

Looming above were the Southern Caves, a cavernous mountain range cutting off the Heartlands from the Southern Tribes. Due to its intemperate climate and inaccessibility to law enforcement on either sovereignty, it was a breeding ground for crime, piracy, and highwaymen of all shapes and sizes.

Amir didn’t like to imagine himself engulfed in anger or acting out of hate. But if this lead ended up being false as well and Rupert isn’t there, he may skewer someone.

In other words, he pressed onwards with resolute determination. Meanwhile, Joan held out her arm to signal to Amir and the guild to slow.

“When we reach the overpass, me and my women will surround the suspects,” she said, assertively yet low enough that Amir strained to hear her, “You will survey the surrounding area and get to Rupert if he’s there.”

A hottness flared inside Amir, “But-“

Joan silenced him with a simple look, “If Rupert is here, he’ll need you the most.”

Ahead of him, Amir could hear the soft murmur of men talking around a campfire. Hints of smoke permeated the air around them, and through the foliage he could see flickers of light. They were so close. Joan raised her arm to signal readiness. Like a blade cutting air she thrust it forward, and with deadly silence the small army burst through the edge of the forest and into the bowels of the Southern Overpass.

The reaction was immediate. Laid before him was a modest camp, with well-established tents, bounds, and fires. Rage seethed within Amir- while he had been searching, they hadn’t even moved. The inhabitants, rough-looking men and women with a glint of former nobility in their eyes and sword, reached for whatever nearby weapon lay unattended and attempted battle. Joan’s recruits were as ruthless as they were capable- they quickly apprehended the band with a firm sense of duty and exceptional efficiency.

But Rupert wasn’t there.

Amir lept from his horse, hitting the ground with a dull thud as he took off toward the tents. He tore open the flaps of the first one. Empty. The second one. Empty. Blood rushed in his ears. The third one. Empty. Tears pricked at his eyes. The fourth one. Empty. He had to be here. The fifth one-

It took a moment for Amir to realize he was looking at his husband. Maybe because he had never seen him truly hurt before- they had both been roughed up, sure, but none of their adventures had ever turned disastrous. Maybe it was that, or the fact that Amir hadn’t truly accepted Rupert was gone until he was found.

“Rupert,” Amir breathed. The tent was stuffy and cramped, with odd and rotting furniture bordering the walls. A haphazard interrogation chamber was constructed with mis-matched chairs, with old food trays discarded near a corner. The smell alone was enough to turn any self-respecting man away.

“Hey ‘Mir,” Rupert half-whispered with a smile. Rupert, who was tied kneeling with his back to a post. Rupert, with a purple bruise reaching up his face up to his cheekbone. Rupert, with clumpy hair and watery eyes. Rupert, with bloodied knuckles and a half-rasp in his voice. Rupert, who was alive.

Amir sunk to the ground, knees hitting the dry earth with a thud and tiny clouds of dust. Both of his hands reached for Rupert, cupping both of his cheeks in his hands before sliding down to his shoulders; a cursory assessment. He tugged lightly at the rope binding Rupert’s shoulders, finding no give. His eyes then cast downwards toward Rupert’s leg, which was bent awkwardly out to the side.

“I’m fine, really,” Rupert said softly, “Just tripped.”

“Just tripped?” Amir echoed. He wanted to say more, but Rupert doubled over in pain, or as much as he could when forced upright, and groaned.

“We’re getting you out of here,” Amir said, mostly to himself, before retrieving a small dagger from his belt and begin cutting through the rope. It wasn’t a clean slice like he anticipated- it was thicker and more resilient than what it seemed- and took several seconds to cut. When it finally did break, Rupert slumped forward into Amir’s chest. He was a dead weight.

“Rupert?” Amir said. When the other didn’t respond, Amir gently pushed Rupert off him. His eyes were closed; he didn’t stir.

Fear gripped Amir’s heart. He let Rupert lean against him, feeling for the pulse in his wrist the steady puffs of air against his neck. Both were weak. He snaked an arm up Rupert’s back, threading his hand in the other’s hair and holding him close before leaping into action.

“Ok, ok,” Amir said softly, “It’s ok.”

He threw one of Rupert’s arms over his back and across his shoulder and held his other hand under Rupert’s armpit and pulled both of them up. When Rupert remained limp, he hooked his foot around Rupert’s leg- the good one- and walked for the both of them.

The sun was piercingly bright and equally hot when they both emerged from the center tent. Perspiration beaded over Amir’s brow, equally from the heat and stress. In a slow hobble towards Joan and the others, they pushed closer to freedom and further from the tent. One head low, the other upright and straining. When the rest of the recruits spotted them leaving the circle of tents, two young lady knights rushed to them to help. One helped support Rupert, the other with a bag of medicinal supplies sent by Lavinia.

As part of the illusion of normalcy, Lavinia saw to it that the West had excellent healthcare.

Together they laid Rupert in the shade of a particularly aged oak tree, where the two recruits (one a cousin of Cecily and the other a former lady in waiting for his mother) began to stint, bandage, and clean any of Rupert’s wounds. Amir felt useless yet again- while he knew basic first aid for prophetic reasons, performing it on someone else felt wildly different. In addition, most of his knowledge was based on what to do in the moment. Most of the marks marring his fiance were given a headstart of two or three days before introduced to gauze.

By either instinct or selfish need, Amir grabbed for Rupert’s hand. It was sticky with sweat and discolored slightly, but it was still his; his blood ran through it just like it did two weeks prior. Helplessness consumed Amir like a wave again. Protection was the foundation in which Amir’s core values were cultivated on. Protect his country, protect his people, protect his loved ones. If he couldn’t keep Rupert safe, then who could he protect? If he couldn’t protect Rupert...

Amir didn’t pretend things weren’t as serious as they were. If they had come a week later.. even days... Rupert’s health would have been scores worse. There wouldn’t be enough medicine in Lavinia’s bag to treat him on site.

The words of a particular bold suspect pulled him from his guilt.

“You’re just as foolish as your mother,” one of the men sneered, “Your father would be disgusted to have you as a son.”

His arms were bound behind his back, yet his impressive stature and scarred body proved that simple rope wouldn’t contain him for long. He was old- older than Amir, most likely a noble elevated to aristocracy by Amir’s father due to similar values and pugnacious tendencies. Despite this, he was a sad man. He didn’t know love nor longed to learn about it- any kindness in his soul had been long extinguished by a raw bitterness against the world and a hardened heart. He was grasping for straws in a blind attempt to recreate the past; his father’s past, built on the corpses of innocent people for the sake of expansion and greed.

Amir pitied the man. He wanted to say a thousand words in response; some of anger, revenge, debate, and instruction, but instead he only said one: “Good.”

The hand in his squeezes, and Amir is brought back to modern day. He leans into Rupert’s chest, listening to the steady heart beat and deep breaths that recently lost their rattle. The sun pours through the new windows, stronger windows, splashing a rainbow of colors across the bright room. Not a single cloud dots the sky: it would be another beautiful day. Rupert is alive- a wonder, a gift, a miracle- and Amir never wishes to be apart from him again. Maybe that is unhealthy, but right now, in this moment, not a single thing could tear him away.

Rupert is Amir’s everything, and Amir is Rupert’s universe.

“Amir?” Rupert says softly. Amir closes his eyes.

“Mm?”

“I think you’re pretty brave, too.”

[thevengeanceuniverse]

Touch in the Dark Ch 4.1 (Steve)

Steve woke early the next morning. He took a moment to soak in the warmth of Tony cuddled up next to him, face buried in Steve’s chest and curls a tangled nest on his head. He brushed a soft kiss on his head before delicately extricating himself to get ready.

He loved this time of the day when the city slowly woke, sleepy but insistent. When there was the illusion of quiet and calm and he could relish in the knowledge that his family was safe and happy. Suited up, he padded over to wake Peter for school, shepherding the boy to the bathroom as he stumbled along with closed eyes and drool on his cheek. That done, he continued his rounds to the kitchen to buss his mother with a loud smack on her cheek, her laughter following him out the door. He didn’t take breakfast this early, his stomach needing a few hours to wake up, but he did head over to the kitchen at the office for his daily dose of caffeine.

Grabbing a mug, he poured himself a full cup before leaning against the island in the centre of the kitchen to savour his first sips. Unbidden, a moan escapes his lips. God bless Maria Stark for her fancy as shit coffee maker. He can’t believe he lived through the era of dirty dishwasher coffee, this was like ambrosia in comparison.

“Eww man, those are not the sounds I want to be hearing from my boss so early in the morning. Keep your sex noises to yourself and my best friend.” Steve turns to see James Rhodes coming through the door, breakfast ingredients in his hands.

“You lost your right to censor any of my coffee orgasm sounds”—he ignores Rhodes’ gagging—“when I caught you defiling my countertops last week.”

Sam’s laughter announces him as he follows behind his Jamie, hands also full and a wicked grin stretching his lips. “You know what they say, the kitchen is the chef’s kingdom. I was just sampling the delicacies.” He laughs harder at Rhodes’ indignant squawk, unrepentantly grabbing him for a cuddle and getting a smack on the back of his head for his insolence.

Steve rolls his eyes at their antics but his insides are happy at their easy affection for each other. When Rhodes had turned up four months ago, fresh from the army on medical discharge, his eyes had been haunted whenever Tony wasn’t around to distract him from the nightmares in his head. Steve wouldn’t have anticipated this result when Tony had asked him to let Rhodes work as assistant chef, but he had to admit that using cooking as an outlet for his memories was doing the young veteran a world of good. They had talked about it one night over drinks, and Rhodes had shared with shadowed eyes that he felt relief when he could create something new and delicious for someone’s enjoyment. That though he would never regret the actions he had taken to save the lives of civilians and his unit, he had had doubts that his hands would be able to dole out anything other than death.

The passion he had shared with Sam had been an immediate thing, both men sharing a background in the service and trading witty barbs right off the bat. The lack of delicacy Sam had shown had eased Rhodes back into civilian life, softening the defensive tension held in his eyes and body. But no one had anticipated that steady Rhodes would dive right into an explosive sexual relationship with the in-house ruler of the kitchen, let alone that love-’em-and-leave-’em Sam Wilson would want to lay down commitment after a mere month. But three months after deciding to make their relationship as real as it could be in their homophobic world, Sam and Rhodes were in surprisingly domestic bliss.

Soaking in the warmth of their companionship a little longer, Steve eventually made it to his office for some quiet hours of paperwork. Fresh from witnessing the love Rhodes and Sam shared, his mind inevitably turned to the kiss Tony and James shared last night. It had been an unexpectedly erotic sight, watching how sweetly Tony had opened up for James and the gentle way James had held Tony in his arms. Steve knew that James had initially planned to kiss Tony as a way of jerking Steve’s chain. Both to trigger his possessive nature and as an unspoken message that they could move forward from the awkwardness born of their confessions nearly a year ago. James was signalling that he was accepting the fact of Steve moving on to loving Tony, which was all well and good and probably meant they could finally regain their friendship. But it was a message that Steve could admit in the privacy of his mind that he felt torn about.

Steve knew he was the one to tell James that his feelings for him had ended all those years ago, when James had ended their relationship and unknowingly broken Steve’s heart. But.

Though he was probably being unfaithful to Tony for thinking this, it was true that you never fully forgot your first love. The way that the feelings overwhelmed you. And Steve had carried those feelings for a long time, that bud in his chest not fully dying. Because even after they broke things off, in-between lovers (both his and James) they had fallen back into bed again and again over the years. The ease of their relationship and the knowledge of each other’s bodies making for highly pleasurable interludes.

He could feel himself getting hard as those moments played back in his head, the heat of James’ mouth when he swallowed Steve down, the weight of James on his tongue when he returned the favour. Thoroughly distracted now, Steve pushed his chair back from the desk, giving himself space to sprawl as he slouched down a bit more comfortably. His hand reached down to press against his cock as he lets himself sink into the memories burned into his mind. Memories of James’ kisses, the spot on the middle of his back where he was unbearably sensitive, Steve delighting in dragging his lips and teeth and tongue across it as he entered the tightness of James’ body. Teasing and driving James wild as he became increasingly desperate and demanding.

Unbuttoning his slacks, he licked his palm before he took himself in hand, mourning the loss of a smoother slide but not wanting to stain his pants with oil so early in the morning. He didn’t waste too much time, knowing that Dugan would be coming in soon, letting his memories of James meld with his memories of Tony and thinking of the way they were twined together so briefly last night. He got an illicit thrill at thinking of his past and present lovers together, a thousand images in his mind of the way they would look together as Tony lost his mind in James’ hands. When Steve was with James, it was always a fight for dominance, each enjoying topping even from the bottom. It was playful and sometimes aggressive, but always so good. They liked to be ridden hard when it was with each other, but with Tony, Steve had gotten to explore a new side of himself. Tony lost himself in a way that Steve had never seen before with a lover, became dazed and sweetly obedient as he rode the high of his pleasure higher and higher. The trust of their relationship let him float in a place where he didn’t feel like he had to be on alert to protect himself or his brother, something Steve knew was a rare state for Tony after years of abuse from Howard.

His breath hitched at thinking of Tony going all soft and hazy in James’ hands, and the gentle way James would handle Tony as he sucked pleasurable bruises all over Tony’s skin, marking him possessively. Or the way James would lounge back against the pillows like a king to be serviced, coaxing Tony on his knees over him for a long, slow ride.

He stroked himself harder, close to the edge but not quite there. Tony would look so pretty riding James, lightly muscled back curved as he rode with his head thrown back, hips undulating as he took his pleasure at James’ urging. His mind went further, supplying images of James rearranging Tony on his hands and knees on the bed, still thrusting as he tugged Tony’s head up with a light pull on his hair. Tony looking up with heavy-lidded whiskey eyes, drunk on pleasure as he reaches up to pull Steve to him and take him in his mouth. Steve falls over the edge, imagining spilling into Tony’s mouth as James spills into Tony’s ass, pulling the taller brunette for a biting kiss over their shared lover.

The door clicks as the handle is turned and Steve jerks up, grateful for the heavy barrier of the desk. He both relaxes and tenses as Tony slips inside the room on quick feet, smiling automatically back even as his gut churns with guilt over fantasizing over James, reality coldly quashing any possibility of sharing Tony between them. Tony only recently came to the realization of his sexuality and though willing to try new things with Steve, Steve had serious doubts that that adventurous nature would extend to sharing a lover.

Tony came forward to claim a kiss, curious eyes at Steve’s stiff posture widening as he took in Steve’s dishevelled appearance. Before Steve had time to do more than open his mouth to explain, Tony was slipping into the space between Steve and the desk. Steve watches as Tony kneels between his open thighs, mischievous eyes on Steve’s as he reaches to take Steve’s cum covered hand in his own and bring it to his mouth. Steve groaned as Tony applied wet suction to his fingers and nibbled on the vee between his thumb and his pointer. His clever tongue sought out every trace of cum and Steve greedily pressed his thumb against that tongue, stroking it as he held Tony’s mouth open to see the way that his cum pooled near Tony’s throat before he swallowed it down. Leaning down, Steve licked into Tony’s mouth, sharing his own taste with dirty satisfaction.

He bit Tony’s plump lower lip as he pulled away, watching as Tony ducked back down to give his cock the same treatment he had given Steve’s hand. Mind flashing back to his fantasy, he felt his cock give a valiant twitch as he basked in the reality of the moment that pushed him over. Leaning back, he gave himself over to Tony’s eager mouth and hands as they cleaned him up, only pushing away when it got to be too much. Letting Tony put him away and close his slacks, he pulled the smaller man onto his lap, feeling happy and sated.

He ran his hand up Tony’s back as he lost himself in Tony’s lush mouth, enjoying the way that Tony shivered at the light, teasing touch before pressing closer. He cupped Tony’s own erection, thumbing at the head of his cock as his lips wandered lower to kiss along a smooth jaw and the column of his throat. Nipping a bite low enough to be covered by Tony’s collar, Steve pulled away a little to look at Tony’s face.

“Do you want to continue?” he asked with a pointed squeeze.

Aiming a quick glance at the clock on Steve’s desk, Tony sighed dejectedly before shaking his head. “We only have a couple minutes before Dugan comes in.” He dropped a kiss on Steve’s lips before pulling back with a grin. “You’ll just owe me later.”

Steve chuckled as he pulled Tony in for more cuddles, stroking his hands along the body in his lap in an effort to soothe Tony’s unfulfilled desires. It calmed him, holding Tony like this. They didn’t need to speak, soaking in the comfort of each other’s touch in a way that wasn’t sexual, just loving. When Dugan came in as expected, he shook his head and sighed at the portrait of them but didn’t say anything. Tony greeted him with a smile as he made his way to the lounge area of the office that he claimed as his workspace, situating himself and getting to work. Steve watched him lose himself in numbers and equations with fondness before buckling down with his own work, the calm from their moment staying with him and advancing his productivity as he reviewed documents.

They continued this way for several hours before Dugan announced that the people he had scheduled for the troop trainer position had all arrived. Dropping a kiss to Tony’s lips, he reminded him to take a break to eat before heading down to the basement where he met with Sam and Happy. Happy was James’ trainer and Steve had convinced James to lend him when Steve had walked him out after dinner.

Steve was looking for skill in his new trainer, but after Falsworth, he knew he needed someone who would be loyal even if he didn’t agree with Steve’s gay lifestyle. Therefore, he planned on letting each man go against each other, examining their skills alongside Sam, Dugan and Happy, before pairing them up with a partner and having them fight against Sam and Happy. Happy was highly trained, but he was a heavier, more traditional fighter. Sam, in contrast, was lighter and liked to get creative with his fights and similar to James in his willingness to fight dirty if he needed to. Together, they were a formidable combo and would pose an appropriate challenge to these tryouts.

Watching his friend, Steve mourned the fact that Sam was too happy in the kitchens to give up his love full time to train the men, otherwise, they wouldn’t have to go through with all this. Steve had tried to convince him with everything he thought of to sweeten the deal but had gotten the same negative in response. So here they were.

Dugan did good work. It was obvious that each fighter was at the top of their game, so it quickly became a game amongst the judges to pick apart the styles, strengths and weaknesses of each candidate. There was a wide variety that came from long study and training, Steve picking out jujitsu techniques in some, savate in others, even Kalarippayattu (and old Indian fighting style) in one. Steve could see potential in Fredrickson, Hunt and Nolan. They were skilled in various techniques and already members, which would be a benefit since it meant Steve wouldn’t have to carefully screen them the same way he would a new addition.

In the end, however, the standout ended up being Thor Odinson. Though he wasn’t the most technically skilled fighter of the bunch, he was well-trained and battle-honed. His style was upfront and instinctual rather than the studied complexity used by some of the other participants, and he moved naturally and fluidly. But the reason he stood out was because he was the only one out of the pair fights that abandoned his own win to jump in and defend his partner from a pin. Steve trusted his gut when it decided that this was the man he could rely on to have his back and to train his members to have his back too.

He wouldn’t announce anything today, Dugan had more people lined up for him to test over the next few days but Steve knew his mind would be comparing the others he met to Odinson. Deciding to test his feeling, he, Happy, Sam and Dugan made the rounds after the fights, talking to each of the trainers for a bit. They were good guys for the most part, though Rumlow rose some red flags.

Odinson turned out to be a very different kind of surprise.

Steve didn’t bother with subtlety. “Why did you throw away your win? You could have incapacitated Happy while Sam was busy with Rumlow and then taken the reprieve from a double attack to incapacitate Sam and win. Rumlow hadn’t shown the same care for you.” No, Rumlow taken Odinson’s sacrifice and ran with it to the finish line. He had used the momentum of Sam focusing on taking down Odinson, finishing off Sam with a hit from behind and then rushing Happy who hadn’t fully recovered from being winded by Odinson.

Odinson gave Steve a shrewd glance, “I don’t believe winning was actually the goal of the exercise.”

“No?”

The Nordic man crossed his arms across his thick chest. “Winning alone means nothing if everyone around you gets killed. We’re here to help you integrate new members into a team and make sure they work together efficiently, make sure your men not only protect themselves but each other. That won’t work if they’re all just looking out for themselves. Or worse, trying so hard to be impressive that they have to get saved.” He said the last bit with an eye-roll in Rumlow’s direction. No love lost there then.

Steve suppressed his grin, nodding and moving on to the next fighter. He had his man.

[girlinthepictureframe]

The Briefest Kiss Part 12

P 12

Miles woke up feeling better rested and more at ease with the world than he had felt in a long, long time. The warm rays of the early morning sun were softly warming his cheek, the pillow had taken on the perfect shape around his head and Alex's short strands of hair were gently tickling his neck. All of that made him almost forget that he had an awful, throbbing headache. Damned Alex and his damned Vodka!

His eyes flew open. He held his breath as his view drifted towards his side, where Alex Turner, platonic friend and absolutely not sleeping-mate, was snoring softly, curled up against his side. Miles became aware that he had one arm tightly wrapped around him, keeping him impossibly close.

Oh no. Not again.

Had they not, just yesterday, promised to each other never to do this very thing ever again?

Miles took another glance at Alex. He was wearing clothes. It was the same shirt he had worn yesterday. And he himself was wearing clothes as well. And shoes, as he now sensed. His alertness began to return him. The sleepiness began to drift away.

Images of last night began to fill his head. Alex had made them omelets. Then they had played guitars for a bit. At some point a bottle of Vodka had appeared. Naturally, they had begun drinking it. Alex had spent half an hour meticulously going through the notes in his biology book, trying and failing to figure out why Miles wanted it. They had laughed and chatted and enjoyed each other's company. At some point in the middle of the night he'd crawled into Alex's bed. He had a vague memory of Alex crawling in with him.

And now here they were.

On the wrong side of the 'we are just friends'-fence.

He felt movements next to him. In a wild blur of movements, Alex jumped out of bed and stood next to it, staring at Miles in shock and confusion. “Oh God! Did we...?”

“NO!”

“Good!” Alex squinted, shook his head. “It's good, right! I mean, you know what I mean. Right? Right?!”

“Alex? We're good. It's good.”

“Good.”

“We need to be more careful, don't we?” Miles couldn't believe how reckless they had been. “The whole boundaries-thing, it's new. We should pay more attention to it.”

“Definitely,” agreed Alex and nodded. He rubbed his eyes, sat back down on the bed. Leaned back against the headboard. Looked down at Miles. And promptly jumped up again. Miles got up just as quickly. Reckless, indeed.

“Coffee,” suggested Miles. “We need coffee. Lots of it.”

Alex followed him out of the room wordlessly. Downstairs, the dining room table was set with two plates, a pot of no-longer steaming coffee rested in the middle, surrounded by toast, butter and scrambled eggs. David Turner was sitting in the corner of the room, by the window, reading the newspaper.

“Mornin', boys. Nice of you to show up. Almost noon already.”

Had they slept that long? Miles blinked a few times, still a bit sleepy and a whole lot shaken from waking up next to Alex. His just-a-friend Alex. His very soft, warm, tempting, deliciously well-smelling, surprisingly cuddly friend Alex. The very one who was giving him a strange look just now. “Huh?”

“Did you just moan?”

Did he? Get a grip, Miles admonished himself. “No, I yawned!”

“Okay.” Alex appeared unconvinced but nonetheless busied himself with breakfast. “Will you stay today? Should we make plans?”

“No,” said Miles and was grateful for a topic which he felt much more equipped to handle at this early – or late – hour of the morning. “I hadn't intended on staying the night,” he admitted. But he'd been unable to leave. Being around Alex after all that time apart had felt too good to give up too soon. “I'm leaving for Los Angeles tomorrow. I have yet to pack and get some stuff.” And he needed, ridiculous as it sounded, a bit of space. So much of Alex after such a long period of longing for him was overloading his senses.

“So you leave already?”

He heard the disappointment and tried to explain it to him. “Well, yeah. You know, I was offered to open for you in Mexico and figured I'd spend the days before that visiting some old friends. There's a tv appearance I have to do as well. And the band and I haven't played a whole set in a bit so we definitely need to rehearse.” He also hadn't intended to be friends with Alex again at this point. The idea of spending the weekend in Mexico with him and the Monkeys had been a bit intimidating to say the least so he had planned on staying as busy as possible in the days leading up to it. Now he wished he'd some more free time on his hands. “When will you and the band head to Mexico?”

“Next week or so,” said Alex. “We haven't fully decided yet.” He nibbled on a dry toast. “Will you be in Mexico for your birthday?”

“No, LA.” Miles wasn't too happy about the prospect of spending that day without Alex. “We'll have to celebrate when we meet again, then.”

“No way,” stated Alex and placed the toast away, rubbing his hands to get rid of the crumbs. “I'll come to LA. I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out.”

“You have rehearsals and all that!” Miles wanted to spend his day with Alex, but he also didn't want to be responsible for him falling behind on his band-duties. “Your tour continues soon!”

Alex waved him off. “We've been playing the same songs over and over again for a year. Trust me, I can do with one day less of rehearsals! I'll be there, Miles. Gift and all.” Alex smiled. “Which reminds me, I still have your Christmas gift. Shit, where did I take it?”

Miles chuckled. “What do mean, where did you take it? And you know I don't need any gifts from you. Having you there is more than enough, Al!”

“That's sweet, but nonsense.” Alex snapped his fingers. “London! I took it to London! No wait...I didn't unpack in London. I think it's in Paris by now.”

After checking the time while Alex pondered his last stays, Miles got up. “Shit, I have to get ready. Mind if I take a shower, maybe borrow a shirt?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Since when do you have to ask. Just go do it. My home is your home!”

“My home,” muttered Alex's father from the corner of the room.

“Whatever,” said Alex.

“Thanks,” grinned Miles.

Mid March

“Look at you,” grinned Jamie as Miles blew out the candles of his birthday cake, “getting older and older.”

“Getting crinklier each year,” added Nick.

“Is that a grey hair?” wondered Matt.

Alex, who sat next to Miles, and across from the other Monkeys, chuckled. Some other people were there as well. It was midnight, the night before Miles' birthday. They had all come out to LA to celebrate and party into the day for they had to leave the next one.

“Fellas, I love you all,” pronounced Miles full of joy, grabbed his glass and lifted it for a toast. “To new beginnings and a fucking amazing time!” He slung one arm loosely around Alex. All in the name of a platonic friendship, he told himself, and not because his friend looked downright fuckable in that tightly fitted shirt. Alex's smile got bigger and Miles took that as reassurance that he hadn't yet crossed any barb-wired, high-voltage-barred lines. So deep into the night and so far from being sober, he had to be extremely careful with where he placed his steps. One inch too far and then what?

“To the new and improved us,” said Alex quietly into Miles' ear while everyone else busied themselves with the cake. “Happy Birthday, Miles. Will you come outside with me for a moment?”

“Of course!” His arm slipped from Alex's shoulder but Alex caught his hand, held on to it and while he didn't entwine their fingers as they would have done in the old days, he still grabbed them tightly. It did funny things to Miles' stomach. 'Watch out,” chimed his conscience – a hollow and ignored warning. When they reached the patio of the restaurant, Miles gave Alex all of his attention.“What's on your mind, Al?” He had wanted to call him 'love', as he used to, but had stopped himself just in time.

Alex reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small envelope. “I wanted to give you your birthday present. But I'm not sure you'll like it so I didn't want any witnesses!” He held out the envelope. “For you. I put a lot of thought into it!”

Miles smiled radiantly. “Is it a gift certificate for Bed, Bath and Beyond?”

“Better,” assured Alex.

“Oh, Ikea?”

“Just open it, will you?”

Miles did. And the smile fell from his face. “Alex. What have you done?” He sat down on the nearest bench and took a closer look at what he was holding. It was a post card with the image of a beach with penguins on it, and the backside read, 'One trip to Boulder Beach, South Africa, to spend a week with the penguins.' He looked up, finding Alex nervously trying and failing to light a cigarette.

“It's just a gift, Mi.”

Alex hadn't called him that in half a year. What an odd little jump his heart did at that. But it wasn't enough to distract him from Alex's generous gift. “It's too much!”

“Miles, trust me. I can afford it. You can afford it! I always wondered why you haven't gone there already. You always wanted to see them.” He finally got the cigarette lit up and inhaled deeply. “It doesn't have a fixed date. I'll give you the official paperwork later. You can go whenever you want. And it's for two people, so you can take a friend or...you know...somebody.” The last word he said almost inaudibly.

“There's no somebody,” Miles pointed out right away. It mattered a great deal to him that Alex knew that.

“Doesn't matter, does it? Someday there will be a somebody.” Alex just wouldn't meet Miles' eyes, no matter how hard he tried to catch his sight. “Wait until then. Or not. Go now. Take your mom. I was just trying to get you something nice. Like I said, it's always been your dream.”

Miles' dream was going to the most exotic place in the world, where it was either warm and sunny, or cold and snowy, or wet and stormy, and see something so remote and rare and beautiful that he would remember it for the rest of his life. But that wasn't the part that mattered most to him. He wanted to go there with Alex. He wanted to share the memory with him. At some point he'd mentioned wanting to see penguins and it had become a thing. But he didn't so much care for the penguins as he cared for person who'd be standing next to him once he got to them. It had become a dream he'd almost given up on last year. There were times when he doubted he'd share any kind of memory with Alex ever again.

Yet here he was. With Alex. And all he had to do was tell him to pack his bag and join him. Dream come true. Only, Alex would never know that he was part of Miles' dream. Which, in return, made the whole dream lose all meaning.

“I do suck at gifts, don't I?” Alex sat down next to him as a shadow of sadness cast over his face. He flipped the dead cigarette away.

Miles wrapped his arm around Alex's shoulder, pulled him against his side and kissed his head. He knew he was pushing the boundary hard at the moment, but he felt bereft of any other option. He needed his next words to land so he spoke them as sternly as he could. “I love you. This gift is incredibly thoughtful and you'll never know how grateful I am for it. You tried to make my dream come true. That means the world to me! But,” he spoke softly, handing back the post card, “I can't take it.”

“Why not?” Asked Alex, not making any moves to detach himself from Miles.

“It's too much, Alex. It's too big. It's not the kind of gift you and I should be making each other.”

Alex wiggled his arm free, curled it around Miles' neck and returned the kiss, pressing his lips to Miles' forehead. “I truly don't understand why you're doing it. Being honest here!” His expression got softer. “But I know you wouldn't do it unless you got your reasons.” He finally met Miles' eyes. Then he placed the card back into his pocket. “Can I at least invite you to a movie once we're back in London? If you're afraid it'll be too big of a gift, you can pay for your own popcorn!”

A bashful grin lit up his face and he found Alex's pouty reply adorable. “Don't worry, babe. You can buy me all the popcorn in the world. And chocolate. And gummy bears. I'll endeavor to be the most expensive date of your life!”

Alex laughed, all remnants of sadness gone from his face. Then he paused and met Miles' happy expression with a one of equal parts perplexity and mockery. Alex's one brow curved upward in that certain way that Miles found unbelievably sexy.

That was until his own words sank in, at which point he rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell! Not date, damnit! Evening. And now I actually am tempted to pay for my own popcorn!”

“Don't you dare,” warned Alex and smirked. They still held on to each other. “Oh, hey, I've been meaning to ask you something. Did you take my black shirt? The one with the white stripes? I had it Sheffield, but now I can't find it anymore. And I know you took something out of my bag. But you vanished so bloody fast that day, I hardly saw you after breakfast!”

“I had to catch the train,” said Miles defensively. “You told me to take whatever!”

“That's my favorite shirt!”

“And it looks really good on me!” He flashed him a saucy grin. “Want it back?”

“Oh, you bet I do! Expect me to come get it later!”

“Here you are!” Matt called from the terrace door. “There's a birthday party happening on the inside but the guest of honor has gone missing!”

“On our way,” assured Miles, grabbed Alex's hand and pulled him along, back inside. “By the way, I also took your black alligator leather belt!”

“Fuck, Miles! I searched for hours for that thing!” Alex's hand went to Miles' suit jacket, pushed it upward. “Are you wearing it now? You are! I don't believe you!” He curled his fingers around the buckle. “Give it to me right now!”

They came to a halt in a corner. Miles stopped, Alex bumped against Miles' front and suddenly their lips were only an inch apart. Alex still held on to Miles' belt. For a long moment the world stopped moving. It was just them, in a room full of people, who, in that very instant, all ceased to exist.

Miles could smell the liquor on Alex's breath, felt the pulsating drum of his own heart that came with being so close to him. Alex's fingers, glued to the belt buckle, were entirely too close to one undeniably curious part of his anatomy and when his friend's eyes dropped down, coming to linger on his lips, Miles could feel the remnants of his self-control fighting with the legions of lust which had all come prepared for battle. “Boundary,” he whispered, damning himself for remembering just how insanely kissable Alex's lips were. “We must keep a distance.”

Alex nodded shakily. He carefully let go of the belt. Took a step backwards. “Drink?”

“Yes!”

Three hours later, and so fucking drunk they could no longer walk straight lines, Miles and Alex stumbled down the hallway of Miles' apartment, not singing but shouting the lyrics to one of their old tunes.

“And she tried so hard,” went Alex.

“To steal away from the Meeting Place,” followed Miles.

“Steer away.” Alex halted. “Door!”

“Why should I steer away from my door?” His mind was too foggy for Alex's vague remark. “Be more specific. I'm very drunk!”

Alex laughed. A drunken, gigglish laugh. “Lyrics, Mi. Steer away. Not steal away. However,” he said, holding up a finger to emphasize his words, “steal away would work. Or not?” He blinked once. Twice. “What were you saying?”

Miles frowned. “I don't know. What was I saying?” The hallway began to spin. “We should get inside. I think the floor is about to give out. I swear I just saw it move!”

“The floor?” Alex shook his head. Then his hand shot out, holding onto Miles' shoulder. “Oh, I saw it too! It's a trick floor! Must be.”

“I've heard of those,” said Miles. “Why won't you open the door?” He gave Alex a disapproving look. Time was running out on them. Although he couldn't say why. His thoughts were very confusing at the moment.

“It's your place.”

“I live here?”

Alex nodded.

“Oh. Oh, I have to unlock then!” And he did. Or tried. Tried again. And, at long last, succeeded. “Voila! Ooh, that's a french word. I just spoke French!”

Loud, vibrating laughter bursted from Alex. “Well done, Miles. Well done!” And he stumbled inside.

Miles followed him into the apartment, got rid of his jacket and kicked off his shoes. “Good night!”

“Wait, Mi. My belt!”

“Right!” He lifted his shirt, undid the buckle and pulled it out of the loops with one swift move before holding it out for Alex. His friend looked at him with heavy, lidded eyes, an expression of dark, vicious hunger on his face. “Why are looking me like I'm a chocolate cake?”

Alex licked in lips and gulped. Which, in return, made Miles zoom in on Alex's mouth. His perfectly shaped, undoubtedly warm and luscious mouth. “You look at me like I'm a bloody burger,” retorted Alex and took a step towards him. “I want my shirt, too!”

“What shirt? This shirt?”

“No, my shirt. My favorite shirt.” Another step. Alex pressed his still outstretched but until now forgotten finger into Miles' chest. “Black shirt. White stripes. You took it, you thief.”

“Only cause it smells of you,” confessed Miles. “Oh, I said that out loud, didn't I?” His eyes dropped to where Alex was touching his chest. “You mustn't tell yourself this, it's a sinful secret, and you and I friends, so we don't share sinful secrets,” he whispered, “but I so very much like the way you smell!” His head dipped down a little bit, his forehead now touching Alex's. “I really, really, really like the way you smell.”

Alex's flattened his palm against Miles' front, began rubbing up and down in small, languid strokes. He pressed his nose against that of his friend. “I miss how you used to smell,” admitted Alex, his voice low and husky. “But you changed your cologne.”

“Cause you told me to,” Miles reminded him.

“I know. I'm stupid like that.”

Now both of Alex's hands travelled across the planes of Miles' upper body, wrecking havoc on Miles's control. In the very far, dimly lit part of his head where his self-control was drifting off to sleep and his better judgement was struggling to remain awake, his wild desires crept from the shadows. Having Alex touch him like this was like a jolt of pure, uncontrollable energy. Every carefully sedated fiber of desire was shocked back to life.

Alex curled a hand around Miles' neck, dug his nose into his skin, tempting Miles to let go of the reigns and allow his arousal to run free. When Alex began to nuzzle along Miles' jawbone, then lower, near his earlobe, Miles closed his eyes, holding on the last shards of control. “Boundaries,” he reminded him in a voice so hoarse and strained he barely recognized it as his own.

“I'm not breaking boundaries,” claimed Alex in a bold-faced lie, with a tone that betrayed all pretense. “I'm just trying to figure out if I like your new cologne.”

“Figure it out faster,” begged Miles.

He felt Alex smile against the overly sensitive skin just behind his earlobe. “Why?”

“Cause I'm about to lose it.”

Alex detached from Miles, met his eyes, but couldn't focus on them. His gaze kept dropped to Miles' lips. Alex touched his cheek, angling his head with one hand as he took hold of Miles' tie with his other one, grabbing it near the knot, fisting it. “Lose it, then.”

A heartbeat passed. And then they were kissing. Wild, reckless and uncontrollable. There was nothing slow and soft or even tender about it. Just open mouths, wet tongues and filthy, dirty lust at its finest. Miles found himself pushed up against the back of his sofa, digging into the soft hair of Alex's outgrown buzzcut, craving his friend's kiss so utterly, so absolutely, that he couldn't even stop to undress him.

And that's when it hit him.

Here they were. Again. Six months later. Doing the same fucking thing. A wave of nausea and disgust overcame him and he pushed Alex off him. “Stop! Stop, damnit!”

Alex stumbled backwards, dazed and breathless.

“Fucking hell,” shot Miles, burying his face in his hands. When Alex made a move towards him, Miles quickly moved away, around the sofa. A physical barrier was exactly what he needed. “What are we doing?”

Alex, still looking lost, shrugged. “What we both wanted?”

“What we— Are you fucking kidding me? We're barely back to being friends, Alex! No kissing, we said.”

“I know!”

“Then why are we fucking kissing?!”

“'Cause you were there and I was there and...” Alex rubbed his face. “Damnit, Miles! Do you have any idea how hard it is not to kiss you? It's all I can think about. All day. All night. All the fucking time! When you're in reach, when I all I have to do is grab you, it becomes impossible not to do it. I know we said we would keep a distance. But had I no idea it would be so bloody hard! I want to follow our rules but…Miles, it has never been this way before! I've never longed so completely, so overwhelmingly for anyone in my life. I'm fucking starving for you! And I know you don't understand what I'm talking about but—”

“Every single cell in my body craves you, Alex.” Miles wanted to laugh. Not understand him? Oh, how fucking ridiculous that idea was! “There are moments when I want you so badly I could tear out my hair! I wake up in the middle of the night and find myself screaming into my pillow cause I've dreamt about you and I'm fucking hard and you're just not there to have! So don't you dare tell me I don't understand what you're talking about!”

Alex made his way around the sofa. “If I want you and you want me, why can't we—”

“'Cause it will ruin our friendship and you know it!” As if he hadn't thought about it! As if the thought of just giving in to his needs didn't cross his mind every minute, every hour, every day! But it would never be enough. It wasn't the physical act of being with Alex that satisfied him so greatly – even though it was very well-satisfying! – it was the act of being with Alex. It was the act of being entwined with the one the person that knew him inside and out. It was the act of sharing immense pleasure with the one person he knew inside and out.

What Alex suggested would no doubt please his body. But it would drain his soul and lay waste to his heart. It would kill him slowly. And it would lead to the bitter end of a beautiful friendship. Miles sat down on the sofa, staring at Alex, hoping he understood any of it. “You and I aren't made to for something like that. And I will never risk losing you for just a bit of sex!”

Alex dropped down next to him. “I don't remember how we used to do this, Miles. We've been best friends for almost half of our lives. Until now, we've never had a need for boundaries and lines. What changed?”

“Nothing changed.” The haze from the liquor began to settle and the lingering adrenaline from almost detonating his renewed friendship with Alex had helped him regain some control of his mind. But his body was tired. His limbs felt heavy. His muscles were sore, almost as if he'd run a marathon. “Think about it, Alex. You say we never needed any lines? We built a bloody minefield! But we didn't place it around our hands and lips. We locked our hearts in. We always pretended that all we did was play around. We pushed each other. We were reckless. There's a reason you never stayed the night when we shared a bed, even if it was just for sleep. There's a reason we don't ever explain our lyrics or question each other about them.”

Averting his eyes, getting up, then pacing the room, Alex struggled and Miles could tell. But wasn't it time they talked about this? Alex stopped to stare at the ceiling, then squeezed his eyes shut. “There isn't a line or a word in any of all that I've ever written that—there's nothing that ever needed to be locked off!”

“Golden Trunks. Is it about me?”

Alex shot him a look of crimson anger. “I know that she told you that it is. There's no reason to rehash this!”

“That's what I'm fucking talking about, Alex! This is you, drawing big, fat line.”

“What do you want me to fucking say, Miles? Huh?! Do you need me to spill it out for you? Yes, okay? Yes, I, Alex Turner, fantasize about you. How's that a new information?” he asked full of biting sarcasm.

“You broke up with the woman whose name you had inked on your arm over a line in a song that barely anyone even knows!”

“So did you,” Alex snapped irately. Then he walked up to Miles, to tower in front of him. “You want honesty? Tell me what you and Taylor were fighting over two years ago!”

Miles looked away. “You really don't want to know.”

“Oh, I do!”

2017

“I owe you an apology.” Miles took a seat next to Taylor by the pool of Alex' LA home. Alex was in the midst of a discussion with some other people which had come to one of his impromptu-barbecues. The other Monkeys were in town as well, all busy with recording their new album. Taylor crossed her arms as she met Miles' eyes. He sighed. “I mean it, T. I did something that I shouldn't have done for a vast variety of reasons. But most importantly, I shouldn't have done it because he wasn't mine to kiss. I'm sorry.”

“To be perfectly honest, I couldn't care less about the kiss.” She looked away, distracted by some noises coming from the pool. She kept her attention there. “You broke Hannah's heart.”

“I know.” He looked elsewhere, too, now. “And she knows I never intended for it to happen. That's doesn't take away from what I did, though. It was a bad—”

“Her heart was doomed when you asked her to be your girlfriend,” said Taylor, startling Miles. “And so was mine, by the way, when I asked him out and he said yes.”

“Taylor,” tried Miles, but she held up her hand to stop him.

“No, I'm not done. You and Alex have fans, did you know? Fans who care less about your music and more about your personal relationship? At first I found it funny, even a bit cute. Then I observed the two of you on tour. On stage. I even saw him snuck out of your room once, in the middle of the night, in a bathrobe, when I came to surprise him. I never told him that.”

“He fell asleep on the bloody couch,” lied Miles, annoyed. He felt caught. A strange, irritating emotion.

“Fucking liar!” She shot loudly.

“Would you calm down,” Miles hissed. “There are other people here!”

“Why should I care? Are you suddenly worried people might get the wrong idea about you and Alex?” She tossed out a bitter laugh. “I don't believe that you played Hannah or that he's pretending to care for me. But deep down,” she told him as she stared into his eyes, “you know there's something more going on. Tell me that I'm wrong. Tell me that it's all just make-believe for the fans. Tell me!”

He couldn't tell her.

“Here's why the thought of me didn't keep you from kissing my boyfriend: you think he belongs to you. You consider him yours. Want to apologize? Apologize for that.”

They sat in silence for a while and Miles let her words sink in. He had to give it to her, she did struck a nerve. And it made him angry. It unraveled him that she read him so well, even though he worked so bloody hard to keep those feelings to himself. It pissed him off that she had the nerve to state so bluntly what he himself tried so hard to deny. And it annoyed him that she looked so fucking smug about it.

“No apology?” Taylor smirked. “Must bother you that he hasn't broken up with me yet.”

Miles bit his tongue, tried to be better than her, tried to fight his urge to sink low. He knew that she was hurt. He knew it was his fault.

“Guess my kiss tastes better than yours.”

And he lost the fight. “Every night he didn't spend in your arms,” whispered Miles, leaning into her to make sure she was the only one who heard, “he spent in mine.” Then he got up, grabbed his jacket and left.

Present Day

Alex watched him impatiently. “Seriously, Miles. I want to know!”

“There goes our friendship,” murmured Miles and got up, to walk over to the window. He lit himself a cigarette. “Short version? I apologized, she said some stuff I didn't want to hear and I said something to shut her up and make her feel bad.”

“You insulted her?” Alex sounded so surprised. “She would have told me that. And you don't insult people! You've never done that!”

“It wasn't an insult, okay? It was a lie. Or not.” He rolled his eyes, met Alex's. “Why is that so important now?”

“'Cause ever since that argument she believed that you and I were in love.”

Miles wanted to laugh so badly. It was all so insanely ridiculous. He was in love with Alex. And he let Taylor believe that had spent countless nights 'with' Alex. As his lover. Which, in a sense, wasn't even a lie! He loved him and he had spent the nights with him. Only, he hadn't known then that he was in love with Alex. Or had he? Had he known all along? Had he been in love from the very beginning? And had Taylor been right after all? Had he really considered Alex to be his, for all that time? “Would you believe me when I tell you I have a headache?”

Alex frowned. “Why wouldn't I believe that, Miles? What's going on?”

“I'm finding it difficult to believe my own words, lately.” He turned his head to find Alex standing next to him, a concerned look on his face. “I find myself saying one thing and then end up doing the other. I tell you I want to be your friend and then I kiss you. I ask you for honesty and I find myself unable to respond with the same. I tell we can't kiss again and then…I do this.” He cupped Alex's face, cigarette still tugged between his fingers, and kissed him.

But it wasn't fast, or hard, or anything their kisses usually were. It was slow, and gentle, and his heart broke splinter by splinter with each languid stroke of his tongue. He felt Alex's hands and arms as they made their way around his torso, bringing them closer. What a dangerous kiss this was, not lacking of lust yet fed with feelings. It was a kiss of love, and his friend allowed it to happen, allowed him to have it. Miles felt horrible. After a last lingering moment, he let go and stepped back. “I'm not ready to be around you again.”

Alex leaned against the window, hazy and dark-eyed. Completely out of it. “What?”

“Don't you see, Al? I can't control it yet. It's exactly as you said, impossible not to kiss.”

“Let's work on that together, then!”

“How's that going to work? We sit in a room and applaud ourselves for every minute we spent not making out?” He sad, self-deprecating chuckle slipped from his lips.

“I just got you back in my life. I won't let you walk out of it, just because it's complicated and hard and requires effort!”

“You want a reason to let me go? Let me give you one. I told Taylor we fucked on the regular.”

A few seconds ticked down. And then? Then Alex combusted in laughter. Loud, rumbling, tears-streaming-from-the-eyes laughter. “That's what that was all about?” More laughter. “Oh that explains so much!” More laughter still.

Miles jaw all but dropped. “Why is it so funny? I don't get it.”

Alex shrugged. “I have no idea!” He wiped the tears from his eyes, still amused. “I just find it hilarious that the two of you made such a big fucking thing out of it, but she wouldn't even come to about it!”

“Well,” added Miles, “she also said I was in love with you.”

“You're not,” said Alex. The amusement died down. “Trust me, I know that.”

Miles didn't respond to that statement. How could Alex be so firm in his belief of it, wondered Miles, considering the kiss they had just shared. And what a testament to Alex's own lack of romantic notions towards him, thought Miles further. He had, after all, returned the kiss as tenderly as Miles had given it. To do that, without love? How different two people could be, he marveled.

“I meant what I said, Al.” Miles turned towards him.

“So did I,” said Alex. Sternly. “You and I are friends. And we'll remain friends. Damn all this attraction nonsense. Let's take smaller steps then. Let's not get drunk together. That seems to lead to no good. God, Miles! We won't even see that much of each other at any rate! I'm stuck on tour with the Monkeys and you have all your gigs across the bloody ocean! You want separation? There you have it! For crying out loud,” he groaned in frustration, “let's do a fucking long-distance phone friendship until I'm back home!”

“I can't perform with you in Mexico.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Come on, Miles! It's not even a Puppets song! It's fucking 505! We always do that together when we're in the same city! Huddle near Matt, Nick or Jamie if you need to!”

“It's not about that, Al.”

“It's been months, Miles. And it'll be our last chance to share a stage for a very long time!”

“Alex, I can't.” The last time they shared a stage together, it left him on the brink of a breakdown. The time before that, it had been odd already. And at that time, they hadn't even done the deed! He wasn't ready to find out how it would feel now. What if the spark was gone? What if there was nothing but awkwardness? Or worse, unease? “Someday, but not yet.”

“I can't force you, can I?” Alex was, without a doubt, disappointed. And he looked as exhausted and as done with it all as Miles felt. “Seriously, Miles. This has to be the worst birthday of yours we've ever celebrated!” He returned to the sofa and leaned back. “We gotta do better next year!”

“We will,” promised Miles and leaned back against the window, hands in his pockets. He spotted the clock on the wall and yawned. “Almost five am already. Time to sleep. It's been a long day.”

Alex shook his head disbelievingly and got up. “Smooth, Kane. Real smooth!” He picked up his jacket from the floor, put it on and tipped his head at Miles. “Keep the belt and the shirt. I'll collect it in London once we're back.” In the doorway, he haltered one last time. “Will I at least see you in Mexico?”

Miles nodded.

Alex nodded, too. And then he was gone.