#gil arroyo fic

[fandom-happy]

Sicktember 2023 - Day 15: Sick in an inconvenient place

Summary: New meds are making life difficult for Malcolm. He just needs to get through class, but his stomach has other ideas.

Also a fill for my Bad Things Happen Bingo Card - School Struggles square

[prodbionic]

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Secret Revealed

Mark My Sins

Alternate title: Getting Shot 101

Fandom: Prodigal Son

Word count: 3640

Summary:

Closing cases is Malcolm’s specialty. Getting injured in the process is par for the course. Ditching a hospital run afterwards is his modus operandi. But not this time, not on Gil’s watch.

After putting the perp in handcuffs, Gil catches up with the injured, run-away Malcolm at the latter’s loft. The Lieutenant is in for a shift in perspective.

Warnings: implied and referenced self harm, off screen self harm.

Read on ao3

"Malcolm!" 

Gil’s bellow rang in tandem with the loud bang of the loft’s door meeting its frame. He pocketed the keys and stomped inside, following the trail of blood. It was more visible on the floor of the semi lit apartment than it had been on the staircase, and the sidewalk outside of the building. Drops and smears, smudged in places by shoe imprints, patterned the floor in a path towards the closed bathroom; and not a straight path at that. Gil’s experienced eye picked up how the trail swerved away at least twice, distinctively, and straightened back, before disappearing through the gap beneath the bathroom door.

Goddamnit, the kid was fucking swaying!  

"Malcolm, open the door or so help me god, you’re off the team!" Gil's threat was equal portions of concern and fury. Both feelings clashed, he could not tell one from the other with the intensity of his adrenaline-fueled frustration.

Gil pounded the bathroom door. His patience had long since ended, two blocks into his drive over here, when he’d realized, helplessly, that Malcolm was not going to answer his phone. He'd thrown the phone on the dashboard and floored the gas pedal.

“Are you decent? If you don’t reply, I’m gonna barge in, even if you aren’t, fair warning.”

The older man gave it another two seconds, the absolute extent of his restraint, and that’s only because the sound of Malcolm's breathing through the door placated his panic to a certain degree.

Twisting the door knob, Gil entered.

A medical supplies box sat open, looking like it had a small hurricane ravage its contents. Bottles of alcohol and iodine, packages of gauze rolls and cotton balls, different looking syringes and many other aids he couldn't identify at a glance— all scattered on the bloody floor. Malcolm sat in his boxers in the middle of the room, back resting on the wall, a suture needle in his right, blood-slicked hand. His left held a patch of cotton dressing—soaked red and completely useless by this point—pressed against his thigh where the bullet had hit him. The suit jacket and pants were tossed and forgotten beside the sink, the light gray shirt, now wet and red, bunched under the knee, supporting his injured leg.

While Gil made his assessing once-over of the stifling room, Malcolm was looking up bleary eyed, head tipped back against the wall. He sat there, not moving, not speaking, the needle in his hand forgotten, probably never seen any action in the first place, for all the blood still seeping.

With the faint, but constant, tremor running in Malcolm’s hand, Gil doubted he'd achieved much suturing.

“Hey there, kid,” Gil murmured, all his recent fury melting like butter; there, but no longer solid. He crouched beside Malcolm’s injured side.

Malcolm blinked. “Hey,” he rasped. Gil doubted he would’ve heard it if they weren’t so close.

“I'm gonna take that now,” Gil said as he reached to take the needle out of Malcolm's weak grasp.

Surprisingly, the kid tightened his two fingers around it —insofar as a corpse would tighten two fingers around something— and dragged his hand away from Gil, breathing, “I need it.”

More awareness seemed to flutter into him as he self consciously pulled the bunched shirt from under his thigh and spread it on his lap, wincing in pain all the while.

Gil clenched his jaw, and prayed for even more patience. “What you need is an ER.” 

Looking intently at his wound, Malcolm attempted to work the needle into it. “I won’t go to one. I got this”

“Then why are you sitting there donating blood to the bathroom floor?” Gil challenged, exasperation elevating his tone. In his periphery, the trembling intensified in Malcolm’s hand. 

“I was just resting for a second. You can go, I can do this.” The dismissal was weak enough that Gil didn't bother elaborating all the ways that the kid, in fact, could not do this. Maybe if he was in a better shape, physically, or mentally. Stubborness wasn’t a new territory for Gil to knock doors on, every now and then—But there was stubborn, and there was down right stupid.

“... Malcolm–”

“Please just go, Gil. Just go.” Malcolm’s request-order surged in urgency and distress.

Gil must have missed something. Something vital.

The case they’ve been handling had dragged on for over a couple of weeks, and although they managed to capture the perp, it wasn’t until three more bodies dropped. Malcolm's mood seemed to drop significantly with each new victim, understandably, just like the rest of them. But he also was the one to figure out the pattern, the profile, and they wouldn’t have been able to put an end to these crimes without the profiler's imperative input. So why would he hit rock bottom when they’d finally put the son of a bitch in cuffs?

Under the constant barrage of ‘go-just go’ , Gil stood up and took a step back to appease the younger man and put the brakes on the Spiral Express. Malcolm removed the soaked dressing, uncovering the oozing gash, and Gil gritted his teeth, feeling in a front seat to the insides of that leg. Blood isn’t an unusual sight to him, but on people he cares about, on Malcolm? It was taking a lot of effort to hold himself back from calling dispatch, out of respect to the kid's desperation. But now Malcolm was making pathetic attempts at pressing the needle to his flesh, only to wince, stop, and try again.

“Would you at least let me help you, for God’s sake?” Gil finally exclaimed when he had enough of this second-hand torture.

Malcolm looked up and Gil tamped down the roil of emotion in his chest at the kid’s look of uncertainty and fear, giving a kicked puppy a run for its money. Gil ripped the plastic packaging of a sterile dressing and handed it to malcolm.

“Here, press this on the wound, and throw that one away. It fits better in the trash.”

Malcolm did as told. The saturated cotton piece made a squelch as it met with the floor, missing the waste basket by a couple of feet. Figuring they’re going to use it a lot tonight, Gil pulled the plastic lined bin, and plucked the dripping dressing to drop it inside. He stood to wash his hands.

“Did you take something for the pain?” 

The kid shook his head no , to which Gil shook his head in surrender. Of course. Leave it to Bright to go about this process ass-backwards. Grabbing the discarded suit jacket from the floor, Gil maneuvered Malcolm to hang the jacket around his shoulders, then gave one a gentle squeeze. Hopefully it would warm him up enough to stop his morphing into a popsicle.

“I’ll be right back.”

 

At the kitchen, the lieutenant took off his own coat in a haste so it could survive the night intact, and placed it on the counter housing the meds. After rolling his shirt sleeves to his elbows, he rifled through the med containers until he found his target. He then took a plastic water bottle from the fridge, and after a second of deliberation he also took a lone juice bottle tucked away at the back of the fridge. Like the kid that gets chosen last for team games or projects at school, though it was cranberry, so Gil understood the aversion.

Back at the bathroom, Malcolm was staring at the shower wall, head miles away it seemed. Gil leaned across him to put the juice on the nonbloody part of the floor, and gently nudged that free hand—the other still pressed weakly on the wound—with the water bottle. “Hey, Bright.”

Malcolm shifted his gaze to the chilly condensation touching his skin, and robotically clutched the opened bottle. He opened his mouth dutifully when prompted, for Gil to place the couple of pills, then chased them down with the water. Now Gil shifted his attention to the —actually pretty impressive— medical kit, and its contents. He secured a new suture kit, an iodine bottle, a couple of latex gloves and set to work.

It was only when he grabbed the rumpled bloody shirt to remove it from Malcolm's lap, that more awareness shot through the kid again. He held on to the shirt, firmly covering his thighs to the knees. Gil, though perplexed, decided to choose his battles and merely pushed it an inch upwards, to clear an area around the laceration on the lateral side of the left thigh.

“Permission to be blunt?” Gil asked, and made sure his tone brooked no argument. He was going to be blunt whether Malcolm liked it or not, who was side-eying him while resting his head backwards and sipping lazily at his bottle. "This is fucking stupid," Gil said, even as he threw away the newly soaked gauze pad, put the gloves on, dumped half the iodine on Bright’s leg and prepared the thread.

Malcolm shook his head ruefully. "Gil–"

"It is. Look me in the eye and tell me this isn't stupid. I wave for the paramedics and you bolt like it’s Death coming to get you? Since when was ‘running home to patch yourself up’ the one-oh-one of Getting Shot?"

"That’s the new update. And I wouldn’t bolt if it was Death, I don’t think…" Malcolm trailed off under the intensity of Gil's withering glare, the raised corner of his mouth gained sudden weight and fell off, erasing his smirk. Despondence took place instead as he continued, somber, "I couldn't let them–… Gil, I– 

Gil waited for him to continue, busying himself in the stitches. And waited. And waited. Nothing came. The only sounds made were the slight hitch in his drawn breaths with every press of the needle at his flesh. Gil finished off another stitch and raised his head to finally look at Malcolm, but he averted his gaze.

Gently, so gently, like treading on water, "What aren't you telling me, Bright?" 

A shuddering breath, a thick swallow, a still averted gaze later and Gil gave up on a response. He looked back down at the almost closed gash, but before he started another stitch he couldn't help but notice how Malcolm had both his hands in fists protectively over the bunched shirt covering his thighs. Gil frowned. He swiftly finished the last two stitches, took off his gloves and pitched them into the trash. Then got comfortable beside Malcolm, but opposite so he can easily look at him.

"You know you can trust me."

No response.

Gil actually felt unsure, and like he was wading into a stranger territory. "When did that stop being the case?"

One translucent drop trailed down the kid's cheek, sailed down from his chin to land in a soft splat on his stomach. 

“I… trust you,” Malcolm mumbled. He sounded unsure, himself. Like he was iterating a fact he had, a fact burrowed inside for so long that it was rusty upon retrieval.

“I'm sorry if I ever gave you a reason to doubt it, kid,” Gil said, wholly meaning it. “I'm not set out to guilt trip you.”

Malcolm shook his head, more tears leaking from under closed lids. “It's not what this is. I…”

When he got stuck on words again, Gil was resolute to bypass this hiccup.

“Look, it doesn't matter right this second. You look more white than your normal white boy white. Wanna avoid a hospital tour? I expect those two bottles to be empty before I stand to wash my hands.”

A huff of expelled air with a corner of mouth slanted upward in a soundless, wet laugh, Malcolm looked beside him then made a face. “It's cranberry, Gil.”

Gil silently cheered at the aggrieved whine, while Malcolm swiped at his wet cheek. 

“Not my problem. It's in your fridge, it's not past expiration date, you're not allergic. Drink.”

He drained the last of his water first then grabbed the offensive juice to twist the cap. “It’s mother, always sending piles of groceries.”

“Good. Left to your own devices, I doubt you’d see the inside of a grocery store.”

“Debatable.”

They share a silent minute; Malcolm sipping juice with an occasionally scrunched up face, and Gil cleaning around the stitches before covering them up in adhesive gauze. 

“You got people in your life who look out for you, kid. Don’t shut us out when you need help.”

Malcolm stared at him, clearly weighing something on his mind that Gil would pay to know, but wisely chose to stare back and wait.

“Help me up?”

Not exactly what he had in mind but Gil would gladly take it. With a hand clasped with the younger man’s and another under his armpit, Gil hauled —an entirely too heavy for Gil’s old bones— Malcolm on his swaying feet, two steps backwards, where the latter plopped on the toilet lid.

They both panted after that little exercise before Malcolm was first to break the silence in a tired mumble, "That was too exhausting. I don't know if I can manage a shower."

Gil eyed the bloody shirt on the floor. Malcolm had held it over his legs like a lifeline, but he didn't seem to notice it falling during the shift in their position.

"I can help clean you off where you're sitting."

Studiously avoiding looking at what the shirt had been hiding, Gil ran warm water with soap in the sink. He collected some face towels from a cabin and soaked them.

Malcolm looked like he wanted nothing more than to doze off, which was understandable; the kid lost what could amount to two bags of blood. His eyelids drooping, his arms and shoulders slack, the back of the toilet the only thing propping him up.

"I uh– I'm tired, Gil," he whispered, and Gil had the suspicion that what he meant was beyond the physical sense of right then. He was at a loss on how to comfort him. Being here, cleaning his kid’s skin enough that he could sleep the night as comfortably as possible, and staying with him, showing him how he cared and understood; other than that, Gil didn’t have any options. ‘You can lead a horse to water’, and all.

And so Gil did exactly that. “I’m right here, Bright,” he said. Then, methodically, wordlessly cleaned him of all the blood. The creases and divots in his palm and between his fingers, his arms, neck, and torso. He reached the part with the larger mess; his legs. Gil did not stop, or stare at all the slash marks patterning the inside and the front of his thighs. Gil did not flinch in sympathy as he wiped over them with another fresh soapy wet towel. He definitely did not look up at Malcolm as he finished with that part, and moved on to his calves and shins. He held himself together because it was what Malcolm needed of him.

The marks were different degrees of healed, some as fresh as just this morning, some as old as a week. That was how long Malcolm had needed him, needed someone, and no one had had a clue.

All done, Gil stood up. “I’ll get you some clean underwear. Stay put.”

Outside of the bathroom, Gil drew a deep breath of fresher air; no blood or antiseptics smells, no suffocation under the pressure of words unsaid. But all too soon, he was back with the clean clothes. Malcolm was exactly how Gil left him, but his hooded eyes bore into Gil with a knowing look. An apprehensive look. He knew Gil now knew what he'd kept tight under guard. What broke Gil's heart was that the kid seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop, like Gil would somehow berate him.

He handed him the clothes and yet another clean wet towel to clean anything that was missed. “I’m here if you need a hand, buddy.”

He faced the other way and crouched to gather the mess on the floor, frequently eying the shelf harboring all the shaving paraphernalia, including an open and half empty box of razors. Keeping himself busy cleaning, he also kept an ear attuned behind him for any possible slips, resisting offering assistance again when he heard the grunts of exertion. Gil was right here, and Malcolm asking for help had to start somewhere.

He would never have berated the kid. Not for something like this. His initial fury was so damningly misplaced and all he felt now was floodgates of guilt that threatened to sweep him off. What would've happened had his tirade went on a little bit longer? Or if it had more bite, more intensity than Malcolm could handle in such a delicate state? Kid could've shut off completely or worse—

His morose line of thought got interrupted out of imagining exaggerated worst case scenarios, by his name being called in a pleading tone. He twisted to find the kid somehow tangled in his own t-shirt amid the process of wearing it. Gil chuckled and swiftly washed his hands before going to the rescue.

“Can I sleep ‘ere?” Malcolm mumbled, sleepy and limp as Gil helped him put his arm and head through their right slots.

“No can do, champ. Up you go.”

They made their way slowly—Gil bearing most of Malcolm’s weight who participated by shuffling his feet in the right directions, thankfully— out of the bathroom, through the living room, and over to the bed where Gil sat him, back propped on the headboard. 

“Don’t sleep yet. You gotta get something else in you.”

He didn’t expect or wait for an answer, before hurrying to the kitchen again. Retrieving a miraculously still standing lemon from the fridge, a generous heaping dollop of honey for the sweet toothed kid, and warm water from the tea kettle, Gil thought to order some groceries first thing in the morning. The state of this kitchen could not stand. While preparing the drink he kept an eye on Malcolm, who only moved to drag a blanket from the foot of the bed and furled it around himself. Gil went back to hand him the glass—the largest one and full to the brim—under the kid’s unwavering eye-contact. It seemed like he was expecting the scolding to start any second now. Tough, for none was coming.

“Drink.”

A tentative sip, eye-contact unbroken, before, ”Why didn’t you panic?”

“I remember it differently. I very well remember panicking. You got shot and fled the scene.”

“It’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. You’re a responsible adult, despite the fact that I like to call you ‘kid’ half the time. A few shallow cuts that you have all the control over are significantly less panic-inducing than a bullet that was meant to kill you but still managed to hit you.

Malcolm rolled the glass between his hands for a minute. “Mom used to panic.”

“I bet she did,” Gil said with a rueful chuckle. Jessica had had the unenviable position of raising a very struggling teen. It had taken her years to get accustomed to rolling with the blows. He shook himself out of the memories. “I was more concerned about the fact that you were struggling that much. And that you didn’t have a healthier outlet.”

“Gil…”

“I’m not blaming you. I just wish that you’d reached out.”

“This case. It was dragging you, all of you, down enough. You didn’t need to worry about me on top of everything else. I’d stopped doing this for almost a decade but I guess my stress has been building up for some time. Don’t really remember making the decision to grab the… uhm… I just, maybe… sort of lost myself for a minute, dissociated probably. I remember coming out of it relieved. Horrified that I failed my clean streak, but relieved. So I did it again and again.”

“Why run?” And this was the pinnacle of the situation.

“Because the medics would’ve seen. And at the hospital. I didn’t want it added to some report in my file or worse,” his hands waved, his demeanor became so animated, even some of the liquid sloshed out of the glass, “that I would get a psych eval or whatever. And I don’t have a great track record with medical personnel respecting my demands, and I could've panicked and they could’ve sedated me and I hate hospitals for a reason, Gil! Multiple reasons. And, to be completely honest with you, some of these reasonings are pure paranoia. I can recognize it but I can't help it, I just… ran to take care of myself, myself.” He didn’t stop to take a breath it seemed, his tirade a steam train, blowing out at full speed. Gil absorbed all of it. He let it percolate in his mind as the kid caught his breath and gulped down the last of the glass’ contents. He stared out the window for a minute, composed himself, before continuing, “but I’m glad you came.”

 “...I’ll always come, Bright.”

Gil took the empty glass from Malcolm’s too-cold hands. The kid still looked too pale for comfort. Exhaustion was finally winning out so Gil prompted him to slide down the bed.

“Next time you’re stressed, we can hit the gym. I need an excuse and a motivation to put in more exercise.”

“You getting old, Lieutenant Arroyo?” Malcolm teased with a sly half-smile.

Gil chuckled and lightly slapped him on the top of his head, before ruffling his hair.

“Never too old to knock you on your ass on the gym’s mat, kid.”

Gil knew it wasn’t true but the laugh he drew from Malcolm was his win for the night.

[shineonmalcolmbright]

Fandoms: Prodigal Son (TV 2019), The Shining - Stephen King, The Shining (1980)

Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly

Characters: Malcolm Bright, Martin Whitly, Jessica Whitly, Ainsley Whitly, Paul Lazar | John Watkins, Gil Arroyo, Dani Powell, Edrisa Tanaka, The Overlook Hotel, Sophie Sanders | The Girl in the Box

Additional Tags: Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Protective Gil Arroyo, Inspired by The Shining, Sibling Bonding, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Bad Parent Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright Whump

Chapters: 50/50

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24602095?view_full_work=true

[unorthodoxsavvy]

Whumptober Day 18: Let's Break The Ice

It was a bitterly cold morning in the city. The snow made muffled crunches underneath Malcolm's feet as he crossed the grassy area in front of his building towards the sidewalk. The wind whipped through his jacket, chilling him to the bone, but he hardly noticed. He enjoyed these walks alone to the precinct, strangers passing him by, each with their own lives. Occasionally Malcolm would even lightly profile the people he passed. Not today though. Today he just wanted his thoughts to himself, as horrible as they could be at times.

Malcolm pulled the doors of the police station open when he arrived and walked in. Gil, Dani, and JT were already waiting for him in the lobby.

"Ice fisher found a lot bigger of a catch than he was looking for up north. Body's frozen, so no need to take Edrissa with us this time. Ready to go, kid?"

Malcolm nodded and did an about-face, following the other three out the door. He was at least hoping for some warm coffee, even if it was cheap police coffee, but Gil seemed to be in a hurry. Malcolm didn't really understand why. It'd be a while before they could do anything with the body other than move it.

The ride up north was quiet. Malcolm and Dani sat in the back seat while JT and Gil rode up front in Gil's beloved classic car. The case was out of their jurisdiction, but they'd been called on scene to provide a profile to help the locals try and narrow down a likely suspect once the body was thawed out back in NYC and then sent back up north for further tests.

To Malcolm, it didn't sound much like a serial killer. Most serial killers were more careful about hiding their bodies than dumping them in a lake, otherwise they were displayed out for the world (and for Malcolm) to see. Malcolm figured it was a one-off, someone owing someone money, a lover's quarrel, etc. Something amature.

The ride was a little under two hours long. Malcolm spent the drive with a podcast playing in his ears. Malcolm knew a few true crime podcasts had already covered his father- and therefore him- in depth. A part of him wanted to listen to them and see how much they got wrong. A part of him didn't want to make his nightmares any worse than they already were. Besides, no one but him knew the full story- or rather, no one but him believed the whole story. Podcasts were missing a huge piece of the puzzle and they didn't even know it. Little did Malcolm know he was missing large pieces of the puzzle himself.

When they arrived Malcolm and Dani disembarked from the back seat and followed JT and Gil towards the lake's edge.

They all paused for a moment, staring down at the ice's edge.

"People have been walking on this all day with no reports of any cracks or thin areas. We'll be fine."

Malcolm knew realistically the chances of any of them falling through were slim, but it was still a mind-bend to wrap his head around walking out over a lake. It was just one of those things, he figured, you couldn't think too hard about. Just shut off the higher-functioning part of your brain that couldn't wrap itself around the idea you were literally walking on water and at any moment that water would break and you were screwed. So Malcolm did just that: he refused to let his mind focus on the fact there was water underneath him and just treated the journey as walking on any other slippery surface.

The ice fisherman was still out on scene. There was no way to put up any crime scene tape. Instead he was just moved off to the side giving his statement to a few of the local cops.

Gil directed Dani and Malcolm towards where they were pulling up the body while he and JT went over to question the witness themselves.

"What a catch, huh?" said one of the cops, doing his best to get the body up while preserving as much evidence as he could.

"Yeah," Malcolm agreed, pulling the camera up from where it dangled around his neck and started snapping photos. He didn't find much humor in the joke, but there was no point in making enemies with the local cops over such a trivial remark.

"What're you thinking?" asked a sheriff who was surveying his grunts as they tried their best to pull the body up. "Somebody owing somebody money? Jilted lover?"

"Something like that," Malcolm replied from behind his camera.

One of the lackey cops dropped a rope he was using to try and hoist the body up with.

"Boss, I think we're gonna need to break the ice more."

The sheriff sighed and leaned over the hole to take a look.

"Yeah, alright, let's do it," he agreed reluctantly.

"What have you got so far?" Dani asked as the two cops trying to hoist up the body handed the ropes to her and the sheriff while they went to go grab more equipment.

"Male. Mid thirties to early forties. Over 200 pounds. Real big dude."

Malcolm leaned over and took a glance into the hole they'd already expanded himself.

"Any identifying markers?"

"Not just yet. Hafeta wait til the body's out, and then probably wait some more for it ta thaw."

Dani nodded. Malcolm decided to head over to see what Gil and JT had picked up from the fisher who discovered the body. As he walked he could hear the ice shifting and cracking under his feet. Malcolm froze as his stomach dropped, but the ice held steady. He shook his head and tried to calm his nerves and continued walking towards the group.

Gil turned towards Malcolm as JT continued to question the witness.

"Story adds up," Gil said. "I doubt this man's a suspect. He's been giving us some useful information about the body, actually, giving us estimates of how long he thinks the body was in the water and how long it's been frozen. I won't bother passing the information along to Edrissa, we'll let her come to her own conclusion. But he's been helpful."

Malcolm nodded. They had almost a two hour car ride to go over everything on the way back anyway. He slowly scuttled back towards the body as the two cops widened the hole with their tools as carefully as they could.

The chill out on the ice seemed to increase as time went by. It was a s if any reserve heat Malcolm's body had was being carried away by the winds with the little bit of snow that covered the ice and dances whenever the winds shifted direction. Malcolm folded into himself as best as he could but he still really wished he had that coffee. Not that he wanted to take his hands out of his jacket to hold it. It was bad enough having to hold the camera. Malcolm was worried his stiff fingers would have trouble pushing the capture button soon enough.

After what felt like forever with Malcolm taking pictures more to pass the time than to capture any real evidence the two cops with the help of their sheriff were able to drag the body out from under the ice and out on top of the lake.

The five of them leaned over the body.

Malcolm had them all back up so he could use the sunlight to take pictures from different angles. If the lake was good for one thing, it was providing adequate lighting for his photos.

When he was done they started to pack the body up into a body bag to be dragged back to the lake's edge.

Malcolm followed behind as they dragged the body bag by a rope up by the head across the ice like a child dragged their sled behind them. Malcolm watched the clouds of his breath against the black background of the body bag.

A coroner's van was waiting for them at the shore while the local cops loaded the body into the back. After they shut the doors, one of the cops patted the back like he was saying farewell to a good friend.

Malcolm watched as the coroner's van pulled away, heading back to the precinct, where they would meet it.

"Ready to go, kid?" Gil asked again.

Malcolm nodded. He'd had enough of the cold and the frozen lake.

[prodigal-howlter]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Prodigal Son (TV 2019) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo, Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo/Malcolm Bright Characters: Gil Arroyo, Malcolm Bright, Jackie Arroyo Additional Tags: Daddy Kink, Praise, Dirty Talk, voyeurism (obviously), very very light edging, Threesomes, Caught in the Act, and one (1) purring gil, Non-consentual voyeurism, Snowballing, Come Eating, Jackie is collared via Gil (prior to fic), M/F Sex, m/m and m/m/f sex, Kink Negotiation, Safeword Negotiation, Blowjobs, Phone Sex, Bondage, Aftercare, Flirting, Making Out, light nondescriptive talk of a medical procedure involving a child, Fluff, Smut, Light Angst, Language, complete fic, Major Character Injuries, (Jackie gets stabbed in a dream), Embedded Images, Has alternative text for images Summary:

In which Gil, Jackie, and Malcolm learn that their "unrequited" feelings may not be so unrequited.

[wipbigbang]

WIPBB 2023 - Fic & Art Master List (# - L)

Below is the master list of all the bragging rights/posts that were posted to Tumblr and Dreamwidth, organized alphabetically by fandom from numbers to L. Please go show these people some love for all the hard work they did!

9-1-1

Beyond Appearances: Art (Evan Buckley/Sophia Diaz)

When You Say My Name: Fic | Art Post 1 | Art Post 2 (Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz)

A Song Of Ice and Fire/Game Of Thrones

Watch the world burn; i set it all alight for you: Fic/Art (Jon Snow/Daenerys Targarean)

Angel: the Series/Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Deep Dark Sky: Fic (Connor/Dawn Summers)

Bungou Stray Dogs

half-time soulmate, full-time problem (so hold me like a grudge): Fic | Art (Nakahara Chuuya/Dazai Osamu)

Chalion Saga/World of the Five Gods

Penric's Last Ride: Fic | Art (Penric, Desdemona, the Bastard)

Criminal Minds

Half Broke Horses: Fic (Art On AO3) (Alex Blake/Emily Prentiss)

DC Comics

Batman

Fatherhood: Fic | Art (Implied Bruce Wayne/Jim Gordon)

right place, wrong time: Fic | Art (Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne)

Batman/Green Arrow

Grains of the Golden Sand: Fic (Dick Grayson/Roy Harper)

DC Comics (Batman)/Prodigal Son

9 Crimes: Fic | Art (Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo, Jessica Whitly, Jim Gordon, Harvey Bullock, Alfred Pennyworth, The Joker, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson)

Dead Poets Society

Spotlight: Fic (Chris Noel/Ginny Danburry)

Disney

Disney's Descendants

And I won’t lie down, roll over, and die: Fic (Gil/Harry Hook/Uma)

Nothing in this world by myself to protect me: Fic (Jay/Carlos De Vil, Evie/Mal, Evie/Jay, Evie/Carlos de Vil, Evie/Jay/Mal/Carlos de Vil, Ben/Mal, Ben/Jay, Jay/Mal, Mal/Carlos de Vil, Ben/Evie)

Disney Fairies

Death at the Hollow: Fic/Art (Fawn/Nyx)

Encanto

A Single Thread of The Tapestry: Fic | Art (Camilo & Mirabel, Camilo & Mirabel & Mariano, Mirabel & Camilo & Madrigal family)

How do you know what your life is worth: Fic | Art (Camilo & Mirabel, Mirabel & Pepa, Isabela & Pepa, Isabela & Luisa, Luisa & Abuela & Bruno, Bruno & Camilo, Félix & Julieta, Agustín & Dolores, Félix/Pepa, Agustín/Julieta)

Doctor Who/The Picture of Dorian Gray/Torchwood

Passing Through: Art (Dorian Gray/Jack Harkness)

Dracula/Jane Eyre/Sherlock Holmes (ACD Canon)

A Field of Thorns: Fic (Sherlock Holmes/Dracula)

Dragon Age II

Kindling: Fic | Art (Fem!Hawke/Fenris)

Set Yourself On Fire: Fic | Art (Marian & Garrett, Marian & Carver, Marian & Varric, Referenced Fenris/F!Hawke and Anders/M!Hawke)

ER (NBC)

Touch and Go: Fic | Art (Abby Lockhart/Kerry Weaver)

Final Fantasy IV/Final Fantasy VI/Final Fantasy IX/Final Fantasy X

Magical Girl Rydia - Summon the Four Warriors of Light!: Fic On Dreamwidth | Fic On Tumblr (Rydia/Yuna)

Generation Kill

Bradley the Damned: Fic/Art (Brad Colbert/Nate Fick, Walt Hasser/Ray Person)

Good Omens (TV)

The Rain We Thought Would Last Forever and Ever (Remix): Fic (Art On AO3) (Aziraphale/Crowley)

Harry Potter

Black House Will Rock: Art (Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Lestrange)

Repertum: Fic/Art (Harry Potter/Severus Snape)

Harry Potter/CSI/Hocus Pocus

And now you're mine: Fic (Harry Potter/Greg Sanders)

Harry Potter/DC Comics (Batman)

Reflection: Fic/Art (Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Rubeus Hagrid, Original Characters)

It (2017/2019)

faraway look: Fic (Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon)

Jak And Daxter

alien lands (overflowing with dust): Fic/Art (Jak/Daxter, Jak/Sig, past Damas/Sig)

The Red Prison: Fic/Art (Errol/Torn, Jak/Ashelin)

Jane Austen/Temeraire (Naomi Novik)

To the Rigor of Service: Fic/Art (Elizabeth Bennet & Charlotte Lucas, pre-Anne Elliot/Frederick Wentworth)

Jujutsu Kaisen

Phantom Origins: Fic | Art (Itadori Yuuji/Yoshino Junpei, Yoshino Junpei & Yoshino Nagi, Fushiguro Megumi & Kugisaki Nobara, Fushiguro Megumi & Kugisaki Nobara & Yoshino Junpei, Iguchi Takeshi & Itadori Yuuji & Sasaki Setsuko)

Knives Out

No Charm Equal: Fic (Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera)

Kuroko no Basuke

Three Little Words: Fic (Kasamatsu Yukio/Kise Ryouta)

Last Binding Series (Freya Marske)

The New Blyth Traditions: Fic (Robin Blyth & Maud Blyth, Robin Blyth/Edwin Courcey, Maud Blyth/Violet Debenham)

League of Legends: Arcane

bring me java, bring me joy: Fic | Art (Caitlyn Kiramman/Vi)

Lord of the Rings (Book)

both the sweet and the bitter: Fic On Dreamwidth | Fic On Tumblr (Arwen Undómiel, Elrond Peredhel, Bilbo Baggins, Original Characters)

[walker-extended-universe]

WIP Wednesday Game

Stolen from @kedreeva

Rules:

Post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it!

Hoyt/Emily

On the day of his release, Emily was waiting outside the prison for him. The rest of the family was putting together a little surprise party for him at the ranch. She smiled as he walked out of those doors for the last time and held out her arms for a hug.

It felt good, knowing he would be around for more of these.

She pulled back, sliding her hands down his arms. “How does it feel? Being out for good?” she asked.

Hoyt hummed. “Weird. But good. Really, really good.”

She smiled. “Good. Come on; everyone’s waiting for you. Yes, even Bonham. He’s been working the grill all day.”

Hoyt chuckled. “Now that, I have to see.” He squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Em.”

Cordell/Jessica

Jessica rolled her eyes. “I’m aware of that, Gil. What I don’t understand is why you keep calling him in when you know what he’s like. The world won’t end if he takes a day off.”

“Try telling him that.”

A knock at the door interrupted her next argument and they both turned to see who it was. A tall (and quite handsome in Jessica’s opinion) man stood in the doorway. “Uh, Lieutenant Arroyo? I’m Ranger Walker; I was supposed to talk to you about my role in the upcoming trial.” The man's eyes flitted towards Jessica. “Unless I’m interrupting something.”

“Not at all,” Gil said, standing to greet him. “Ms. Whitly was just on her way out.”

“Actually, I-”

“Jessica, please, I have business.”

She huffed but gathered her purse nonetheless. “Very well. We’ll finish this talk later, Lieutenant.”

Geri/Trey

“Hey, Trey, come on.” She stood up and grabbed his wrist. “That’s not- We don’t have to give up on a fun night just because Cordi and Cassie did. I mean, you made all this food and we already have a movie queued up….”

It was supposed to be a double date. A relaxing evening with four friends to eat too much and drink too much and just shoot the shit. She remembered the days where she and Hoyt would have those nights with Cordell and Emily and it was nice to sort of recreate them with Cassie and Trey.

Trey sighed. “Yeah. A fun night half of the people involved in couldn’t be bothered to make time for. And you can’t tell me you were really looking forward to watching the made-for-TV Hawk’s Shadow movie.”

“We don’t have to watch that movie if you don’t want to,” Geri said. “And I’m mad at them too, believe me. But we’re already here and I’ve been looking forward to this and I’ve been wanting to dig into those nachos since I got here.”

Cassie/Kevin non-ranger AU

Cassie hummed while she got ready for work, trying not to pay too much attention to her silent phone.

She was worried about Kevin. The last she’d heard from him, he’d had to escape to a safe house with the mayor because of a major threat at the award ceremony they were hosting. She was sure he was fine and just couldn’t message her for safety reasons, but she was still worried.

But she didn’t have time for that right now. She had to get to work, go over the new rehearsal schedule, and go bargain hunting for costumes. Having a fiance in city hall did a lot to help her budget not get cut but he never seemed to have enough pull to raise it. She was just counting her blessings that she still had a job as a dance teacher in a public school.

[addiemilfgomery]

Hello! I've been resurrected for a hot minute and posted a new fic. I probably should be doing schoolwork instead, but hey, I've been learning to balance school and other things. I made a rule for myself that I'd only do one tasks per day if there's only a little. I, however, finished the task I thought I'd be doing the entire day before 7 am, and here we are! I hope you enjoy this little brainrot fic! Till the next time <33

three times (i've waited my whole life) - montgomerysspawn - Prodigal Son (TV 2019) [Archive of Our Own]

Title: three times (i've waited my whole life) Show: Prodigal Son (2019)

Pairing: Jessica Whitly/Gil Arroyo

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Alibi” - Oneshot

“Alibi” - Oneshot

My Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Malcolm Bright x Reader, Gil Arroyo x Daughter!Reader

Word Count: 2,000-ish

Key: Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Mentions of murder, cursing. Large chunks of text in italics mean that it is a flashback.

Summary: After your boss is murdered, you are brought in as a suspect. In order to prove your innocence, you have to reveal a secret to your father. 

Author’s Note: This was one of those ideas that hit me like a train right as I was about to go to bed, so I scribbled as much as I could down and tried to make sense of it the next day.

We’re also gonna pretend that Gil and Jessica aren’t a thing cause then that would make this story a bit awkward.

This is not beta read, so let me know if there are any mistakes! 

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, (Y/N), got any news for me?” Your boss, Mr.Naruski asked from his desk chair, casually weaving a pen in between his fingers. It was lunchtime and you had gotten salads from the meditarrian place that he liked.

“Well, Simon wanted to move his meeting with you to Friday, but there would be no way to do that unless we add another 4 hours to the day. Oh! And Mrs.Krewnshe asked me if--”

“(Y/N), sweetheart! We are on our lunch break! Which means I don’t want any news with my clients unless it's urgent. I meant news in the world of the best secretary in New York!” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes a little bit and smile. Mr.Naruski was a true blessing when it came to employers. He owned his own architecture business in New York and somehow wasn’t a complete asshat like some of your previous bosses. He and his wife were incredibly caring and truly understood that you had to be a human in order to work with other humans. The respect you got here was well worth the daily commute!

“Well, if you really want to know... My boyfriend set up a nice, and very last minute, date for us tonight.” You couldn’t hide the true smile that spread across your lips. Mr.Naruski leaned forward and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? And where is this ‘nice’ date happening, if I might ask?” 

“I’m not sure. He wouldn’t tell me. All he said was to be ready by 6 because we have reservations for 6:45. But I have a feeling it’s that new modern industrial place that I was telling you about. He knows I love to walk past it and appreciate the details. While I don’t think I’ve ever said out loud that I like it or would like to go inside, he has a great ability to read me.” 

Your smile grew a little more as your eyes drifted slightly down, thinking about all the times your boyfriend picked up on the smaller details in the past. He was good with surprises. Mr.Naruski watched how this interaction brought out your best side. The two of you finished your lunches and got back to work. 

Your boss had one more meeting this afternoon. It was with a company called Jetlan Inc. From the small bit of conversation you heard as Mr.Naruski escorted his guests out, it was a successful meeting. He turned back to you once the door was closed and let out a relieved sigh.

“I take it everything went well?”

“As well as I could. They are going to take tonight to mull it over and then give us a call tomorrow. So expect Samuel to call at some point.”

You wrote down a little reminder to yourself on a sticky note “May get call from Jetlan Inc.” and placed it near your desk’s phone. You went back to typing out the schedule for next week when Mr.Naruski tapped a finger on your desk.

“How about you leave early today, (Y/N)?”

“Are you sure, sir? I can stay and help with the final prep for tomorrow’s deal if you want. I should also probably finish this schedule.”

“I think I can handle that on my own. And you can add your final touches tomorrow. You,” He stood up and walked around your desk and held out his hands. You put your hands in his and he helped you up before grabbing your coat from the coat rack. “Have a date to get ready for.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was almost unbelievable to have a boss that really cared about your personal life as much as your professional one like he did. You just slipped on your coat and grabbed your purse, knowing that when Naruski made up his mind, it was set. He opened the door for you and put a hand on your arm.

“He told me to ‘love with my whole heart, but be smart enough to know when to use my brain instead.’ I think it was his way of saying ‘Be safe and have fun.’” 

A small but sad smile worked its way onto your face at the thought of him being so supportive. You felt a wave of tears coming, so you finished up your story to try to stop them from falling. 

“After that, I thanked him again, and I left to go back to my apartment and get ready. The next time I saw Mr.Naruski was the next morning, behind the crime scene tape blocking my office, dead.”

You couldn’t believe that just 24 hours ago, you were happily talking to your boss about your date. And now he was dead. Murdered in his own office, two hours after you had left. You were being questioned at the NYPD by none other than JT Tarmel, Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright, and your father, Gil Arroyo. 

No one spoke, they were taking in all of the details of your alibi. It felt like forever before Malcolm broke the silence. 

“Are there security cameras in your office?”

“Yes. There is one in the main office where my desk is positioned, one in Mr.Naruski’s office, and one in the hallway outside our door.”

“Great. We can check those. They’ll show (Y/N) leaving and should have a timestamp on them that we can check.

The team did their own little nods, still thinking about your alibi. They wanted to trust you, but they needed to think of every possible thing that could have happened, or if they could find any evidence to the real killer.

“Who did you go on a date with?” Dani was sitting about 6 feet to your right, a bottle of water in her hands as she leaned forward, elbows on the table. 

“I don’t see how my dating life is relevant to my boss being murdered in his office.”

Lies. You knew why she was asking. It was a major part of your alibi and it’s the only other way that they could concretely cross you off of the suspect list. JT jumped in to try to diffuse the situation, none of them aware of how much you didn’t want to share. 

“It's just another way that we can confirm your alibi, (Y/N).” 

You could see Gil adjusting his stance as he leaned against the wall to your left. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at your father, already feeling his intense stare boring into you. 

The room was silent, but the anxiety in your chest made it feel like the room was half of its real size. You kept your posture as straight as you could while you focused on your hands that were unconsciously fidgeting on top of the table.

“Tell us the kid’s name, (Y/N).”

“Why can’t you just check the cameras like Malcolm said? That’ll show when I left at around 4:30 yesterday afternoon and when I came back today for my shift but saw the tape instead! You could even check my apartment’s security cameras!”

“Woah! We will, (Y/N). We just want to be able to cover our asses and yours.” JT tried again to calm you down, everyone know seeing how uncomfortable the idea of sharing the details of your date made you. 

Your leg started to shake under the table, that was your cue that your anxiety was getting bad. You lock eyes with Malcolm. He sees how much you’re struggling and just gives you a short nod. You knew what he was trying to say, but you really didn’t want to agree. Malcolm then took a deep breath, trying to get you to do the same. You looked down and tried to take a deep breath in.

“Why can’t you just answer the question, (Y/N)?!” Gil didn’t yell, but you could hear the annoyance in his voice. It was the final hit that broke the last of your defenses.

“Because it's Malcolm, alright?!” 

Even you were a bit shocked at the slight frustration and exasperation in your voice. As everyone let that fact settle in their brains, you closed your eyes and took a couple deep breaths, trying to accept the fact that it was out in the open now. Malcolm made his way behind you and put a comforting hand on your shoulder, lightly rubbing this thumb to try and soothe you. You opened your eyes and stared at the center of the table, your hands now clasped together. 

“Last night I left work early to go get ready for a date with Malcolm Bright. He took me to that nicer place off of 47th that has the grey brick exterior with the iron corner details. We went there to catch a break from our lives because it's been so hectic lately and we haven’t had much time to just sit and enjoy each other’s company.” 

Our reservation was for 6:45 under Malcolm’s name. You can check with the manager there, go into their electronic reservation system, and see that we checked in and everything. Or Malcolm may have some sort of confirmation email. Now do I need to go into detail about what we ordered or what cocktail I was drinking, or am I good?”

You slowly looked up to meet your father’s eyes. You expected something upset in his eyes, but instead, they were very professional. He looked from you to Malcolm, who in turn nodded, confirming your story. Gil audibly inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his nose and he rubbed a hand down his face.  

“No. You’re good, kid.”

You look back to your hands and close your eyes, focusing on your breathing. You weren’t hyperventilating, but you definitely felt a weight in your chest. 

Dani and JT looked at each other, unaware of what to do in this situation. Malcolm looked from you back to Gil, his face slightly pleading. Gil quickly tilted his head towards the door, a small sigh of relief coming from Malcolm as he moved his hand to your arm and leaned down to quietly talk in your ear.

 “C’mon, (Y/N). Let’s get some air or something to drink, okay?”

You nodded and stood up as Malcolm grabbed your coat from the rack near the door. You took yours and slung it over your arm as Malcolm opened the door for you. Before you could leave, Gil spoke up.

“I will be seeing the two of you in my office in an hour though. We need to have a chat.”

You just nod and leave already knowing what this “chat” is going to be about. Malcolm was reaching for his coat when Gil’s voice resonated again.

“Malcolm, take care of her. Go to that shop around the corner. They have those little pastries she likes. And make sure your both are back here soon. We’re not done with this.”

“Will do.” Malcolm nodded and quickly left and caught up with you, walking you safely out of the NYPD.

With that, there was still a semi-awkward air in the meeting room. Dani quietly fiddled with her water bottle and let out a “Well…”

“Heh! Yeah. That was somethi--” 

Before JT could get further, Gil pointed at him and sternly said “Don’t.” JT just raises his hands in defense and backs off. Dani couldn’t help but smirk a bit at the sight of JT getting called out. 

“So where do we go from here?” Dani calmly asked the room. 

“We need to get the security footage from the office building and (Y/N)’s apartment complex. Get in contact with the restaurant owner and see if we can check their reservation system, if not, ask Malcolm if he has any email from their reservation.”

“On it.” JT confirmed as he left the room to head to his desk and start working. Gil leaned on the table, thinking for a moment. “What do we know about this Jetlan Inc.?

~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tags:  @malindacath @shadowfoxey @whovianayesha @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan

[anxiouswhumpyescapism]

Malcolm please! 😊

Kizza! ❀ You shall receive 🤗🙈

concussion + see tags

___________________

"Bright? Come on. Malcolm, look at me. Please."

When Malcolm's head lolled forwards, Gil caught it. The cheeks under his fingertips felt clammy and he swallowed the panic threatening to engulf his chest. This was going to end well, it had to.

"G-Gil? What's..going on?" The words were murmured and could hardly be heard.

Gil swallowed, pushing Malcolm back against the wall, gently, stroking a sweaty strand of hair away from the younger man's pale forehead.

"You fell, City Boy. You fell. "

Malcolm squinted at him from eyes half shut, hands limp in his lap.

"Tha' doesn't sound fun.", he slurred, a little louder than before.

"No. It doesn't.", Gil answered, shifting his weight on his knees.

"Gil...I'll be fine."

A short moment of silence settled over them, the traffic nearby the only sound.

Gil forced his throat to work, but he felt a vague sense of certainty.

"Yes, you will, Malcolm."

✿ send me a character & i will answer with a tiny whumpy snippet (add squicks + be safe)✿

[fandom-happy]

Sicktember 2023 - Day 28: “I should have stayed home”

Summary: Malcolm has an unusual realisation that he isn’t indestructible.

[singular-nail]

John could not abide liars.

An alternate/expanded ending for s1e11, “Alone Time.”

Wordcount: 5300

Tags/warnings: NONCON, whump, hurt/comfort, Malcolm needs (and gets!) a hug

[thiscornerihaunt]

Chapters: 1/4 Fandom: Prodigal Son (TV 2019) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell Characters: Malcolm Bright, Dani Powell, Gil Arroyo, JT Tarmel, Jessica Whitly, Ainsley Whitly Additional Tags: Gunshot Wounds, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Coma, Malcolm Bright Whump, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Pining, POV Dani Powell Summary: I rounded a corner slowly, gun drawn. It was an open space, larger than any of the other rooms we had passed on the way in. Bright was standing fifteen feet in front of the suspect, who had a gun pointed at him, trying to talk him down. I took one more step into the room and Bright saw me. His eyes darted over to me for just a split second, but the suspect noticed. He followed his gaze, looked right into my eyes, and then he fired his gun.

Malcolm almost dies. Dani's feelings hit her like a train, and she refuses to leave his side until he is better, leaving her with lots of time to contemplate those feelings. But can she find the strength to tell him (while he is conscious at least) and does he feel the same way?

[unorthodoxsavvy]

Whumptober Day 5: Every Whumpee's Needs

Malcolm woke locked in some sort of case. His shoulders were pressed in, and he could hardly turn his body side-from-side. There was a stinging pain in his neck, almost as if he'd been attacked using a stun gun.

The Gravedigger.

Malcolm pushed his fists up against the locked chamber as hard as he could, trying to push it open with brute strength, but it didn't budge.

He felt around for the screws that held the lid in place. Working quickly, he was able to unscrew them and push them out. This time when he pushed up on the lid, it slid open, landing with a loud clatter on the metal floor. Malcolm climbed out and looked around. He didn't recognize where he was.

He couldn't believe he'd let the Gravedigger get him. How could he have been so stupid? He wasn't the most physically adept person in the world, far from it. But he'd been hoping his natural wits and FBI training would have helped him outsmart the killer. He was wrong, though, he supposed.

He was the perfect target for the Gravedigger. Not only was his family wealthy, like the Gravedigger liked to target, but he was hot on the killer's heels. If anyone could figure out the Gravedigger's real identity, it was Malcolm.

Malcolm took the opportunity to look around him. He knew that he had 12 hours before the Gravedigger would kill him off somehow, but he wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious.

The Gravedigger earned his moniker from his modus operandi, as did most serial killers. The Gravedigger was known for burying his victims alive. Malcolm had seen up-close what the Gravedigger was capable of and the trail of bodies he'd left behind. Looking around now, though, Malcolm couldn't see how he was supposed to be buried alive. He was in a large, metal room, that looked like, in his unprofessional opinion, it weighed a LOT. There was no way to bury this in 12 hours, and if he was already underground, there should be systems in place in order for the building to maintain oxygen levels. The only thing Malcolm could think of at the moment was perhaps there was a manual system in place the Gravedigger could somehow manage to tamper with.

Malcolm looked to his left and spotted a door under an interesting array of rivets along the wall. Tilting his head to the side, he realized that on the other side of the wall there must have been a metal staircase.

Malcolm rushed over to the door and tried to turn the round handle. The wheel on the door reminded him of World War II movies he'd watched with his dad as a child and the submarines they'd use to do recon and launch attacks.

Malcolm was having a hard time, once again, trying to open the door by brute force alone, so instead he looked around for something to help turn the wheel for him.

He ended up finding a discarded pipe and, jamming it into the wheel, pushed down with all his strength. Slowly but surely the wheel started to budge.

Malcolm pushed down harder and harder until finally the wheel gave way and the door swung open- and a rush of water pulled at Malcolm's feet, causing him to stumble and fall on his rear.

Malcolm quickly shot back up to his feet and looked around. He couldn't see any windows, no way out of this room as it was filling up, except- there- at the very top of the room was another door that looked like it led to the top of the staircase on the other side of the wall.

Malcolm looked around, making sure everything else was in order. Grabbing the pipe for later, all he had to do now was wait and float to the top and hope he had enough time to open the door- if he could open the door.

While Malcolm waited he ran through what he knew.

He'd been kidnapped leaving out the back of the police precinct. The Gravedigger must have been lying in wait for him as he left. He would have to have looked inconspicuous enough that if anyone else had exited the building he wouldn't have drawn their suspicions.

There was a lot of water rushing in. Malcolm couldn't imagine he'd been unconscious for that long before waking up trapped, so he was willing to bet they were still in the state of New York. His first thought was the Hudson river, but he could also be out in the ocean or the sound somewhere as well. The water was brackish, meaning he wasn't in a lake. The Hudson river or off the coast of the sound were his best two guesses to his location. The current of the Hudson was strong, but depending on how far off the shore he might be in the Atlantic, it might be an easier swim towards land.

Malcolm was a few feet from the door now, floating upward at a slow yet alarming rate towards the catwalk that ran across the top of the room. When he was close enough, he reached up and grabbed the bottom of the catwalk and pulled himself up with the pipe tucked safely in his waist-band. Once Malcolm was able to stand, he pulled the pipe out and started using it to try and pry the door open.

If Malcolm had thought the last door was hard to open, he was in for a real nightmare on this one. The water was up to his knees and the wheel hadn't budged an inch. Up to his hips and he was still working it. Past his elbows and heading up towards his neck and shoulders and Malcolm was still desperately trying to open the door. The water was up to his chin now, and, unless Malcolm had imagined it (which he very well might have), the wheel had just barely moved. Malcolm readjusted his stance, which put his head underwater, and, reaching up to take a bug breath, tried again.

The wheel turned a bit more.

Malcolm surfaced one last time for one last big breath of air and sank back below the water level to try and open the one last time.

The wheel turned and Malcolm spilled out into the next room.

He pushed back against the rushing water as best as he could and managed to shut the door behind him.

Exhausted, Malcolm sank to the floor, back resting against the very door he'd struggled so desperately to open. He closed his eyes and just sat for a moment.

Upon opening his eyes Malcolm was surprised to see objects of all sorts, from statues to kid's crafts to toys and more. A distant memory surfaced in his brain of some documentary he'd seen on the National Geographic channel once about how old boats from World War II were sometimes donated to be used as habitats for coral reefs. In the documentary school children from loads of different schools had come together to make things for the fish to have when they sank the boat, using-

Malcolm suddenly became aware of a beeping noise and scrambled to his feet. He ran over and found a large briefcase full of wires and a large clock. It was the most cartoon-villain thing he'd ever seen.

That was right: in the documentary, the navy had used C4 to detonate holes in the large steel vessel causing it to fill with water and sink.

Well, Malcolm had already started that process on his own, it seemed.

Malcolm glanced down at the detonator. It read 54:12, and the 12 had quickly turned to 11, and then 10, and then-

Wait a minute, that couldn't have been right. There was no WAY Malcolm had been out for 11 hours. Unless...

Maybe Malcolm wasn't supposed to live at all. Maybe the Gravedigger had never intended for Malcolm to make it out of this alive. Maybe instead of 12 hours, he'd only had only 3 or 4 max.

Well, this escalated things.

Malcolm needed to escalate himself further as well and try and get to the deck of the ship and signal for help.

He was able to find yet another door, and, luckily enough for him, this one turned easily enough.

Lucky again, it ended up leading right where Malcolm was aiming to be.

Malcolm instinctively threw a hand up to shield his eyes from the onslaught of brightness from the sun. He heard seagulls as they cawed, though he wasn't really surprised, as by now he'd narrowed down his location to somewhere off the shore of Long Island Sound.

It seemed to Malcolm he'd only just realized he was drenched from the seawater, so he took off his suit's jacket and laid it out to dry, hoping that even just a few minutes standing in the sun before he was inevitably blown to bits would help dry the clothes that still remained on his body. He thought about taking off his shoes, but he was noticing a lot of areas of chipped paint that revealed rust underneath. Not that getting tetanus was going to kill him or anything. He wouldn't live long enough for his joints and muscles to lock up and stiffen painfully. According to his very expensive Rolex watch, he only had about 45 minutes left to live.

Malcolm managed to pull himself away from the fresh sea air and warm sunlight and climbed back into the boat's cold and suffocating interior. He looked back at the bomb's detonator, which now had about 40 minutes left on it, and tried his best to work through understanding exactly what was going on.

His best plan probably would have been to pull the wires out of all the packs of C4, but with only 48 minutes and 36 seconds to live (approximately), there was no guarantee he'd get them all in time. He decided his best plan was to forgo that route in favor of a less solid yet quicker plan.

There was nothing around for Malcolm to cut the wires with that he could find (it appeared as if sharp objects were not allowed on the vessel, though rather for the kid's safety or the marine life's safety Malcolm couldn't be sure), so instead he tried his best to pull the wires out of the detonator. That wasn't working either, though.

Malcolm desperately tried to come up with a plan, and when the clock dwindled down to 20 minutes left he decided to abandon the detonator for now (and at this rate probably forever) and head back up towards the ship's deck.

Malcolm leaned off the side of the railing and looked down. It was a long fall from up here, and if the fall didn't kill him, the explosion in about 18 minutes probably would. Even if Malcolm were able to swim far enough away from the ship to avoid debris the shock-wave sent out through the water would turn his insides and any other living creature in a radius' insides into jelly. Suddenly he was wondering just how beneficial this was to the environment.

It was at that moment Malcolm started to hear something, and he wondered if the time on the detonator had been wrong all along, and what he'd thought would be the last 15 minutes of his life would in fact be the last 15 second of his life until he realized that what he was hearing was actually the sound of a helicopter's blades whirring as it drew closer. Malcolm looked up towards the shore and saw a helicopter approaching.

Malcolm jumped off the ships railing and started running around the deck like a maniac, arms waving in the air, yelling as loud as he could for help.

The helicopter drew nearer and once it was close enough for it to hover, Malcolm noticed Gil hanging out the side with a ladder.

"Kid! Let's Go! Grab on!"

Gil dropped the ladder and Malcolm grabbed his suit jacket before running over towards the helicopter.

The blades put up a strong wind and Malcolm had to push through to make it towards the bottom of the ladder.

He grabbed on with his suit jacket draped over his shoulder and started climbing. When he reached the top Gil pulled him in. He signaled to the pilot to pull away.

Malcolm leaned out the helicopter as much as he dared as they flew away, checking his watch every so often.

Right on schedule Malcolm watched the ship explode. The explosion rocked the helicopter, but the pilot was able to correct and fly them on back to shore.

"How did you find me?" Malcolm asked into his headset over the roar of the blades.

"You cellphone pinged when you reached the ship's deck!"

A look of shock crossed Malcolm's face as he dug into his jacket pocket. He pulled out his cell phone. He hadn't even thought to try and use it.

[prodigal-howlter]

Hell of a Mark

Ship: Broyo Rating: E Contains: Jealousy, Possessive behaviour, smut, choking, biting, bloodplay, rough sex, degradation, dom/sub, daddy kink, older man/younger man, frottage, use of the word "slut" as a title (one time) (in play, both parties are into it), Gil gets dark (but Mal thinks it's hot), Masochist Malcolm Bright, Sadist Gil Arroyo, Light Painplay, use of a vibrator, consent, aftercare, and cuddling. Initial prompt: The Job Words: 5486 Summary: One of Malcolm’s old friends from boarding school arrives at the office. Gil gets a little bit jealous.

Read below or on AO3

So… here we are! My first smut for Prodigal Son. This one was an accident that was encouraged by the Prodigal Son Trash Discord group.

I was watching the episode with Vijay and got an idea for Gil to be jealous and suddenly I had written 300 words in 15 minutes, and then the rest just kind of happened.

A HUGE special shout out to my friends Ratt and Vee for beating and the squad in the groupchat for being so supportive of me writing this and for screaming about these two horny potato men at 3 am.

On to this fic!

Gil watches Malcolm's "friend" through the office window. He's still here long after the profiler had disappeared into his husband's office. The locked door stands between them, blocking him from the past waiting on the other side. He's waiting for Malcolm to return, but Gil knows he won't. He huffs as he closes the blinds, shielding them from view. 

Malcolm chuckles from his spot on top of the desk, rolling his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, "Stop staring at him like you want to mount his head over your fireplace."

"Why? I do." Gil glares, striding across the small space to his chair, "What makes this guy special enough to call you baby boy?"

"Because I was friends with him in boarding school. Why are you being so fussy about him?" Malcolm asks, turning on the desk to face where the older man sits. "I mean, he's just a friend..."

"Kid, be real. How many Vijays do you know?"

"Just this one. Why?"

"Because that means that this is the same Vijay that you dated for seven months, experimented with, and, if I remember correctly, 'fucked you so hard you couldn't remember your name?' Is that the same Vijay that walked into my precinct, winked at my husband and called him baby boy? This is the same Vijay as your little school buddy?" His jaw sets halfway through the rant, and Malcolm feels heat pooling in his stomach.

"Fuck..." He whispers, looking at the ground. "Um, yeah... that's him."

Gil raises an eyebrow challengingly and his hands rest on Malcolm's hips, "Last time I checked, I'm the only one allowed to call you baby boy now. Not this overdressed insurance bastard." Malcolm's lashes flutter as his breath quickens, "Sorry, I shouldn't be so primitive." 

Malcolm finally looks him in the eye, and blushes, "Or maybe you could..."

Gil's gaze darkens, and a smile creeps across his expression, "Oh, do you like this Malcolm Bright? No, wait, it's Bright-Arroyo now. Because I had to put my name on what's mine." Bright shivers and nods, "You like when Daddy gets possessive, don't you?" He tightens his grip. "Want me to make sure your little boarding school fling knows that you're mine and that no one else can give it to you how I can?"

Malcolm whimpers and nods, hand trembling. His breathing stutters and Gil pushes his jealousy aside for a moment, concern painting his features. 

"Hey, hey..." Gil murmurs, "It's okay if you are into this. I promise, Mal. And if you are, you're in luck because I'm sitting here thinking up a hundred different ways to make sure that Corner Bench friend of yours knows you're mine."

"Corner Table..." Malcolm murmurs in an attempt to hide his chagrin.

"Irrelevant." Gil growls, "Now, how about you sit on Daddy's lap and I will mark that neck of yours nice and pretty?" The younger man nods, sitting on his lap in the chair, thighs bracketing Gil's left leg.

Malcolm connects their lips sloppily as Gil's hands guide his form to grind down against his slacks.

"And then," Gil continues, nipping at his stubbled jaw, "I’m going to drive you home and take you apart on that bed of yours. I intend to make you scream for me and fuck you hard enough that I can make you forget everything but my name. I’ll make you beg for me until your throat is hoarse, maybe then, I will let you cum. How does that sound, baby boy?"

Malcolm shivers at the title and whimpers, his left hand tangling in Gil's hair. "Please..."

"Already rehearsing for me?" Gil chuckles darkly, "Such a good boy for me, aren't you?" A broken sound slips past Malcolm's lips, and the older man chases it with his tongue. He nips at his lip, pulling it away and letting it fall back into place. "You have to stay nice and quiet for me, okay?"

Malcolm cuts a whimper short, chewing his lip. Gil ducks his head, pressing kisses along his jaw and down the column of his neck. "D-Daddy..." He whines, the sound barely reaching Gil's ear. 

"Good, keep quiet, baby," He says against the skin. As punctuation, Gil delivers a claiming lick to the skin. The younger shivers and presses his hips down into the jut of his pelvis. "You're doing so good for me. Let me finish up here and then we can head home so I can take you apart for real." Malcolm nods, grinding against him while Gil's teeth scrape against the skin connecting his throat to his shoulder. He nips at one point, causing the younger to gasp. "We're taking too long." He whispers, "We need to hurry this up." 

Malcolm nods and speeds up his thrusting. 

Gil bites at the skin, and purrs when he feels the liquid dripping across his lip, "Ooh... Shit. Got some blood outta that one..." The profiler mewls softly as Gil licks at the skin, soothing the angry ring of teeth marks. The metallic taste explodes in his mouth and he growls possessively. 

"D-Don't let it get on my shirt please..." 

"It won't, it's not getting past me. But now, you have a pretty ring of my teeth on your shoulder." Gil growls as Malcolm shivers, begging silently for him to continue. His hips stutter, and he whimpers, "Please?" 

"Please, what?"

"Mark me, Daddy." Malcolm whispers, "Bullpen be damned." With the reminder of their current location, Gil reaches down and grinds the heel of his hand into Malcolm’s clothed cock. "Fuck, please..." He gasps, pushing to reconnect their lips.

Gil kisses back aggressively and gropes Malcolm's length through the black fabric. It's not enough. "Such a good boy, but we have to get out of here if you want me to really own you. So I need you to soften up, or mess up those expensive slacks you insist on wearing." 

The word choice shoots a pang of desire to Malcolm's core as he nods. Nothing in the world sounds more enticing than being pinned under his husband in the loft. His hips jerk down and a punched-out noise rips from his throat. 

"That's it. Take what you need from me, baby boy." He purrs, kissing his jaw. Gil runs his fingers over the skin and revels in the broken gasp he receives in reply. "You're doing so good, are you close?" 

Malcolm nods mutely, accelerating his movements. "Fuck, Gil..."

"Look at you, Malcolm. Desperate just from me biting your neck?" Malcolm gasps and whines a curse, "Fuck, baby, can you cum for me? Cum for daddy, baby."

Malcolm shudders, pressing against his hand, "Fuck, Gil, can you talk to me?"

"Talk to you? What do you me– Oh... You want me to tell you everything I'm going to do to you later, don't you?" Gil's hand gropes rougher and teases the wet spot in Malcolm’s slacks. He's met with a gasp, and a smile tugs at his lip as he presses a kiss to Malcolm's face. 

The younger man shakes his head against Gil's shoulder, rolling his hips rhythmically. "N-no..."

"No? How about I tell you about how you belong to me?" In lieu of a reply, Malcolm whines. "Ah, so that's what you want. Do you want to be reminded that every last piece of you is mine? I can do that." He murmurs promises into his brown hair, and the words go straight to his core. "However, I have to save some for you later tonight. So instead, I will leave you with this: You're mine, Malcolm Bright. Every last cell in your body is mine. Your noises, your breaths, all of it. And this..." Gil's grip tightens around the bulge, "Is mine. This is my pathetic little cock, and I can make it cum when I please. Isn't that right, baby boy?"

"Da-ddy... 'm close..." 

"I know you are, baby, cum for me. Let go." With that final demand, Malcolm's form crumbles against his chest. He whispers a curse, and the damp spot in his boxers grows. "That's it... Good boy. So good for me, Malcolm, so good for daddy." He connects their lips and holds him tightly, the afterglow slowly fading. 

---

A few minutes later, he nuzzles against Malcolm's jaw, "Alright, sweetheart?" 

"Mhmn... Can we go home now?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Gil purrs, helping Malcolm stand, "I'm going to let JT and Dani know you're okay. They were worried you were having a flashback episode when you ran off to hide in here."

"How long have we been gone?"

"Only an hour or so, but I told them you needed a bit of time to get your bearings and to send your little friend home."

"Hey, Gil? Thank you." He murmurs, hugging his husband tightly. 

"Of course, baby boy. Let's head home, I still need to remind you who you belong to."

---

The warm air fills the space in the Le Mans and offers a welcome purr. It's thick, ablaze with lust, and Malcolm can't stop squirming. 

Gil's hands are white-knuckle on the wheel, and he doesn't dare to look anywhere but forward. "Stop squirming, baby." He growls, voice low, "Or I will give you something to squirm about." Malcolm shivers, and a broken mewl cuts through the air. "But knowing you, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

The hornier Malcolm gets, the more he rambles, less and less of it making sense, "Mhmn, daddy." He whimpers, cock beginning to fill out again. He desperately clenches his fists in his slacks to resist the urge to touch himself.

Gil chuckles, hearing in real-time as the man's brain goes offline, "God, you're already horny again? I knew you were desperate for me, but not like this..." His voice breaks into a purr, hands wringing at 10 and 2. 

Malcolm raises an eyebrow, "If I didn't know better... I'd think you're just as desperate. I mean, all your tells are there… Besides, I know you’re desperate since you didn’t get to orgasm at the precinct.” 

"Don't profile me, not right now..." He groans, resisting the urge to palm himself.

"Here, daddy, why don't I help you with that..." Malcolm murmurs.

"What're you talking abou– Oh fuck!" Gil yelps as Malcolm's hand slips around his length, friction blocked by the layers of fabric. "Malcolm! Fuck!" His voice cracks as his footfalls heavily on the gas. Luckily, for once, New York has decided to keep the road in front of him clear as he corrects his speed and levels his breathing. "Jesus, kid, that's how you get us killed!" Malcolm smirks and goes to remove his hand, but Gil's right hand wraps around his wrist. "Did I tell you to stop?"

"No, but you said it'd cause an accident." Malcolm mocks, his face feigning innocence, "And I'd hate to make you get in trouble with the law..."

Gil scoffs, "You're just asking for me to fuck you into the mattress aren't you?" 

"Begging for it, daddy," he purrs as they roll to a stop at a red light. His hand returns to its place against Gil's crotch, palming the hardon waiting for him beneath the fabric. 

Gil moans and swallows. He climbs out of the car and opens the door for the younger man, "Coming?"

"Hopefully."

"Good God, kid, I need you to get a grip or we aren't going to make it inside." Malcolm laughs, digging his keys from his jacket to unlock the door. 

Malcolm's lips quirk up into a smirk, as he jingles them, "Or, you take me right here, and then I call Vijay to clean me up. Though to be honest, he’d probably like to add to the mess."

He knows it's a risk, but if he's been reading the afternoon correctly...

As if on cue, Gil's gaze darkens. He's looking at Bright like he wants to ravish him. He pierces the younger man with brown eyes, fire fueling the burn in Malcolm's stomach. Gil's hands grab his jaw, and he glowers, "You want to say that again, baby?" Malcolm shakes his head, eyes wide, "That's what I fucking thought." His voice lowers to a growl as the younger man falls back against the side of the Le Mans. "Now, I want you upstairs in the next five minutes, or I will edge you until you fucking cry. Frankly, I should regardless, you've been a brat all day." 

Malcolm whimpers, and Gil laughs darkly, "Good boy. Now, get upstairs." 

Without waiting, he rushes into the building, leaving the other man behind. The graffitied door slams and he chases up the stairs behind him, meeting him at the door as he unlocks it. Before he can unlock the door, he presses Malcolm into the wall in a deep, claiming kiss. "G-Gil..." He whimpers, wrapping his legs around the older man's hips. Gil circles his arms around Malcolm, carrying him to the door to unlock it.

He opens the door as Sunshine chirps a hello. "Hi, sweetheart," Gil greets kindly, "We'll be with you in just a moment. I need to take care of your daddy first."

Malcolm dopily smiles, licking off of Gil's neck. He mumbles, "I thought you were daddy. Or at least, that's what I've been shouting..."

"God, you are such a brat." He replies, pushing him back on the bed, and kissing him sloppily. Gil nips, ripping a whimper from Malcolm's chest, "What do you want me to do?"

"Fuck me, daddy. Remind me who owns me." Malcolm mewls, arching his back dramatically, performatively. "I wanna feel you for days."

With a whispered curse, Gil removes his sweater and t-shirt, unclasping his belt and pulling it from his slacks. Malcolm reaches up to remove his suit coat, but Gil stops him. "Let me." He nods, dropping his hands to the grey sheets as Gil removes the jacket and unknots his tie. "Hey, baby? Are you married to this tie?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Good. Hands above your head. I wanna tie you up." The younger man nods and reaches up, hands side by side. Gil knots the silky tie around his hands, restricting his movements. Malcolm wiggles, testing the knot and whines when he realizes. "Is this okay?"

"It's perfect."Malcolm’s mind flicks to his time chained up, but the forgiving softness of the tie assures him that this is Gil and not Watkins, "Can we please... I need you to... fuck..."

"I know. Is your stomach burning yet? I know how horny you can get, and I think I want you to be that desperate before I fuck you. I want you to be begging for it, whining and screaming for me. Then.. Then we’ll see about getting you to forget all that noise in your head. Deal?" 

Malcolm nods, licking into Gil's mouth desperately, "Please..."

"What's funnier, Malcolm, is that you're already halfway there." Gil nips at his neck, licking over the ring of teeth from earlier. The younger whines, voice cracking as he cants his hips upward. "See? You already are responding to my voice like a good little slut." 

It's not often that he uses the title, but the moment it slips past his lips, Malcolm releases a punched-out noise. Gil tilts his head, pressing their clothed lower halves together. 

"Decisions, decisions... Do I dare try and wring one orgasm out of you first, or should I put you right on the edge? Maybe I could make you cum, and then after you're all sensitive, I can use that to my advantage and make you desperate. What do you think, baby boy?" 

Malcolm whimpers, desperately writhing against the sheets, "Please... Any of it, whatever you're willing to give me! Fuck, please! Make me yours, mark me, take me! Fuck, Gil!"

"You're right. You are mine, so why shouldn't I pick what I want to do with you?" Gil leans down, licking possessively over the younger man's throat, trailing down his sternum. "That's it, whimper for me..." His goatee scratches gently against the skin on Malcolm's pec, wracking shivers through his body.

"Please..." Malcolm whispers, hands wriggling in their confinement. 

As if waiting for an invitation, Gil's teeth sink into the skin over Malcolm's left nipple, hand splaying over the skin under his right ribs. He ghosts his nails over the taut skin, feeling it rise and fall with Malcolm's breaths. Gil suckles, flicking his tongue over the nub, wringing out moan after moan from his husband. "You're doing so good."

Malcolm whimpers, pressing his hips up against the crotch of his slacks. The zipper grinds against the fabric of his boxers creating an uncomfortable sensation, but the wet spot growing by his hip makes the entire situation torturous. Gil's torso stops him from moving, and he groans in frustration. ‘Gil must be misinterpreting’, Malcolm thinks, as he feels him shift to the other nipple, giving it the same bruising treatment. 

Gil pulls off for a brief moment, breaths hot against his saliva-soaked skin. His voice travelling just above a growl, "You have two options here, Bright. I want you to either profile the situation and figure out what I'm planning on doing to you, or I want you to talk."

Malcolm's breathing stutters and Gil fights to grin when he feels it, "T-talk to you? Fuck, what do you want me to say?"

He replies with a head tilt and an eyebrow raise; lips kissing and licking down the profiler's stomach.

"Um... fuck... I don't know what you want me to sa-aaay..." He whines, words cracking with desperation, as Gil sucks mark after mark into the expanse of his stomach. "The profile today was a tricky o-one to come... I mean... take apart. Fuck!! Ow!"

He bites down again, leaving another ring of teeth against the skin over his hip.

"Not about work." Gil amends, running his thumb over the spot he'd bit, "I want you to talk while I suck on your pretty cock, baby." He reaches down, unbuttoning Malcolm's slacks, pulling them down his legs and off with his shoes, socks, and belt, "That way I can hear in real-time when exactly you fall apart and get desperate for me." When he finally gets Malcolm's dick free, he licks and sucks the tip into his mouth.

Malcolm moans watching Gil swallow down along his length, stuttering out, "O-okay... Fuck... um... Daddy! Fuck!" He gasps, jerking his hips to no avail, feeling Gil's grasp on his hip, digging on the right side of pleasure-pain. "I... Um... Sunshine did something f-fuck-funny today? S-she... Daddy! She... um... She she she..."

Gil pops off, staring up at him from his place on the floor, crouching between his thighs, "She what? If you're not going to profile the situation, at least continue your story. My love, I'm on the edge of my seat. Tell me exactly what she did."

"She... She was pl-fuck... playing on the counter and... and um... di-discovered the little bell ball you got her a... ah... fuck please... ah... a few weeks ago rolls. And she..." Malcolm mewls, head falling back as Gil's lips reach the base of his dick. 

Gil pulls off, dragging his teeth lightly over the length before speaking, "Aww, are you saying she tipped it over? Was she playing on the edge?" His voice has gotten rougher due to the stress on his throat, "Come on, baby, tell me how it ends!"

At that moment, it clicks for Malcolm what's happening. "Y-you're going to edge me?!" He yelps, head falling back against the sheets, eyes falling close as he draws in gulps of air. 

Gil laughs, "Ah, he finally gets it. I knew that being desperate made your reflexes slow down, but not this much. I was even making it easy on you! Tell me when you're close." Malcolm nods, hips jerking against the sensations of his husband's tongue tracing against the base of his cock down past his perineum to... "You have got to be fucking kidding me, kid." Gil sighs, touching his fingers to the end of the plug. "You want to explain what this is to me?"

"It was meant to be a surprise."

"For me or your corner desk boy?" He chuckles at the broken whine ripped from Malcolm's chest when he turns it, feeling the lube added fairly recently aiding in its movement.

"C-corner table!" He sobs, "Fuck please keep doing that I'm so fucking close..." As he says it, Gil pulls away, ceasing all contact. 

"Well, lose it. You know what happens when you cum without permission. If you cum now, that's all you're getting tonight. I will still be reminding you who you belong to and you won't get to cum again. I will make you desperate for it, but you won't get it. Because, baby, you're mine." 

Malcolm whimpers, "Please..." His length twitches desperately, as he claws his way back from the edge. His stomach burns, and his chest rises and falls with rough breaths. "I wanna be good for you, daddy, please let me. I'll be so good for you." He's rambling, he's sure of it, but if the look on Gil's face proves anything, it's working wonders. "I just wanna please you. This is for you, all of me. I just--" Malcolm’s cock drools a steady stream of precum on his stomach, and Gil wishes he could lick it up. 

"Shhhh... Calm down, baby. I need you to calm down or you’re going to accidentally cum." Gil purrs, kissing him softly. "You're doing good, but I wanna switch gears."

"Wha--?"

"I still want to edge you another time or two, but I think I want to go about it differently. How would you feel about us trying out that pretty new bullet toy you bought the other day? The ring one."

"Yes, please!" Malcolm nods, eyes refusing to open, "It's in the steamer trunk in a black bag. I haven't opened it yet. I didn't wanna use it without you." 

"Hmmm... Good boy." He leans down, pressing a kiss to Malcolm's ribs before stepping to the end of the bed and retrieving the bag and box. He rips into it, pulling the pastel blue silicone vibrator from the container and slides his fingers into the ring at the base, putting the notches in between his fingers. "Here we are." He turns it on and the noise fills the space between them. "Feeling far enough from the edge?"

"Mhmn." 

"Good." He passes the toy over Malcolm's nipples, reveling in the arch of his back against it. "You like that?" Not lingering too long in one spot, he trails the toy downwards, over his length slowly. "How about this?" The toy shoots vibrations through the tip of his cock, and Malcolm screams. "Aw, you sound so pretty, baby."

Malcolm murmurs, head rising to watch Gil's movements, "I--I'm close again, Gil..."

"You're what?" 

"Close!" He shouts, body thrashing under the toy's pressure. 

"Already? That's a shame, I'm having so much fun with this toy of yours..." He presses it down again, watching the tears fall from the younger's blue eyes. "You're doing so good... Hold it for me. Hold on." 

"I-- I can't..." Malcolm whines, pushing his hips downward, "Please I can't, daddy, turn it off!"

"Color?"  Gil asks, removing the toy from his hand and waiting for a reply.

"Green," Malcolm replies, begrudgingly. "I'm green."

"Are you just saying that?"

"No, ‘m green. This... fuck... this is the hottest scene we've done..." 

"Is that so?" Gil growls, giving himself a sympathetic squeeze through his slacks. He's going to have to fuck him soon, or else he's going to explode. 

"I need you inside of me, daddy." Bright whimpers, finally catching the older man's eye.

"Yeah... yeah, fuck. I need that too, baby." Gil's voice comes out ragged as he unbuttons his slacks, pulling them off finally. He stands at the side of the bed in his black boxers, and he swears he can see the way Malcolm's mouth waters at the outline of his cock. He palms himself over the fabric, giving the younger man a show. His hands fall on both sides of Bright's head, as he connects their lips filthily, "God, Malcolm, I wanted to take you in the office earlier. I wanted everyone there to know you're mine. To know I own you. Sure, they all do from your ring, but no... I want them to know I own you like this. I wanted to make sure your little friend knew you were mine. That no one else can give it to you like I can."

"Yours." Malcolm echoes, nuzzling Gil's chin, "I need you, Gil.."

Gil nods, reaching into the side table blindly, hand wrapping around the bottle of lube. With it in his right hand, his left drifts down to pull the toy from Malcolm's ass. When his fingers tap the end of the toy, a jolt passes through the man's spine. It turns to a shiver when he turns it, pulling it out slowly leaving him clenching around nothing. 

"Please..." He whimpers, "Please, please, please..."

"That's it, beg for me." Gil murmurs, "Good boy." He coats his fingers in lube, dropping it as he whispers praise into the air. He slips them into the younger's waiting hole, drinking in the gasps and mewls they're met with. He curls and scissors them, bumping along his husband's walls, searching for--

Bright cries out, cock twitching, "Oh fuck!" 

"There it is." He murmurs, pressing the fingers insistently against his prostate. "Come on, give me a pretty noise and I'll add a third."

In reply, Malcolm moans, back arching desperately. Gil rewards him with a third finger as he kisses him gently. He scissors them, making space for himself. "I'm good... please let it burn a little..." the profiler murmurs, not breaking eye contact as he sucks a lip into his mouth. 

With that, Gil pulls his fingers out and chuckles when he whines, "I have to take them out if you want me to fuck you, baby."

"I do, fuck, please put it in." 

Gil nods, running a hand over his dick, coating it in lube before he presses the tip inside. Malcolm begs for more, even when the older man inches into him. "I can't move until you're ready, sweetheart. I don't want you to get hurt." 

Malcolm raises an eyebrow at the words, "Much." He replies with a smirk.

The older man jerks his hips and groans. "Fuck, you feel amazing. Always so perfect for me, baby boy. Like you were made for my cock aren't you?" 

"For you. Only you, daddy." He whimpers, "Fuck, please... Fucking take me. Claim me. Make yours." 

Gil nods, fucking his hips into the younger, their moans mixing in the space between their lips, desperation painting every gasp, whimper, and curse. 

"T-talk to me, Gil, I'm not going to last much longer I'm so fucking sensitive." 

He nods, breaths coming out labored, "Fuck..." He rolls his hips, hitting Malcolm's spot dead-on each time, "You're mine." He starts, words falling past his lips like poetry, "You're so good for me, baby. You feel like you were made just for my cock. Your mouth and your perfect little ass. No one else gives it to you like this do they? Know why? Because they know you're mine. That you’re my baby boy."

"Daddy!" Malcolm echoes, rutting his hips to meet Gil thrust for thrust. He whimpers when Gil's hands come to meet his, as their fingers intertwine. "Fuck... Please, no one else fucks me like you do, give it to me! Just like you always have, make me yours, Sir. Give it to me. Please, mark me!" He whines, voice labored and wrecked from his moans. Gil nods, licking and sucking a mark into his throat, just under his jaw, hips finding a rhythm that's punctuated by perfect gasps. 

The mark comes up purple, as he licks it, nipping at the younger's jaw. "You're doing so good. Are you close?"

He nods, hooking his ankles behind Gil's hips, encouraging him to speed up his thrusts. He whines like it's a prayer, begging desperately, "Fuck, daddy, please... Please, please please, please... Let me cum for you. I'll be so good for you! I'm sorry for teasing you earlier, please let me cum. I wanna be good for you, please... 'M so close..."

"Fuck, cum for me, sweetheart. Show me how good daddy makes you feel. Come on, do it! Come on, be a good boy for me, Bright." He encourages, wrapping his hand around Malcolm's cock as he speeds up his thrusts. 

  He feels it before he hears it. The way Malcolm tightens around him, mewling and whimpering, a steady stream of 'Gil' and 'daddy' slipping from his mouth. Streaks of white hit his chest and Gil's hand as he arches, and Gil swears there's nothing more gorgeous in the world. 

He moves to pull out, but Malcolm stops him, "Keep going, please? I want you to cum in me, daddy. Please?" His blue eyes sparkle in the dying light from the outside, as he fights to catch his breath. 

"Fucking hell, kid." Gil groans, "Can you tell me who you belong to?"

"I belong to you, Daddy. I'm your baby boy." He whimpers from the overstimulation, clenching and unclenching around Gil's length moving inside of him. "Mark me, so no one else can have me, please... No one else can give it to me how you can. Please give it to me, daddy."

"Fuck! Baby!" Gil shouts, his orgasm overtaking him as he falls against the bed, breaths ghosting over Malcolm's throat as he fucks into him. "So so so good, for me."

Malcolm nuzzles against the older man as he pulls out; the feeling of cum drooling from his puffy hole causing him to shiver. "Thank you." He murmurs, kissing him again gently. 

"Of course, baby." Gil nods, smiling down at his husband, pulling the younger man on top of him. 

"I love you," He whispers, pressing a kiss to Gil's chest when they settle properly on the bed. 

"I love you, too. You did so good for me. Such a good boy for me, Malcolm. Thank you for trusting me and for being so responsive. You're so good." He whispers, fingers combing through Bright's hair, the other hand running up and down his arm. "Was that okay?"

"It was so good, Gil, thank you. Definitely in one of my top three scenes we've done. I needed that."

"I needed it too, sweetheart. I didn't realize I needed to be reminded I belong to you as much as you do me."

"Mhm, you're my husband. Especially when you're being all hot and possessive. Then you're extra my husband." They chuckle, connecting their lips in a gentle kiss. 

"That doesn't even make sense, you dork." Gil laughs, "We need to shower though before I order us dinner, alright?"

"In a minute..." Malcolm laughs, rolling onto his front, "I don't want to move, I feel like jelly."

"Now, you lazy baby." Gil prods, "I am prepared to carry you in there." Malcolm rolls over and raises his arms, "You're actually going to make me--" He rolls his eyes and picks up the other man, carrying him to the bathroom to turn on the shower, "You're so lucky I love you." His irritation is shadowed by the chuckle he lets slip but hides it with a kiss.

"I am."

----

The next day, the two walk into the precinct, separating at the entrance for Gil to collect coffees from the breakroom. 

"Good morning!" Malcolm cheerfully greets, all but skipping into the conference room. 

"Listen, I know you suddenly decided to be a morning person, but it's 8 am and I--" Dani starts, but trails off when she sees it. 

"Holy shit, Bright, did you get attacked by a vampire? That's a hell of a mark you've got there!" JT exclaims, brow furrowing when he notices the marks on Malcolm's throat. 

His hand rises to touch the ring of teeth peering just over the edge of the suit collar, "Um..." 

The two detectives' faces pale when they realize where it came from. Dani's jaw drops in disbelief, "I knew you guys were married, but I didn't realize Gil was that ki-"

"What are you guys talking about?" Gil interrupts, stepping into the room and handing Malcolm a mug of sugary coffee. 

"Nothing!" Malcolm replies quickly, blushing deeply.

"Nothing but Malcolm's possessive-ass, possibly vampiric husband." JT murmurs, handing Dani the case file to fill them in on the case. 

The three chuckle when Gil's face pinkens, enjoying the brief moment of flustering before continuing with the case discussion. 

Malcolm catches Gil's eye, touching his hand to the bite mark and blushes at the wink he receives in reply. 

He briefly wishes Vijay were still at the precinct, so he can finally know the truth: he's happily claimed.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

[pricemarshfield]

i know what it’s like to not be okay

A post-canon Malcolm & Gil fic. Like, immediately post-canon. Read on AO3 here.

The call Gil gets from Dani is confusing, to say the least.

"Found Malcolm," Dani says, and Gil gestures to the people around him to stop the search. "With his dad, he had to stab him, self-defense, it's. I'm gonna call EMS now."

It's policy to call EMS first in the case of injury, but Gil gets it, doesn't want to reprimand her, and doesn't have the chance to before she hangs up, anyway. Gil starts to head back down to the agreed upon meet up point from earlier, if, God forbid, they hadn't found Malcolm. He's sure Dani will call or just go back there.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Gil walks up just as an ambulance pulls away. Malcolm's wrapped in a shock blanket. It is a good thing, Gil knows that. Logically, he knows that. It means that right now, they're not viewing Malcolm as a threat, that at least it's not a repeat of what happened last year.

But it reminds him too much of when he first met Malcolm, quiet and staring into the middle distance as his father was taken away.

"Hey, kid," Gil says, keeping his voice calm despite the tension he can feel he's carrying in his shoulders. "Don't have candy this time, unfortunately."

Malcolm quirks a small smile but doesn't say anything.

"You alright?" Gil asks. "You don't have to answer verbally, I know that might not be possible right now."

Malcolm laughs a little, more a sharp exhale of air than anything else. He doesn't say anything. Even just sitting next to him, Gil can feel him shaking.

"It'll be alright," Gil says. He'd said something similar in the first few days of meeting Malcolm, he's pretty sure, but this time, it comes out calm, confident. This time, he knows the kid's got him, and Jessica, and Dani and JT and the rest of the time.

Malcolm still doesn't say anything, but leans a little closer, so they're pressed shoulder to shoulder. The shaking doesn't stop, but it slows.

"It'll be alright," Gil repeats.