#it reminds me of how bugs always shrivel up their legs when they die

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 39

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers

Running is a funny thing. Despite what you probably think, it can actually bring a lot of pleasure if done in the right circumstances. A lot of people run to feel better. Some do it for sport, or for health reasons. There's running through the park, or in the gym. There are many types of running and most of them are actually quite enjoyable.

Running for your life is not one of those.

Running for your life overrides everything you think you know about running. The adrenaline pumped into your veins allows your body to overlook some of its limits, which is very handy. It lets you do things you'd never have thought about pulling off, like, for example, cutting corners with godspeed, while also ducking your head to avoid having it bitten off. It also allows your legs to fly you through the tangled mess of gardens despite the breath hitching in your throat. 

The chemistry of the human body is truly a marvelous thing. 

You'd give it more thought, but the beast of a spider scuttling behind you occupied too much of your mind. It was a marvelous thing too, and one you wished to never mull over too deeply. There was little you wanted to do less than think about its abnormally sharp chelicerae trying to bite the flesh off your back. Or the spindly, wiry legs sending it running after you with the speed no insect, and definitely not one of that size, should ever be allowed to achieve. It was simply unfair. 

The dagger Loki gave you was still buried into one of the creature's huge, glowing eyes, now leaking a greyish muck. It should raise your morale, to see it hurt. It didn't. 

You slipped on the mud, and slid down between the trees. Thorns broke your skin and roots slammed into your legs. The spider hissed, strings of saliva spraying from its gaping mouth, when you ducked under one of the lower branches - a thick, sturdy thing that shook when the spider threw itself at it, but didn't break. Not at first, at least. 

It gave you enough time to push yourself up and back in the direction of the massive castle looming over everything. The mountain that was a part of it rose over even the highest trees. Under different circumstances, it would be a menacing sight. In yours, it was a relief not to get lost. 

The wood creaked and groaned and then broke somewhere behind you. What a pleasant way of reminding your legs that they could run even faster. 

You broke out of the woods and back onto the winding paths leading to the fountain. It was broken now, and its pieces cemented in the mud; as if running wasn't difficult enough. 

The castle was so close. There must've been someone who’d seen all that mess, someone who would surely come to help. 

But they didn't. 

"Loki!" you screamed at the top of your lungs toward the pile of marble - all that was left of the original construction. "Could you not be dead right now?!" 

There was little that could have reached the god laid sprawled among the debris. It would fit the romantic narrative if hearing your voice gave Loki new strength and raised him from the dead, but the truth was, all that he could hear was the blood pumping in his veins, the water rushing from the damaged pipes, and on top of it all the—powerful, although turned inward—scream of his devastated pride. 

To be swept like a bug, like an insect unworthy of any more attention, like a nuisance to get rid of - what a pitiful sight he must be. 

Even just imagining that made his blood boil. Steam rose from the debris and fueled his rage further. Loki was no bug. 

He was angry. 

An explosion sent the debris flying. You scuttled forward, shielding your head in your arms. For a moment, you thought something even worse than a bizarrely overgrown spider came to ruin your day. 

The golden helmet shone as Loki rose, his eyes immediately turning to the monster behind you. The god reached into the depths of his magic. It awakened eagerly.

"That's quite enough," he groaned from the heights of the pile. 

He was battered, bruised, and a little embarrassed, which was never a good sign. The green light crackled hungrily around his fingers as he eyed the monster rushing after you, stumbling through the mud. 

Mud was not what he'd prefer, but mud was all he had. 

The magic surged out of Loki's hands in a wave of shivering air and glistening frost. It writhed and bit and raised in a wave of freezing spikes. Ice crackled with sudden chill as it pierced through the belly of the spider and raised it off the ground, helplessly wriggling its legs. 

The ground was freezing under your hands as you pushed yourself up, balancing on the coat of ice. 

"Glad to see you alive," you said, backing away from the writhing spider. Yellow entrails oozed over the ice, but it still refused to die. 

Loki shot you his best grin, brushing the dirt off the leathers of his armor. "It would be rude to just leave you on your own. Besides, you'd probably hate me if I didn't take you to Valhalla with me." 

"You know me too well." 

Relief clutched his chest when you looked mostly unharmed, even if a little out of breath. There was a lot Loki wanted to say to that smile you gave him, and to the hand that grasped his in looking for balance. He even started on the words- but wasn't able to finish. The spider was a wicked thing, born of feral magic and it did not want to die. 

The spikes broke and rained shards of ice around. The huge, bulbous body shook with the impact of striking the ground again. Hissing and shaking, the spider's fury rose as it clawed the frozen mud, digging trenches into the ice.  Its eight legs were perfect for keeping balance and hurtling it with terrifying speed forward. 

Loki pushed you away as the magic surged around him and struck the monster to the side. It curled as it hit one of the statues of people long gone, and sent it flying in pieces. The cracks on the spider's back were deep, but they were already healing when it raised again like it couldn't even feel the pain. And maybe it was true and the reason why it was such a vicious, unstoppable enemy. Loki sent another spear of ice through it, washing the frost in yellow. 

You cursed, looking around for anything or anyone. 

The castle walls were right there, and the corridors you'd walked not so long ago all overlooked the gardens you now fought for your lives in, and yet, no one seemed to be aware of it. You'd waited, and hoped, and it did nothing to change the tides, so you gave that up and focused on what you knew best. 

The spider hissed and spat greenish acid as it tore itself open on Loki's spikes, pushing itself despite ripping parts of its body off. Loki kept on cutting its legs off with a lance bleeding golden dust, but it slowed the spider down only a little. 

If only there was something you could use for a bigger impact… Like the huge, already half-crumbled marble statues just standing around. 

Well, you'd already ruined some of them, how much would one more matter in the grand scheme of things? 

Loki had the full attention of the monstrous spider, which was very convenient and equally dramatic. He looked unfairly good with his green cape flowing behind him as he cut, ducked and stabbed the spider while also trying to freeze its remaining legs to the ground. 

You tried to be less dramatic while you snuck around and made it to the back of one of the statues nearby. It stood high on a pedestal, with the figure majestically carved like a moving warrior. Whoever it depicted, was standing on one leg, in the middle of a run. It was such a perfect little detail, you thought, as you took a nice, heavy block of stone and climbed up the pedestal. 

"Loki!" you shouted while chopping the marble and watching the cracks spread up its surface. "Get your ass over here!" 

There was not much time Loki could spare to see what you were doing, but he retreated a little, luring the spider after him, closer and closer to where you now stood. You pushed with your remaining strength. 

Right when the statue started to fall, Loki cut off the spider's front legs and sent another wave of frost over the already frozen ground. He jumped away while the spider struggled to stand. 

The statue had fallen with a loud, nauseating crack of splitting stone and splashed juices. 

You half-slipped, half-climbed down the now empty pedestal, trying to avoid the disgusting yellowish muck that coated everything thickly. 

You watched Loki push some bigger pieces of the carcass around with the tip of his spear. He was very focused on whatever he was doing, which was convenient, because you'd had absolutely no desire to lend him a hand. 

The ground was wonderfully cold as you knelt on it a healthy distance away from the mess. Sweat covered every part of your body that was now trembling out of exhaustion. Your breath came out in a cloud of white as you laid down on the frozen mud and crumbled stone. The stars were beautiful as always, and so huge they looked as if in your reach. 

There was nothing short of disgust on Loki's face as he held up something hidden in the soaking remains of the shriveled spider. It was a piece of stone with a slim handprint in the middle. He felt its magic under his fingers, angry to have its vessel ruined. Now that it was taken out of the carcass, its power was not enough to heal it yet again. 

Loki was very glad about that. His evening was eventful enough for his liking. He hid the stone in his pocket. 

He headed your way, discarding his golden helmet and the spear as he went. They disappeared in a shimmer.. 

You looked up at him. Blood covered the right side of his face in what a painter would call violent brushstrokes, and what looked to you like a face slammed into a fountain. 

"You look like shit." 

Loki looked at the arm you held stiffly over your stomach, and at all the scratches and scrapes you'd collected like autographs from every tree and a bush on your way. 

"At least we match." 

His face contorted in pain as he lowered himself next to you, embracing the blessed chill of the ground against his bruised flesh. The magic was a flickery thing on the Edge, and it did not like outsiders. Loki could already feel it working against his spells and undoing the coat of ice around. 

"You know what," he said, laying in the mud and looking at the stars. "I used to like spiders."

"I used to think magic was cool," you said, watching galaxies travel through the never ending night. "Now I feel like it hates me." 

"I can assure you, that abomination was aimed at us by someone much more real than the general concept of magic. And I know how to track that someone. Tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow?" 

"Yes. I think I'm done with today." 

You nodded. Your joints felt stiff and loose at the same time. "Agreed.."

The stars looked down on you, boneless in the melting sea of mud and marble. The stars understood little of the ways of mortals, but they knew what it felt to be tired. 

"Loki." 

"What." 

"How is it that you got injured by that thing?" 

"My face had been introduced to a few surfaces, you know. That smile of yours tells me enough about how much you'd seen."

"Yeah, that was marvelous, I wish I got it on tape. But, usually you don't get so roughed up. Remember when you got hit on Earth? You said it hurt, but you never blacked out." 

"It doesn't work that way. I wasn't born on Earth, so things that are inherently earthly, and lack the magic matching the one in my veins can't influence my state much. I might feel pain, and maybe get a few bruises, but it just doesn't work on my… being." 

You frowned. 

"But back when you invaded New York, you got smashed quite a few times by Hulk, and you, from what I could tell, didn't enjoy it. "

Loki sighed. "...I don't want to be talking about that incident ever again. That beast is… not entirely like everyone else on your precious Earth, that's all the explanation I can piece together."

"And that's why it Hulk-smashed you for good?" 

"To put it in terms that you can understand without any knowledge on the theory of magic, you can't destroy water with a stone, no matter how many times you clash them together in your hands. They have different… cores. But if two stones clash, they will both take damage, because their very being is similar in nature and they can interact with each other fully. I am a being born of magic. The spider was too, so every hit from it did more damage than anything else invented on Earth."

 "...so you're saying you're too stoned for guns?"

"I swear on Valhalla, on one of those nights I'm gonna murder you. Your puns are not half as funny as you think."

"That's fair, I guess. Could you please at least choose a pretty night?" 

Loki took your hand in his. He liked the feeling of your fingers linked together. "I will." 

"You're so romantic. I promise to only ever share the mud with you." 

Loki chuckled, despite the sharp pain in his cut face. He looked at you and saw stars in your eyes and love in your smile. There was dust in the kiss you shared, and blood on your tongues that didn't stop you. There were very few things in the universe that could've stopped your embrace there. In fact the stomping of the castle guards that finally made it to the gardens qualified. 

Loki still held your face in his hands when their swords aimed at you. Despite the gentleness he embraced you with, there was nothing warm in the gaze he met the guards with. 

"I suggest you reconsider your hostility," Loki's voice dripped with threat. 

The lean man with a needle-like rapier you'd seen earlier, stepped out. There was a growl in his features, and tension in his arms. The star-like freckles that used to cover the night expanse of his skin were now dim and grey. 

"My name is Faroq and I am the captain of the guard. I demand answers, now," was all he said, still as a statue himself. 

Loki didn't rise from the ground, and neither did you. He only gestured to the steaming remains of the spider behind their backs. "I believe someone has lost their pet. Do me a favor and give it back to them."

Faroq snapped orders at his guards to check on the muck underneath the broken stone. In the meantime, Loki helped you to your feet with a charming smile and his back to Faroq. Whatever the stone he had found was, Loki had no intention of sharing it with the fuming lord. 

The captain of the guard only asked you a few questions, but it was clear that he believed nothing you said, even though for once you weren't even lying. It was not your fault that someone on the Edge wanted to silence you before the investigation found the ambassador's murderer. There was no point in Loki or you setting a ravenous murder-spider on yourselves, but Faroq didn't buy it. 

When he ordered you to return to your chambers, both of you gladly followed, with as much dignity as you could muster while covered head to toe in mud. 

[hoodoo12]

Familial Ties (And How To Break Them) 9/14

Soft Mature, this chapter. Deals are made. ~

Beetlejuice didn't sleep. He held Pate and listened to her breathing, and felt her twitch and saw her eyelids flutter occasionally as she dreamed. He wondered what she dreamed of, and if she knew the level of trust it took to sleep pressed against a demon willingly.

Her warmth did lull him into drifting in the soft twilight between consciousness and unconsciousness. He never worried about losing feeling in a limb, so he was able to keep her close.

It crossed his mind to kiss her awake, and even more dirtily to stroke her pussy lightly till she noticed--which of course led to other activities in his mind; demons didn't have to wait like human men to get it up again--but he knew she was going to want to get started on their day.

So even as the sunlight shone around the edges of the curtains, they stayed wrapped in the cocoon of blankets, and he waited quietly until she came awake on her own.

Pate slept deeply despite the strange dreams. Beetlejuice’s cool body pressed against hers translated into a comforting presence in her subconscious, soothing and steadfast. A voice was whispering in a language she didn’t speak but somehow understood:

“Rijl Jauzah al Yusrā”, “Algebar”, “the left foot of the great one . . . ”

Pate sighed through her nose, trying to wriggle her way deeper into the calming presence beside her. But she was becoming increasingly aware of a peculiar feeling.

It was like . . . indigestion but with pressure instead of pain, as though a force were pressing firmly on her breastbone and between her shoulder blades at the same time. It was enough to finally drag her from the succor of sleep, moaning against Beetlejuice’s chest:

”He’s coming . . .”

She felt him brush loose falls of hair out of her face, tucking them behind her ear.

“Who’s coming, baby?” He murmured back with a smile.

She moaned again and stretched  languorously, smiling back at him.

“I dunno,” she admitted. “It just . . . came out?”

Beetlejuice chuckled at that, his fingers idly stroking her bare arm.

“Just a dream.”

She hummed in agreement and leaned in, pressing a sweet lingering kiss to his lips. From the direction of the door behind him there was a voice:

“Let me stop you before this gets anymore disgustingly saccharine.”

He'd recognize that smarmy voice anywhere, and Beetlejuice started up, half out of the bed as soon as he registered who was in the room.

“Rigel!" he spat.

His younger brother, looking as put together as always, grimaced. “For the love of hell, Lawrence! Can you cover that up?”

With an inarticulate roar, without a care he was nude, without thinking, Beetlejuice rushed their uninvited guest. Tentacles erupted from the ether around him, and they'd grabbed Rigel. He bodily slammed his half brother into the wall with a resounding "crack". His hands and tentacles both wrapped around his smooth neck, but instead of fighting back, Rigel grinned.

"Let's rethink this, Lawrence," he suggested smoothly, and cocked his head, looking over Beetlejuice's shoulder towards the bed.

"Beej--!" Pate whispered, her voice tight with fear.

Beetlejuice twisted to look at her. Dziban, both of it, had her flanked. The skeletal hellhounds looked more nightmarish in the modern aesthetics of a hotel room.

"She doesn't have a religious icon to help her now," Rigel told him. "Let's not make it messy in here and lose your deposit."

With another snarl, Beetlejuice released him and backed away. Rigel tugged the hem of his suit jacket to straighten it again.

"You really are pathetic. Sleeping with a breather but leaving her alive? How desperate are you? I'll admit she's pretty, but they're nothing. Something nice to have around and play with, but not something to get attached to."

So many things happened in such quick succession that Pate was left feeling dizzy. Seemingly out of nowhere, Rigel himself had materialized in the room. Before she had time to move, to do anything other than sit bolt upright with a horrified gasp, Beetlejuice had practically thrown himself across the space with an inhuman snarl that made her shiver, the shadow tentacles writhing around him as he grabbed his calmly smiling sibling and pinned him to the wall hard enough to rattle the fixtures.

Pate gathered the sheet with shaking hands, wrapping it around herself, lowering a leg to the floor to . . . do something, anything other than sit there like a terrified animal, jerking her leg back onto the mattress with a harsh yelp when she saw the hellhounds, Dziban, stalking toward her with its hanging jowls and huge luminous eyes, low growls emanating from deep in its shriveled chests.

Retreating until her shoulders met the headboard, Pate could do nothing but call Beej's name, meeting his enraged eyes with a fearful gaze. He turned, seething, back to Rigel and withdrew, the tentacles likewise coiling away from the taller demon. At Rigel's spiteful taunting, Pate could see Beeltejuice's hands, already clenched into angry fists, tighten even more until the tendons stood in sharp relief.

"What do you want?" she demanded from the relative sanctuary of the bed, proud when her voice didn't waver despite her fear.

Rigel turned a withering eye at her, then sighed deeply as though bored to tears.

"Well, little cocksleeve," he sneered. "I'm here to make a deal. Not that I don't enjoy our reunions, Lawrence, but I've got much grander aspirations. Something I don't expect you to understand."

Beetlejuice snarled again, a bestial sound.

"I've come for the other half of the book."

"And why the fuck would we give it to you, you apocalyptic shitstain?" Beetlejuice spat venomously.

Leveling his brother with a long-suffering look, Rigel snapped his fingers and one of the hellhounds leapt onto the bed with startling agility and Pate recoiled with an involuntary shriek.

"This game is amusing but, as I said, I have bigger plans. And for those plans, I need that book. Once I have it, I have no more need to torment either of you. You can scurry off into the sunset together to live or die or fuck to your hearts' content. Otherwise I will have to use . . . . persuasion."

Dziban snapped at her, not close enough to do any damage, but enough to pry another cry from her throat.

"Think it over," Rigel said congenially, as though this were a perfectly normal conversation. "When you make up your minds, throw on some clothes --" He paused to give Beetlejuice a very distinctly unimpressed once over, "--and meet me at the Waldorf Astoria. They'll send you right up."

Snapping his fingers again, both the hellhounds suddenly vanished.

"Tsk, tsk, Lawrence," he said, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Shacked up with a mortal. You're going to break your mother's heart."

Chuckling darkly he too disappeared, leaving nothing behind but a faint plume of acrid smoke.

Still clutching the bed covers like they were a shield, in a shaking voice Pate asked, “What does he mean?”

Beetlejuice shook himself and ran a hand through his hair. His tentacles evaporated like dark vapor and he felt more exposed than before. The burst of adrenaline that coursed through him left him shaking and his shoulder, which he had forgotten about as he went for his brother, ached to remind him he wasn’t completely healed as he turned back to her.

“Nothing. He knows mother doesn’t have a heart.”

It took her a moment to process his reply, then she gave him a withering look. “Seriously, Bug.”

He managed a weak smile and came back to the bed, although now he was too jittery to slip back under the sheets with her. If it was possible, he hated Rigel that much more, for breaking the mood and preventing him from getting laid this morning. “You okay, baby?”

She nodded, but looked pale as milk and trembled too.

“Good thing you had the idea not to keep the book here,” he complimented, hoping to make her feel better.

She nodded again without a word, and he didn’t like that she was starting to look a little vacant, like the events unfolding in the past several days of her life were catching up to her. He sat down on the mattress beside her and pulled her into a hug. Into her hair he whispered that she’d done well, that she was holding up, they were going to get that half of the book and send Rigel right back to where he belonged.

At least she clutched at him while nodding this time.

Finally he told her to take a hot shower while he ordered breakfast for her, then they’d see about heading over to the fucking Waldorf Astoria for a proper meeting with his younger brother.

Her hands were shaking as she brushed her hair after showering. Once again, this whole crazy adventure had pulled the rug out from under her just as she thought she’d found her footing. For Rigel himself to appear in their room, it had changed the whole tone of their operation, perhaps reminded her once and for all what she was risking.

And then there was the new development with her bizarre dream, as if some part of her had known what was about to happen. What had that been? Pate was finding herself with more questions than answers as she and Beetlejuice took to the street, slipping easily into the flow of foot traffic to walk the two and a half blocks to the hotel where Rigel had apparently taken up residence.

From the moment they left the room he hadn’t stopped touching her: a hand on the small of her back as she led the way into the elevator, his chest pressed to her back as they waited at a crosswalk, his fingers laced with hers as they stopped in front of the imposing tower of glass, soaring hundreds of feet over their heads. She squeezed his hand in hers, unspeakably grateful for his solid, supportive presence.

“Ritzy,” she commented offhandedly. He scoffed darkly beside her.

“Naturally,” he growled.

Giving each other one last long look, Pate and Beetlejuice walked through the heavy glass doors into the lobby.

After last night, he didn't seem able to keep his hands off her. Pate didn't complain, and squeezed his hand occasionally too.

This lobby didn't excite him like the Flamingo had. He let Pate go to the desk and do the talking, while he looked for signs of his half brother, because it would be just like him to have laid an ambush here. Who knew what other lesser demons he'd called up?

But Pate returned to his side and led him to a bank of elevators. She herded him into one with no buttons, only a slot for a key. Without saying anything, she put the key she'd gotten from the clerk into it, gave it a twist, and they started the long ride up to the top floor.

Pate wasn't quite sure what to say or ask the concierge behind the gleaming front desk of black marble. She felt distinctly out of place here, where all around her the décor dripped opulence. Rigel had given them the impression that they'd be expected and sure enough, as soon as she walked to the sleek check in counter the smartly dressed man nodded in greeting and passed her a single bright brass key.

"Mr. Venandi is expecting you," the man said flatly.

She frowned. Something about him seemed . . . off. His voice was so empty, his eyes faintly glazed and he wasn't quite looking at her, more in the general direction of her. Saying nothing, Pate took the key from him and he motioned to the elevators.

Hurrying back to Beetlejuice, she steered him in the direction indicated by the strange concierge. There was a keyhole inside the elevator, so she slid the key in and gave it a turn. Embossed above it was the word "Penthouse".

Being trapped in this box was nothing like riding in the car. In the vehicle he could see outside and Pate played music loudly; this elegant lift was more like a tomb. He'd been in enough of those.

He tried to smile at Pate, but it came across as sickly. He did not let her hand go.

The air of foreboding increased to an actual heaviness in the atmosphere as the elevator neared its destination. There was also an unpleasant underlying scent of roses, and he saw Pate wrinkle her nose.

"Roses herald the dead," he told her simply. "Despite the Armani suits, sometimes Rigel likes to honor the old ways."

Just before the doors slid open, Beetlejuice told her, "I'm going first," in a voice that brooked no disagreement.

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse. Like the rest of the place, it was ornate and opulent and dripping with what was supposed to be sophistication, but it was trying too hard.

"Lawrence!" his younger brother called from across the room, standing in front of the floor to ceiling windows. His voice dropped to a more friendly tone with, "And Pate. Please, come in. Have a drink."

Never taking his eyes off the silhouette, Beetlejuice led the way, keeping tight hold on Pate. Immediately from the corners of the room Dziban flanked them, herding the two of them towards its master.

The cloying, sickly sweet floral smell reminded her of funeral homes and Pate leaned in against Beej's side, her hand gripping his more tightly as she subconsciously wound the other arm through his. He felt like her anchor in this troubling and unfamiliar place, as if she might drift away and be lost forever if he let go. He insisted on entering the penthouse first and she gave him no argument.

In different circumstances, the room might be a nice one. It was like something off of a TV show, it didn't seem real. But Rigel, ironically haloed in bright sunlight at the large windows and Dziban, slinking out of the shadows to drive them like sheep toward the hungry alpha wolf at the other side of the room were horribly real.

Rigel was polite, even gentlemanly when he addressed her and Pate visibly recoiled, hugging Beetlejuice's arm against her chest as if Rigel might try to physically pull her away from the silently stewing demon at her side. He had crossed to a small wrought iron and rich mahogany side table laden with glittering glass decanters, glasses and a bucket of ice. She watched him like a hawk as he casually poured a measure of dark red liquid that might be wine or blood into a glass. Turning to face them, ice cubes clinking faintly as he gently twirled the glass, he raised it to her in a toast.

Rigel's carmine eyes stayed intent upon her as he raised the glass to his lips, and Pate fought not to squirm under his impassive scrutiny. He lowered the glass, a faint reddish tinge on his smiling lips that made it look even more like he'd just been drinking blood, chuckling at the look of revulsion on her face.

"Now that I get a good look at you," he said, setting the glass back on the side table, never taking his eyes off her. "You are a tasty morsel, aren't you?"

The way he said it, soft and inviting, beckoning her as if she were a little lamb he meant to slaughter made her shiver, her blood running cold.

Beetlejuice's arm, which she was still clinging to for dear life, tensed at Rigel's words.

The taller demon must have noticed, because he flashed his brother a wicked sneer.

"I'm afraid your taste in companionship is questionable, my dear," he went on conversationally. "Though in all fairness, you're only human, mistakes are inevitable."

Clasping his arms loosely at his back Rigel paced casually closer, his eyes only for her even as Beetlejuice tugged her a bit further behind him with a warning growl. His forearm felt like spun steel under her fingers.

Rigel stopped short, giving the bristling demon an evaluating look and appearing less than impressed, tilting his head to peer around him and catch Pate's eye again. "If you ever find yourself in want of a higher class of company, do keep me in mind, won't you?"

Was he actually hitting on her? Is that what was happening?

Beetlejuice's silent, steely fury seemed proof enough and he ground out through his teeth, "Let's get this over with."

With an air of disdain, Rigel’s eyes flicked back to his brother’s.

“I was merely making conversation, Lawrence. Complimenting a pretty lady, and offering her alternatives. Humans sometimes don’t realize what’s available to them, do they, or what actually may be on the table?”

It was a dig at the fact it was a well-known secret he wanted nothing more than to hear his name and be summoned to this plane, and had gone to great, sometimes stupid, lengths to make that happen repeatedly. Beetlejuice lowered his head.

“That’s neither here nor there, Rigel,” he said in a low voice.

He took a step forward too, but growls from Dziban on either side of them, and one of the hellhounds slinking forward too, its skinless head low, halted his progress.

“Like I said, let’s get this over with,” he repeated.

Rigel nodded and clapped his hands like a proper host, and turned to pour more three drinks from the same decanter, as he replied, “Of course!”

He handed the drinks all around: the highball glass containing the deep red and viscous fluid to his brother, and a champagne flute filled with bubbly to Pate. The demon tutted at her look of surprise that hers was different than theirs.

“After everything you’ve witnessed and experienced, this little parlor trick astounds you?” he admonished, but sweetly, like he was terribly amused by her. He lifted his glass in a toast. “Here’s to the upper world, and bargains to be made.”

Rigel ignored the hardened stare from his brother and the wide-eyed expression on Pate, and took a sip of his drink with a smile.

“Now. Pate. Let’s talk.”

He looked directly into her eyes and smiled again, showing too many teeth. Even with the bright morning sunlight blazing through the windows, the room took on a darker cast, and Dziban at their sides made a noise more like giggling, like spectral hyenas. Rigel’s voice dropped an octave.

“I want the rest of that book.”

Pate mechanically raised the flute to her lips and gave the golden liquid inside a distrustful sniff. It smelled like real champagne, so she steeled herself and took a sip. It also tasted like the real thing, the carbonation burning pleasantly down her throat, tingling on her tongue and in her nose. She swallowed, feeling the burn go all the way down and tried not to recoil under Rigel's penetrative gaze and predatory smile.

"We have it," she told him truthfully, she and Beetlejuice had agreed at least on that much, that there was no point pretending when he clearly knew it was in their possession. "It's in a safe place, but if we can come to an agreement here we can get it for you."

Rigel smiled and nodded, letting go of his highball glass only for it to float in place as though resting on an invisible table.

"Yes, of course," he went on conversationally. "I wouldn't ask for something for nothing, so what is it I can offer you in exchange?"

"Pretty simple," she said. "Just leave us alone. No more sending Scooby and Scrappy after us, no more showing up out of nowhere. No more--!" She cut herself off, unsure, shooting Beetlejuice a furtive sideways glance. She hadn't mentioned this to him, had been too afraid of what it might mean and what he might say about it. "Whatever you . . . did to me, to my head, the dreams? That stops, too."

Rigel nodded along as she spoke, seemingly agreeing to her terms.

"I can see you've given this due consideration," he said with a smile. "I must confess, it's simpler than I expected! You give me the missing half of the Infernalia and in return, I leave you and my beloved brother Lawrence to your own devices. Very well then, my dear, shall we shake on it?"

He extended his right hand to her, his face suddenly eclipsed in shadow that made his red eyes stand out. Or perhaps they were glowing.

Pate raised her hand from her side, hardly daring to believe she was going through with this, and reached forward to accept his handshake.

"Whoa! Fucking -- no, Pate!" Beetlejuice erupted, body checking her away from Rigel's hand before she had a chance to touch it.

Pate let out a yelp of surprise, staggering from the unexpected attack as Beetlejuice physically interceded between her and his brother. Rigel glowered, his lip curling back to reveal teeth that had become a touch too sharp for a human mouth.

"Beej, what the hell?"

Rigel's snarl made Beetlejuice automatically snarl back, and the air gained mass around him as tentacles nosed through the ether. Dziban's laughter dissolved to open-mouthed growls as well, and the low-frequency thrum of it made the glass in the room vibrate.

With effort, Beetlejuice strong-armed his reaction back down, and his shadow mass faded. He kept an eye on his brother, but spoke to Pate. It would've been better to have some privacy, but that wasn't anything they were going to be afforded.

"Pate, baby--do not touch him. He's a liar and you haven't thought this through--"

Rigel laughed in his face. "Lawrence, please remind the pretty lady that you're a liar too. And it seems to me she's done some fair thinking about this, so don't interrupt. You have no claim over her, no matter how much come you may have pumped into her last night. If anything, you're hers."

The taller demon paused to take a drink, before addressing Pate again directly.

"You, my dear, hold all the cards. Don't let this pathetic excuse of a specter try and tell you what to do. You're beautiful, and more than that, smart. You don't need him trying to mansplain this. You've got it under control."

"Pate," Beetlejuice pleaded, grabbing her hand, "listen to me--"

At Beetlejuice’s urgent words of warning Pate unconsciously tucked her hand against her chest as though Rigel’s baleful gaze had burnt her. She couldn’t help coloring at his not-so-subtle dig at their carnal activity the night before, and his words of flattery were compelling. She had given a great deal of thought at how best to phrase their arrangement, and she couldn’t ignore the things he said about the demon standing beside her, giving her a look of such earnestness that it made her chest clench.

As if reading her uncertainty in her eyes Beetlejuice took her hand in his, entreating with her while Rigel rolled his eyes in disgust at the emotional display. In the insanely short length of time she’d known him, Beetlejuice had never lied to her, not directly at least, and she felt sure that when he had misled her it was more from fear that she’d send him away. He had followed her across the country, protected her from his half brother and the snarling hellhounds that still flanked them.

Even when her mistakes and misjudgments hurt him or caused him pain he hadn’t left. He wouldn’t hurt her, he wouldn’t say or do anything that might do her harm. Pate gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand, turning back to Rigel with a cool look. She didn’t drop Beetlejuice’s hand as she said,

“No, I think he's got a point. There's still a lot to consider, so you might want a pen and paper.”

The taller demon bristled in silence for a beat, sending a positively incendiary glare at his elder brother before composing himself and snapping his fingers, producing a long quill pen made from a jet black feather and a sheaf of parchment.

"Very well, then," he simpered, visibly galled but putting on a convincing show of deference. "Name your terms."

He'd have laughed about this minor triumph over his mother's favorite offspring, but he was still filled with a mixture of anger and fear. He chewed his thumbnail as Pate laid out her terms again, interrupting to add,

"Neutral ground. We're not bringing the book here, where you've possessed the staff."

Rigel scowled at that, even as his quill scratched it onto the parchment. When Pate mentioned taking away her dreams of him again, he smiled broadly while Beetlejuice went back to worrying his nail.

"Now that, beautiful, is something else entirely," Rigel said, in faux sympathy. "My disgraced brother hasn't kept you up to speed, has he? I just told you about him, didn't I? Omissions are still lies."

Over their protests, he continued more loudly. "You've read from the book. You've fucked a demon--albeit a poor excuse for one. You're tainted, dearest. Your experiences have stretched your simple human mind, and that worrisome little problem, of bad dreams and foreboding? That's not going away."

Before he could continue, Beetlejuice shook his head. "That's not true, Pate. None of what you're experiencing has to do with that book, or me. Why would I want people to be able to sense me? I'm a bio-exorcist; how could I help get breathers out of a house if they knew about me? It's Rigel's fault--his forcing you to read his name and his trick of crawling out of you left a residue behind."

Pate looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to determine which may be more accurate. The quill hung in the air, waiting.

"Well, dearest?" Rigel asked. "I can understand how this can be confusing. How about this? Either way it's adhered to you, I promise to make it go away. We'll write it in the contract, hmm? I've enough power to grant that boon for you: that you'll not be bothered by pesky premonitions or dreams again. But because it's extra, and a little tricky, I'll need a kiss to seal that part of the deal."

"Absolutely fucking not!" Beetlejuice exploded, his hair flaming red, and this time tentacles did appear fully.

Dziban slipped forward, and he immediately grappled both of it, not even giving the hellhounds a chance to retaliate or even a second thought as he took large steps towards his brother. He'd almost made it to him, too, almost had his hands around the smug bastard's throat, when he felt a tug on his jacket.

Pate.

She was saying something he couldn't hear over the ringing in his ears from the rage coursing through him. The expression on her face, however--pleading, worry, fear--made him pause. She pulled back on him, and he reluctantly went with her, falling back to her side. He didn't release Dziban, strangling it both until Rigel's expression changed from the feral joy of anticipation of a fight to slight pain. Something in that dawned on him, and he released the 'hounds just as they went limp but before he actually crushed the life from them.

"You're not touching her," he said in a low voice.

Rigel waved the whole thing off, as if it was nothing, even as he straightened his jacket by the hem. "F-fine. She'll be plagued, then."

The stutter didn't go unnoticed, and his hunch was right: in calling the Dziban, his brother had somehow bound himself to it. When they were seriously injured, he hurt too. That explained why they disappeared during the attack outside the church.

Beetlejuice nodded. "Finish this contract so we can get the book and be fucking done with you."

It was alarming, seeing him like this: his upswept hair an angry red, the shadowy tentacles erupting from out of thin air to ensnare Dziban even as they moved on him in his blind spots. Beetlejuice paid them no mind, his eyes and his rage were only for his brother. For her, Pate realized. Rigel's suggestion, honestly not the worst he could have made by her estimation, had thoroughly pushed Beetlejuice over the edge.

Things were going to get out of hand. With no thought other than breaking the two apart she hastily stepped forward and caught him by the first thing she could reach; his jacket, and giving it a tug.

"It's okay, Beej," she said when he turned to her, his face still twisted in fury. "We'll just forget about that part, okay?"

Slowly he calmed down, still glaring daggers at Rigel even as the tentacles withdrew and his normal green crept back into his hair. He begrudgingly fell back at her insistence, growling his ultimatum once more at his brother.

The suave and debonair Rigel, now looking more ruffled and peevish than she'd ever seen him, straightened. He deftly rolled up the parchment and clapped it smartly between his hands. The scroll burst at once into blue flames that danced around his right hand, which he once again proffered to her.

"If all parties are satisfied, then?" he prompted.

Pate glanced to Beetlejuice to find him already watching her intently and they shared a long look. The terms had been set: they would choose a place to meet to give Rigel the book, which would buy them time to set their trap. That was all they really needed.

She could live with the strange dreams. Thanks to Beetlejuice's intercession, it felt as secure as a pact with a demon was likely to. So she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, reached out and grasped Rigel's hand. The blue spectral fire licked up her fingers, over the back of her hand, curling up her wrist, but there was no pain. It felt cold, in fact, causing goosebumps to break out up her arm.

Rigel's grin was too wide, his teeth too sharp and too numerous. "It's a deal."

It was said and done. He didn't like it, and would have much preferred to deal with Rigel on his own, but her safety was important and there was no way he could have guaranteed his half-brother would leave her be otherwise.

He led Pate back out, accidentally on purpose kicking the still weakened Dziban on their way back to the elevator, just to see the taller demon wince a little. On the way back to the ground level, he examined her hand, arm and wrist.

"He's marked you," he told her quietly, running his thumb over the blue figure on the inside of her wrist. He read the infernal language easily, and since it'd been brought to her attention he omitted information sometimes, he explained it quietly to her. "It's his initial, babe. It's not as binding as a kiss, thank gods. It's just so other inhabitants of the Netherworld know that you're his. We'll find a way to get it off."

He didn't like that she'd become slightly withdrawn again, but that was just the after effects of signing a deal with a demon.

He kept a hand on her as he led her outside into the bright sunlight again. Squinting, he took her down the Strip back towards the hotel she'd booked. As they went, a small chapel caught his eye. He elbowed her.

"Pate, baby . . . that church didn't have real holy water, but what do you think about that place? Can't hurt to try, right? And I bet they'd be more than willing to sell it to us, compared to that asshole priest."

And that was how they ended up getting back to their hotel with a gallon of the stuff. Was it real? They didn't know. But just having the plastic jug of it somehow made it feel like they could actually do what needed to be done.

tbc . . .

[thewiseworm]

Not Hair, but a Heart of Gold

Chapter 1: Love at First Steal

Summary: Roman lives a life freedom. He cares about no one other than himself, with an exception of one, sort of. He dances his way across the rooftops of the nearby cities and paints himself into the history books by stealing anything and everything he wants.

Roman’s content with that.

At least until he meets Patton. Patton with his bright blue eyes. Patton with his innocence and adorable giggle.

Patton who’s never left his father’s tower.

Word count: 5561

Pairings: Royality, Analogical, Platonic Logince, Platonic Moxiety

Tags: Language, Emotional Abuse (brief)

Notes:  Project number 2!! Of who knows how many! Chapter one of this glorious adventure and gaaaaah I am e x c i t e for this one gays!! I’ve wanted to do this one for a while and now we’re finally starting it aaaaaaaa -Soc

Yeesssss!! I'm super excited and hype!! It's been one of our favorite ideas and I'm so happy we get to explore it and share it with y'all! -Puma 

Read on AO3

Next

Roman gripped the windowsill with both hands. The foothold he used took his weight easily, worn down by his repeated use of it. Perhaps it was time to switch up which rooftop they met on, but really Roman had grown attached to this one. It had pizzazz. The whole city was visible, from the towering mansion at one end, to the capitol building and the mayor’s house at the other.

Roman let go with one hand, swinging out to look down at the glittering lights below him. He trusted his harness to catch him if anything went wrong. The view was to die for anyways. He tilted his head back. The evening wind ruffled his bangs.

Each building was a star all on its own. One that Roman was free to plunder as he chose. A grin stretched across his face. Suspended above the world always left him feeling like a king, a prince, a god. Endless freedom stretched out below him, and adventure was a simple kick of his leg away. If it weren’t for his… “standing appointment,” for the night Roman would be flying.

He rolled his eyes at the reminder of the detective probably already waiting for him above.

He reached up once more, hauling himself up even further. Roman pressed a button on his rope harness and with a click, he rushed past the last ten floors to the rooftop. Logan’s glasses glinted like sapphires and he would know! He stole more than enough of them in his line of work. Roman hauled himself over the edge and back onto solid ground.

Roman didn’t click himself out of the harness just yet. He preferred to take the quick exit down if he needed to. Logan leaned over the railing, his dark trench coat fluttering in the cold wind as he appreciated the view. Roman leaned back against the railing next to Logan.

“Hey there, old friend,” Roman drawled as his archenemy adjusted his glasses, “Come on, don’t sulk. I won fair and square.”

“You won nothing,” Logan replied. Roman smirked, careful to not let his eyes drop to the gun surely hanging at Logan’s waist. “You stole plenty.”

“But you got another commendation for catching that drug ring,” Roman all but purred. He was the cat that got the cream after all. Or more accurately the cat that got several thousands worth in illegal jewelry and smuggled art, but who was counting? “I told you that shop had been a front.”

“You also used the raid as cover in order to steal everything!”

“I left you the drugs! And the evidence! Plus you have no proof it was me!” Roman protested. He perched on the railing as Logan glared at him. A reminder that all Roman had to do was lean back to disappear back into the night. That, and because the precarious feeling of almost falling left a pleasant swoop in Roman’s stomach.

Logan sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. Roman grinned. Maybe he’d pick a better target next time. Someone more visible.

“Admit it, Sherlock,” Roman teased, “You’d be bored without me.”

“I’d have an easier job without you,” Logan shot back dryly. “You raise the crime statistic in every city that you go to, impossibly, more than a few points. It’s almost like chaos and crime follow you, Moriarty.”

Roman preened.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Roman laughed. He threw his head back, the sound echoing across the rooftops. “Not that it matters, any crime that I might or might not bring along gets squashed by you. Just a bunch of little bugs that go squish. Around and around we go, when we’ll stop nobody knows!”

He threw his hands in the air. He tilted back for a precarious moment, dangling between falling back and stay where he was. His grin grew as he watched Logan’s hands twitch towards him before Logan shoved them in his pockets. And Logan claimed he didn’t care.

“We’ll stop once you’re behind bars,” Logan said simply. A confidence in his ability that sent shivers down Roman’s spine. “You can’t keep this up, and when you slip up I’ll be there. No one can run from justice forever. Not someone who can’t help but hurt others like you.”

“Bah!” Roman stuck his tongue out at Logan, “The people you claim I steal from aren’t in need of the reportedly stolen items. I mean, who needs that many jewels just sitting in a bank? No one that’s who.”

“And the people who work at the banks?” Logan raised an eyebrow, and Roman waved him off.

“Anyone working at a bank must be evil. I mean it’s a bank Dear Stalker, a bank! No one except the most shriveled of souls would work for a bank!”

“Now that’s a generalization,” Logan said. His eyes drifted down towards one of the buildings below them, and not for the first time Roman considered asking Logan to join him. To have someone else join him on the roofs and alleyways. Logan’s bright eyes looking over blueprints and a voice other than the music he put on filling the room.

“I’d hate to know what you think about the police,” Logan remarked, reaching up to adjust his glasses. Roman nudged him with his foot, ignoring the nasty look Logan sent to him in return.

“What I think,” Roman said grandly, “is that somewhere in the world there has to be an exception for everything, and if anyone had to be a good man and a good detective then you pull the look off rather well.”

Logan shifted uncomfortably, eyes cutting away from him. Roman frowned. He nudged Logan with his foot again. Logan shoved gently at it.

Roman turned around to face the city skyline. He knew the twinkle of the lights far below was the closest Logan would ever get to stargazing out here. Light pollution, bleh. The wind whistled in the silence between them. Roman glanced at Logan, his soft frown lit up by the golden lights below.

That little crease of worry between his eyebrows made Roman’s skin itchy. He needed to take Logan’s mind off whatever he was thinking. It was a travesty if Logan wasn’t worried about Roman for even a second!

Roman looked over the city again and smirked as his eyes drew to the mansion on the west side. Well, well, nothing screams like “steal me!” like a good ol’ fashioned mansion. Art, jewelry, and most likely some blood money involved.

And a new case for Logan to chase him on. Perfect! Roman shoved Logan’s shoulder for attention until the detective turned to glare at him. Whatever! He could brood on his own time, not Roman’s.

“So, what’s that lovely mansion over there?” Roman said as he thumbed over to it, “I don’t know this city as well you do, Mr. Wikipedia.”

Logan rolled his eyes, “Learning about a city’s history and political atmosphere is exactly why I’m the best detective in the tri-state area. And you need to crack open a book or two instead of stealing them.”

“Tri-state area? Who even says that?” Roman ribbed, smirking at Logan’s red blush of embarrassment, “Plus, you haven’t answered my question. Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“That.” Logan pointed with a growl, “is Mr. Janius’ mansion. And you can see the infamous tower right next to it.”

“Tower of what?”

“It mainly holds art, artifacts, and it’s also a tourist location because it operates as a museum during the week.” Logan tapped his chin as his look became distant, “I would like to visit it myself but the ticket prices are abysmal. I get paid well but not that well.”

Roman hummed, “Art, you say?”

Logan froze, “No. You cannot be considering to steal from Mr. Janius of all people. The man isn’t like your usual drug dealer, I’m afraid.”

“He’s a man like you said yourself!” Roman leaned in, his breaths puffing in the biting air, “A few smokescreens and some good music, then bam! Moriarty strikes again.” Then quieter as Roman looked away, “And here I thought I’m just as talented as you are, dare I say, best in the tri-state area?’

Logan didn’t laugh or even do that little smirk, instead, the crease between his eyebrows folded deeper, “Don’t do it, you fool. I prefer to be the one to put you behind bars instead of six feet of dirt.”

“Ha!” Roman barked, his amusement trailing off as Logan stared steadily at him. He ignored the unease that skittered down his spine. “Oh come on, Nick Cause-Me-Fury, this is just another tactic to scare me off. You of all people should know by now that something as simple as fear won’t hold me back.”

“Roman!” Logan shouted. Roman startled, and then sucked in a breath as he overbalanced. Damn, he hadn’t wanted end tonight’s conversation quite yet. He reached for his harness, bracing for the drop when a hand clamped around his arm. Roman squawked as he toppled backward instead of forwards.

He threw his hands back, twisting out of Logan’s hold. His palms hit the pavement and he flipped backward. His feet landed with a jarring thump, lacking his usual grace as his heart pounded. He crouched, eyes locked onto Logan.

Logan took a step forward. Roman took a step back.

“You imbecile,” Logan hissed.

“Well that’s just rude,” Roman shot back, “You know that I am perfectly capable of handling a fall like that-”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!” Logan took another step forward, and this time Roman stayed where he was. Logan gripped his arm and shook it, something wild in his eyes, “Roman you have to promise me. Whatever you do, whoever you decide from steal from. It cannot be Mr. Janius.”

Roman reached out. He wrapped his fingers around Logan’s trembling ones and pulled the other man close. Roman stood on his toes so he could hook his chin over Logan’s shoulder as Logan buried his face in his neck. He dug his fingers into Logan’s back, entertaining the thought of climbing up Logan’s body to try and wring a smile out of the other man.

Logan’s breath hitched, and Roman changed his mind. Logan held him tighter than the harness around his body could ever do. Roman’s smirk disappeared and instead buried his face into Logan’s shoulder.

“I promise I’ll be careful,” Roman said softly. He didn’t promise not to, something he was sure Logan would pick up on once he had calmed down. For now, this had to be enough. Logan was a friend, but he wasn’t the one that Roman would settle down for. Roman didn’t know if he’d ever meet someone who would make him want to stop.

Roman pecked a kiss on Logan’s cheek as he pulled away. Logan groaned and wiped it away with as much drama as possible. Roman smirked as he sauntered back to the railing and clicked himself back onto the rope.

“See you next time, Detective Crofters,” Roman winked as he stood on the other side of the railing, “Don’t worry about little ol’ me.”

“Roman--”

He fell before he could hear the rest of Logan’s lecture. Down, down, the wind howled as he dived past floors and offices. His laughter swept up in the wind as he freefell from the skyscraper. The building had nearly a hundred floors and yet it wasn’t the tallest one around. Then an audible click broke his peace.

Roman slowed to a stop as the ground approached to meet him. He dangled in his harness next to an innocuous window left open. Some office of a pencil pusher on the tenth floor. Roman swung towards the opening and landed inside. He clicked himself out of the harness and then tugged firmly down on the rope.

A few moments later, the rope went lax and fell with a graceful thump against the building. Roman didn’t worry about anyone witnessing his little escapade since no one was awake at three in the morning. He needed to be out and gone in under five minutes. The exact time it would take Logan to walk to the elevator and get back to the lobby. And his hunt would begin again.

Roman wouldn’t let himself be caught so easily! He made quick work of shoving the rope into his bag. He threw on a giant green coat to cover his clothes and harness and shoved on a hat. He walked out of the office, the security cameras set to be wiped in two minutes, and opened the stairwell instead of the elevators next to it.

He ran down the stairs until he arrived at the lobby. The elevators here were marbled and shone despite the dreariness of the first ten floors reserved for the plebians. Roman went through the security with a stolen pass card and a wave at ‘Steve’. Oh, how easily everyone trusted strangers the minute they said their name.

Roman smirked as he heard the elevator ding far behind him just as he walked through the large double doors. Logan, Logan, always too late. He heard a shout and then bolted.  He bit back cackles as he dove around the corner, leaving Logan behind.

Always, always leaving everything behind.

Roman grinned to himself and he ducked towards where the crowds would be at this time of night and hummed to himself. A fun, successful meeting with Logan and a moment where he felt like he could fly. His grin widened.

And a whole new heist to plan.

Ok, so Logan wasn’t entirely wrong, Roman would admit as he stared down at the mansion below him. The security measures were absolutely insane. Roman took out his phone to glance at the blueprints one last time. Lasers, fingerprints, pressure plates, the works. Roman ran a hand through his hair as he ran through his heist plan again.

“It’ll work,” Roman muttered to himself, “Six weeks of planning can’t go down the drain so quickly. You’re the best thief ever, so act like it!”

Roman put the phone back in his supply bag. Even the minute radioactivity from his phone would set off an alarm. Whoever Mr. Janius was, he was one paranoid cockroach of a man. Roman adjusted his black beanie and pulled on his leather gloves. Sometimes he wished he wore more colorful heist clothing but then he wouldn’t be the best thief out there.

The thing was- despite the fact that Mr. Janius had security that looked almost like he was trying to keep someone in as much as others out- there was one hole in the whole mess. According to the blueprints that Roman had managed to acquire, the room at the very top of the tower was kept empty.

Strange, for someone so prepared, but if he was going to give Roman a way to waltz right in, Roman wasn’t going to complain.

Roman adjusted his beanie one last time and narrowed his eyes at the mansion. The roof of the building he stood on lined up with the tower even if it only reached a fraction of the height. Which meant that he could reach into his bag and use the grappling hook that he had brought and line it up at the tower.

The moonlight shone overhead, giving off just enough light that Roman could eyeball where he needed to aim for. The pressure plates and motion detectors only ran up so far Roman had found. At least that’s what he suspected, from his weeks of casing the joint.

Logan had also been right about how ridiculous those ticket prices were.

If he aimed high enough he could set up a zip line between his current position and the tower.

The power behind the shot and the length of the rope were longer than normal, but considering that Mr. Janius was apparently paranoid enough to have a certain distance between his mansion and the rest of the city, it was needed. The light of the mansion shadowed the side of the tower that he stared at. The wind blew through his hair and Roman corrected his aim to account for it.

The crossbow in his hand clicked as he fired. The hook whistled, and Roman took a moment to appreciate the time and money he had spent to find a rope that would blend into the night sky. He stayed as still as possible so that he wouldn’t throw off the flight of the grappling hook.

The hook and his grin clicked into place. He tugged on the rope, checking to make sure that it was truly secure. His heart raced as he planted his feet. His gloves slide across the rope, and Roman couldn’t help the wildness that slipped into his expression.

He lived for moments like these.

The adrenaline raced through his veins. The high of breaking the law; the absolute freedom in doing whatever the hell he wanted. The ability to overcome any challenge that stood in his way. There wasn’t anything Roman would choose over it. Not even the friendship Logan offered would stop him. There was just no way it could stand up to the feeling of flight and adventure of Roman’s lifestyle.

He let his crossbow drop and anchored his end of the rope to the rooftop. His hands were steady as he reached for the pulleys he needed to attach. Roman clicked them on and pulled on them. He’d rather not fall from a measly eighteen-floor height when he’d scaled far higher skyscrapers than that. Roman smirked as he craned to look upwards.

Getting the blueprints? A few dates with one of Mr. Janius’ employees (wonderful guy in bed!), some death threats, and some delicious photographs to keep as souvenirs. Or to release to the press, he didn’t mind either way, although it would be a shame that people wouldn’t see his face. The camera loved him!

Roman clicked himself to the rope attached to the pulley and held the handlebars until his gloves creaked with the strain. Now, the building he stood on top of? Nigh impossible! Employees around the clock and security cameras off the top of the line. He had to call in a few favors to break into it. Fortunately, this building had art pieces of its own and his good friends (read: hackers) believed it was the very thing he chased after. Even if he wasn’t entirely happy about forking over a significant amount of his money for it.

At least Logan didn’t charge him anything! A better friend than they could ever be. Roman took in a breath as his finger hovered on the button to take him up. Nerves twisted and flopped in his stomach. Oh, Logan would kill him if he knew about this.

Roman didn’t realize how hard it was to plan a second heist to throw Logan off his trail. Some building downtown with enough jewelry to choke a dragon. A few ‘forgotten’ blueprints were more than enough to send the detective on the case. One thing Logan had gotten right, the heist was tonight, but he didn’t know where.

Once Logan got his fair share of breaking a sex trafficking ring in the building’s basement, and with no stolen jewelry. The jig would be up. Roman swallowed, he could just say he was sick? And skipped out on his own heist? Roman shook his head, he couldn’t worry about Logan now, not when he could taste victory so close.

Roman muttered a brief prayer and turned the pulley on. The pulley whirled, a quiet hum in the dead of night, and the wind whistled through Roman’s hair. He slid smoothly up the line, flying over the well-kept grounds. Roman dangled from his harness as it came to a stop inches from the tower. Only a few floors from the balcony above. The only flaw in the tower’s grand design.

Roman grinned, “If you could only see me now, brainiac.”

He reached out, planting his hands on the brick walls. Light from a window shone from his left. He couldn’t quite make out the best places for handholds on his climb but he wasn’t known as the best for nothing. His feet scrambled against the wall before he managed to wedge them into a hole.

He let out a careful breath and reached for his harness. He wouldn’t unclip himself all the way, not when there was a slim chance he could fall, but he would let out the slack on the line. He froze at the high whine that pierced the silence.

The golden glow of the window flashed into a harsh red. Roman flinched, his heart jumping to his throat. An alarm? Which one had he set off?! He shook himself. That didn’t matter now. He needed to get out of there.

He leaned back to kick off the wall but paused as he caught sight of the balcony above him.

It would be smartest to cut his losses now. Security was a bitch and Logan would tear him apart to shreds for this attempt. He wouldn’t get another one. His hand hovered over the pulley, and in a swift decisive move, he unclipped his harness. He clawed at his chest to take it off and tried not to think about the way his body swung over the drop. The fingers of his hand still clinging to the wall ached from the pull of his weight.

Roman sucked in a deep breath and threw his whole back into the force of his swing. The alarm echoed through his ears as glass shattered and his harness went flying through the window. He cursed the loss of his gear, but he was so close. His gloves would keep from fingerprints being found on them, and it wasn’t like anyone other than Logan would identify it as his on sight.

Homemade gear made him so much harder to track after all.

He used the momentum of his swing to reach for the next weak point in the wall. He breathed heavily as he climbed, moving as fast as he dared. His feet scraped against the wall as he struggled to find places to put them, simply pressing them against the brick to propel himself up higher half the time.

Shouts drifted from the window he had broken, and Roman couldn’t help the grin that crossed his face. Let them try and catch him now! They’d think he was on that floor and Roman would be free to reach his blind spot.

His hand clamped around the balcony railing, and he swung himself upwards. He flipped over the edge and took a moment to simply breathe. The solid ground against his feet was a relief he’d never voice aloud. His eyes scanned the area for dangers, a crease growing between them as he caught sight of a set of paints simply laying out.

Roman suck in a sharp breath at the curtains on the glass covered door and cursed.

Had he gotten the room wrong? Impossible, the blueprints he had stolen were dated for only a few months ago. There was no way they had time to renovate to this extent.

Roman inched forward, stepping over the half-finished canvas on the ground. A studio of some sort then. A guest room? Roman slid the glass door open. He pulled back the curtains. His breath caught as his eyes met the deepest shade of blue he had ever seen.

Roman fell in love instantly.

Oh, such gorgeous freckles! Soft brown curls framing his rapidly paling face. Roman took another step inside. It appeared to be the man’s bedroom with the bed in one corner and a closet on the other. He looked around and whistled. He’s never seen a bedroom look straight out of a fancy magazine before. Damn.

Roman winced as he heard the distant alarms from far below. Well, enough of that! He turned around to click the glass doors shut. The sound cut off. Thank god, he hated that shrill pitch that made him want to claw his own ears off. Roman took a breath and put his best charming and dazzling smile. Time to impress the love of his life!

Roman turned around and yelped at the man standing right next to him.

“Well hello there, gorgeous,” Roman smirked as the man reddened, “I came in through the window, dreadful etiquette I know!”

The man blinked.

“You know, like from Heathers?” Roman said, then sighed at the blank expression, “Never mind that! I simply have to know your name! Please?” The man fidgeted but didn’t stop his wide-eyed stare at Roman, “Oh, how rude of me, my name is Roman! There, now you know.”

“...Patton,” Patton whispered.

Roman’s eyes sparkled at Patton’s adorably low voice, “My god, Patton, you’re the most handsome man I ever met! Although I wished we met in better circumstances.”

“You came in through my window,” Patton said, his voice wobbled with fear, “Ho-how did you get here?”

Roman winced, “Yeah about that. I admit it’s not the most romantic of meetings, or maybe it is? No, wait it’s romantic later on in a relationship. My apologies.”

He swept into a dramatic bow, trying to resist the urge to pull his beanie off for effect. He glanced up at Patton and blinked. The surprise on Patton’s face felt off, and Roman racked his brain for what could have caused it now. He straightened from the bow and shifted awkwardly.

He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck.

“Perhaps I should come back later? What time works best for you? Please don’t say neve-”

Roman’s mouth slammed shut at the sound of footsteps approaching the room.

“Fuck,” he cursed, spinning on his heel back towards the balcony. If he hurried, he could still make it in time to climb somewhere he wouldn’t be caught. If he got caught he couldn’t be able to visit Patton again! His heart stopped as a hand clamped around his wrist and dragged him in a different direction.

“What the hell?” he yelped as Patton shoved him towards the closet.

Roman blinked as found himself surrounded by some of the nicest clothes he had ever seen. Silk brushed against his arms as Patton’s lips pursed. Patton lifted a hand to his lips, and Roman bit back a squeal at how adorable the sight was.

“Stay quiet!” Patton whispered forcefully. “Stay here and-”

He cut off and slammed the door shut, leaving Roman to flinch back from the sudden darkness. He held his breath as Patton’s footsteps retreated, mixing with the creak of the door opening. His heart pounded in his ears. He shifted forward, wincing as two of the hangers around him clinked together.

“Father!” Patton cried out, and Roman’s eyes widened.

“My dear Patton,” an oily voice replied, wait that couldn’t be-- “Someone tried to get into my tower. Have you seen anyone?’

Roman researched Mr. Janius, as par the course when planning heists, and he had listened to the many interviews of the man. Knew his voice, his face, it had to be him! Oh fuck, if Patton gave him up, he was so dead. Logan wouldn’t even be able to identify his remains. Something rustled as Mr. Janius stalked around the room.

“No, Father.” Patton said.

Roman didn’t dare to breathe. He froze as a shadow darkened the thin line of light between the closet doors. The handle rattled as Roman wrote up his own eulogy. One of his few regrets would have to be that he didn’t take Patton out on a date. Even if his father had more cruelty in a pinky than the whole of the top ten in the FBI’s most wanted list.

“Will you be staying even if you don’t find them?” Patton blurted out, and the rattling of the handle paused. Silence hung for a heartbeat. Roman couldn’t breathe. “You haven’t visited in so long and I-”

“Patton,” Mr. Janius cut him off. “Do I look like I have time for that? You may not be smart but I would have hoped that you know now of all times is not for silly questions. This thief could be after you, or our artworks.”

Roman inched closer to the closet doors, wanting to be ready to run if Mr. Janius did throw them open. He’d only have one shot. He peered through the crack in the door. He caught a quick glimpse of Patton fiddling with the cardigan around his shoulders before Mr. Janius’ back blocked his view.

“...you’re right of course Father,” Patton murmured, “I’m sorry. I just-”

Patton fell silent once more. Janius took a step forward and Roman breathed as the man left the closet behind. He had a chance now. Logan wouldn’t have to be mailed his will. Yes!

“You just thought you knew better than me,” Mr. Janius said softly. He sighed. “You know better than that Patton. All I want is to keep you safe.” Roman peeked through the crack again to see Mr. Janius rub Patton’s cheek tenderly with a thumb, “Is that so awful?”

Patton’s eyes flickered away, “No, Father. I’ll see you on Friday, then?”

Mr. Janius ruffled Patton’s hair, “Of course, love.”

Mr. Janius left with nothing more than a loud click. He locked the door behind him. Roman shuddered out a breath as he sat in the closet. He didn’t want to know what sort of wrath he’d evoke from a papa bear like Mr. Janius if he knew what sort of thoughts he had about Patton already. The closet doors swung open and his breath died, such beauty stupefied him. Roman couldn’t help it!

“Wow…” Roman breathed, “You’re positively sublime, do you have me bewitched or something? Cause I’m under your spell. Or I could be under you?”

“What?” Patton said, tilting his head, then shook away his confusion, “Father left, but I don’t know when he’ll be back. You have to leave as soon as you can.”

Roman’s heart shattered to the floor as he realized Patton was simply too innocent to catch his insinuations, “Thank you, no really, I do appreciate it.”

Roman stepped out of the closet and stretched until his bones popped. Patton’s eyes flickered between the door and him. Roman felt like a teenager again, sneaking into some strange boy’s room, and avoiding the parents’ in the process. He bent down and picked up Patton’s hand and kissed his knuckles.

“If there’s anything I can show my gratitude..” Roman whispered as he looked up at Patton’s solid red blush, “I’d be more than welcome to do it.”

“A-ah, well, I guess,” Patton stuttered as Roman winked, “I do get pretty lonely. Maybe you can come visit me?”

Roman stood up with a smirk, “Of course, it would be my greatest pleasure. When may I expect to see you again?”

Patton twined his fingers through Roman’s as he looked up with a shy smile, “How about same time next week?”

“I’d be honored.” Roman agreed with a giddy grin. He hadn’t stolen any art, but perhaps, he had been given the chance to steal something worth even more than that. He squeezed Patton’s hand gently before disentangling himself. He let his fingers drag across Patton’s palm. “Next week then, dearest Patton.”

He paused at the door. Wait. Roman felt his face flush in embarrassment. He had no idea of how he was going to get down. He hesitated, not wanting to ruin his perfect exit. He wanted to win Patton over after all! Roman opened the glass doors with a flourish and gently stepped across the balcony to lean over the edge. He couldn’t jump down.

Not unless he wanted to die.

And he rather had taken Patton on a date before dying. Then he lived his life to the fullest. Other heists be damned. Roman calculated the distance down, if he only got closer, then he would have lesser chances of dying.

He could climb down but he didn’t know if he could do it again. His fingers still stung from the strain on the way up. And he rather not overstay his welcome like some uncivilized guest.

“Do...do you need help?” Patton asked as Roman whirled around, “I don’t know how you got here, but I can try?”

Roman’s chest warmed with fuzzy feelings, “I hate to ask anything of you, but I may need your bedsheets. Unfortunately not to sleep on them.”

Patton scrunched his cute high brow nose from the doorway, “Then what for?”

Roman held his breath as he swung from the end of the bedsheets. He didn’t know how long they would hold but they brought him close enough that he could jump for the remains of his zip-line. He closed his eyes and pictured Patton’s bright eyes, his adorable cheeks, the softness of his palms.

It would only be a week until Roman was him again, but what a painful week it would be.

Love felt just like holding a stolen jewel in his hands.

Roman opened his eyes again. He needed to get ready. Patton deserved only the best and Roman would need all the time he could get to prepare for that. He took a deep breath-

and jumped.