#i was being lazy and just holding the fold in place while blanket stitching a blanket hem

[artanisnerwen]

Reminder that basting is worth while

[purplesauris]

Fool Me Once (Fool Me Twice)

With the King of Mandalore rising to power and the Empire in shambles, the New Republic reaches out to build a relationship- using Luke Skywalker as their proxy.

Read it on AO3 here!

Yavin was muggy. The thought had stuck with Luke ever since he'd set foot on the planet again, this time to search the ruins of what was left of the Great Temple. It had been used as a base of operations during the Rebellion and decimated soon after, and despite Luke's attempts to get information while he was a pilot, he'd come up short.

Like he was now.

Luke had hoped that he could remember his way, but Artoo couldn't fight through the brush and so Luke had gone it alone, tramping through the underbrush and ducking under branches. the temple, despite being nothing more than a pile of rubble for the most part still called to him, and Luke followed the faint ache and tug in his chest that only grew worse the closer he got. His robes stuck uncomfortably to his lower back, damp with sweat, and Luke cursed himself for not wearing something lighter. He’s still begrudging his poor foresight when he breaks through the purple treeline, stopping short at the sight of the carnage in front of him. Stones are strewn about, ten times his height and just as wide, jagged and scorched by whatever explosive wreaked havoc on the structure.

Luke feels the agony of the people who died here, the resounding sadness and confusion that clings to the stones as Luke carefully picks his way through the ruins in the hope of finding something left. A book, a scroll, even a holo recording or merely a painting would suffice. Anything that Luke could use, could draw inspiration from for his own idea of what his Jedi Order might be like. Luke shivers in the afternoon heat when something in the force cries out for him, drawing his attention to a hole in the ground that when Luke walks up, peering inside, shows the lower levels of the temple. Luke knew it ran deep into the ground, but he was hesitant to drop down into an unstable hole with no way out other than the hole which would surely collapse on him if he so much as sneezed wrong.  

"Well, can't go too wrong, can it?" Luke's voice echoes far louder than he means, but nothing stirs around him, not even the predators that had trailed him since he'd landed the x-wing.

Luke takes a deep breath, steadying himself before slowly picking his way down, slipping down the collapsed floor that made a somewhat decent ramp. If Luke didn't know better he'd have thought someone made it themselves. Which, upon a second glance, someone definitely did. Luke draws his lightsaber, using the green blade as an uneasy light source as he pads through the room, careful of each step but curious nonetheless. There isn't much- these look like what were once living quarters; all of the valuables were on the higher levels, including the library, but Luke can hope and the force hasn't steered him wrong yet.

Luke takes his time searching the room, avoiding the dank stairway descending further into the ground in favor of shuffling smaller bits of rubble around. Searching this temple, after all it's been through is a long shot, one that Luke knows won't pay off, but seeing the rows and rows of beds, picking up an old tattered blanket and sweeping a finger over the stitching on the edge makes him feel closer to a heritage he was only given a crash course in. Luke keeps the blanket with him, as old and moth eaten as the one edge is, and Luke is nearly finished with his slow search of the great room when he spots a stack of books bound together and tucked neatly under a rotted bed frame.

He thinks he’s hallucinating for a minute, but when he crouches down, reaching out to slide them closer the leather bound books are as real as anything else. The leather strap binding them together disintegrates when Luke slips a finger underneath them, so he opts to use the blanket, wrapping them up tightly to keep the moisture from ruining the already delicate books. Luke presses the books close to his chest, scaling the ramp that led him down into the room and breaking out into the hazy light of mid afternoon. Now that he’s gotten the books the temple is silent, only the whispers of what happened singing to Luke as he makes his way back to the ship.

He wonders if leaving the temple behind to fade into obscurity is cruel.

Much like the Jedi of old, the temple is from a time when things were wildly different, and Luke knows that even if he were to come back, to rebuild, the memories and dreams of those who inhabited it before would only haunt him and whatever students he found. No, it was better this way, to finally let the temple rest, after all it had been through to bring Luke to this moment.

His walk through the jungle back to his x-wing is just as sweaty and annoying as the trek in, but Luke’s irritation is tempered by the books pressed to his chest, the chance at something more hidden within the crumbling pages. He wants nothing more than to plop himself down in the cockpit, to crack open the first one and read until the light of the day leaves him fumbling. Luke is sweating all over again by the time he catches sight of the faded red splashed along the hull of his ship, and the ladder lowers automatically, Artoo beeping a greeting as Luke hauls himself up into the open cockpit.

He leaves the blanket and the books in his seat while he shrugs out of his heavy robe, folding it and tucking it in the space behind his chair. It leaves him in only the black fatigues underneath, but the faint breeze that rustles through the clearing he landed in is blissful and Luke sinks down into the seat with a lazy sigh.

“I found books, Artoo! Not sure what they hold yet, but I’m going to-”

Artoo whistles, makes a whirring sound, and Luke scowls.

“What do you mean there’s a communication for me?”

Sure enough the small holo relay on his dash is blinking slowly with an incoming recording and Luke groans, leaning back in his seat and staring up at the stars. He’d requested one thing from them when he’d agreed to help. One thing, something that was easily given should they choose to do so. Luke sits there a moment more, debating on if he should ignore it when Artoo beeps inquisitively, offering to turn it on for him. Luke waves a hand dismissively, sitting up with a grunt and slapping the play button. Leia’s face shimmers into view immediately, kind but pinched with annoyance, and Luke squints. The slope of her shoulders hold an undeniable tension, a worry that betrays her calm demeanor.

“Luke, the Senate has a new task for you. Please rendezvous on Coruscant at your earliest convenience.” Leia pauses, glancing at something to her left before her shoulders slump as she turns back to face the camera. “You aren’t going to like it. I’ll hold them off as long as I can- take your time coming home.”

Luke sits there mulling over the words as the holo with his sister’s face fades out. He isn’t going to like it? The thought brings with a strange pang of anxiety, curling in his gut and making his heart kick up a notch. If he’s not going to like it and Leia is willing to hold the Senate off then Luke is going to take his damn time getting back to Coruscant. As much as he wants to call it home, to let himself have a place to stop, to settle, Coruscant isn’t it. Leia is as close to home as he thinks he’ll ever get- his one constant, someone who won’t back down just because of who he is. She’s strong and smart, but where he shirks political messes, half because of the Jedi Code and half his own disinterest, Leia rises to the challenge. Blossoms with each situation she maneuvers through. The fact that she seemed so much like a wilting flower, petals all but ready to fall betrays just how badly she hates what is going to be asked of him.

“Artoo, bring us back to Coruscant. Slow and steady.” Artoo whistles merrily, bringing the cockpit down around Luke and sealing him inside. Luke slips his helmet on and straps himself in, intent to do a bit of reading before they make it to the technocity. Artoo’s ascent through the atmosphere is a bit choppy, but Luke is used to that, bracing his feet along the bottom of the ship and tensing the muscles in his stomach. He hardly moves, and only once they’re in the vacuum of space, moving toward Coruscant does he open the first book.

The spine creaks eerily in protest at being opened, and most of the ink is faded or obscured. What Luke does manage to read is mostly journal entries, from a padawan by the looks of it. The entries are sporadic, messy, but Luke follows them as best he can.

They have us lifting stones. Stones! I can crumple an entire army of people under fist and they have us lifting pebbles. I tried to tell them, to show them just what I could do, but they urged patience. That’s all they ever go on about! “Be patient, be calm, the Force guides in all ways.” Well, if this is the Force guiding me, what was guiding me before? What called me to this cursed moon to sit with stuffy old men in scratchy robes who ignore my skill level and train me with children?

Luke feels his own earlier training mirror the thoughts of whoever owned this journal before, and Luke can’t help but remember his masters. They’d been right in almost every way, in the way they were training, but Luke, like this person, was too blind to see. Luke was too blinded by emotion, by worry for his sister and his friends and everything to care. Luke still feels like it will choke him now sometimes, but he can never let the feeling quite catch up to him. He tucks the journal away for now, knowing that he isn’t going to get anything analytical from that particular volume. The next one that Luke cracks open is smaller, denser, and the ink on the paper is dark, as if fresh. The pages are crumbling at the edges, deteriorating with age, so the fact that everything else is holding up is intriguing.

Luke loses himself within the pages.

Pages upon pages of Jedi training, rituals and rites of passage- all that Luke has ever dreamed of knowing is here, in this book. His heart soars with the implications, the knowledge he holds in his hand, and he reads greedily. There are entire passages on things he can do with the force, from growing plants to healing to reading someone’s mind- Luke had already been finely attuned to feelings, but the thought that he could read thoughts? That opened a can of worms he wasn’t sure he was ready to tell anyone about. Granted, the thought of invading someone’s privacy like that leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but the thought of all that Jedi were able to do, able to specialize in, makes him giddy, flushed with anticipation and nervous all over again.

It’s almost enough to distract from the fact that whatever the Senate is about to have Luke do is dangerous and potentially life threatening. Luke flips through the rest of the book, skimming more so than reading, until Artoo whistles and chirps, alerting him that they’re about to break through hyperspace and into the artificial atmosphere around Coruscant. Luke braces himself for the descent and the flashing lights of the city, letting Artoo communicate with the tower as he brings them down to a private landing pad reserved specifically for Luke. He hardly uses it, more content to be off-world than among the smog and people who bother him for pictures and stories from the rebellion. He takes his time gathering his things and shrugging back into his robe, figuring he’ll be here long enough to at least go home. Luke wants to take his time walking to the Senate building, but he feels Leia before he sees her, and he drops from the cockpit nearly into her lap.

“Leia-” He hardly has time to steady his feet before Leia is hugging him tight, arms squeezing around his ribs and cheek pressed to his chest. There’s no hesitation in Luke’s response as his arms go around her, Luke pressing his nose into her hair and closing his eyes. He holds her there as she shakes in his arms, fingers digging into his back. “Leia…”

Leia finally pulls back, dashes her hands across her cheeks and smiling weakly. The smile doesn’t light up her eyes like it normally does and Luke pulls her into another hug, this time letting her arms go around his neck as he squeezes her. He feels her shudder again, and finally she speaks when Luke sets her down, chucking her gently under the chin.

“I don’t like what they’re doing to you, Luke. Haven’t you done enough?” Luke doesn’t let his own anxiety bleed into Leia’s, instead merely raising a brow.

“I’m the last Jedi, Leia. There are things they have to ask of me.”

“Not this. When is enough enough?” Luke feels Leia’s anger surge in her like a rising storm, but it’s tempered by her own confusion and heartache, and Luke reaches to take her hand. Leia stares down at his gloved hand, taking a deep breath before her shoulders square again, and this time when Luke looks at her, really looks, he sees the same hot-headed, determined Princess he saw on the Death Star so many years ago.

“Let’s go see what they have to say.”

Luke allows Leia to keep hold of his hand while they slip into the city, Artoo following along dutifully even as they hop from speeder to speeder. Luke’s landing pad and apartment are about as far from the Senate building as he can get without them throwing a fit, and Luke needs that distance. Craves it. Luke doesn’t miss being in the city, even with the cool breeze that’s so unlike the humidity of Yavin IV. The smog and din of people milling around him, of holorecorders snapping pictures as he moves through the crowd makes his skin crawl, and he fights the urge to pull his hood up. They’ve already gotten half a dozen pictures and headlines by now, Luke is estimating, so what’s a dozen more?

What’s one more moment stolen from him in the grand scheme of all the ones stolen before?

The Senate building looms like all the other buildings, built of twisting steel and glass and overwrought opulence. Half of the budget that went to the building could have fed planets of people, but Luke tries not to see the waste in it. Tries to pretend that stepping foot into the building doesn’t make his stomach clench with untold anxiety. Leia is a steady presence beside him, having recovered from the landing pad, and she straightens her clothes and brushes a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. Once her armor is once again set in place she squares her shoulders, pushing into the main meeting room and ignoring the way that silence falls around her.

Luke slips in behind her, hoping not to be noticed as she takes her seat. It doesn’t work, never has before, and Luke descends onto the floor as the desks of the senate rise above him in a slow wave, a sea of faces staring back. Luke folds his hands in front of him, aware that he is in no way in trouble, and projects serenity as strongly as he can manage. He sees the front row of senators relax, and knows he’s doing something right at least.

“Master Skywalker, it’s good of you to join us.”

“I’m sorry I couldn't come sooner, I was preoccupied on Yavin IV.” Luke inclines his head toward the body of the Senate, hiding the scowl that wants to furrow his brow.

“Did you find anything of import?” The question is innocent enough, curious even, but Luke can hear the double edged blade he’s balancing on, and he straightens up, giving a careful, bored shrug of his shoulders.

“The ruins of the temple were in far worse shape than I thought. It will take quite a few visits to search through the whole thing.”

“We can have a team sent, if it would ease your struggles, Master Skywalker.”

Luke smiles, easy and warm, and shakes his head at the man who has deigned to do most of the speaking. “The temple is in poor shape, and I fear sending someone nor versed in the Force would only cause it’s gradual collapse to speed up.”

“A good point. Well…” Luke watches the way the crowd shifts, all at once glancing toward Leia before glancing back at the man asking the questions. Luke has dealt with him before, many times, but for the life of him he cannot remember his name. “We have a task for you, if you are willing to undertake it.”

“I believe the Senate gave me leave to resume my search for Jedi artifacts.” Luke points out, trying not to let his irritation rise when the man nods, fake sympathy etched into the wrinkles around his mouth.

“That was… Before this newest problem had arisen.” Luke’s hands clench in front of him, fingers curling around each other, and he eases back with his right hand, careful not to crush his other fingers. Luke dips his head in a motion meant to tell them to go on, and to his annoyance and relief, they do. “There is a new king on Mandalore.”

“The glass planet? I thought it was inhospitable.”

“It was under the Empire’s control for quite some time.” The man agrees, steepling his fingers against his chin as he leans back in his chair. “But a mandalorian has claimed the Darksaber from Moff Gideon, and by extension, risen to power.”

“And what am I to do about it? Mandalore is a ghost planet, a myth more than anything else. Why bother them?”

“Mandalorians are by far the greatest warriors this galaxy has ever seen.” Luke’s eyes widen marginally, flicking to Leia only to find hers steely with resolve. Growing horror mounts within Luke, gnawing at his heart and scraping across his ribs. “They despise the Empire and Imperials nearly as much as we, but we cannot risk them doing something out of desperation.”

“So reach out to them.”

Smiles among the Senate turn sharklike and Luke feels like a piece of bait lobbied into a sarlacc pit. Waiting with resigned dread to be eaten alive. “We have. We have offered the help of our greatest asset and commander of the Rebellion to aid their fight in retaking and rebuilding their planet.”

“You aren’t seriously thinking of sending Leia with me.”

“No, Master Skywalker.” Relief floods Luke, making his knees go weak, but it’s drowned out by the sudden rushing in his ears. “We’re only sending you.”

Luke freezes at that, head emptying, stomach dropping away from him all at once. He feels hollowed out, dizzy with disbelief, and he can’t breathe standing under the lights and hungry gazes of the Senate. Luke does the only thing he can think to do: he turns on his heel, robe flaring out behind him as he turns and slips from the room, letting the door close with a final, resounding click.

He’s running after that- thoughts a blur and faces passing him by in messy smears of colors and concern. Their feelings flood in him in waves of curiosity, awe, admiration that he doesn’t deserve, and by the time Luke makes it over and down to his apartment his heart is beating from his chest. He can’t go to Mandalore- it’s a death wish, certain and swift. Luke locks himself away in his apartment, moving through the dark of the living room without needing sight, ignoring the lights and Artoo’s quiet beeping. He has to think- there has to be a way to say no, to tell them in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t feel like dying on a planet no one has set foot on in decades. On a planet so steeped in agony and death and betrayal that Luke feels sick just at the mention of it.

He knows Mandalore’s history, knows it and does not want to see it.

Luke is sitting on the floor in the living room, legs folded and eyes closed when the lock on his door beeps before the door itself slides open. There are only two people with access to the apartment, so Luke isn’t surprised when Leia’s aura brushes against his, watery and weak with sorrow as she sits across from him. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to see the way she slips into her own meditative state, breathing in and out in time with Luke to calm the raging of her heart and her emotions. Luke allows his own power to brush against hers, to gauge the way she’s feeling and offer his own steady calm in the absence of hers.

“You don’t have to go.” She whispers, voice shaking in the dark of the room.

Luke sits there for a moment, throat tight, before he answers. “You know that isn’t true. If they don’t send me, they’ll send you. And when you don’t come back they’ll send me anyway.”

“They wouldn’t hurt me. Not with the strength the New Republic holds.”

“You don’t know that.” Luke hears Leia’s mouth open to protest, but she stops short, unable to say anything truthfully and aware that if she lies Luke will feel it. “How long have they been planning this?”

“I don’t know. The rise of the new king was abrupt- one moment Mandalore was a barren planet, and the next? An old Imperial Remnant was blasting each and every Empire base into obscurity.”

“Moff Gideon’s ship.” Luke parses that much from the little the Senate gave him, and Leia makes a noise of affirmation. “How quickly did they take the planet back?”

“A matter of hours. They took out the air bases first: all the tie fighters, their best military outposts. It was a textbook take over. I doubt we could have done anything better.”

Luke huffs out something resembling a laugh. Even in the face of the unknown Leia finds something to learn from, and Luke loves her more for it. “Why me?”

“You’re a status symbol. A mark of the New Republic’s power. For you to willingly step foot on the planet, to go and talk to their king? It’s-”

“Monumental. A moment in history.” Luke finishes, words twisted and bitter on his tongue. As if he hasn’t had a lifetime of making history. Of bleeding and bleeding and bleeding for a cause.

“I tried to fight against it.” Leia says softly, voice full of iron. “You’re one man, surely they could find a contingent of people to represent us. But once your name was suggested no one listened to anything else.”

“It’s okay.” He says, even though it’s far from okay. This is the path that he’s been placed on, and there’s no way he can get out of it. He knows deep in his heart, in the very core of him that this is inevitable- like the rising and falling of the tides, Luke is on a direct course toward whatever destiny is in store for him, and he’s only holding on in the desperate hope he makes it out relatively unscathed. “Go, Leia, tell them that I’ve decided.”

“What have you decided?” Luke smiles, leaning forward to nudge Leia’s knee with a hand and shoo her up to her feet.

“You’ll hear in the morning, when I tell the council.”

[katsukikitten]

What comes after

@ha-tep BEE! I KNOW ITS LATE FOR YOU BUT ENJOY. I also hope you like it. 😘😘

Another stinging smack rings out in the semi darkness of the room before it is followed by another.

And then two more harsh slaps.

You cry out, body bright red in protest begging for the assault of that damned heated palm to stop while your mind silently begs for more.

Welts bloom across your ass and thighs like wild flowers beneath the blazing summer sun, much like you.

Growing beneath two of your own personal blue stars that cut through any night.

See through any facade you dare to present, gazing lazily into your very soul.

Although you cannot see his eyes, you feel them, causing a shudder to dance down your spine.

"Are you going to start listening now, Princess?" His voice is harsh velvet in your ear, you squirm beneath his tight grip around your wrists knowing what comes next should you answer incorrectly.

Mind fighting with itself before you finally utter those damning words.

"No. You've got to make me." Your voice comes out hoarse from the sexual torture he's been pushing you through this evening. Mixing the punishment between edging and spanking you.

Bare muscles tense beside you, grip growing painfully tighter as you squirm knowing you've picked the wrong answer.

Wrong for him anyway.

He presses himself further onto you, pinning you as his free hand finds the steady pulse in your throat. Two toned palm quickly becoming a vice as you wheeze for breath.

"What was that brat?" His husky voice and the smell of charred pine makes you wild with defiance. Fingers divot into pretty flesh in warning, "Behave."

"Make me." You gasp out, sending him to into a rare state of unchecked dominance. The vice strengthens until your vision blurs, ragged breaths struggle to both enter and escape your mouth as your brain begins to wash over in that lovely, tingling high.

Your heart rate slows in an attempt to preserve oxygen but to no avail as your cheeks are already beginning to turn a nice shade of red deepening into a dangerous purple.

Vision fading and with no real way to fight back you allow it to happen but Dabi knows you better than he knows the stitches on the back of his hand. He let's go just in time. Free hand fishing for the restrictive shibari rope from the side table while you suck in air desperately. Heart racing again in order to send that heavenly oxygen to your body, carrying with it obscene amounts of quickly fading adrenaline.

Your muscles turn to jelly, hardly any fight in you as he wraps the colored rope around your wrists tightly.

Just enough that the tips of your fingers turn slightly white but loose enough he can slip a portion of his pinky in. When he is satisfied with the knot he secures you to the metal headboard.

Instinctively you thrash before he presses a warm palm to the small of your back. Chest pressing against your shoulder as he leans close.

"Are you okay princess?" His voice feather soft as he checks in, always ready to end a session if you're pushed too far.

You nod slightly before his smile turns deadly. Fingers dancing to your core, dipping in two digits to test for wetness. He likes what he feels with a growl bringing his fingers up to your lips.

"Taste brat." You suck greedily wondering if he is implying what you will have to do later. He smiles down at you, star blue eyes glowing before he moves away. Mattresses shifting as you struggle to look over your shoulder until you feel his legs settle around you. Slipping himself through your wet folds, enjoying the tight jump your thighs provide before he snatches a pillow to roughly adjusting your hips up slightly as he stuffs it beneath you, knowing full well after what he's put you through and what he's going to put your through you won't be able arch your back or hold yourself up like he lines.

He slaps your ass, watching it giggle as a raspy moan escapes your lips. Your core oozing as you wait the for another. It comes stead fast at a brutal force before a gently warmed palm runs across your cheek.

He spreds them both, peering at your sinful holes before he plunges himself deep into your soppong core.

And with out warning.

It's enough to make you almost cum right there. Especially so as he stays perfectly still as if he wasn't balls deep in the best pussy he's ever had. You flutter agaisnt him as he leans down, nipping at your back before he sets a brutal pace.

Pounding into you for what feels like a mixture of forever and not enough time as your core clamps down on him. Desperately attempting to secure him in place as he rides our your mind numbing cum.

Once twice, until you're so tight and wet he cannot help but become sloppy. Ready to chase his own release after torturing you with edging for the past hour and a half. He slaps your ass, groaning as he watches it jiggle from the force, loving the welts that form, the bruises that bloomed in the night and only for him.

He twitches, body alerting yours that he's close as he overstimulates you into another start seeing crescendo.

He leans close to you, biting on your shoulder as one hand reaches around to your throat, squeezing as he did before silently counting since he cannot see the tell signs of color on your face.

"Fuck...S...siiiirrr." The world's colors heighten before you lose focus on everything around you. The room blurring at the fringes as you moan as best you can with your limited air supply as you feel him buck into you. Filling you to the brim.

He places kisses on the grooved bite marks he's left. Lips pressed so soft you almost miss them as you begin to drop. He kisses the sprinkled welts and bruises that sprinkle over your ass and thighs after he dismounts making his way to the bathroom.

Returning with a warm damp rag. He unties you quickly rubbing at your red wrists and checking the blood flow to each finger. The pad of each digit gets pressed to his delightful lips before he gently kisses you. Pulling him to you so he can properly wipe you down.

"You were so good for sir, Princess." He praises, pulling you back just enough to tilt your head this way and that to check for damage on your throat.

As always nothing comes up but he will always be cautious with you. Heated palms running over your sore throat and shoulders before he lifts you. Peppering your lazy gazed face as he brings you to the living room. Wrapping you in a fine blanket while commanding the remote to play your favorite slice of life show.

He returns with tea and a treat of your liking. Setting it on a tray beside you before he pulls you into his strong arms.

It won't be long before you pass out, eyes barely focused on the show as you're exhausted from the playdate.

Meanwhile his eyes are glued whole on you, fingers idly pulling through your hair.

He could get used to this.

To the sessions, to the after care.

To you, wholeheartedly giving him your trust. Leaning against him with all your body weight as a soft snore escapes your lips.

He kisses your hair line, eyes still fixated on his own burning sun, thinking of how bright you look now even in the dancing light of the TV.

"Keep being good for me, Princess." He murmurs pulling you impossibly closer.

[missnmikaelson-main]

A Year to Eternity? - Chapter 5

Elena dozed in her hospital bed, bathed in a shaft of sunlight, and appeared dead to the world. He would have chosen another word to describe her current state of consciousness, but Freya had chosen ‘dozed’.

He gave a soft tap on the door frame, startling Caroline from her light doze.

Her hand curled tighter around the edge of the bassinet as she jerked out of dreams into awareness, straightening up and acknowledging his presence with a short nod.

“How is she?” His eyes traced the sharp angles of Elena’s face. Without meaning to he stepped forward, hardly recognizing his own actions until his fingers skimmed the prominent curve of her cheek and the feathered lines around her eyes, smoothed in sleep.

Lines that hadn’t been present when he left her in the hands of her friends.

“Exhausted,” Caroline stretched. Her voice softened, lifting an octave. “Little baby no-name decided she was coming into the world feet first.”

Elijah glanced over, finding her cooing into the open-top of the bassinet.

“They say children born feet first will have healing abilities,” he offered a half smile.

“Don’t they also say that babies born at night will never sleep at night?”

“I’ve known that one to be true,” his smile widened. “Kol was born at night and would cry at all hours, only going to sleep when it was time for the rest of us to begin chores. I forgot what true rest felt like for the first three years of his life.”

His fingers absently stroked Elena’s hair from her face.

Caroline glanced at his hand, but he had eyes only for Elena.

“Aside from exhausted how is she?”

“I would imagine sore,” she tilted her head in an attempt to block out the beep of the heart monitor. “She was still in a lot of pain with the epidural and needed to have stitches.”

He nodded, eyes darting to a second visitor’s chair, empty save for a sweater. “And Miss Bennett?”

“She started feeling the spell so I sent her home to sleep; she must have forgotten her jacket,” her fingers reached for the dark grey wool. “She saw the baby and held her. We cooed, we awed, and two of the grown-ups crashed. One with the aid of heavy painkillers,” she gestured to the bed.

His eyes rose to the bassinet. His feet itched, wanting to circle the hospital bed so he could peer into the tiny face he couldn’t see.

Would Elena dominate the infant’s features? Would there be a hint of the potential predator who altered her memory?

Would there be some information for him to utilize in a quest for answers?

Would there be a starting point, or would he be captivated by her tiny features as he was by her mother?

A different captivation to be sure, but captivation nonetheless.

“Hope wasn’t born in the hospital,” he twisted a lock of brown hair around his finger, “it is common practice to keep newborns in the same room as their mother?”

“No,” Caroline shook her head. “After the labour and delivery she was a little dazed, but insisted the baby stay. She got really worked up about it. I was scared she would pop her stitches so I agreed to stay after compelling the staff.”

“Worked up?” His frown etched into the lines around his mouth. “Why?”

“She seemed to think that if the baby was away from her then she would disappear.” She busied her hands folding the wool neatly. “Bonnie and I tried to tell her it wasn’t gonna happen, but she had that ‘I’m gonna sacrifice myself to a sadistic hybrid’ stubborn look, so this was just easier; I fully believe she would have tried to walk to the nursery.”

Elena shifted in her sleep, leaning into his touch as she had all those years ago in the gazebo. With emotions the movement accompanied a soft hum.

“If you need to get back to work I don’t mind staying,” he touched her jaw. Elena turned, fitting her cheek into the palm of his hand.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Caroline smirked. “I do have a few things to do at work.”

She schooled her features into indifference when he looked up sharply, but couldn’t keep her eyebrow from raising slightly.

He withdrew his hand.

Elena’s brow wrinkled, twisting her nose.

“I…”

Caroline held up a hand, waving away the halfhearted explanation.

It took Elena four hundred thirty-two days after waking up to mention the letter, one hundred ten to bring up his sign off, and a further three days to talk about what occurred in Willoughby before Idiot One and Idiot Two dragged her home.

On top of that, she had seen every look as they rose from tolerance to a grudging respect, admiration and finally adoration. She knew that for once the captivation didn’t begin and end with her friend’s face.

Elijah may not have been as vocal about his affection. There had never been a sweeping declaration of ‘your last love’, or promises to see the world, but ‘Always and Forever’ had a quieter ring to it.

The vow would echo through the ages.

It already had.

“I’m not blind,” she said simply. “I’m gonna go, but I’ll come back later with afternoon with a car seat.”

“Will they release them so soon?” He pushed his hands into his pockets.

“Today or tomorrow, and if not today then I’ll leave the car seat for whoever ends up taking them home.”

He nodded as she took one last look in the bassinet and left. He managed to wait a few minutes, a true testament to his thousand years of patience, before he moved a human speed around the bed.

Between a pink hat and striped hospital blanket peeked a tiny face. She had the makings of her mother’s nose and jaw. He thought he might get away without being taken in, but then her large eyes opened: unfocused and deepest blue.

With a grunt she worked a tiny fist free and waved it at him.

He glanced towards a soundly sleeping Elena and then back to the baby.

Her mouth opened, ready to bawl.

He scooped her up before she could cry and swayed, cradling her in the crook of his arm as her stomach gurgled.

“You’re hungry,” he cooed; something he would deny if either of his brothers asked. “Your mommy is sleeping, though. Do you think you can be patient? Hmm?”

He reached for the call button, pressing it while the infant studied his face.

“Can you hold on for the nurse?”

She puckered her lips, searching for food he didn’t have.

“Is it feeding time already?” A man’s head poked in the room, kind eyes crinkling in a smile.

“Am I going to have to wake her?” He nodded to Elena.

“We’ve got formula on hand, and she had a hard delivery. I’ll get it.”

Elijah nodded, rationalizing that he had to be one of the compelled staff to not mention the baby and strange man in the room; he returned before she could fuss.

Elijah settled into the visitor’s chair.

Her nose crinkled familiarly and she suckled. A little formula dribbled from her mouth into the roll of her neck. He gently wiped it away when she was done.

“That’s better, isn’t it sweetheart?” He placed her on his shoulder, rubbing her back until she released a small burp.

“‘Lijah?” Elena’s sleepy voice rose from the bed.

Bleary eyes struggled to focus on him.

“Elena,” he shifted the baby back to his arms. She blinked up at him with more focus than her mother, but Elena managed a lazy version of her half smile. “I’m right here. I’m watching her. You can rest.”

“I wa’ ho’,” she frowned, bringing a deeper pucker between her brows. The age had taken her overnight; it was jarring but no less beautiful. She opened her mouth and tried again.

“I want to hold her.”

“I thought it was something like that.” He stood, arranging her neatly in the curve of Elena’s arm that remained wire free.

She lacked the physical strength and energy to lift the infant so he slayed her on the mattress with Elena’s arm acting as a bumper.

Her fingers carefully traced the arm outside the blanket.

“Hi,” she breathed.

The tiny fist jerked, bumping her arm.

“I’ve been interpreting that as hello,” he chuckled. “I’m certain it will seem less violent when she can uncurl her fingers.”

Elena managed a half smile, different then ‘his smile’, and kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

“How are you feeling?” He helped her tuck the child’s arm back under the blanket.

“Tired,” she mumbled, lashes fluttering against her cheek.

“Then sleep, Elena,” he settled into a chair, “I’ll be right here.”

“For how long?” She mumbled.

“As long as you need,” he watched mother and child drift off, “until you say go.”

He stayed there until they were both asleep and on the path to recovering from the trauma of birth. Then he stood and moved the baby back to the bassinet.

By the time Elena woke up again he had shed his jacket, tie and rolled up his sleeves; her baby wiggled in his arms.

She remained awake long enough to question Caroline and Bonnie’s absence.

The third time she tried to sit up, so he moved and raised the bed into a sitting position.

“Still tired?” His watch read 12:43.

“A little,” she shifted with a wince and a hiss.

“Are you okay?” He filled a cup with water.

She sipped while blinking the sleep from her eyes.

“I had stitches,” she pursed her lips and bit her cheek. The line between her brows deepened. “Was Kol here?”

“Not to my knowledge,” he eyed her pale features, drawn tight in pain. “Would you like some help in healing? I hate to see you hurt.”

“That’s sweet,” she leaned against the pillows, situating her hips in the most comfortable position she could manage, “but vampire blood lost all effect on me when I took the cure. You might want to warn Rebekah about that in case she gets any ideas about going skiing or something and breaks a leg.”

“Speaking from experience?” He untangled the wires, gently brushing her hand.

“I’ve never broken a leg skiing, but I did break my arm after a fall down the stairs,” her eyes glazed over, lost in memory, “a couple of ribs too.”

“Carrying too many things?” Elijah guessed.

“Ex-boyfriend,” her fingers twitched, reaching for the ghost of a wound. She saw him stiffen from the corner of her eye; redhot fury flashed across his features. She enunciated each word carefully so he would be sure to hear and calm down.

“It was the first and last time he hit me; I think Caroline made a midnight snack of him, but six years later I still don’t have verbal confirmation. He disappeared after that and the only thing Caroline would say was that she took care of it and that nobody would find him since the spot had been chosen by Klaus years earlier.”

“Good,” some of the tension left his shoulders, but his jaw remained locked. “Niklaus is proficient in covering his missteps.”

“Why do I get the feeling if he were still alive his fate would be a lot more… grisly?” She tilted her head, not thinking before reaching for his hand.

He looked down, watching her cool fingers curl around his palm. His gaze strayed to her arm, sharp eyes picking up the faint lines of an old surgery. He hadn’t given much through to the punishments of old in a long time, but he would not have been opposed to enacting a little Viking Justine on her behalf. In his opinion any man who would beat a woman, or a child, deserved a violent death.

Had he not lacked the courage he would have stricken Mikael down the first time he raised a hand to Niklaus. He should have done so, but he had been a boy of nine.

Still.

There would be hell to pay when he found the bastard(s) responsible for her memory loss and subsequent pregnancy. He knew of several fitting punishments for rapists should that prove the case.

“Grisly…” he began, tracing the veins in her hand, “… feels too mild a term.” His muscles twitched with the desire to raise her hand to his lips and smooth the furrow between her brows with a soft kiss.

He settled for rubbing circles into her palm with his thumb. “I’m sorry that happened to you, and I apologize for making you relive it now.”

“Forgiveness is kind of our thing, so I suppose I can let it go,” her eyes crinkled slightly when she smiled.

“Isn’t betrayal out thing too?” He chuckled.

“And trust,” she added, shrugging, “we go round and round. The carousel never stops.”

“I think I saw an emergency break,” he teased.

“Oh, good,” she sank into her pillows. “I’m starting to get a little dizzy.”

“That will be the after effects of your painkillers.”

“What did they give me?” She struggled to sit and immediately regretted it.

Elijah passed her the chart hung over the foot of the bed, flipping it open. She took it after pulling off the heart monitor clip.

A long beep filled the silence as she read. He half expected a nurse to race in their direction, but before one could the cord pulled itself from the wall.

“It was annoying,” she whispered into the silence.

“What else can you do?” He eyed the blank monitor.

“Mostly fire and moving things with magic,” she licked her dry lips. “I don’t practice a lot so I’m not very good, but I wouldn’t have minded the telekinesis as a kid.”

“Kol used it for all kinds of mischief as a child.”

“No trouble,” she smiled, “I just wanted the good cookies off the top shelf.”

“I’m sure you still found a way to get them.”

“I climbed,” she nodded, shoulders rising in a silent laugh. “I fell. I cried?” She tilted her head. “My mom thought my wrist was broken, but dad wrapped it up, gave me some just and one of the cookies; I was fine a few minutes later.”

“So your mother over-reacted.”

“It’s possible,” she licked her bottom lip, “but dad was also experimenting with vampire blood for the town council, so…”

“The paediatric ward would probably frown on that.” His smile softened when a gentle gurgle reached his ears. “Are you certain blood has no effect on you? The cure is gone, and has left you, presumably, human.”

She laid the chart on her legs, watching as he refilled her glass from the sink.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Would you like to try?” He shut off the tap. “The worst that can happen is nothing.”

“Isn’t the worst that can happen having it work, and then something unexpected comes along and I wake in transition?” She countered.

“Elena, I give you my word that I will not let that happen unless it’s your choice.”

That was what it truly came down to with Elena after all. The only thing she truly wanted for herself was the freedom to make her own decisions.

He waited patiently for her choice.

The gurgle acquired accompaniment from a waking heart and a tiny hitch in breathing. The same kind Elena made when she was surprised. He suspected waking outside the warmth and safety of the womb must have come as quite the shock.

Elena nodded once.

He bit into his wrist and a let a small stream of blood dribble into the cup. A turn of the plastic diluted most of it.

She drank with a grimace as he cleaned his wrist, tipping her head back and downing the water like a shot.

He lifted her wriggling baby into his arms and cradled her close to his chest.

Elena’s face twisted up. After a decade she had thought she forgot, but the feeling of skin knitting together appeared to be stuck in her body.

She yanked the IV from her hand as it began, starting as always with a tickle. Then the tickle exploded into a full-blown itch between her legs and up into her abdomen.

The moment it began to feel unbearable it stopped, leaving her with a niggling discomfort caused by the remnants of her stitches.

Showering was bound to be fun.

“It worked,” he nodded to her hand. “Was it enough?”

Elena took stock of her body while he transferred the baby into her arms. The deep ache and tearing were gone; she could tell that by feel. The only physical reminders of her pregnancy seemed to be the extra layer of softness around her belly, the heaviness in her breasts and the newborn in her arms.

“I think so,” she murmured. Her eyes dropped, catching the deepest blue. She had lacked awareness before and was only half-convinced she had held her baby, but now, free of painkillers and somewhat rested she knew what was happening.

Her heart swelled, accepting what her mind had pushed back for months.

Mine, she thought, precious and mine. A tear fell on the blanket.

“Elena?” He didn’t try to stop himself from gently tucking her hair behind her ear as he perched on the bed by her thighs.

“Hi,” she breathed, allowing her finger to trace a pudgy cheek. “Hi, baby girl. I’m your mommy,” her eyes shimmered as she choked on a sob. “I’ll try not to screw up, I promise.”

“You won’t.”

Blue eyes swivelled. He leaned a little closer so she could focus on his face.

“Elijah,” she glanced up, “thank you for helping me last night, and for being here.”

“You’re welcome,” he lifted his gaze from the baby. “I meant to return, but your darling daughter made her appearance first. I still don’t know her name.”

“Neither do I,” she huffed a small laugh. “I thought I’d have a little more time, plus, as you know, I was putting everything baby related off.”

“I do know,” he nodded, lifting a finger to smooth out the blanket.

“What about now? Do you have any ideas? She’ll need a name before she goes home.”

“No pressure,” Elena sighed. Her daughter wiggled and grunted, looking towards Elijah with a pucker in her lips.

“I think she’s hungry.”

“How can you tell?” Her brows lowered.

“I’ve been diligent in keeping her satisfied so you might rest,” he pointed to his ear.

“Oh,” a faint flush stained her cheeks, “right. Um…” she turned her head, eyeing the snap of the hospital gown. “Could you hold her a second?”

“Of course,” he nodded, taking her.

He spoke softly in a language Elena didn’t know, cooing to distract while she pulled on the buttons.

Before that moment she would have called anyone who labelled Elijah Mikaelson as soft a complete and utter moron with an obvious death wish, but his entire continence changed. She had seen kind eyes and gentle smiles, felt tender touches and heard sweet words, from him directed at her, but this was different. The way he cradled and spoke to the baby suggested he would slaughter anyone who wished her harm; much as Elena had felt when she looked into her baby’s eyes.

“Okay,” she blushed, baring one breast, “I’m ready.” She wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or pleased when he placed the baby back in her arms without looking at her chest.

Her tiny mouth rooted, searching. Elena guided her nipped into the hunting mouth. It took her a few tries to latch, but then she felt the tingling trickle. She hardly glanced up as Elijah placed a blanket over her front to preserve her modesty, draping it so she could still see the baby’s face.

“This feels weird,” she admitted on a breath of air. She also felt closer with the skin on skin contact. Her heart felt ready to burst.

Was it safe to feel the amount of love she did?

She needed a distraction before she broke down in tears.

“Can I ask you something?” She lifted her head in time to see him nod. “What did you mean last night when you said you forgot? How was that possible?”

“I was compelled by the joint efforts of Marcel and a witch,” he spoke after a beat. “We had just divided the Hollow, and I feared my devotion to Niklaus would cause everything to unravel. He compelled away ‘always and forever’, and my memory went with it since without it I’m nothing. I did eventually learn who and what I was, but without my memory the knowledge of my family meant nothing, so I fought against remembering.”

She gaped, feeling different tears threaten. “I’m…”

“Not the distraction you were hoping for,” he gave a wry smile.

“I’m so sorry that happened.” She swallowed, spotting the guilt in his eyes. He had done something, or neglected to do something, and someone must have been hurt.

“I’m sorry for whatever you’re blaming yourself for,” she adjusted the baby over her shoulder and reached for his hand before burping her, “but I feel pretty confident in saying it wasn’t your fault.”

“Perhaps not, but I’ll likely blame myself for a while yet.” He raised his hand to the baby’s back. “Names?”

“Is that the answer to ‘what’s the first thing I can screw up as a mother’?” She cupped the baby’s head, smiling when she released a tiny burp under Elijah’s ministrations. She cradled her in both arms, lowering her head to press a tender kiss on the downy cheek. “I should probably come up with something before Caroline comes back with the big book of children’s names.”

“You don’t think that would help?”

“I think Care would try to help, but the sheer volume of names will be overwhelming,” she peered down into the littlest face he had seen since Hope. “You wanna tell mommy your name, baby girl? Huh?”

She looked up, tilting her head in thought. The last cry she had heard came after the first gulp of air, and she knew that was down to Elijah’s care.

“I don’t think she’s going to be any help,” the corner of her mouth quirked up.

“They don’t talk much during the first year,” he nodded, “after that they never stop. Did you consider any names at all?”

“A few,” she admitted, lowering her gaze to bright eyes. “I liked Brooke and Harper and Ava, but I don’t think they fit. I liked Lily too.”

“For Lillian or Lilith?” He tilted his head.

“I wasn’t about to name my baby after a demon,” she rolled her eyes.

“That all depends on interpretation,” he smiled, motioning with one hand. “Lilith was Adam’s first wife, made from the same clay, but she refused to be subservient so she left the garden of Eden. So she has been interpreted as a dangerous demon, but she also represents female empowerment, autonomy and individuality.”

“All good things,” she agreed with a nod, “but the first thought is demon, and the next thing you know my sweet little girl is growing into a hellion and turning my hair grey.”

“That would be quite the change from the serene child in your arms,” he smiled, meeting the blue eyes.

“She is very serene,” one tiny arm got free. “If I call you Serena are you going to immediately rebel and act like a Lilith?”

She blinked up, slow and tranquil, watching her mother. Her fist waved as Elena said the name again.

“I think she likes it,” her hand closed around the fist.

“She likes you,” he nodded, “and your voice. And I think the name suits…” He looked over his shoulder, finding the source of the knock that interrupted him.

Bonnie leaned in the open door.

He stood up.

“Hey,” she greeted, “auntie Bonnie’s here; should she come back later?”

“Of course not,” Elena smiled, “get in here.”

“I didn’t know you had company,” Bonnie stood at the side of the bed. “I was hoping to cuddle a cute little baby.”

“That can be arranged,” she moved, carefully transferring the girl.

“Hello, sweetie,” Bonnie cooed, “do you have a name yet?”

“Serena,” Elena snapped her gown closed.

“That’s beautiful.” Her eyes lifted to Elijah questioningly.

“Are you recovered from the spell?” He pushed his hands into his pockets.

“I’m better,” she nodded. “I was hoping to talk to Elena… alone.”

“Then I shall take my leave for the time being,” he reached for his jacket. “I’ll see you soon Elena.”

He moved towards the door, pausing at the sound of her voice.

“Elijah…” he caught a slight flush on her cheeks. She chewed her bottom lip for a second and exhaled. “You could probably get away with it again.”

His heart fluttered as he turned giving her a hint of a smile and showing Bonnie the start of his own flush.

He left them in the room and moved towards the elevator with no intention to eavesdrop but their voices carried before he made the conscious decision to ignore them.

“Get away with what?”

“Murder,” came Elena’s dry reply. He chuckled. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Last night’s spell.”

Elijah froze with his finger over the button.

“It’s not a permanent solution, but with your help we can make it one.”

The doors glided open.

@elejahforever @elejah-wonderland @naughtynecromancer @ethanjwillis @cry-btch@geekofmanyfandoms @morsmornte @xanderling@bellemorte180@iw1shiknew@blndbandt@petrova-banz @bulldozed88 @njeancastro316

[razorblade180]

Sunshower. 10

[2 of 2 parts]

*Disclaimer,mature themes* Enjoy

It wasn’t long before they reached the forest district and the trees her house was in. As usual she flipped the sign on the ground from down to up. If Sun was really about to spend the night then she might as well look cool getting up to the door she pulled him to the outer rim of the clearing and faced right.

Sun:What are you doing?

Ilia:Getting a little workout in. You’re about to see why our races are always so close.

She bent her knees and took a deep breath. Then she took off sprinting towards a tree. Sun watched her run along it sideways then jumping to the next tree; repeating the process again and again. Each transition to the next tree got her higher and higher as she was essentially going counter clockwise. He almost got dizzy just watching. Finally she was close enough to the mass of leaves and materials supporting her house. Ilia lunged towards a patch of leaves that were a slightly different color and her hands went through it. Sun had a feeling if she did that anywhere else then her performance would’ve ended horribly. Ilia pulled herself all the way up then poked her head back through to look at Sun. Funny, he was easier to look at when she was upside.

Ilia:I hope you were paying attention. Now it’s your turn.

Sun:I could just climb up the one nearest to the entrance. Oh, it even has grooves in it.

Ilia:Yeah it’s for lazy people or emergencies. I won’t stop you from taking it but I’ll hold it against you.

Sun:So what you’re saying is I have no choice?

Ilia:That’s the spirit!

Ilia extended a hand out of the leaves and waited patiently. He wasn’t getting out of this. Not by a long shot. Sun dramatically started rotating his hips and stretching as if he wasn’t already limbered up. Ilia wanted to playfully roll her eyes but found herself paying attention to the way his buttoned shirt slightly lifted up. For the first time she was actually a bit disappointed it was buttoned up and she hated herself for it.

‘This is stupid. He’s stupid. I’ve been complaining about his banana breath for months and I know I suddenly feel….I don’t know what I feel! Why the hell is he getting to me? How am I getting to him? Are we filling the void or-’ “Heads up!”Sun shouted as he jumped at her. Ilia was glad he did or else because she had stopped paying attention entirely. She didn’t even know he stopped stretching and now she’s grabbing his arm and pulling him up. ‘Great, now he has me spacing out…’ It was difficult not to chastise herself at this point. Feelings are complimented but not this complicated.

‘I don’t even like men.’ She knew this part of herself very well and from a young age. Of course she’s tried a couple of hetero relationships but early on she knew for a fact that she just wasn’t feeling anything romantic or otherwise. Yet here she was, clearly feeling something. It burned like fire and made her chest heavy, but also made her feel like she was breathing better than ever? Her heart ached, but she didn’t want it to stop. Somehow, it felt….good? All these positives and negatives kept clashing. She felt like a walking contradiction.

Sun had noticed the girl was lost in thought while they entered her home. He chose to leave her be. He wasn’t sure of what to say anyways. Right now he was invested in looking around. ‘I wish my home was half as cool as this.’ He thought while removing his shoes. Living in a literal treehouse was already cool but the way everything was set up kept adding brownie points. Then it hit him, small talking about her home could break the ease. He touched her shoulder and Ilia jumped a little; realizing she had spaced out again.

Ilia:S...Sorry. You say something?

Sun:I was gonna say you have a nice place.

Ilia:Oh, thanks. *smiles* You wouldn’t believe how long it took to make this place. Worth it though. It’s out of the way and peaceful.

Sun:Yeah I’ve noticed you tend to like your space. Anyways...I’ll...see ya tomorrow?

Ilia:Umm yeah?

Sun:....

Ilia:...

Sun:*slowly walking to the futon.*

Ilia:What are you doing?

Sun:About to...sleep?

Ilia:Aren’t you forgetting something?

Sun:....covers?

Ilia:A shower Sun. You’re dirty from being out partying.

Sun:I don’t have spare clothes.

Ilia:I have plenty of big t-shirts and basketball shorts. There’s spare towels and washcloths already in the bathroom.

Sun:Thanks.

Ilia:I can’t believe you tried going to sleep filthy.

Sun:Listen, I’m playing this by ear.

Ilia:Well make sure you wash behind said ears.

She walked down to the end of the wall into her room. A circular bed filled most of the room with cabinets drawers built in underneath where she stored her clothes. Lights hung from the center of the ceiling and spread across the walls like vines; while a small hatch connected to a string could open a piece of the ceiling to maya sky light. Airflow was good too. ‘I’m glad I cleaned in here.’

…..

‘Why’d I think that? He’s not going to be in here.’ Ilia dismissed the thought from her mind and grabbed whatever she reached for first. Blue shorts and yellow shirt; it’s funny how life works out like that sometimes. Ilia left the room and tossed Sun the clothes as he walked into the restroom.

Ilia:To turn on the shower-

Sun:I can figure out a bathtub Ilia.

Ilia:(Okay Mr. Know it all.Is the day finally getting to him or something? Guess I shouldn’t blame him. He’s not the only one on edge.)

Rushing water and the change of the sound of it hitting the tub did indeed let her know he figured it out. Oddly enough, knowing that Sun was currently showered wasn’t as flustering as everything else. That was until she realized a cold reality. One of two things would happen when he wears those clothes. Option one, he realizes there’s no change in underwear and wears the pair he has; eww. Or option two, he’ll go commando. In her shorts. That first option was looking really good. It’ll give her a reason to knock him down a peg.

Instead of waiting for him like a weirdo; Ilia went back to her room to grab one of the dozen pillows on her bed along with a spare blanket. It didn’t take long to turn the futon into bed mode and set everything up. She actually finished right as he got out. The boy’s hair and tail were a bit damp and his clothes folded up. That was unexpected. It really was hard to pinpoint exactly what level of care Sun did and did not have for hygiene. Ilia couldn’t resist looking at all the layers of the folded clothes. Sure enough, his boxers were there and not on him. Another thing to add to her contradicting feelings.

Ilia:Those fit you surprisingly well.

Sun:Why do you have such baggy clothes?

Ilia:Lounge wear. I like to be comfortable.

Sun:Really? Judy told me the opposite. Something about wearing bras while at home?

Ilia:Why does she care so much about that!? What’s the problem with that!?

Sun:She said it had something to do with being comfortable with your body in a safe environment. I didn’t really get it either. Do you have a place to wash these?

Ilia:Yeah I’ll deal with it. Right now just-...

Sun:Ilia?

She didn’t answer him. For a second he had thought she spaced out again but no, she was looking at him? Ilia started walking forward and actually passed him to the bathroom to the sink. Sun realized he had forgotten the things that were in his pockets there. Then, his face went pale.

Ilia picked up his scroll, a pack of gum, some change, and the thing that made her shut up in the first place. A couple of condom packets. Sun felt like flinging himself out the tree as Ilia walked back to him and slowly put all the items on his stack of clothes. The two looked at each other. Ilia had a face of skepticism and slight embarrassment. Sun doubled down on the ladder.

Ilia:So...were you feeling lucky tonight? Confident? Dumb...?

Sun:I swear those aren’t mine.

Ilia:Yet you have them because…?

Sun:Okay, they’re mine now. But I didn’t ask for them. Neptune gave me those when you and Judy got food. He kept going on about being prepared and not knowing what tonight could hold. I was trying to give them back but then you showed up and I panicked.

‘Neptune.’ Ilia thought menacingly. ‘You’ll get yours.’

Sun:Still mad.

Ilia:Not mad, I’m just on edge. Sorry.

Sun:Trust me, I get it. Go take your shower and I’m gonna go to sleep. I think we both need it.

Ilia:Yeah. You’re right. If you got hungry then feel free trying to create whatever out of the fridge.

Sun:Will do; thanks.

At last, the night was finally over. It was fun, exhausting but fun. She had taken her shower then went straight to her room. Ilia’s body felt heavy yet her mind was still racing and her eyes fully open; sleeping was impossible. Her hands fiddled with the stitching of the black basketball shorts and her gold tank top felt off for some reason. She knew it was all in her head. What felt off was in the other room.

Ilia grabbed her scroll to check the time. Almost one o’clock; only forty five minutes has passed since she finished her shower. ‘This is ridiculous. I’m tired so sleeping should be easy.’ She tried closing her eyes to sink into sleep but it never came. It only took another five minutes before she rose from her bed agitated. ‘I wonder if Sun is up? One way to find out.’

Ilia walked to the door before stopping suddenly. The butterflies were coming back. It was almost unbearable. Still she persisted and followed through. Step by anxious step, she walked towards the living room. Ilia peeked around the corner as if this was someone else’s house and found him facing the wall and bundled up under the blanket she gave him. At first glance he looked to be completely at rest. However, the twitch of his nose and eyes seen thanks to faunus night vision indicated otherwise.

Ilia:I know you’re awake. Don’t try to lie.

Sun:Sigh...looks like we’re both restless.

Ilia:Scooch over. At least we have tv.

He did what he was told and sat up so she could sit on his left. The light from the tv lit the dark room with some anime Ilia seemed to like. Sun wondered if Blake influenced the girl or if it was the other way around all along? Now wasn’t the time to bring her up though. It would’ve killed the mood; whatever that might be.

Ilia wasn’t afraid to steal cover from him and did so without a second thought. After sitting on the bench from earlier, this by far was an improvement. There was a bit more space this time. However, she could still feel the heat coming from him; so warm and inviting. She couldn’t help but scoot a little closer; making her skin turn more than a little red. Sun tried to focus on the show but it wasn’t working. Whatever shampoo Ilia used on her long flowing hair was tickling his nose. Maple, somehow it was perfect for her. Sun might’ve been a patient person even if he had his limits, and right now morality and a bit of fear was the only thing holding them back. He wasn’t the only one. Unlike him however, Ilia had enough of the tension. Progress had to be made; for better or for worse.

Ilia:It was nice….

Sun:Huh?

Ilia:You asked me at the pier how it was when we...you know. It was nice, from what I can remember.

Sun:*red* Oh. Me- me too. From what I can remember. It’s still pretty hazy at some parts. I...still remember your rules though.

Ilia:Is that right?

Sun:Yep.

……

Ilia:You’re holding yourself back somehow for my sake aren’t you? Even after what Neptune and I told you. I...don’t mind if you’re a little greedy sometimes.

His heart skips a beat. Sun looked at her from the corner of his eyes. Ilia kept both eyes on the screen but her entire face was flushed. She tried stealing a glance but locked eyes with him for a second. His attention was fully on her.

His silence was getting to her something fierce. She was about to speak again but the sudden warmth of Sun wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer made her gasp in surprise.

She was more than warm now; Ilia felt like an inferno. She could feel Sun’s hands shake slightly as they began roaming her midsection and legs. He was nervous. Good, that means she wasn’t alone.

Ilia places her hands on his to let him know his touch was more than welcomed. It got a bit more firmer. More confident. Ilia closed her eyes and shuddered from the way his hands made her body feel like it was melting. Short breaths of air sucked through her teeth periodically the more he advanced. Pleasure or not, Ilia’s pride refused to let her express to Sun how much she was enjoying such a simple act.

It only got more difficult. Sun leaned in and pressed his lips against her neck; making the girl in his arms bite her lip a little rougher than she would’ve liked. Slowly he trailed upwards until Ilia could feel his breath against her ear. “Let me know if you wanna stop.”, he whispered in a husky tone that was new to her. She doubted it was gonna be the last time it was heard. Ilia didn’t trust herself to speak so nodded instead. Sun’s hand got busy. His left hand slid under Ilia’s shirt and towards her chest. While the right one took the plunge down into shorts; trailing the middle finger up and down her already damp slit.

Ilia wasn’t ready for the sudden surge of pleasure. Her body hunched over a little as a reflex as she let out a small whimper. The freckles across her started turning pink as Sun kept the attention on her left tit and mound. “F..Fuck…”, she said with a rasp in her voice. She was rarely this sensitive; this needy. Yet right now Ilia felt like she had just run a marathon and was starting to break a sweat. Is this what happens when you let tension build all day? It was kinda worth it.

“You okay?” Sun said with his voice more normal than last time.

“Mmmhmm” was all Ilia could manage in the moment. She leaned back into his chest and lifted her waist. Both of her hands went to the waistband of her shorts a little faster than she meant to do and pulled the unneeded clothing off. She bent her left leg and placed on the futon. Allowing Sun to have more room for his right hand to work. The feeling of something poking her lower only her head get fuzzier. Ilia didn’t really remember much about what Sun was packing but she was anxious regardless.

Sun couldn’t help but think how cute she looked right now.Not to mention how aroused he was. He wasn’t afraid to admit that seeing her like this was thrilling. He wanted more. “You know you don’t have to hold back either right?” His voice dripping with desire. “I wanna hear you…”

Yeah, that voice was going to be a problem. “Don’t get ahead of yourse-aah!”

Her protest went unfinished as she felt Sun’s middle finger slide into her. The digit rubbed slowly; exploring this new, soaked area. With each thrust the walls clamped and spasmed around it. Sun continued kissing her. The assault on so many areas at once crumbled Ilia’s resolve. Her chest rising and falling in excitement. “That wasn’t so hard, wasn't it?”

“I’m...totally getting you...back.” Ilia did her best to calm down but it wasn’t working. Being the only one overwhelmed wasn’t fun. She was the person with actual experience here. Somehow she gathered her thoughts together and managed to reach behind her and tug on Sun’s shorts. A chill up his spine and through his tail from Ilia’s nimble fingers run down his pelvis. Moments later a rush of adrenaline hits him as her hands wrap around his length and frees it. Slowly her hands start stroking it up down. Ilia was never an expert at this thing for obvious reasons but Sun seemed to enjoy it. Low groans invaded her ear as she picked up the pace. The hot and foreign object steadily getting harder with time.

The sounds Ilia got out of Sun only made her enjoy it more. When was the last time foreplay felt this rewarding? This intense? She wanted to keep it going but her body had other plans. Sun slid a second finger into her to add more fuel to the fire that threatened to burn her up. “Sun...Sun!” Being quiet was out the window. Every touch felt like electricity. Her toes started to curl as she teetered on the edge of her release. “Time out! Time out!” She shouted frantically before it was too late.

“Huh?” Sun was caught off guard but stopped as instructed. Was she hurt? Did she change her mind. A million worries started building up as she sat forward and turned towards him completely flushed. Her shirt clinged to her body from the thin layer of sweat that covered her. Even strands of hair stuck to Ilia’s face as she calmed down. She didn’t look hurt, not at all. So why stop? “Umm did I do something wrong?”

Ilia shook her head side to side. “No. I just… the couch. I didn’t expect so much to happen here. It’s...way harder to clean than my sheets is all.” She wasn’t lying. The bed was definitely a better choice to do this. What she didn’t admit to him was how hard that orgasm was about to hit. No way would she have any energy to return the favor if it had.

“Oh, phew, I thought I did something bad. I’ve kinda been playing this entire thing by ear.” Knowing that only made Ilia more embarrassed. ‘I gotta step my game up.’ She thought; her heartbeat finally calming down a bit. She took this opportunity to look at what she had been so feverishly stroking. It only made her entire body change red in surprise. It didn’t look how she’d expect. It wasn’t anything cartoonishly big like many people over exaggerate about but she had a hard time believing that fit in her before. Then again, she did have a limp.

“Umm Ilia, could you not stare. It’s a little embarrassing.” The boy said sheepishly. It was crazy how fast his attitude changed in the heat of the moment. “Sorry, just psyching myself up is all. Where are the condoms?”

“The counter. We’re going straight to that? No oral or anything?” A valid question that would’ve made Ilia redder if that was even possible. “Sorry but not really the type of girl to do that in a...straight scenario.” It felt a little rude to say that out loud. “I wouldn’t feel right if you did it to me because then it’s one sided.”

He got why she felt that way but it was a little disappointing. He’d never done anything like that before either; it would’ve been interesting. “Understandable.Guess we’ll skip right to the fun part then.” Without warning he lifted her up. Ilia gave a small yelp; instinctively wrapping her arms and legs around him. “Hey! Warn me next ti-aah! S...Sun..” Ilia tried to maintain some bite in her voice but it proved nearly impossible by the small bites and nibbles being placed on her neck. The fire she tried to quell was rising again. She could barely keep her eyes open while Sun took her to bed. His tail grabbing the condoms from the counter along the way. This was really happening.

Sun pushed open the door and laid her gently on the bed. Ilia watched the boy make a sincere smile that said “yeah, I’m nervous too.” The fact that he’s been so attentive to her needs was chipping away at her pride and slightly bruising her ego. He shouldn’t be doing most of the work. Time to step up.

“Hey…”

“Hmm? Yeah Ili-” She pulled him down onto her bed before he could finish speaking. Ilia grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off him; along with kicking off all the surplus pillows. Then leaned him back a little as she bit his neck; the feel of her left hand running across his skin frazzled Sun and left him speechless. “Relax for me…” her tone sultry and deliberately making things more anxious for him. Sun tried to control his breathing as her lips ran across his chest and her free hand pulled off his shorts; boxers and all.

Ilia finally removed her now soaked panties and straddled her friend right above his member. Sun was about to remind her about the condom but felt a chill as thin latex was being rolled onto him. ‘When did she take it from me?” He wondered in amazement and concerned. Being that sneaky in a situation like this is a dangerous skill. He wondered if it came naturally, or practiced?

“So, you ready?” His voice was shaking as he looked into her eyes. “Because I’m not.” Ilia pressed her forehead against his. Their bodies slightly shook and felt like pure flames. “Guess we’re on the same page. Second thoughts?”

“Not on your life.”

“Good, or this would’ve been pretty embarrassing.” Ilia raised her hips and lined him up with her entrance. Slowly she started to lower herself down. Inch by inch Ilia felt Sun spread her sensitive walls until he was nearly all the way inside. Full couldn’t begin to describe this feeling. It was like he was touching everything at once; sending pleasure from head to toe. How she did this drunk she’ll never understand.

Ilia leaned forward and hid her face in the crook of his neck and started rocking her hips. Raising them till the tip was all that remained before sinking back down to her limit. Gradually she got faster with each one and couldn’t stop the sounds of her own pleasure from escaping.

Sun was no different. His heart raced and his jaw was clenched tightly. She gripped him like a vice and felt hotter than imaginable. He didn’t know how he didn’t cum immediately. “Fuuuck! Ilia!” He groaned into her ear with a hunger in his voice. “You feel so good!” The bed began to creak as they continued to go at it; the only louder noise being their voice and the sound of wet flesh colliding.

Their minds became cloudy as they brought each other closer to the edge. Instincts guided their body’s now. Ilia felt her strength starting to wane. Annoyingly, her hips started slowing down. Nails dug into Sun’s back and her eyes closed as she tried to hold out just a little longer. “Close. I’m so damn close..”, she whimpered and mewled in a haze of passion.

“Me too. Ahh! Ilia!” He wasn’t going to let this moment fade, not yet. Not like this. Sun gripped the girls slender waist and started timing his thrust with hers. The way his fingers pressed into her reminded Ilia of last time. The added intensity and memories made her body rage and ache. Tension was building in the pit of her gut and her toes started to curl once again. “Sun I’m...I’M!!!”

Her lips denied her from finishing her sentence. Instead she let out a cry of pleasure while her entire body felt like it had just gotten zapped by a million volts. Sun felt Ilia’s soaked walls clamp down tighter to milk him of everything he had. The grip was too much for him to bear and Sun came, hard. Ilia felt the condom swell inside her. No doubt filling with ropes of cum from Sun’s frantically twitching length. Latex or not, she could feel the warmth from the loud and it made her shudder. She couldn’t even imagine the feeling of it actually shooting into her. The thought made her heart skip a beat.

Energy quickly left their bodies and Sun fell backwards with Ilia on laying on his chest. Sweat covered both of them and each struggled for a moment to calm their breathing. It wasn’t long after that Sun finally went limp enough to slide out of the gir. Ilia used the strength she had left to remove the condom and tie it up before tossing it to the side. Proper disposal can happen later. Right now was resting time.

Sun:Phew, that was...was…

Ilia:It really was….

Sun:So I did good?

Ilia:I’m...panting and was screaming. You tell me?

Sun:Good. I’m relieved. Not exactly experienced with any of this.

Ilia:You did wonderfully.

She groaned in blissful exhaustion. Keeping her eyes half open was a real struggle. Everything felt surreal. It had been all night. Both were about to pass out any minute.

Ilia:Time to rest. I can feel myself drifting.

Sun:Want me to go back to the couch? Give you some room?

Ilia:Idiot. You think I’d just kick you to the curve after this? I’m not getting off you and you earned this spot for tonight.

Sun:Good. Don’t think I would’ve made it there anyways. You think this will be weird tomorrow? Or you know, okay?

Ilia:You’re more than welcome to sneak out before I wake up if you can’t handle it. But right now..

She clung to him and willingly closed her eyes. “Rest…” those were her final words before drifting off into slumber. Sun followed right behind her. Letting darkness surround them as he held the girl close. It truly had been a long day.

Part 9 & Part 10(1)

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 12

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

To see the version with art by Dara, check it out on Ao3.

Tag for all parts up so far.

A/N: A bit late, but here's an update! Thanks for @senoraluna for proofreading, because I wrote half this chapter while drunk off my ass.

*** Héctor is a serious cuddler, even in his sleep. Especially in his sleep.

Imelda found out as much pretty early on, and - especially warm nights aside - she doesn't mind at all. On cooler nights such as this one, she's actually rather grateful to have him draped around her like a human blanket. She gets to lie awake for a time, listening to his breathing, basking in the warmth of his skin against hers, feeling his heartbeat, and there is nowhere else she'd rather be. Come morning she'll wake up first, and poke him in the ribs to wake him up. It always works, and the resulting yelp as he's startled into awareness never fails to make her laugh. Or maybe she'll think of a more pleasant way to do so, with no nightclothes in the way and-

Clack.

The sound of the front door opening and then closing, quietly but not quietly enough, puts an end to that very pleasant thought. There are steps and those, too, are trying to be quiet - 'trying' being the key word.

He may come up with an excuse as to why he’s there, but Imelda knows that the little photoshoot - ‘Photoshoot Two’, as Héctor called it - they sent him is the real reason why he's just come crawling back. He probably got in his car as soon as he could leave whatever toilet stall he'd managed to run to. Again.

Not that he'll get to have any tonight, though. She and Héctor already had their fun; he'll have to wait and, if he behaves, he might get to take part next time. Serves him right for trying to force them into going out for the fourth evening in a row.

“Come on, just a drink to celebrate.”

“We’ve been having drinks to celebrate for the past three nights, Ernesto.”

“So what’s one more?”

“I have a headache and work to get done in the morning.”

“Well, Héctor is coming. Right?”

“Uh, actually…”

“Come on!”

“I just need to rest a bit before our big day, you know. Have a quiet night in, and--”

“We can rest tomorrow!”

“I think I’ll pass. You go and have fun.”

“Ugh, fine. You to stay here and bore yourselves like an old couple!”

Clearly, he forgot what happened last time he accused them of being two bores aged before their time, so Imelda saw it fit to send him another reminder. Héctor was more than eager to help.

The steps come closer, and then stop at the bedroom door. Imelda stays still, eyes shut and cheek pressed against Héctor's hair. She half-expects Ernesto to come in and approach the bed, and she has a remark ready for that - "of all times to come late rather than early!" - but there are no more steps, no sound at all except for Héctor's steady breathing and her own, the faint noise of traffic in the distance.

Imelda opens her eyes to see he's standing in the doorway. They forgot to close the blinds again and, in the sharp light cast by a street light, she can see the look on his face as he stares at them. She'd expected lust, she'd expected disappointment; longing is not what she thought she'd see. She wonders how many people got that special Kicked Puppy look from him, but she knows deep down - and with no small amount of smugness - that this look is different. This one is reserved to them alone.

Are you going to gape for much longer?, she almost asks, but she knows that would wake Héctor up and really, she's had such a pleasant evening; every bone in her body feels like cooked asparagus and she has never felt less inclined to start a fight - especially since she knows her husband would be all for letting him in. So she just lifts her free arm in a mute invitation, and he takes it.

He’s walking quietly across the room the next moment, stripping as he walks and leaving his clothes to fall on the floor. He’d better pick them up in the morning, she thinks, and doesn’t say as much only not to disturb her husband’s sleep. Which is disturbed anyway, because the mattress tips and the springs creak when Ernesto slips under the covers, and it is enough for Héctor - who usually needs the aid of a trumpet to be awakened any time before dawn - to stir.

“‘Nesto?” he mumbles. One arm tightens around Imelda, and the other stretches out for Ernesto. He grins against her skin when he grabs that hand and presses it against his cheek. “Liked the pictures?”

“You two are the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” Ernesto informs him, and the grin widens.

“How many visit to the toilet?”

“Chingate.”

“Imelda already did,” Héctor says innocently.

“I want to be in the next one,” Ernesto says. She can feel him pouting against her skin, and holds back a laugh. Instead, she yawns. “In the morning,” she mutters, and neither argues. She’s about to suggest they should shift - Héctor is usually in the middle, it feels wrong for him not to be and since he woke up he may as well move - but she has no time to say anything. Ernesto moves suddenly, and his arms are around both of them, his face pressing against their joined shoulders. Much like Héctor, he feels pleasantly warm.

“The worst thing that ever happened to you,” Héctor says aloud, grinning at Imelda over his head. She returns it with a smirk of her own while Ernesto heaves a long sigh.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and for a time they do. There is some shifting around, and Imelda is soon half-asleep, not really caring which one of them is going to wind up in the middle.

In the end, no one does. Morning catches them in a messy pile, with Imelda awakening slowly to the sunlight. There is warmth and quiet breathing, the occasional snore and twitch, sleepy mumbles and fingers running over skin, through hair, and it isn’t a bad thing to wake up to - it isn’t too bad at all, and their bodies awaken before their minds entirely catch up.

Eyelids still heavy with sleep, Imelda can barely tell that it’s Ernesto’s chest beneath her head, and if it’s Héctor’s cock poking her. If she chose to focus, she would be able to tell whose hand is it on her breast and whose hand is resting on her thigh. But she’s still half-asleep and so are they, and she finds she likes it that way. After all, it’s Sunday; one lazy morning cannot hurt.

Imelda keeps her eyes closed, reaches for Héctor’s morning erection, and begins to lazily stroke its head with her thumb. There is a sigh, sleepy and yet shuddering, and Héctor’s cock twitches in her hand. He shifts closer but just barely, as sleepy as she is, and lets out an almost dreamy sigh. A thumb brushes over her nipple, and the hand on her thigh slips between her legs, to cup her mound. She tilts her head to kiss exposed skin - whose and where, it hardly matters. If she were to guess she’d say it might be Ernesto’s neck, but she won’t guess. She’s not awake enough to.

Another sigh from her husband, and her hand beings grow slick with precum. Another hardness is poking her, but she feels a hand - Héctor’s? Ernesto’s own? Does it matter? - reaching to grasp it, and Ernesto’s chest rises and falls in a long, content sigh. The hand between her legs - whose? Does she care? - parts her folds, and she feels gentle pressure on her clit, tiny circular movements that get a sigh out of her as well. It’s all very slow-- the touches, the build-up, even the orgasm coming in long, gentle waves.

Imelda doesn’t get many lazy mornings but, all things considered, she could do this more often.

*** 

“He’s about to say it.”

Imelda’s whisper is barely audible, for Héctor’s ears only. Leaning against the door with his arms crossed, he glances over to the bed. Ernesto has lain down every single charro he owns and is going over them all, walking back and forth like a general inspecting troops, his back to them.

“He’s not that bad,” Héctor whispers, gaining himself a look that clearly says ‘just wait’.

Ernesto pauses in front of a blue charro, shakes his head, then walks past it to a deep red one with golden stitching Pepita has chosen to lay onto. He reaches out as though to move her. Pepita flattens her ears and hisses. Ernesto pulls back his hand.

Smart choice, that: it’s hard to play guitar with a torn-up hand, and Ernesto wants to play at his very best tomorrow. It’s not every day you meet with your record label to sign the deal, give an interview to announce an album is officially in the pipeline, and perform on live TV right afterwards. He’s very obviously nervous, even if he tries to act like nothing worries him.

Héctor is… sort of nervous, too, but it’s easy to think everything will go smoothly with Imelda’s steady presence by his side, watching Ernesto try to pick an outfit for the following day. An exhausting process, truth be told, from the moment Ernesto walked in with armfuls of clothes asking for help.

They are now down to the last five suits and he has yet to make any decision other than ‘don’t bother the cat’. He finally sighs, and Héctor knows he’s about to lose a bet just a moment before he turns.

“I have nothing to wear,” Ernesto finally declares, and Imelda flashes Héctor a smug grin.

Told you he’d say it.

Héctor pretends not to have seen it. “You have plenty to wear.”

“Maybe I should go naked.”

“That’s unadvisable,” Héctor says.

“I look great naked.”

“That’s debatable,” Imelda speaks up.

Ernesto pouts. “Well, if your murderous cat wasn’t sitting on the charro I was thinking of wearin-”

“Afraid of a kitten now? You can try and move her.”

“If she’s such a nice kitty, why don’t you move her for me?”

“She’s comfy where she is,” Imelda says, and glances down at the charros. “Besides, I don’t think the red one does you any favors.”

He frowns. Héctor knows very well that the red charro is one of his favorites. “No?”

“Too aggressive. You’d look better in blue,” she adds, taking a step closer. “Or the white one, but Héctor will be wearing his white one. It goes well with his guitar.”

“We could both wear white.”

Héctor laughs. “If you want us to look like we’re trying to get into a church choir,” he says. “Or as angels in the church’s Nativity play, like that time when I was six. Remember how we used ropes to make me fly? I think we did pretty well.”

Imelda raises an eyebrow. “You knocked down the star and caused it to wreck Jesus’ cradle.”

That causes Héctor’s smile to fade a bit. “Ah. You remember that.”

“I played Mary. It nearly hit me,” she reminds him. “By the way, what were you thinking?”

Héctor shifts. “... Well, I guess it seemed seemed a good idea at the time.”

“You almost gave Sister Gregoria a stroke. And thank God Jesus wasn’t a real baby.”

“See? No one was hurt and it all worked out,” Ernesto points out as he picks up the blue charro, holding it up. Imelda rolls her eyes.

“Whose idea was it, anyway?”

“Ernest--”

“Héctor’s.”

“Hey!”

“It was absolutely your idea. My ideas tend to work.”

“You were the one who said everyone would be impressed if we actually flew across the stage!”

“Well, if course they would be. Angels fly. It’s what the wings are for,” Ernesto points out, carefully hanging the charro. “But you were the one who suggested we try it with ropes.”

“Well, your idea involved a trampoline hidden off stage! And-- and I didn’t see you stopping me after putting the idea in my head!”

“Why should I?”

“Because you were ten and I was six, for one.”

“Didn’t make me your babysitter.”

Héctor huffs, crossing his arms. “Some amigo,” he mutters, but truth be told he’s nowhere as mad as he pretends to be.

He has very fond memories of that day, despite the unmitigated disaster; of the look on his parents’ face as they seemed torn between red-faced embarrassment and the almost inhuman effort not to burst laughing in front of the rambling nun handing them back their child, covered in sawdust from head to toe, broken makeshift wings hanging sadly from his back. They had at least made it to the car before they’d both laughed, and the lecture that had followed had been more an afterthought than anything else.

The one who couldn’t keep himself from laughing, right there and then, had been Ernesto’s father, who’d been dragged there by his wife to watch a play he clearly gave no fucks about only because their son was in it. It was surreal, really: big, foul-tempered, scary Estéban de la Cruz roaring with laughter in the midst of a stunned silence.

He hadn’t even bothered to listen to a word of what Sister Gregoria was trying to say: he’d just kept laughing, picked up his stunned son with one arm, and walked right out with tears of mirth in his eyes - followed by a wife who looked embarrassed and relieved in equal measure.

“I wasn’t even sure he knew how to laugh,” Ernesto would tell him the next day, still in a sort of stunned awe. “He kept going until we were home and then some more. I think I heard him laughing in his sleep at night.”

Entirely unaware of his fond recollections, Ernesto is talking to Imelda - ignoring Héctor as he always does when he’s absolutely, disastrously in the wrong.  “So, the blue one? You sure?”

Imelda shrugs. “It’s not bad,” she concedes. “I don’t think anyone will be focusing on your clothes only, anyway.”

“... Right. I need to make sure my hair is at its best, too,” Ernesto mutters, turning to glance at his reflection in the window nearby. Imelda is rolling her eyes hard enough to make Héctor think they must be close to falling out of her eye sockets.

“I assume they will have someone to fix you up before the interview.”

“Well, true,” Ernesto concedes. “At least they won’t have to work too much on me. I already look good.”

Imelda rolls her eyes. “Now that you’ve picked the outfit--”

“I need to pick the shoes.”

“No you don’t. I made you a pair.”

“You-- what?”

“She made us shoes for the occasion,” Héctor explains, a wide dumb grin spreading on his face. He hadn’t suspected a thing, because Imelda already had their measurements and didn’t need to ask for them again, and he’d believed her explanation of having orders to catch up when he’d noticed her working longer hours than usual in the past couple of weeks. She’d surprised him the previous day, and now it was Ernesto’s turn to be surprised.

As expected, he blinks at Imelda, entirely taken aback. “Ah. I… gracias,” he mutters, sounding somewhat awkward. It’s how he sounded when Héctor’s father gifted him a moño charro for his birthday - one he’d spent mostly at their place.

Imelda smiles. “Don’t thank me yet, we need to make sure they fit,” she says, like there is any chance at all she might have gotten the measures wrong. She might have mentioned something on how weirdly small Ernesto’s feet are, but now she spares his ego and doesn’t bring it up. As she steps out of the room - followed by Pepita, who seems to have decided Ernesto’s red charro is not comfortable enough - Héctor’s grin widens.

“Isn’t she amazing?”

Ernesto doesn’t reply, but neither does he scoff as Héctor expected him to. He turns to see his best friend brushing a hand across the charro he’ll wear tomorrow, slowly.

“... Maybe my parents will see the interview tomorrow,” he says, very quietly.

Oh.

It’s a possibility Héctor hadn’t thought of, but it’s far from impossible, given that by now news might have spread throughout Santa Cecilia; it’s not often that someone from their town is on national TV, let alone two people.

“I guess they might,” he says, slowly. Ernesto’s family was always an uncomfortable subject, and one they avoided entirely since that entire fiasco with the letter. Héctor has no idea what was written on it, if Ernesto read it at all or if he destroyed it as he said he would; it doesn’t seem wise to ask.

“I hope they do,” Ernesto mutters, brow furrowing. “I hope my old man chokes on that.”

Not a word of his mother, who could barely choke out her question - “How’s Ernesto?” - without crying. There is a sudden knot in Héctor’s stomach, and he ignores it. “Well, you sure showed him.”

A moment of silence, then a shrug. “He’ll probably just switch channels. It’s your family that should be here to watch us.”

It’s a thought that has crossed Héctor’s mind several times, with every milestone - they should be here to see me - and it stings every time. As Ernesto picks something up from the bed, he makes an effort to shrug, like it hasn’t hit him as hard as it did. “Well, guess it wasn’t to be, and-- what…?’

Ernesto holds out his hand and there it is - the moño charro Héctor’s father gifted him, not long before he died. He wears it for all the important concerts, and Héctor is glad he does, but there is a tiny nagging voice in the back of its mind that sometimes reminds him that he has no gift left from his father, that their home was gutted by the explosion and fire and next to nothing could be salvaged. Other than some inheritance and a life insurance policy payout, he was only left memories and a few photos.

“I think you should wear this tomorrow.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?”

“Do you need your hearing checked? Not ideal before a musical performance on TV.”

“Oh, ha-ha.”

“I’m serious, Héctor!” Ernesto exclaims, seizing his shoulders. “Look at me in the eye and tell me your hearing is fine.”

“Really no--”

“Because if it isn’t and you mess something up on national TV, I will die.”

“Hey now--”

“I will literally drop dead.”

Ay, dramatic as always. Héctor laughs, slapping his arms off him. “My hearing is fine, pendejo. I just mean-- well, it’s yours.”

“And you’ll give it back after the performance,” Ernesto mutters, pushing the the moño charro in his hands. “Come on.”

He does take it, and swallows back a lump in his throat. “... Gracias,” he murmurs. Before Ernesto can reply anything Imelda is back with the brand new shoes for them, and they let the matter drop. Still, later on - before he folds everything neatly on a chair for the next morning - Héctor stands in front of the mirror, tries it on, and stares at the reflection.

As he did in other times of his life - the day he moved to Mexico City, the day he got engaged, the moment he stood with Imelda before the altar - he tries to imagine what their parents would think of him, tries to imagine what they would say.

You did good.

We’re proud of you.

His vision goes blurry, and he reaches to wipe his eyes, but never does: Imelda’s arms are around him the next moment, her head pressing against his back, and his hand stays in mid-air. He blinks, tears fall, and then he smiles. “Te amo.”

“Lo sé,” she murmurs, and holds him a little tighter.

***

“... And you have quite a following on social media, too. What would you say is your secret?”

“My beautiful face.” 

Ernesto’s quip makes Imelda roll her eyes, but her lips do curl into a smile and by the sound of it, the audience in the studio found it absolutely hilarious. The sound of laughter causes Pepita to lift her head and glance over at the TV screen, where Héctor and Ernesto are sitting on a sofa in front of the interviewer.

Héctor is a little hunched over and leaning forward, all wide grins and gangly limbs, while Ernesto is sitting back, one leg crossed easily over the other and a charming smile on his face. Laughing, Héctor elbows Ernesto in the ribs. It causes him to lift his hands.

“Just kidding, just kidding. Well, it did take quite a lot of networking, but I think music is what we really have going for us,” Ernesto says, the smile widening. He looks perfectly at ease, like he was born to be on camera. By looking at him now, it’s hard to guess how many sleepless nights he spent checking the hit count for their songs on Spotify, planning streaming events and networking with the nebulous bunch of people he refers to as ‘people who matter’. “It’s what it’s all about, our greatest passion, and I think that speaks to people.”

“And what good music it is,” the presenter says. “Here’s footage of your latest performance…”

The footage is shown, the interview continues, and Imelda finds herself frowning slightly. It’s going well, but she can’t help but notice that Ernesto is the one talking most of the time, with Héctor only replying to questions directed specifically at him. He can be as much as a charmer as Ernesto if he wishes, in his own cheeky way, but it’s obvious he’s leaving much of the spotlight to Ernesto.

And that… irks her. Not too much, because she knows Héctor cares very little for the fame and always happily left that aspect to Ernesto, but something still gnaws. They should come across as more of a team, not Wonderful Ernesto with a side dish of Héctor.

“Héctor writes all of their songs,” she tells Pepita, polishing the pair of shoes she just finished while still staring at the TV, Ernesto’s face filling the screen. He’s babbling something about believing in a dream and seizing his moment. “Should at least mention that.”

But Héctor looks happy and, well, her gaze pauses on the moño charro he is wearing. It was… nice of Ernesto to let him wear it for the occasion, and the pang of annoyance grows neglectable. Still there, but neglectable - and it helps that, when they move on to discuss the upcoming album, Ernesto does finally acknowledge Héctor’s role as the songwriter.

“So, will there be any songs that no one has heard yet?”

They share a glance, grinning. “Well, our agent said we can’t speak of such details,” Ernesto says, pride obvious on his face as he mentions they have an agent now. “But you never know with Héctor. I’ve had him waking up in the middle of the night during a hotel stay screaming before he grabbed a bunch of napkins, wrote a song on them, and passed out again.”

More laughter, including Imelda’s own, and Héctor slaps his arm. “It was one time,” he protests, but Imelda knows very well it happened at least on three occasions. By the time the interview ends and they prepare to play on stage for the audience, the earlier annoyance is gone.

“What song are we going to hear?” the presenter asks, and Héctor grins, picking up his guitar.

“Un Poco Loco,” he says, and glances at the camera. “I wrote it for my wife.”

Ay, mi amor. 

It makes Imelda a little sorry that she’s not there in the studio - she was offered to come, but had too many orders to catch up with - but then again, she thinks, it doesn’t matter.

They will see plenty of each other that evening.

***

“... Then we had another bottle, I think Armando was moments away from rolling under the table by the time--”

“The counter on Spotify is going crazy!”

“That’s great, ‘Nesto. Anyway, it went really well-- I mean, you saw us, so you know it, but… it went really well.”

“You did wonderfully,” Imelda says, smiling back at him. Sitting at the desk before his laptop, Héctor wishes he could reach through the screen to kiss her just now. They will be back in Mexico City late the next morning, and it feels like an unbearable long time. “Now get your idiot friend to drop his phone.”

“Sure,” Héctor says lightly, and turns to glance at Ernesto over his shoulder. He’s pacing back and forth across their hotel room, eyes fixed on the screen of his cell phone. “Imelda says you should drop the pho--”

Thud.

As the phone falls on the ground, the rubber guard on it the only thing that keeps its screen from shattering, Héctor recoils. On the screen of his laptop, Imelda blinks.

“... I didn’t mean you should literally drop--”

“We’re trending on Twitter,” Ernesto announces, immediately picking up the phone again. He stares at the screen a few more moments, as if to double-check, then his expression breaks in a wide smile. “We’re trending on Twitter!” he repeats, like it’s the ultimate seal of approval, and leans in to kiss Héctor.

It feels good, deep and thorough and tasting like the tequila they both had, but it lasts too little. Just when Héctor is about to reach down for Ernesto’s belt and give Imelda something really fun to watch, his friend pulls back and holds up his phone again. “All right, just a quick photo for Instagram, okay? Smile at the cam--”

Oh no, not now. Héctor grabs his jacket and yanks his head back down into another kiss. “Forget about that,” he says, pulling back to grin and his widened eyes. “Best if this stays a private spectacle.”

“I’m recording, by the way,” Imelda speaks up. Both turn to the screen to see she’s resting her chin in her hand, looking awfully pleased, eyes half-lidded. “Feel free to go ahead.”

“Really no--”

“There may or may not be a surprise for you once you undress him.”

There is a sound that is part a scoff, part a laugh and part a groan, and then Ernesto is kissing him again, pulling him up on his feet, reaching to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“I want a copy,” he mutters against Héctor’s throat, only to get a sharp order out of Imelda.

“Then get on the bed,” she says, sounding all the world like a movie director, except for the curl of her lips and the glint in her eyes. “With him on your lap.”

Until not too long ago, Ernesto would have argued, snapping something on how he took no orders - but now, he clearly is beyond that. They’re on the bed the next moment, and good thing the laptop is already angled so that Imelda gets the full view. Héctor glances down at Ernesto’s flushed face and grins as Imelda speaks again.

“Undress.”

“Going to enjoy the spectacle?” Ernesto asks, but he does do so without tearing his gaze from Héctor. He reaches to unbutton his jacket just as Héctor goes to unbutton his, fingers fumbling.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re not tired of performing yet,” Imelda says, amusement in her voice and something else that is well on the way to turn into arousal. And, well, Héctor’s duty as her husband is to help along, isn’t it?

With a smirk, Héctor leans in to undo Ernesto’s tie with his mouth, pushing the jacket off his shoulders before he pulls back with it still in his mouth. Their eyes meet, and Ernesto smiles back, slightly out of breath… and the reason why is obvious, already poking his thigh through his trousers. Best to take care of tha--

“Get his trousers off, Héctor,” Imelda’s voice comes again from the screen, soft as velvet.

Well, great minds do think alike.

He drops the tie and slides down, until he’s kneeling between Ernesto’s legs. He glances up, grins, and takes the zipper in his teeth, pulling it down slowly and relieving some of the fabric’s pressure on his cock - which is fully hard at this point. He nuzzles it a moment, and Imelda speaks before he can pull down the underwear with his teeth as well.

“Get up.”

Imelda’s voice is like the crack of a whip but oh, is her breathing fast. Héctor glances towards the laptop to see she’s leaning against the backrest, lips parted and skin flushed. One hand is reaching beneath her blouse and the other is nowhere on screen, but he has a pretty good idea of where it is.

“Sí,” he rasps, and stands. Ernesto stays on the bed a few more moments, panting, until Imelda speaks again and he recoils.

“Both of you. Come closer.”

They do, Ernesto almost stumbling over the trousers that have fallen around his ankles. Pushing off his jacket and getting the shirt off him takes little, leaving him down to his underwear. Ernesto steps out of his trousers and kisses Héctor’s neck, trailing down to nip at his collarbone. As he does, Héctor looks over his head towards Imelda.

She’s almost a vision like this, with her blouse open and a breast exposed, a nipple visible through her kneading fingers. Her lips are parted, pupils blown open, and by now she probably has several fingers in her. He smiles, breathless, and she smiles back before mouthing, ‘turn’.

Ah, right-- they planned this next bit. Héctor turns, unbuckling his belt and offering Ernesto his back. Within moments he’s pushing the shirt and jacket off him, kissing his neck and reaching into his trousers-- then he stills, and Héctor holds back a laugh.

“Wha-- is that lace?”

From the screen, Imelda laughs. “Get his trousers off,” she almost purrs, ���and find out.”

Ernesto kneels and the trousers are pushed down almost before Imelda is done speaking, Héctor loses his struggle not to laugh, glancing at Ernesto over his shoulder has he cups his ass. He’s staring at the lace underwear Imelda picked for him with wide eyes, clearly speechless. “The moment?” he mutters, confused.

“For you to seize,” Héctor and Imelda say at exactly the same time, and Ernesto’s baffled expression melts in a guwaffing laugh.

“Oh, you think you’re so clever,” he mutters, and yanks Héctor’s arm to make him turn to him.

He lets out a yelp, but truth be told he’s… not surprised when he sees Ernesto reaching for his tie on the bed, not really. He glances at Imelda, and she nods, licking her lips.

Let him.

He does let Ernesto tie his hands, biting his lower lips. Ernesto rolls his eyes, face flushed and really hard in his underwear. “Was the fake tattoo really necessary?”

“Who says it’s fake?”

“Your fear of needles, that’s what.”

“Oh, sure, what about yours and that time in Oaxaca--” Héctor trails off with a yelp when Ernesto tightens the knot just a little too much.

“We’re not discussing that now,” he snarls, and physically throws him face down onto the bed.

“Hey now--” Héctor begins, starting to lift himself up on his elbows - but suddenly Ernesto’s hands are back on his ass, his mouth his brushing over it through the lace, and he finds he doesn’t really want to protest. A glance at the screen confirms that Imelda is very much enjoying the scene, too, and that settles it: Héctor drops his head back on the mattress, and lets Ernesto do as he will.

And what he does is tease an awful lot, all small kisses and nuzzling as though Héctor’s cock isn’t hard as stone and straining against the lingerie. He lets out a low whine, trying to buckle his hips, pressing his ass more firmly against Ernesto’s lips and warm, warm hands. He feels him smile against his skin just as Imelda lets out a hum.

“Well, are you going to seize your moment, or not?”

A growl, and the lingerie is pulled down roughly, the brush against his erection almost making Héctor cry out. Through half-lidded eyes, he can see Imelda leaning closer to the screen. Her skin is flushed, some hair sticking to her sweaty forehead.

“Now get yours off.”

Again, no protest or retort: Ernesto’s hands fly to do just that. A bit too quickly, really, because at the first attempt the elastic band of his boxers slips from his fumbling fingers and hits his skin again in a resounding smack, followed by a less than dignified yelp and laughter from both Héctor and Imelda. “Nice grito,” he compliments him.

“Pretend it’s from me,” Imelda adds.

“Very funny,” Ernesto grumbles, and takes off his boxers, letting it drop on the ground. With a chuckle, Imelda waits a moment - wait, is she having a drink? Was that glass there all along? - before leaning back. One of her hands is still off camera and very likely in her own underwear, if she has any on at all.

“Sit back on the bed,” she instructs, and turns her gaze to Héctor, who feels a shiver going down his spine. “And you get on his lap.”

He does and, before long, everything is drowned out by pleasure as he straddles Ernesto’s legs, bound arms over his neck, thrusting his hips up into his friend’s fist - against his cock, it’s such a tight fit, so warm and hard and he can feel every vein and twitch, every grumble in Ernesto’s chest and the puffs of breath against his face. He could come from just this, but oh, when Imelda orders Ernesto to turn him around, lube up and fuck him, Héctor nearly sobs with relief.

“Fuck-- fuck, fuck--” Ernesto groans against the nape of his neck, canting up his hips to push into him deeper, stroking him at the same steady rhythm. Through a veil of tears, he can see Imelda panting, too, head tilted back and mouth open as both of her hands disappear under her skirt. Their gazed meet, she smiles, and he smiles back breathlessly - so lost in the moment that he’s entirely lost track of time, and it doesn’t matter at all.

He could keep this up for his entire life, and he’d die without a single regret.

***

[Back to Part 11]

[On to Part 13]