#its fucking awesome to drench your hair in cold water it feels really good on mi scalp. like im in a swimming pool.

[autism-corner]

gender dysphoria is actually helping me shower bc my hair after& during gives so much euphoria oml

[mondscheinprinzessin]

1. whispering ''kiss me'' to your lover with Joel/Niko please❤

here we go with a slightly more spicy prompt, set in the shower from the Don't Fix Me mv

The water hitting Joel’s head was quickly soaking through his clothes. “Ah fuck, that’s cold.” He gasped and bowed his head so the water would drop from his hair and not flow all over his face.

“You could have waited a few minutes.” Niko said, waiting for Joel to catch his breath so he could start filming.

The cam was ready in his hands, and he pressed play when Joel gave him the cue. His phone was in safe distance from the shower to play the chorus of the song for Joel to sing.

He watched how Joel was moving his body while his shirt was clinging to his chest and his hair was glued to his face, the pants seeming tighter than ever, but Niko tried to stay concentrated on his job.

For some reason Joonas had handed over the cam, stating he had other business to attend and had walked away, leaving Joel and Niko alone for the task of filming the snippets for the chorus for their music video.

Niko was not about to complain to finally get some alone time with his boyfriend, but he knew he would get an earful if all that was seen on the recording was them making out. They could hardly put that in the video although Niko wouldn’t mind keeping that recording for himself.

“You look like you’re laughing.” He told Joel who was currently brushing the wet hair away from his eyes to see better. “Come on, again.”

Joel pressed the button for the shower again to get some more water on himself and Niko almost forgot to play the music again when he saw how the water was making its way down Joel’s body.

Just a few more minutes, he told himself and followed Joel’s moves with his eyes to make sure they had the perfect material. (Not for him to save in his mind for later, absolutely not).

“Was that good?” Joel asked after another two takes, licking the water from his lips while Niko tried hard to keep his thoughts under control.

“Yeah yeah, awesome, I think we got it.” And if not then it wasn’t his problem anymore, if it really was all shitty then they had to refilm it later, but right now Niko really couldn’t think of anything else any more than ripping the wet clothes away from Joel.

With his last rational brain cell, he at least made sure the came was safe on the floor and then walked up into Joel’s space, looking down on him.

That sight alone, with Joel on his knees looking up at him with his wide blue eyes, just waiting for Niko to say something, to order him around, was enough to make his knees weak.

Holding out a hand Niko said, “Come here.” And watched how Joel got up from the floor, now having to tilt his head back to be able to look Joel into his face but no less sure that he was the one holding the power here.

Backing Joel up till he was hitting the white-tiled wall Niko pressed closer, Joel’s wet clothes drenching his own.

Niko lifted a hand to trail over Joel’s side before he slipped it under his shirt, the skin under his fingers turning to goosebumps and he felt Joel shivering against him when his hand ran higher and over his chest. His mouth was slightly open, few drops of water still hanging on to his face, and with his other hand Niko wiped over his cheek tenderly, his thumb brushing over Joel’s lip before slipping his hand to the back of his head.

All the while their faces had gotten closer and if Niko wasn’t aware how desperate Joel could get if Niko teased it out, he would have already crashed their mouths together, but like this it was so much more fun.

He didn’t need to wait long either until Joel’s thin voice, merely a whisper in the wide shower, pleaded him to go further. “Kiss me. Please, Niko.”

His name on Joel’s lips was always enough to drive him wild and together with the obedient and lustful look in his eyes, Niko couldn’t do anything else but comply, finally touching Joel’s lips with his own, feeling how Joel’s hands came to grip on his shirt and held him close.

[writing-and-bad-decisions]

One Rainy Night

A Haikyuu Fanfiction

Pairing: Yaku/Lev

Words: 4632

Summary: 

“Wait!” Lev called out, but it was no use, and the two boys watched pitifully as their bus sped down the road, around the corner and out of sight. 

“Dammit!” Yaku shouted, though it was mostly drowned out by the rain. The two ducked into the bus shelter, finally getting coverage from the storm.

“What time is the next bus coming?” Lev asked, running his hands through his wet hair, dishevelling it even more. 

“Half an hour.” Yaku huffed, dropping himself down on the bench with an audible squelch. His muscles were burning from the exertion.

“Should we walk home instead?” Lev asked. The two stared out at the torrent, the rain clattering loudly on the metal roof. 

“No, it’s too dangerous. We should wait. God we’re drenched.”

Alternatively,

The weather is disgusting, Yaku is locked out of his apartment, and apparently all it takes to make you realise your feelings for someone is a little power-outage.

Note:

Hello! I wrote this over the course of 15 days, and am very proud of myself for my consistency (that’s the longest writing streak I’ve had all year, with is awesome!). I’m pretty happy with how this turned out! Any comments/constructive criticism is always welcome, I hope you enjoy!

-----

The rain was incessant, pounding Yaku’s body with cold pellets as he sprinted through the school yard, Lev following close behind. It was soaking him from all directions, the splashing of puddles like shrapnel on his exposed legs. The two ran, panting and shivering through the haze as they made their way down the street, weaving through the few pedestrians also foolish enough to be wandering about in the onslaught. It was currently 6:04, and their bus was going to be arriving at the bus stop at precisely 6:05. Yaku was hoping that the rain would have delayed it at least a few minutes, but as they rounded the corner, his stomach sank. 

“Wait!” Lev called out, but it was no use, and the two boys watched pitifully as their bus sped down the road, around the corner and out of sight. 

“Dammit!” Yaku shouted, though it was mostly drowned out by the rain. The two ducked into the bus shelter, finally getting coverage from the storm.

“What time is the next bus coming?” Lev asked, running his hands through his wet hair, dishevelling it even more. 

“Half an hour.” Yaku huffed, dropping himself down on the bench with an audible squelch. His muscles were burning from the exertion.

“Should we walk home instead?” Lev asked. The two stared out at the torrent, the rain clattering loudly on the metal roof. 

“No, it’s too dangerous. We should wait. God we’re drenched.” Lev shuffled over to the bench, slinging his soaking bag off his shoulder. 

The two had discovered that they lived in the same apartment complex pretty quickly once Lev had joined the volleyball team, which in itself had its ups and downs. On the upside, Yaku wasn’t lonely on his commute to and from school anymore. On the downside, Lev took their close proximity as an excuse to bug him for help every chance he got. “Yaku-san! Can you help me study for my maths test?” “Yaku-san, can you help me practice my receives?” “Yaku-san~”

“I could have sworn rain wasn’t predicted today.” Lev said. Yaku peeled off his volleyball jacket, attempting to ring it out before giving up and dumping the wet clump of fabric on the bench beside him. The two fiddled around with their clothing for a minute, attempting to get a little more comfortable before giving up and settling into their seats. 

“God it’s freezing.” Yaku muttered, rubbing his arms aggressively. He could almost swear his bone marrow was freezing over.

“Do you want my jacket?” Lev asked. Unlike himself, Lev had been wise enough to put his jacket in his bag before the sprint to the bus stop, so despite the bag itself being soaked, the garment was relatively dry.

“No, it’s fine.” Finding the friction rather impractical, he settled for curling his arms against his body.

“Are you sure?” Lev asked, peering at him with concern. He had a few specks of water clinging to his eyelashes, which glittered in the streetlight. “You’re shivering.”

“Yeah. Besides, I don’t want you to get cold.”

“I’m Russian, that makes me immune to the cold!” He declared.

“You’re half Russian.”

“Okay then, I’m half immune.” Yaku smiled and shook his head, though his body stiffened as the wind picked up. “At the very least…” Lev slid closer until their shoulders and thighs were pressed against each other, before resting his arm across the back of the bench. 

“For warmth.” He clarified when Yaku gave him a funny look, though he didn’t complain, and instead leaned into his body. 

“You’re really warm.” He said quietly, his head rested against Lev’s shoulder. Lev chuckled, angling his head away slightly. 

“You feel like a corpse.” Yaku slapped his knee. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! You feel frozen though.” After a moment’s hesitation, Lev wrapped his arm around Yaku’s shoulder, pulling him closer, and in turn Yaku curled into his side. To keep warm, Yaku reminded himself, though he couldn’t help but think how nice the arrangement felt. The thought itself concerned him slightly, but he was wet and freezing, and Lev was soaked, and he could feel the first year’s warmth through his shirt. Despite the horrendous weather, and their sticky clothing, and their aching muscles, it was a nice moment. The two stayed like that, silently cuddling, until the bus arrived. 

-----

After a very cold wait, and an even colder bus ride, the two boys finally arrived at their apartment complex. 

“I cannot wait to get changed out of this.” Lev said as they quickly strode across the lobby. 

“God I need a hot shower.” Yaku grumbled as they stepped into the elevator. Lev hummed in agreement, pressing the button for Yaku’s floor, and then his own.

“Sounds nice, though honestly I think I’m a little sick of being wet today.” Yaku nodded.

“Fair, you look like a drowned cat.” Lev squawked in offence as the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, and Yaku stepped out. “I’ll see you Monday.” He said in farewell. 

Lev stuck his tongue out at him, before breaking into a grin and waving as the doors shut. Yaku smiled, shaking his head at his antics as he made his way down the hall. He stopped in front of his apartment, slugging his bag off his shoulder and sending droplets across the tiled floor. The bag sagged pitifully as he opened it, and Yaku began to riffle through it for his keys. His eyebrows began to knit together the longer it took, before he froze. His keys were in his wallet, which he kept in his gym bag… which he left in his school locker.

“Fuck.” He groaned, hitting his head on the door with a gentle thud. Fantastic. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and thumbed the keypad. It dialed a few times, before his father picked up. 

“Morisuke?”

“Hey dad.” He said. “I left my keys in my locker at school, what time are you going to be home tonight.” There was a long sigh through the phone, and Yaku’s stomach knotted with guilt. He sounded exhausted. 

“I’ve still got quite a lot of work to finish off in the office, and there’s a lot of delay with the rains in this weather… I’m sorry Mori, I don’t think I’m going to be home for another two hours or so. Is there somewhere you can go in the meantime?”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to drag you away from your work. One of my kouhai is in the building, so I can probably stay at his place.”

“That’s good then. I’ll see you tonight Morisuke.”

“Get home safely.”

-----

By the time Yaku had made it to Lev’s floor, his teeth were chattering painfully in his mouth. His clothing, though no longer soaking, was still plastered to his skin, and the chill of the building’s hair conditioning sent painful shivers through his muscles. His hand shook as he raised it to knock. There were a few moments of silence before he could hear footsteps towards the door, and briefly, he wondered what he would do if Lev’s parents answered instead. Standing in the doorway, shivered from head to toe and explaining his situation would be awkward, to say the least. Thankfully, Lev answered, albeit with a perplexed expression. 

“Oh, Yaku-san,” Unlike himself, Lev had gotten changed out of his wet uniform, sporting a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve short. To Yaku’s envy, he was noticeably dry. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just, I left the keys to my apartment at school, and my father isn’t getting home for another few hours. Would I be able to hang out at your place for a while until he arrives?” He tacked on quickly, “That would be fine with your family right?”

“Yes, of course! Come in!” Lev stepped aside and practically herded Yaku inside. “My family won’t be home tonight anyway. You’re still soaking though, I’ll get you a towel, and a change of clothes – actually, would you like to take a shower?” 

“Please. That would be great.” He licked his icy lips, the thought of a warm shower sounded heavenly. 

“I’ll be back in a moment.” Lev disappeared down the hall, and Yaku took the opportunity to examine his surroundings. Despite Lev harassing him for help every other weekend, study sessions always took place at Yaku’s apartment, so he had never actually seen Lev’s home before. He was standing in the entryway, which led into an open-plan kitchen, living room and dining room area. The design was modern, very similar to his own apartment, but more homey, with several photographs and other memorabilia decorating the walls. Across the room, situated in the living room area, was a large window spanning across the wall, showcasing the heavy storm outside. Lev appeared a moment later, a towel and a change of clothes nestled in his arms. 

“Here you go! You can just leave your shoes and bag right here.” Yaku dumped his bag and kicked his shoes off, before eagerly grabbing the items out of Lev’s hands. “Down the hall, the bathroom is the second door on the left. 

“Thanks.” Lev gave him a grin, before turning and heading into the kitchen, whilst Yaku made his way through the apartment.

He closed the bathroom door behind him, quickly stripping off his sodden clothes and jumping into the shower. The hot water was euphoric on his cold skin, and he closed his eyes, sighing contently. Yaku stood under the steam motionless, allowing the warmth to ebb away at the tightness of his muscles and seep into his bones. Once the numbness had faded and his limbs had thawed, he grabbed the bottle of soap and began washing himself. 

The soap smelt of lemongrass and lime, so distinctly Lev that it took him off guard, though the thought was somehow comforting, instead of weird. He let his thoughts carry him. The scent reminded him of the sun, of countless warm days spent in the gym playing volleyball. Of the crisp air, and morning jogs to school with Lev, who’s hyperactivity was quelled by the exercise and instead of making boisterous conversation, he would simply smile down at him. Yaku turned off the water, pursing his lips at where his thoughts had brought him. It was true that he had been spending a lot more time with the fair-haired first year recently, with them commuting together, hanging out on the weekends and spending time after volleyball practice to work on Lev’s receives. Yaku wondered when it was he stopped thinking of Lev as irritating and instead thought of him as… rather pleasant, he supposed. 

Dismissing the thought, he stepped out of the shower, and immediately regretted it as he was met with the cold air. He dried himself and changed, though noticed an apparent issue. Right, Lev was tall, so of course his clothing would be massive on him. He fixed himself up as much as possible, at least, until he was mildly presentable, and left the bathroom. 

“I’m out.” Yaku said, leaving the hallway and entering the kitchen. Lev turned from where he stood at the stove, apron tied around his waist, and froze. He stared at Yaku, his expressions shifting from shock, to confusion, to… something else, before finally landing on amusement. He laughed.

“Come on, it’s not that funny.” The sweatpants Lev had provided had ended way beyond his feet, resulting in them needing to be folded a considerable amount and causing two lumps of fabric to accumulate at his ankles. The shirt, which sat unevenly on his shoulders and reached his thighs, had been tucked into the tightly tied waistband. To say he looked rumpled would be an understatement.

“Sorry, just – you look like a cute little kid in my clothes.” Yaku glared at him, but the shower had relaxed him and he was too tired to retaliate. He was also choosing to ignore the strange swell he felt at the word “cute”

“I’m not cute, and I’m not a little kid. I’m older than you, remember.” He grumbled. Lev looked like he wanted to say something mischievous, but held it back, instead replying 

“Of course.”

“What are you cooking?” He asked, moving on. Yaku could smell the spices from out in the hallway. 

“Just some curry. Are you going to be staying for dinner?”

“Yeah, if that’s alright?” 

“Of course!” Lev beamed, “There’s heaps anyway, I wouldn’t be able to eat all of it on my own.”

“Cool. Anything I can help with?” Yaku peered around his body to the stove, where a pot sat simmering. There was a rice cooker steaming off to the side. 

“No, thank you, I’ve got it handled. You can just sit around and relax if you’d like.” Deciding not to contest against Lev’s cooking abilities, which, if he was being completely honest, he didn’t have much faith in, he made his way into the living room. Yaku picked up the remote and turned on the TV, but was met with a wall of static. 

“Oh yeah, I tried that earlier.” Lev called out from the kitchen. “I think the weather has messed with the connection. The wind has really picked up outside.” Glancing towards the window, Yaku could confirm that, yes, miraculously, it seemed to be storming even harder. 

He turned off the television and instead began investigating the room, drifting towards the bookcase in the corner.  He assumed it belonged to the rest of his family, as Lev wasn’t really the reading type. Only a few weeks ago, Lev had been complaining about the assigned book he had to read for English class, and after much harassment, the issue ended with Lev and himself sprawled out on Yaku’s couch as he read the first few chapters to him. Lev was a handful, that was for sure, though comparatively, he wasn’t the worst kouhai in the world. Yaku and Sugawara-san didn’t text very often, though from their few conversations, Yaku had heard just how illiterate the Karasuno first years were. He was thankful Lev wasn’t that stupid, the thought bringing a small smile to his face. 

After another few minutes of snooping, Yaku settled himself down on the couch and gazed at the dark void of the window. Behind him, he could hear Lev shuffling around in the kitchen. He listened to the soft bubbling of the stove, the high pitched rustle of metal as Lev rifled around in a draw. He was humming some kind of melody as he cooked, though Yaku couldn’t make out the tune. A sudden wave of melancholy washed over Yaku, grounding him into the softness of the couch. There was something special about this moment, the complete calm and normality. It was a stark contrast to his usual nights, where for once instead of the silence and haunting loneliness of his apartment, he was met with the comfortable domestically of Lev’s home. It brought about a strange yearning inside of him that he couldn’t place. A deep tugging on his heartstrings which made him acutely aware of how significant this moment was, as it was the beginning of something big, and beautiful, and life changing. He wanted to cherish this feeling, to hold onto this strange comfort that he didn’t understand. 

His thoughts were broken by Lev’s call for dinner, and he stood up, feeling quite disoriented, and joined him at the table. 

-----

To Yaku’s surprise, the food was absolutely delicious, and inwardly he apologised for ever doubting Lev’s cooking abilities. As tactless as he seemed, the kid could cook. Yaku reclined in his seat, eyes closed, and enjoyed the warm sensation of a hot meal in his system. He felt absolutely exhausted, his muscles still sore from practice and the cold, but somehow, he felt extremely content. He opened his eyes to find Lev staring at him, cheek rested in his palm and a small, impossibly soft smile on his face. The sight made his chest flutter. 

“What’s up?” Yaku asked, and Lev’s trance broke as he realised that he’d been caught. 

“Oh! Nothing, just,” He sat back up in his seat. “You look really happy right now.” Before Yaku could even think of a response, Lev rose from his seat and began clearing the table.

“I’ll help you clean up.” Yaku offered, and Lev waved dismissively. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to. I’ll dry.” Lev didn’t disagree anymore, instead giving Yaku another of those abnormally soft smiles which sent his heart racing, and the two proceeded to clean the kitchen in a comfortable silence. Once they were done, Lev said

“I’m going to make a hot chocolate, do you want one?” 

“Right after curry?”

“Yeah! Why not?” Yaku shook his head.

“I think I’ll pass, I’m not a big fan of sweets.”

“Oh come on.” Lev pleaded. “I make pretty amazing hot chocolates.” He stared at him with a small pout which Yaku found uncharacteristically endearing, and he couldn’t find the will to refuse. 

“Okay, fine.”

“Yes!” Lev cheered, and got out the supplies for the drinks whilst Yaku watched with mild amusement. 

The two of them settled down onto the couch with their hot chocolates, and Yaku had to admit, the beverage was pretty nice. He listened to Lev ramble on about some gossip with the other first years, something about Inuoka asking out two different girls, who both ended up being gay, which resulted in him setting them up. Apparently he was happy for the two of them, but quite sour about Lev and Shibayama teasing him about it. The conversation was quite meaningless, but there was something special about Lev’s company tonight, and Yaku was very much enjoying himself. Lev’s babbling was interrupted by a large crack of thunder, and they both looked up as the lights flickered.

“I hope the power doesn’t––” a sudden darkness enveloped them.

“Spoke too soon.” Yaku remarked. 

“What should we do now? Should I go get a torch?”

“No, don’t bother, we have our phones anyway. I guess we can just sit and watch the rain?” Lev hummed in response, and the two shuffled closer to angle themselves towards the window. 

It was pitchblack with the lights on, but in the dark they could see the surrounding city outside, the dull artificial light providing a small bit of illumination to the room. The world seemed quieter in the dark, though Yaku quickly realised that was due to the heater, which he had barely noticed earlier, being off now. Lev seemed to have come to a similar conclusion. 

“I’ll go get a blanket.” He said, and disappeared from the couch for a minute, reappearing with a large cotton blanket to cover themselves with. After a few minutes of silence, Yaku asked

“Hey Lev, what’s your type?”

“My type?” He asked, seemingly caught off guard.

“Yeah, on the topic of dating.” Lev was silent for a moment, thinking. 

“Well, I’ve never dated anyone before, but I’d say I like girls who are quite tall, and on the flip side for boys, um…” He paused for a moment “I think short boys are pretty cute.” there was a flicker of something in Yaku, a sudden nervousness that turned his mouth dry. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. 

“You like guys?” It came out stiffer than he intended. Lev hesitated. 

“Yeah… that’s not a problem is it?” The insecurity sounded foreign in his voice.

“Oh! No–” Yaku realised how he had sounded. “Not at all, I’m gay.”

“Ah.” Lev replied, before breaking into giggles. “That kind of makes sense actually.”

“What? How so?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Lev shook his head of whatever he was thinking. “So what’s your type then?” The atmosphere felt heavy somehow, and Yaku wasn’t sure how to reply. What was his type? He supposed he liked guys who were tall, and lanky, and sweet and goofy, but how could he say that aloud when it sounded a lot like Lev and–

Oh. 

Oh.

Shit.

The realisation made home want to slap himself, he was so fucking stupid. Huddled under the blanket, only a few inches apart from each other, felt suddenly intimate. He was aware of Lev’s body heat radiating beside him, of every small shift of his limbs. Yaku felt very small beside him as Lev stared down at him, expression masked by the darkness, with his head quirked to the side. 

“Yaku-san?” He said questionably, oblivious to his inner turmoil, and Yaku realised how long he’d been zoned out for. 

“I-I’m not really sure.” He stuttered out, but before Lev could say anything else, the chime of a phone interrupted their conversation. Thankful for the distraction, Yaku shuffled around in the blanket, trying to find where his phone had been wedged. 

“It’s my father.” He explained once he found it, before picking up. “Hello?”

“I’m really sorry Morisuke.” His father began. “The weather’s gotten so bad that the trains have stopped. I’m going to stay at your grandmother’s house for the night, are you okay where you are?”

“I’m fine.” He replied. “The power’s gone out in the building, but we’re alright. Stay safe, I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Bye Mori.” He hung up. 

“Is everything alright?” Lev asked, his voice filled with concern. The tense atmosphere from earlier had dissipated, much to Yaku’s relief. 

“The rain has gotten so bad that the trains have stopped, so my father isn’t able to get home. Is it–”

“You can stay the night.” Lev interrupted, a little too enthusiastically. “You can sleep in the guest bedroom.”

“Thank you.”

-----

“Does your father always work late Yaku-san?” Lev asked quietly after a long stretch of silence. The silences seemed to be getting longer between them, not that either of them minded. There was a certain comfort that came with sitting with someone else in the dark.

“Hmm? Yeah, always has.”

“What about your mother.” Yaku shifted in the blanket. 

“She’s… out of the picture.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“So, are you alone most of the time?”

“Yeah. When I was younger I used to get really lonely but I'm used to it now, so it doesn’t really bother me anymore.” Lev nodded. 

“My parents are both working most of the time as well, though I’ve always had my sister for company. Now that she’s moved out, the apartment just feels… empty without her. And, well,” Lev began. “I guess I’ve just found out recently that I don’t like to be alone.” 

The rain on the window punctuated the moment of silence. There was a familiarity in Lev’s words which made his chest swell, and Yaku was brought back to hollow nights in his empty apartment, a somber solitude that, as he reflected now, had never really left him, but instead had become an ever-present heaviness he stubbornly ignored.

“I’m… glad we’re not alone tonight.” Yaku said, and he meant it more than he could put into words. Right there, in that moment, there was nowhere else he wanted to be. No one else he wanted to be with. Lev turned his head to look at him, and although Yaku couldn’t make out his features, he could feel his smile. 

“Me too.” Yaku’s eyes were drawn to Lev’s hand, which rested on top of the blanket, and he had the sudden urge to grab it. “You know, back in middle school, I had a lot of friends, but I never really felt that close to any of them. But, now that I’m in high school and on the volleyball team, I kind of feel like I’m a part of a big family or something. Everyone’s been so nice showing me the ropes and teaching me how to play, even though Kenma doesn’t like me and I annoy you, I’m really happy.”

“You don’t annoy me.” The words slipped out on their own, and Lev huffed a laugh. Yaku tried to recover. “Okay, you annoy me a little bit. What can I say, you’re a handful.”

“But?”

“Who said there was a but?” He teased. 

“Yaku-san!” Lev whined, and he laughed. 

“But… the longer I spend around you, the less you annoy me and I discover that under that tall, lanky, dopey exterior you’re actually… really sweet, and nice, and kind of endearing I guess.” Lev looked at him for a long moment, his full attention on his words, before reaching out and wrapping his slender fingers around Yaku’s hand. He stilled, surprised by the sudden contact, before entwining their fingers. Lev’s hands were large, but delicate, not worn by years of volleyball practice like Yaku’s were.

“Thank you.” Lev whispered, and Yaku looked up from their hands. 

“For what?”

“Just… everything.”

They stayed like that for a while, hands laced together as if it was the most natural thing in the world for them, though, Yaku reflected, a lot of things seemed to come easy with Lev. 

The apartment felt small, disconnected from the outside world by the storm. Nothing and no one else existed outside of this space. For this night, it was only Yaku and Lev in the world, alone but together, and neither of them wanted it any other way.

“Yaku-san?” He pulled his eyes from the window and turned to see Lev staring down at him. Yaku was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting, shoulders pressed together, faces mere inches apart. It would be so easy to kiss Lev, here in the dark, isolated from everyone and everything, where nothing existed but the two of them. Lev seemed to have the same idea as he slowly lowered his head. 

Their lips brushed gently, as if Lev was waiting for him to reciprocate, and he did, unravelling their fingers and gripping at his shirt collar, pulling him down further. Lev snaked his arm around his waist and they leaned into each other. It was a gentle kiss, soft and sweet, as Lev’s lips moved delicately against his own. Despite how inexperienced they both were, there was no hesitance from either of them, and instead they held each other with impossible ease. 

A loud crack of thunder broke the spell and they fell apart, staring at each other in bewilderment before breaking into laughter. 

“We should probably go to bed soon, it’s getting late.” Yaku said, a little breathless. He fought the urge to touch his fingers to his lips.

“Or…” Lev began, and he could feel the mischievous smile in his voice. “We could stay here for a while longer.” Yaku laughed, rolling his eyes as Lev cupped his cheeks and joined their lips once more. 

-----

It was easy to lose track of time when kissing Lev. Moments seemed to blur into each other as he focused on the sensation of their brushing lips and the weight of Lev’s hands gently around him. Eventually though, sleep beckonned them, and they couldn’t ignore it any longer. Lev stood, letting the blanket fall away and offered his hand to Yaku, which he took eagerly. 

“Yaku-san,” Lev started, pulling him into a standing position. Yaku stumbled slightly, finding his muscles weak from exhaustion, and was thankful to have Lev holding him for support. “Do you want to sleep with me?” The question was quiet, bashful, and Yaku squeezed his hand tighter. 

“Yes.” Lev led the way through the blackened apartment and into his bedroom, where they slipped under the covers once more. They embraced, Yaku’s head snuggled into his chest and Lev’s face resting in the crook of his neck, his hot breath grazing his sensitive skin. They laid like that, warm and intertwined, with the chill of the rain a distant memory, and drifted slowly off to sleep.

[killervibe]

you should see me in a crown

Theme: Day 3 - Doppelgängers. 

Words: 7.5k 

Notes: Massive shout out to  @brainynia who helped create this universe and @vibefrost for her awesome fanart for this fic. 

Warning: This is a bit of a dark fic. 

~.~ 

Amalia wiped the rain soaked hair out of her eyes and gritted her teeth, staring down from the high rise edge. Her footing flirted with balance as her dad’s eyes bore into the back of her skull. Dawn peeked from darkness over the horizon of Central City, but it was still dark and bitterly cold here in the shadows. 

 “Where is your suit?” 

 She narrowed her eyes through her goggles, zeroing in on her focal point. A lady with twisted yellow coloured pants hauled her baggage down the empty sidewalk, opening up her bodega. 

 “I don’t need it.” 

 “The hell you don’t,” Reverb growled.

 Amalia stiffened, she did. But only for a moment. Only for a second before stepping over the drop. 

 She braced for the heart pounding exhilaration and drop dead fear of free fall.  For the wind to whip wildly against her face, but a strong hand reached out and pulled her back roughly. Amalia stumbled, breathing heavily as she landed back on the roof, her breach sucking closed. 

 “Dad! What the hell?” 

 She glanced where his gauntlet glove was pressed on her arm. His hand was long gone but her stomach twisted yearningly for it to return there and she hated that. 

 “Wear the fucking suit I made for you or we’re done.”

 She stepped backwards, further from the ledge of the roof to the laddered exit. “Fine with me.” Amalia rolled her eyes. “I don’t even want to frickin' be here.” 

 “Excuse me?” 

 That burning anger in her dad’s eyes never failed to scare her. But she knew how to avoid his wrath just as easily as she knew how to crush someone’s bones with a clench of her fist. “I said. I don’t want to be here,” she snarled. Her hair was starting to frizz under the downpour and she swore under her breath, wiping the rain droplets from her goggles again until she gave up on doing that and hurled them into a vortex that would land on her severely unmade bed her dad had dragged her out of too early this morning. 

 Reverb laughed once, the sound coming out hollow. It was nearly impossible to make out what he was thinking or feeling, with his eyes now covered up again just like hers were, but she thinks she mustered her desired effect. The corner of his mouth curled up. It felt an awful lot like quiet, vile respect. His hair plastered against the back of his neck and he suddenly knelt down in a puddle until his leather pants were drenched. Amalia swallowed down her apprehension as she looked down at him before her, the way he remained calm and chillingly collected.

 “You are a child,” he said. “You know nothing about this world and what it will do to you. And until you excel at everything with the finesse of an expert, you will train. You will work. You will breach and vibe blast every morning until you prove you don’t need me.” 

 “I don’t need you,” she spat. 

 “Don’t lie to me, nena.” Reverb got up from the cracked cemented ground. “Do what I say.” 

 Reverb pointed into the blue circling breach behind her without a care, like he were about to banish her to the hellish underworld. “Go home and don’t come back until you’re dressed properly. Don’t make me wait.” 

 Amalia groaned in frustration, sticking out her middle finger at her unfazed father but obeyed because she had to. 

 Her boots squelched on the hard floor at home. She shucked them off and passed a mirror. She remarkably resembled the likeness of a drowned rat. She sighed, wringing out her hair as she grumbled under her breath. 

 “Fuck this shit. Fuck training. Fuck my life. ” 

 “—Amalia?” 

 Amalia looked up to see her mother still in her black satin bathrobe, her silver hair piled up in a lazy bun on the top of her head. 

  “Mom.” 

 Her mom returned to the master bedroom and emerged with a fluffy towel, draping it over Amalia’s shoulders and drying her off. The teen melts into her mother’s touch and smiles for the first time that day. 

 Killer Frost gave a little smirk as she dried off her daughter, placing an ice cold kiss to her forehead.

 “What’s the matter? Daddy’s causing you trouble?” 

 Amalia frowned at herself for being so readable. 

  That’s dangerous, dad always tells her. It leaves girls vulnerable and exposed to being cheated. 

 Still, she nodded, biting her lip. 

 Killer Frost rolled her eyes with resignation, and kissed her again, resting her cheek against her damp hair. “Tell me he at least fed you.” 

 Amalia made a vague noise. “We had a few twizzlers.” 

 Her mother scoffed. “I meant breakfast. ” 

 “Is that not breakfast?” she mumbled back. 

 The arms around her are not warm, never have been, but they’re the best comfort Amalia has ever known, and she’d cling to her forever if she could.

  “Mama, I don’t want to go.” 

 “I know,” she hushed, running her long nails down her back. “I know, but you know your dad. He just wants you to be your best.” 

 “Doesn’t feel that way.” 

 “No?” Killer Frost smothered her forehead with as many kisses Amalia could tolerate before brain freeze washed over, and she had to gently push her mom away.  

 “I’m sorry,” her mom apologized, walking down the stairs towards the kitchen, the steps frosting over behind her. Amalia watched her step as she followed. “I just woke up.” 

 Killer Frost flicked on a kettle and grabbed her Kill dampener necklace to clasp against her throat. “There we go.” 

 The tech lit up, signaling its activation. The hair on her mother’s head grew duller, not quite so starkly and Amalia smiled at her open arms, running to nestle back into her side. 

 “Amalia, my sweet dangerous girl. Happy birthday.” 

 “It’s really today?” Amalia peered into the cup of tea that was slid to her across the long dinner table. She found it amusing that her parents refused to give her coffee, as if she hadn’t figured out where they kept it on her own. 

 Her mom chuckled, raising an amused eyebrow. “Same day as every year since you were born. Why wouldn’t it be?” 

 “Dunno.” Amalia played with her chipped black nails. “Thought I’d feel older.”

 She took a sip of the black tea, warming up slightly. 

 Nora West-Allen boasted her ass off when she turned thirteen. Amalia thought maybe it meant something then. To be a teenager. But then again, Nora had always been an over-dramatic pathological liar. 

 “Well you look it. Certainly not my baby anymore.”

 “Then won’t dad stop treating me like one?” 

 A funny expression passed Killer Frost’s face. One Amalia didn’t understand. 

 “He’s not treating you like a baby,” she said firmly.

 “Right,” Amalia muttered, irritation itching under her skin. “Forgot how obsessed you were with him and how it warps your judgement.” 

 Her mom’s eyes flashed a warning as she snapped her fingers, instantaneously instilling a cold front that sent chills down Amalia’s back. It was her mom’s favourite form of discipline and it damn worked too. Killer Frost’s dry finger snap echoed loudly as she scolded her to watch her mouth. 

 She knew she wasn’t allowed to talk about her mom and dad that way. But god, why the hell not? The way her dad put his hands all over mom all the time left Amalia oftentimes nauseated. Joss had once taunted her for it. Called her the product of a noxious nuclear family up in flames. 

  “You’re just jealous that my dad knows of my existence,” she’d sneer back and get slapped for it. The sting on her cheek was never so bad in light of the look on Joss’s face. 

 “Amalia,” her mom said now. “Why’d he send you back?” 

 “We’re done for the morning,” she lied. “What’s my present?” 

 A noise swooped above them before Killer Frost could answer, and Reverb came stalking into their kitchen, trailing a river’s worth of water behind him. “Oh, so you’re not dead? Because I can’t think of any other reason for why it’s taking you so damn long to do as I said. ”

 Amalia’s mom glared pointedly. “You were leaving him waiting? You told me you were done.”

 “Lying to your mother now, too?” 

 Reverb leaned his arm across the dinner table to kiss Killer Frost. 

 “Good morning,” he murmured, kissing her some more. She yanked at his collar, dragging him closer to kiss properly. 

 He smirked and let her go, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket with that glassy grin he sported everytime he got his way with her. He smacked his lips, plopping down in his chair, and threw his own jacket on the floor.

  “You’d lie to that face?” He pointed at her mom. “Wow nena. That’s diabolical.” 

 Amalia rolled her eyes. 

 “Back off, honey. It’s her birthday.” 

 Reverb hummed distractedly, stealing her mom’s tea cup and finishing it all in one long gulp. “Oh? Is it?”

 Amalia stared at him, her jaw dropping slightly with disbelief. She could hardly believe his audacity. Her dad didn’t even remember? 

 Killer Frost smacked his thigh. “Cisco.” 

  He looked up from the empty mug, startled, then caught Amalia’s heated glare and snorted. “Oh my god, I was teasing you. I know it’s your damn birthday.” 

 Reverb’s face softened for a minute and he gave her a somewhat fond smile. “Happy birthday, mi pequeña reina.” 

 For one moment, Amalia’s heart soared. 

 “Now put on your suit.” 

 “Ugh!” 

 “Now.”

 Amalia stood up abruptly, screeching back her chair and stomped away. 

 “Whaaaat?” she heard him yelp from down the hall. “Not so cold! It was a shit training session. We got nothing done!” 

 ~.~

 Her room was large, beautiful and lonely. Amalia pressed her palm against the wall scan with little enthusiasm as the wardrobe opposite raised and whirred, exposing the glass case. Her goggles still sat in a wet spot on her bed. She ignored it for now, pulling her long sleeve shirt over her head. 

 She passed her mirror and stopped, looking at her own reflection calculatingly.

  Her hair was too curly. 

 Her face too round. 

 Amalia’s fingers traced over her scars, messy and ugly all over her stomach and arms. 

 The rest of her was... too damaged. 

 Her suit taunted her from its stand, waiting for her to give its attention. 

 Well. Whatever. Her dad won’t shut up until he gets what he wants, she might as well get it over with. Maybe then she’d get to do what she wanted for the rest of the day. 

 She shimmied into the tight pants and let the glass case open to reveal her purple suit, slipping her arms into the leather and fastening it closed. She put on new socks and grabbed her high tops, lacing them up. 

 After blow drying her hair so she’d no longer catch pneumonia, she slipped her goggles on and came downstairs. 

 Her parents didn’t notice she was back. Amalia stood with her arms crossed over her chest, clearing her throat as her dad had her mother half laid on the table, climbing over her to ravish. Killer Frost’s pale skin peeked out, exposed from the slinky bathrobe slipping down her shoulders as Reverb ran his hand underneath whatever was hiding under there. 

 Amalia gagged, going green. Maybe Joss was half right. This was noxious. 

 “Mom? Daaaad? Hellooooo?”

 Reverb knocked off everything on the table with a haphazard sweep. Ceramic mugs went crashing to the ground. Killer Frost moaned. 

 Amalia threw up her hands and quickly walked away. This entire family was a bag of cats. One minute her dad loses his shit over her not wearing a damn jacket with the shoes to match and the next she bothers to give a damn only to find him sticking his tongue down her mom’s throat like they were on a one tacked-minded mission to make Amalia a baby brother. 

 She peeled off the suit and put it back in on its stand then straightened her shoulders and turned away, changing into something else to wear as she waited for her flat iron to warm up. 

 She ran it over her curls until they were pin straight, snuck into her mother’s bathroom and scoured through the cabinets for her makeup to apply eyeliner and lipstick. She laughed as she messed it up the first time. Nora made it look easy. Soon she was looking the way she felt she should, now that she was a teenager and she contemplated what to do with the rest of her day. 

 Amalia knew she couldn’t breach out of her room without her dad somehow figuring out. 

 He was scarily on point with that. So she got on her hands and knees and pulled out the cardboard box with her old stuffed animals from the back wall in her closet, shifting open the tunnel she had stumbled upon three years ago. Neither her mom nor her dad knew about this exit, and the day Amalia found it she nearly cried with excitement. For a girl who could go wherever she wanted to, she felt pretty trapped. The tunnel was her life boat. She wouldn’t know what she’d do without it. Amalia looped her fingers through her handle of her packed bag, and crawled through the opening until she landed in the dead field off the side of her house.

 She squinted up at the sky. Sunlight now streamed in through the clouds. The dark threatening ones have rolled away. This pleased her as she made her trek down the path, through the secluded forest, and out the back gate. She glanced back at the estate over her shoulder. Killer Frost told fanciful stories of how they acquired the large mansion in the farthest overshadowed edge of Central City. How it was abandoned, and the perfect escape from other powerful meta-families they had to protect themselves from. Amalia used to listen to those stories with wonder, admiring their badassery. 

 She knows now the gaps in the stories. How she had once tripped over an old portrait of the family who used lived here. How her parents most likely murdered whoever this place must’ve belonged to. She wondered what family could live here, luxurious in solitude and equipped with a basement fit for Reverb’s lair. 

 She shrugged, adjusting her shoulder strap. Couldn’t have been any better people than them. 

 Amalia grew tired of walking, and flicked her wrist to open a breach. She landed in Nora’s bedroom. 

 Nora and Joslyn shrieked when she appeared, caught off guard where they were lounging on Nora’s giant canopy bed. 

 “God, and I thought Nora was bad,” Joss muttered once she caught her breath. 

 “Hi Amalia.” Nora flattened her braid. “Oh my god, my dad would have a fit if he knew you were here.” Her eyes lit up with mischief, nearly vibrating in place. 

 Amalia shoved Joss off her spot on Nora’s bed. “Then don’t tell him.” She was in no mood to see The Flash today. Nora’s father gave her nightmares. 

 “I was sitting there.” 

 “Shut up Joss, let her sit. It’s Amalia’s birthday.” Nora leaned forward and hugged her. 

 Amalia froze. Nora was a bit of what she’d call a sporadic whirlwind. Her temper rested on an interval about the width of a hair, her mood pendulum swinging from manic pixie to borderline psychopathic. Her reputation as XS was there for a reason. Just three days ago Nora threatened a hand through her chest when she pissed her off, her eyes burning red with negative speed force. 

 Nora’s fingernails dug into the fabric of Amalia’s shirt, clinging tight. 

 Amalia patted her back awkwardly, shooting Joss a helpless look. 

 Weather Witch stood up abruptly. “Are you coming with us? We were just planning on meeting Raya.” 

 “Where?” 

 “Downtown,” said Nora, pulling away. The speedster zipped off and returned with some fancy looking tech. 

 “Don’t tell Don, but I took these modulators I found from when I was snooping in his room. So shway.” She handed the devices for her friends to look at.  “Dad pawned them from—” Nora looked up. “From your dad actually,” she said, nodding to Amalia. “They make everyone around you easily susceptible to your demands. We can walk into wherever we want with whatever we want.” 

 “Power of persuasion,” Joss said. “I like it.” 

 Amalia liked it too. But she didn’t like downtown. She trained there, sure, but only in the early morning before the rest of the city was awake, so high up and above all the mass destruction, she felt she was touching the skyline. 

 “Doesn’t that violate your parole?” 

 Nora laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. 

 Amalia kicked at an empty Big Belly Burger bag left on Nora’s  floor. A fry carton rolled over littering salt all over the carpet. 

 She hasn’t been to juvie. Not yet, says Joss.

  Not ever , swears Amalia’s parents. 

 No, she hasn’t been to juvie but she has almost been caught and it was always because of Raya and Nora trying to pull off some ridiculous downward spiralling scheme. 

 The girls were somewhat older than her, Amalia the second youngest after Nora of the four. They had seen things Amalia hasn’t yet, and she knows they all have bitterness they keep inside. 

 But sometimes Amalia can’t help but think she’s the only one with a screwed-on functioning oxygen flowing brain. 

Nora turned on her heel, dragging Amalia by the hand out her door. Joss followed closely behind. They passed Nora’s brother in the hall. Amalia lowered her head, refusing to meet his gaze. 

 Amalia feared Don.  

 She tugged on Nora’s tightly clasped hand to urge her to use her powers and speed the schrap up. 

 “Are those my modulators?” Don asked, his voice vibrating in his signature gritty monster pitch, resembling the sound of a broken scream.  

 “No,” Nora said like an idiot. “They’re Amalia’s.” 

 Amalia raised her head, alarmed. She began to stutter, absolutely not wanting to get into Don’s warpath. 

 “Like Amalia has the balls to steal something from me. She wouldn’t dare.” 

 Joss huffed. “Whatever. Nora is borrowing them, leave us alone and we’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Joss! You bitch!” 

 Amalia’s hair flew into her face as the wind whirled around her. Nora’s hand was no longer clutched on hers. She looked up to find the Tornado Twins brawling against the walls, lightning crackling between them as Nora screamed at her brother. The story goes that the two have been fighting since they were in diapers and Amalia often wondered how far their hatred for the other would go. There was no love between them, not even mutual respect. She held her breath as her stomach twisted with unease when Don banged Nora’s head against the floor, begging this wasn’t the day Don killed her. 

 Amalia turned to Joss. “Aren’t you worried for her life?” 

 The older teen rolled her eyes, raising her weather staff to strike lightning and zolted the twins with a bolt. 

 The twins sprang apart, seizing on the floor as Weather Witch spat in Don’s face. “Learn some fucking chill.” 

 She zapped him again for good measure as he flopped unconscious on the floor. She picked the stolen tech from his limp grasp and returned them to Nora, offering her a hand to help her sit up. 

 Nora heaved, wiping blood from her nose. “I didn’t need that. I had him.” 

 Amalia opened a breach and Joss threw her staff through the dimensional tear into Nora’s bedroom.

 “Sure, XS.” 

 The girls met up with Silver Ghost and put their plan into motion. Nora fastened the modulator to the base of Amalia’s neck, getting really close. “There,” XS said. “It looks like a cool tattoo.” 

 Her skin pinched her under the tight claws of the attachment but she swallowed and agreed to make her life easier in hopes to mollify Nora. 

 The tech worked like a charm. Raya and Joss managed to bankrupt three boutiques with the loot stolen from the two of them, Amalia standing behind watching with internal bafflement as they kindly asked the high end manager to hand over all their expensive clothes for free. Amalia managed to swipe some makeup of her own in her proper colour shade, knowing her mother’s porcelain-like skin would look like halloween makeup on herself. 

 By mid afternoon, the sun was beating on their backs, and their arms were heavy from holding bags with more than they knew what to do with. 

 Amalia swept her dark hair to the side, away from the the hidden modulator. She pried it off like a prickly thistle. Amalia considered the tiny machine. Could she...control dad? If she kept it? 

 Like hell that was a good idea. Tempting as it were. 

 Nora said Reverb made them. Amalia blinked back down at the modulator.

  Had...Her dad ever used these on her? Would he? 

 She didn’t think so. 

 Would her father really sell tech that could make people susceptible to The Flash’s will, of all people? No. She knew Reverb’s trade better than anyone. He wouldn’t give up dangerous tech to him unless he wanted The Flash to have it. Or it wasn’t as dangerous as perceived. 

 Amalia nodded to herself and held out her arm, the bug in the palm of her outstretched hand. 

 “I think I’m done now.” 

 “Says who?” sassed Nora. 

 Suddenly, a blue breach appeared in front of the teens. Its swirling vortex swished menacingly, beckoning Amalia back home. She hid her grin. 

 Silver Ghost snorts. “Uh oh. Daddy’s calling.” 

 Amalia shrugged, making a show of shuffling her feet forward as if this wasn’t what she was secretly (embarrassingly) wishing for.  

 “I gotta go.” 

 “Loser,” taunted Nora, her eyes narrowing angrily. But XS changed her mind at the last minute and instead gave Amalia a smile. “Actually, you know what. It’s okay. You go. Happy birthday.” She pulled a lacy purple bodysuit from one of her many bags. “I got you this. You’ll look great in it.” 

 Amalia shoved the bodysuit into her own bag hastily. “Wow. Cool.” 

 “Bye, Amalia,” said Joss, but she seemed already bored, moving further down the street to follow Raya. 

 Reverb was waiting for Amalia at the other side of the breach with his arms crossed. 

 Home was dark, Amalia thought as her vision adjusted to the lack of light. The breach sucked close behind, locking her in. 

 A finger beckoned her over. Amalia dropped her bags in the hall and sauntered breezily.  

 “Hi daddy,” she greeted innocently, playing up her big brown eyes. 

 “Hmph.” He pointed at the carpeted floor under his chair. “Sit.” 

 Amalia sighed and did as she was told, crossing her legs. 

 “Had fun with your little juvenile friends?” 

She raised a cheeky eyebrow. “Had fun defiling mom on the kitchen table?”

 Reverb’s face first slackened with honest surprise but corrected itself quickly, rearranging into a sly smile sparkled with mirth. He tapped his nose. “Touche.” 

 Amalia spread her hands backwards as she looked up at her dad expectantly, wondering exactly how much hot water she was in and what she could get away with. 

 It was like he could read her mind. 

 “So,” he said at last, leaning forward. “What did we learn on our little field trip today?” 

 “Uh.” Hey eyebrows pulled together in thought. “That Nora’s a bitch?” 

 Reverb laughed, seemingly pleased. Amalia said the right thing. Her shoulders relaxed as her father’s own rigid posture began to melt away. “She’s a West-Allen. We already knew that.” He waited for more.

 Amalia thought of Nora’s grabby hands. “And she’s clingy. It’s kind of creepy.” 

 “Is she?” 

 “Kinda,” Amalia said again, not wanting him to get the wrong idea and ruin the girl. 

 She watched her father toy with an idea with slight trepidation. 

 “Daddy,” she said. “It’s whatever. It’s no big deal.” 

 He waved her off. “Nah, I know it’s not. But don’t ignore it. Work with it.” 

 “—But.” 

 “Use it to your advantage. With time you could probably get her to do what you want. Wouldn’t that be nice, nena?” 

 Amalia didn’t know what to say. 

 “I guess.” 

 Reverb rolled his eyes. “Good. Well. You’re excused.” He motioned his fingers in a little runaway gesture. “Go on. Ditch day’s been hard on Flopsy not me. That’s animal cruelty, you know.” 

 She gasped, guilt eating at her core and she ran up to her room because her father was right. 

 Her bed was unmade, her blankets spilled over the floor from where she was dragged out by, and she nearly tripped over her markers. 

 She scooped her bunny up from its cage, cuddling its quivering body to her chest. She cooed at him, stroking his velvety fur. 

 Flopsy’s nose twitched. 

 “Are you hungry?” she crooned. The bag of imported baby carrots next to his cage was near empty. She took the last three and deposited her pet on the floor, plopping him between her legs. She waved a carrot in front of him, beckoning him to come get his lunch. 

 Flopsy didn’t move. 

 “You dumb blind bunny.” 

 She cupped Flopsy’s fluffy butt, and drew him closer to feed him. 

 Amalia’s thoughts wandered. 

  Thirteen, she thought. 

  Thirteen. 

 Amalia Ramon is goddamn thirteen years old and is celebrating it with a rousing round of manipulative shoplifting, homeschooled supervillain lessons, and a dumb blind rabbit to call her own. 

Fuck. 

 ~.~

  Amalia’s alarm lights flashed around in her room, her alert system she had created which warned that her father was about to breach in unannounced. She threw Nora’s gift and her swiped goods under her bed, scooped Flopsy, and picked up her abandoned sketch book. She just managed to plop into her chair as her father stepped in. She looked up, playing casual. 

 “Normal people knock before entering a teenager’s room,” she greeted dryly. 

 “Oh? Is that what you are now, nena?” He strolled right in. “Your bed isn’t made.”

 Amalia rolled her eyes in disdain. Nena. Baby. How many more years will it take for him to stop calling her that? And does Reverb pull the sheets up his bed? She didn’t think so.

 Amalia didn’t know, honestly. It’s been years since she’s been in their room.

 “I thought we had people to do that.” 

 “I have people to do that. Because I have that power. You’re not there yet.” 

 Amalia turned a page, analyzing her old drawings. “Uh huh.” 

 “Wow, you’re sound so bored Amalia, it’s like you’re begging me to return your present.”

 Amalia sucked in an excited breath, snapping her gaze up at him. “Present??”

 Sure enough, her father had reached into a breach and pulled out a gift box, wrapped in ribbon and paper with blue and gold. “What? You thought I forgot?”

 Killer Frost peeked her head into the room. “I heard the word present.”

 Amalia let go of Flopsy, leaving him to hop over her blanket and made grabby hands. 

 Reverb dropped the box onto her lap. Amalia tore off the lid with a frenzied eagerness, the tissue paper inside going flying. 

 Inside was a crown. She lifted it out of the case, inspecting closely. It had to have been stolen. The gems in it were real, and so was the silver. Her father’s proud smirk confirmed her theory. 

 “Whose was it?”

 “Doesn’t matter,” Killer Frost reassured with a small smile. “It’s yours now.” 

 Reverb went to place it on her head. Amalia grimaced, ready for the crushing weight, but found that it was light. 

 “...How?” she wondered aloud, reaching up to her head to feel for herself. 

 “I played around with its properties. It’s not worth giving you migraines, mi pequeña reina.” 

 Amalia stared at her lap, willing herself not to cry. 

  Stop being stupid. Stop seeking his validation. You don’t fucking care. 

  But she did. 

 Amalia stood up and made her way to her mirror, appreciating her reflection. 

 She rolled back her shoulders, stood tall and made herself look proud. 

 Killer Frost came beside her and kissed her cheek. “Happy birthday. You are our whole world.” Her mom glanced at her father, who merely crossed his arms silently. She shot him an expectant look. 

 “You’re better than anyone in this fucking place,” he said. “Don’t forget that.” 

 Amalia returned him the box. Their fingers brushed, and the tell tale sign of her father being thrown into a vision mirrored her own. She breathed in sharply through her nose as the room tilted, tinging blue. 

 There, she saw herself throwing a powerful blast as her father slammed someone down by the jaw against a table. They worked in tandem. Her eyes were hidden beneath the goggles, but her body language screamed that she was at ease turning enemies to bones and dust.

 The image flickered, and there she were again, older, taller, with long nails like her mother and the very same crown atop of her head. She gave a conceited smirk, perched on her father’s ‘throne’, the ornamental furniture which centrepieces Reverb’s basement lair. Her legs were lazily swung over the edge, her head tipped to the side in amusement. The gauntlets on her gloves were smoking.

 She raised an eyebrow challengingly, acknowledging her. Hello nena.

 A chill ran down Amalia’s spine. They both gasped out of it, her father a bit more loudly. 

 He gave her a sidelong glance, his mouth twitching at the corners, pleased. But she was scared of what he saw, and what it means. 

 He put his hand on her back for a second. Amalia felt his warmth through her clothes. “You’re better than anyone in this place,” he repeated once again, his voice sounding far away. “I saw it.” 

 Reverb walked out. Killer Frost watched him go. She studied Amalia, unable to read what just transpired.

 “We’ll go shopping in the morning,” she informed curtly then nodded. “We can have dinner at seven. Tell me what you want and I'll make it happen.”

 Flopsy nibbled at her toes, thinking they were carrots as Amalia remained frozen in her bedroom, wearing her beautiful crown. 

 Fuck. Fuck.

 She was thirteen with a promising career in terrorizing in front of her. She had to change this future.

 ~.~

 “Again.” 

 Amalia gritted her teeth, pushing the pulsating energy from her clenched fists. The sonic boom bounces off the mirror and she ducked, narrowly missing the fatal blow. 

 “Again, nena.” 

 She cries out, blasting the mirror. Shards of glass shattered and she covers her head, letting her breach swallow her feet as she crouches to avoid the impact. She hears Reverb swear as the woosh goes past her ears but she doesn't have the time to turn her head and make sure she hasn't struck him. 

 She falls through blank space flailing, and screams. Her heart leapt to her throat as her hair whipped against her face. She tries to focus, thinking of a place to land, realizing she never sent a signalled destination. Was she going to fall through dimensions forever? 

  Home. Bring me home. Bring me home! 

 She lands hard on her ass and drops to the ground, panting. She covers her heart, her eyes still squeezed shut as she regains her composure.

 “Dad?” she croaked. 

  She took a deep breath, then frowned. 

 It smelled. It smelled funny. Her nose tickled, and Amalia slowly opened an eye up at the sky. 

 She saw trees. 

  Trees with colour.

 Her hands brush against the prickly mass underneath, twigs and sticks and leaves? She’s in a bush. Amalia sits upright with alarm. 

 She’s in a bush. There are tall trees all around blocking the sky with obstacles, the sun is bright. She can’t see skyscrapers. She can’t see the broken city. She smells nature. 

 She’s in a fucking bush. 

 They lost vegetation in Crisis. Central City didn’t have bush. It has roots and tall dying forests with barren oaks and birch. Empty, dark melancholy places to hide mansions and practise crime. 

 The last time she saw a full tree was in an old picture book. 

 A car honks and she jumps out of her skin. She plasters herself against the rough bark of this tree in the vividly green park. 

 She doesn’t understand. She said she wanted to go home. She’s never failed at breaching before. How could she? She’s been training since she was six. This was downright mortifying. How could she have end up so far away? She needs to go back. Now. Like. Five minutes ago. Her dad is going to skin her alive. 

 The street is not busy, but not quiet either. Amalia calculates the likelihood of being caught breaching in the open. Such open. She has nowhere to go. Where were the crooks and crannies built into infrastructures designed by every American urban planning map? The ones crucial to protect from lethal meta attacks? 

 Is she no longer in the right country? 

 It won’t matter. She’s not staying here in this creepy place. Her ears picked up a sound, and she looked up at the branches to see birds flitting around a nest. Amalia gapes, watching robins feed their young, chirping and singing. Healthy. 

 “—Amalia!” 

 She startled, turning her head to her father’s voice. Relieved. Her dad came. He came to rescue her from this place. He’d learned his lesson, finally. She began to smile. “I’m—“ 

 —Here!!” A girl calls, stumbling out of the large house across the street. She pants, her hands on her knees.

 “I’m here! I overslept! I made you something, Daddy. Before I go. You know how you said Ellie kept getting into your prototype cabinets? Well, I present to you…” She straightened up, rummaging through her blue backpack and pulls out a contraption. “A solar powered lock with a frequency distributor! It’s Ellie proof! Well—Breacher proof. I tried it myself. Can’t get in. Cool, huh?”  She bounced on her heels. 

 The man with her father’s voice turns around, his face, delighted.  

 “What!? Mini me, that’s genius. ” He high fives her, and she throws her arms around him. He reciprocates. 

 Amalia stares, horrified. She stumbles back. 

 It was dad. That was dad. But he wasn’t calling her. 

 “Amalia!” A woman calls, coming out of the house. “You forgot your lunch!” She stood tall and slender, with beautiful brown hair and kind eyes. Eyes with spark. With light, unsuppressed.  She wore a white blouse and a blue ruffled skirt, and waved a biodegradable bag. She looked nice without straining effort. Gentle, even. Caring. 

 Amalia tilted her head, tingling with anxious unease as realization hit her like a truck. 

 That was mom. 

 A blue breach swirled open and the woman tossed the bag into it. Her lunch dropped into Dad’s outstretched hands. Dad passed it to the impostor, and kissed her cheek. “You’re going to kill it at camp, Ace.”

 Ace smirked up at him with Amalia’s wicked grin, the one that made Reverb chuckle and call her devious. “I know.” Her smile fell, and she shifted, looking sad. “I’ll miss you.” 

 “I’ll miss you too, sweetheart,” dad promised. He wasn’t lying. “I love you. Now remember, no breaching in plain sight, but if you’re feeling homesick, you just give me a call and I’ll be right over.” 

 “Yeah. I know.” 

 Amalia’s fingers dug into the bark, scraping blood. Dad packed a suitcase into the vehicle. 

 The beautiful woman called into her house. “Kids! Say goodbye to your sister! Her bus is here!”

 Two boys walked out. One tall with long hair like dad’s with a shock of blond at the tips. He held a skateboard painted with icicles. The other, smaller, quiet, holding a really little girl in pigtails. 

  She has a baby sister?  

 The kids huddled together, sharing a group hug which mom joined. Dad looked at them all squished together, and laughed. A real one. Not maniacal or dangerous. 

 It sounded free. 

 She gasps out loud. 

 Ace turns her head. Their eyes meet. 

 Amalia yelps, throwing her shaking hand behind her as her legs give out. She chaffs against grass, tears burning her eyes. She falls into a pit, and cries out in alarm as her breach sucks her back into the ether.  She didn’t mean to open a breach! She didn’t want to leave— damn it. 

 She wanted to go home. The real home. With Ace. Who looks happy, and loved. Who wore short sleeves and had no scars. Who looked pretty with bouncy curly hair that actually suited her fucking face. If Amalia touched Ace’s skin, would it be cold to touch? Would it numb her fingertips, did she need to thaw like Amalia did? 

 Of course not. Of course not. Of fucking course not! Not this Ace. Not this Amalia. Not this stranger who went to camp because that existed here in this utopia . This imaginary real life place where life didn’t suck! It didn’t suck at all! It was a life, a meaningful one. The one she should be in. The one with a family and a home and birds and green trees. Those three kids all younger than her. Siblings. Brothers and a sister. Amalia wasn’t even allowed to have one to share the lonely mansion with. Ace gets three??  Where was she? Where could this possibly be? How could she go back and hoard it all for herself? 

Where her mom isn’t white and frosty, her hair is brown (normal!!!!!!!!!!!!) and her smile is warm. And this version of her father, of Reverb, with the biggest grin on his face. Who fawns over scraps of melded metal instead of pawning, killing for it. 

 Whose laugh is like music. 

 Amalia falls and Reverb catches her ankle from the edge of the roof. He snarls, murderous. She twists, jutting her hands out for the ground, away from the drop, refusing to look down. She could’ve fallen to her death. 

 She lands roughly, it would’ve scraped her skin if she weren’t wearing gauntlets.

 “Get up,” Reverb says. His eyebrow trickled down blood, a new gash peeping out from where his goggles would’ve ended their protection on his face. 

 Amalia caught her breath, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. “Did I hurt you?”

 She reached for him with trembling fingers as he bent down, but he evaded. 

 “It doesn’t matter. Get up.”

 Her guilt washed away, contempt taking its place. How pathetic could she be? Begging for scraps of affection. She was never going to get it from him. Now that she knows what he’s capable of. 

 Reverb cocked his head to the side when she didn’t obey immediately. “Where did you run off to?”

 She wanted to scream at him that he was failing at the world’s simplest job. That caring about her should’ve been easy. Should’ve come natural. That he was doing everything wrong.

 But he’d ask her why and she’d tell him about the utopia. He’d think her powers were unchecked. That she’d need further training. He’d push her limits. He’d make her go back and—And ruin it. The utopia. He’d make her snap her fingers to crumble the earth, to shatter their beautiful homes and captivating brothers and adorable baby sister. He’d destroy them all.

 That’s what Reverb always does. 

 Amalia couldn’t let him do that. Not to Ace. 

 “Nowhere,” she bit out. “Blank space. I liked it.”

 “It nearly got you killed. You’re crying.”

 “I thought you said risk was part of a breacher’s life.” 

 Reverb drew back on his heels. Wiping at his blooded brow. He studied her with an eerie intensity. 

  Tell me you love me. Just tell me you’re proud. Give me one reason to stay. Smile at me the way you did at Ace. 

 Reverb’s eyes widen at her pleading, needy expression and scowled. “You’re right. I did. Get up.”

 ~.~

 Amalia hovered against the door as she watched Killer Frost pour antiseptic into gauze, cleaning her father’s cut. 

 She wondered if the mom from Utopia was a real doctor. With real patients. A real clinic, not a room with equipment stolen from hospitals. 

 Reverb hissed as Killer Frost pressed against the wound. “Stay still,” she cautioned, her voice hard. 

 It was hard. It was absolutely hard. There’s nothing soft and kind about that sharp tone. Amalia was horribly mistaken to have ever thought otherwise. 

 She knew better now. 

 Amalia waited until her dad was fixed up and gone before hedging her way in. 

 Killer Frost was screwing close caps, reorganizing. Amalia’s gaze fell to the Kill dampener necklace against her mother’s throat. 

 “Mama?”

 “Yes?”

 “Have you ever thought what life would be like without your ice?”

 It was a weird question. Killer Frost’s hands paused over her supplies. Her mother was born a Snow. Both of her parents carried the metagene for ice. It was all her mother knew. 

 But her answer surprised Amalia. 

 “I have.” 

 “And?” 

 I lived it, briefly. It was some time ago now.”

 Amalia stepped forward and sat on the medical cot. “What was it like?”

 “Thrilling. Every thought came with deliberation. I felt with my heart.”

 Sounded like utopia. Amalia swallowed down her trepidation. “And what did you do?”

 Killer Frost gave her an honest look. “I had you.” 

 Amalia let her words sink in to digest. She closed her eyes slow and careful. Her mother was a different type of villainy than her father. One who was born into isolation and cold. Killer Frost was not compatible with what mothers were supposed to be made of. Compassion, gentleness, patience. And yet, Amalia could not help but discover little pockets of those qualities sprinkled into her mother’s personality anyways.

 If Killer Frost was given a different life, if she wasn’t born Frost, if she didn’t crave apathy, what would she be? She was detached, indifferent to life and death, with only enough room to care for two people. Her daughter and her husband. But what if circumstances changed to allow growth for more? 

 Her father was the opposite. It was not that he was indifferent, but too involved. He was powered by his emotions, always passively angry, and it made him unpredictable and dangerous.  Reverb was notoriously clever in his calculations, deliberate and senile with a burning hatred for this world, and a passion to destroy everything but his own kind. He sought out the bad and shaped his own image to reflect their broken world to build his own kingdom and increase his gain with little regard to consequence.

 Everything fit into his puzzle, but Amalia, even after all these years had yet to understand what would be his final completed picture. 

 Amalia didn’t know what kind of evil she was. Catastrophic like XS? Spiteful like Weather Witch? Heinous like The Flash? Malice like her father? 

 She was young and bitter who wanted too much. Who expected too much in the meaningless crap of a life she was given. She was never going to be anyone. She was never going to be anything. 

 Every morning she was trained to perfect her skills, to become the perfect protege of Reverb, but she didn’t even have a name of her own. She had no reputation, left no mark on this city. Maybe she was like her dad, maybe he’s right to think she’s his to create. Her temper was driven by her own problems, which she’s always thought were worth being mad about, but what were they really? She had two parents and a house and a handful of friends.

 But something niggled at the back of her mind, whispering that she didn’t belong here, that she deserved more. That she saw what she could have and she should grab and take it.

  Her evil must be greed. 

 “If I could be happy. If I could be like that. Would you want that for me?” Amalia asked her mom, thinking about Ace in those stupid flip flops and flying curls. 

 Killer Frost thumbed her daughter’s cheek, her long nail scraping frost against her skin. “I want nothing more.”

 Something stirred in her chest. Amalia never considered that maybe she didn’t have to be like them. And what if, then? 

 “What if I—“

 Mom’s face clouded over, the tenderness, gone.

 “No.”

 “—But if I could.” 

  “No.”

 Amalia clenched her teeth in frustration. Her mom didn’t even know what she was going to ask!

 “Mama—“ she pleaded. “Just listen.” 

 ““Don’t run away again, Amalia. This world is dangerous. You know how so.”

 That wasn’t fair. She had run off thousands of times, yes of course she had, but they wanted her stuck in this house like a puppy on a leash. Sure, she was brash and idiotic half of those times, and yes, Amalia had once made a terrible mistake of leaving. 

 But this was to someplace good. Where people didn’t hunt others down, where watching your back was more of a precaution than what was necessary to survive. 

  Yes. This world is dangerous. Dark and hopeless. 

 But there are others. And if there’s anything she had learned from Reverb, it’s this: Impulse is dangerous and wild but necessary. If her gut says she wants, then she wants. There’s no use denying that. 

  In this family, we take what we want, nena. But only if I say so. 

 Amalia will find her way back to Ace and steal her life. Amalia glanced at Killer Frost, who had resumed cleaning her supplies.

 She’ll just never tell them. 

[prince-claremont-diaz]

Whatever We Become

Summary: In Lucas’ final year of high school before he has to face the real world, he comes across the new identical twins, Eliott and Leo. Needless to say, Lucas falls head over heels for both of them.

Or The twin au absolutely no one asked for

Warning: very vague smut (literally like a paragraph)

Word count: 2.5k

Ao3 version

Chapter Eleven: Hairpocalypse

“So, what shall we do while we wait?” Eliott asked, getting up from his seat.

Lucas shrugged, peeling the disposable gloves off, careful not to rip them, and dropped them onto the table. “There's not much we can do in just 20 minutes. We could watch tv?” Lucas suggested, gesturing over the kitchen counter towards the empty living room.

“That's boring. Isn't there something else more interesting?” Eliott whined, pouting.

“I'm sure there is, but I don't think there's much to do besides watch Netflix or read a book,” Lucas said simply, shrugging. “We could cook something. That could take up some time.”

Which is how they ended up with Eliott standing at the stove with the weirdest concoction Lucas had ever seen. It had started out as scrambled eggs, but then Eliott decided to add various other ingredients like cinnamon and fennel to the dish. It smelled terrible and Lucas was almost certain there were some bits of egg shell in the mix as well, but he was too busy laughing at Eliott's excuses for the different additions to the sizzling pan.

“And then the fennel will create a nice mixture with the cinnamon because it'll bring a sweet and salty contrast,” Eliott was saying as he sprinkled the strange green plant into the eggs. “Should we add syrup? Do you have that? Or bacon maybe. That would be even more like breakfast,” Eliott continued, looking over his shoulder at Lucas who was simply watching in awe.

“We have honey somewhere,” Lucas suggested, opening and closing various cupboards in search of the bear shaped bottle.

“Oh, fuck, that's perfect!” Eliott exclaimed as Lucas presented the bottle. He squeezed a generous amount of honey into the pan, stirring the eggs all the while. “Too bad you don't have bacon. Next time we could make that. Or we can bake blueberry muffins with bacon! That would be delicious.”

Lucas shook his head, leaning over to turn off the stove with Eliott split the “PONI” onto two plates. Lucas took both of the plates and grabbed a couple of forks, carrying the plates over to the kitchen counter. Eliott was almost skipping behind him, hopping into the chair and grabbing a fork.

Lucas sniffed the strange meal and felt his stomach turn, gagging at the odd odour of eggs, cinnamon and honey. Wrinkling his nose Lucas said, “Okay, that smells awful, Eliott. We can't eat that.” He poked his fork into the eggs, already gagging.

“It'll be fine. On a count of three, we can both try it. I'm certain it will be delicious, trust me,” Eliott announced,already scooping a generous helping onto his fork. “One...two… three!”

It most certainly was not delicious.

In an instant, Lucas was sprinting over to the sink, coughing and spluttering the revolting food into the sink. Laughing, Eliott hurried over after him, spitting it out as well. Lucas continued to whine and gag as he turned on the sink, rinsing his mouth out. Tears pricked at his eyes at the foul taste, coughing water and leftover bits of egg into the basin.

“Remind me never to let you cook again,” Lucas breathed out, shutting the sink off and scowling at Eliott.

A few minutes later, Eliott was back in the chair with multiple clips here and there and Lucas was armed with the dye applicator. Gently, Lucas spread the freezing cold gel over Eliott's hair, careful not to miss a spot. Eliott's eyes were closed as he let Lucas apply the stuff onto his hair, chattering nonsensically all the while about whatever seemed to pop into his head.

“When I come to school tomorrow, what if, when everyone saw my new hair, everyone died? As if you were so good at dying my hair that everyone just lost it when they saw how good my hair looks and then I go to jail for manslaughter because it was technically my hair,” Eliott was rambling, letting Lucas comb his fingers through his locks to get extra dye off, “But then because of how good you were at dying my hair, everyone in the world wanted you to dye their hair. But then everyone starts dropping dead because you're so good at it and everyone is getting it dyed and so you finally go to jail for mass murder. But then you and I are in prison together and we escape thanks to a smuggler and we help smuggle drugs across the world on a giant boat.

“Everyone in the whole world is obviously freaking out about it because so many people have died and they're all afraid that now that you're out of prison, you'll want to dye everyone's hair again so that you can take over the world. And then you become this infamous criminal and we'll avoid everyone by just sailing the world forever and ever and we'll be on the news and everyone will talk about us, but then we'll get bored with sailing so much and we'll go back on land and discover that even more people have died because of your skills and you know what they'll call it?” Eliott glanced up through his lashes, beaming broadly. Lucas shook his head, dipping the applicator again. “It’ll be a full on hairpocalypse! Because it was my hair and your excellent dye skills that caused the apocalypse!”

Lucas chuckled, tilting Eliott's head to the side to get a better angle for the sides. He was almost finished now, furrowing his brows and biting his lip in concentration. “Do you think animals have feelings? I think they do. You can tell that cats and dogs have feelings, but do lizards have such complex emotions?” Eliott asked suddenly, flinching in surprise as Lucas poked his neck with the brush covered in the cool liquid. “Can chickens mourn? Do snakes get jealous? Do raccoons feel complex emotions? How do I not know that? What else? Can fish feel insecure about their scales?”

Lucas wheezed a laugh,shaking his head fondly. “I don't know how complex their emotions are, but I'm sure animals can feel at least a few,” Lucas replied, moving one of the clips over to get another strand of hair coloured. “Speaking of raccoons, have you got any idea about how you'd draw me? You know, if you're still thinking about that,” Lucas added.

“I am still thinking about it, actually. But I'm torn between a few animals,” Eliott replied, “But I won't tell you just yet. You'll just have to wait until I decide.”

“There, all done,” Lucas announced, dropping the brush into the pretty much empty bowl. “And please tell me soon about the drawing, I'm dyeing of curiosity.” Lucas raised his eyebrows, gesturing to the empty bowl and Eliott's head. He was proud to say Eliott promptly guffawed, clapping his hands together as he laughed at Lucas’ truly awful pun.

But it made Eliott laugh and that was all that mattered.

Another 20 minutes later, Eliott was leaning over the sink again while Lucas attempted to rinse out his hair using the strange hose thing. The black dye was flooding into the drain in rivulets as Lucas carefully helped to drench Eliott's hair and remove all the excess dye from it. Lucas massaged Eliott's scalp with one of his hands, trying to make sure the dye was all out.

“Okay, I think that's enough rinsing,” Eliott complained, pushing Lucas back and standing up straight again. He managed to splash Lucas in the face with his dripping wet hair, much to Eliott's delight. “Sorry! I'm like a wet dog!” he exclaimed as Lucas rolled his eyes.

Lucas used the towel around Eliott's neck to dry off Eliott's hair, rubbing it vigorously between his hands. Once it was mostly dried, Lucas tossed the towel onto the disgraced kitchen table and stepped back to admire his work.

Eliott seemed to be on the right track. He was drop dead gorgeous with his new hair. It was a startling contrast with his pale skin, making the blue of his eyes and the pink of his lips pop out like a 3D image. His hair was sticking up haphazardly after its clumsy drying method, but this only served to improve the overall look.

“Holy shit, Eliott. You look amazing,” Lucas breathed, eyes wide.

Eliott grinned, eyes sparkling at the compliment. “Where's the toilet, I wanna see in the mirror!” Eliott asked, already pushing past out of the kitchen. Lucas told him where to go and he followed him into the toilet where Eliott could admire his new colour. “Woah! That's me! I look totally different! Fuck!” Eliott squealed, running fingers through his hair and leaning closer to the mirror, grinning.

“Ooh! Can we see the new colour?” Mika's voice appeared on the other side of the door, followed by Manon's voice requesting the same. Eliott opened the door and stepped out into the corridor, pulling on Lucas’ hand. “Damn, kitten, that suits you!” Mika exclaimed, mussing up Eliott's hair.

Manon nodded, smiling. “It looks awesome! It really makes your eyes pop,” she commented.

Eliott blushed slightly at all the compliments, waving them all off with his hand. As Mika and Manon disappeared back into their respective rooms, Eliott leaned over and muttered right into Lucas’ ear, “I told you you were going to be brilliant at dying my hair.” Despite the completely innocent sentence, Lucas felt a chill all the way down his spine, shivering from the hot breath that washed over his ear and neck, Eliott’s lips just a centimetre away. When Eliott finally pulled back from Lucas, he was sporting a devilish grin, raising his eyebrows cheekily and running his fingers through his jet black locks. “Is there anything you can’t do?” Eliott asked with a wink.

Lucas’ jaw dropped and he sputtered pathetically for a reply. But all that came out was a breathy incoherent mess as if he became the physical embodiment of slamming his head on a computer. This only made Eliott laugh harder, grabbing his wrist and pulling him along the corridor. “My room is the last on the left,” Lucas muttered, allowing Eliott to guide him as usual.

“I like your room,” Eliott commented as they made their way inside. He walked over to Lucas’ shelf, skimming his fingers along the wooden panels and looking at the various photographs, DVDs and books he had set along the shelves. “Oh, wow! This is you and the gang! When was this taken?” Eliott asked, pointing excitedly at a photo Lucas had pinned to the side of him, Yann, Basile and Arthur.

“I think like six months ago? Maybe five? Not too long ago.”

Eliott beamed, running his hand over the shelf one last time before turning back around to face Lucas with an intensity that should have set Lucas on fire. It definitely did not help with his new hair, making each one of his perfect features stand out. Lucas opened his mouth to say something, anything before Eliott finally cut the distance between them and pulled Lucas into another kiss.

Lucas huffed in surprise, though he recovered quickly. Melting into the ferocity of the kiss, he let his hands wander over Eliott’s body, reveling in the smooth slide of their lips against each other and the fiery eruption in his gut when Eliott licked his bottom lip, asking for entrance. He felt Eliott pushing him towards his bedroom wall, never once pulling apart, hands gripping tightly to Lucas’ waist and tongue searching his mouth like it was trying to map it out in detail. Lucas felt Eliott lifting his shirt up cautiously and pulled away for the shortest of seconds so he could whip off his shirt, tossing it to the side for later.

Eliott laughed against his lips, teeth bumping into Lucas’ and hands searching the hills and valleys of Lucas’ body. Soon enough, both boys had their shirts and trousers off, leaving them in nothing but boxer shorts, still making out fervently against the wall. Lucas pushed Eliott back until he stumbled onto the bed, dragging Lucas along with him in a tangle of limbs. Lucas giggled, pulling away from Eliott to admire him in all his glory, thanking the universe for gifting him with such a beautiful man.

Soon after, they were a muddle of skin, limbs overlapping and intertwining, chests heaving and hearts pounding in unison. They were fireworks setting off on New Years, a burning flame that licked the sides of a house and setting the sky alight. They pushed and pulled, music notes playing a harmony of voices building up and up and up to a crescendo. With a last supernova that engulfed them both, they were left gasping for breath, looking up at the ceiling, entirely blissed out.

“Well that was something,” Lucas breathed, glancing sideways at the other lying next to him, eyes closed serenely.

Eliott nodded, opening his eyes and turning to look at him. “That was definitely something,” he replied just as breathlessly. “Am I your first?”

“First guy?”

Eliott nodded.  “Yeah. Yeah you are,” he replied, “Am I yours?” Eliott paused, raising his eyebrows suggestively, a soft smile beginning to appear. "I'll take that as a no, then," Lucas said with a laugh, rolling his eyes.

Lucas yawned, looking over at the clock on his bedside table, shocked to see it was already almost nine. "I'll be right back. I have to pee," he mumbled through another yawn, carefully stumbling out of bed and pulling on a pair of boxers from the ground and picking up his discarded hoodie.

Lucas leaned over the sink once he was finished, staring at his face in the mirror. Sometimes, it hit him how he was actually a real, living, breathing person. He never thought about that stuff, really, but when he did, it always left him with a strange sensation. He poked at a spot on his cheek and then with a great sigh, he turned off the bathroom light and headed back to his bedroom.

His bedroom which was alarmingly empty.

"Eliott?" he called, eyebrows knitted as he looked around. "Eliott, where are you?" He wandered around the flat, stepping into the living room and kitchen, both of which were just as empty. "Eliott? Hello? Eliott!" he called out, walking back down the hall to his bedroom. He surveyed the room and found that Eliott's clothes were gone, except for his big black hoodie, which was still discarded in a bundle by the door.

"What the fuck?" Lucas muttered in horror, prying on his jeans from earlier and marching into Mika's room, breathing faster every moment. "Mika, have you seen Eliott?" he asked, running his hands through his hair.

Mika, who was sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone, looked up curiously. "Not since his big reveal, no. Why?" he replied, barely looking up from his phone.

Lucas groaned, hurrying into Manon's room across the hall. Still no luck.

Eliott was gone. Without warning, he had disappeared, fading from Lucas' grasp and leaving him with nothing but a discarded hoodie and a messy kitchen.

[e1ana]

leisure writing :)

recently by brain has been all AHHHHHHDHHBSGDVJHS BCHJNNH and its really negatively impacted my writing, especially for my fics :( 

i’ve decided to go on a short hiatus for them for a bit to let my brain catch up. i’ve just been writing random stuff and letting it go in a n y direction to give my brain  break and i think??? this might??? be the best?????? decision ive ever made????? my brain just feels so un-fried. its awesome. 

so far it seems to be taking the shape of a YoI fic? idk. I just finished the show for the second time and i absolutely love it! I guess by brain’s been wired on Yuri!!! for a bit now so i’m not surprised at the direction its headed.

i’m still letting it go in any direction though, and i’m not sure if im going to put it up in a03 (i might if i decide i like it, but im not working on it with the intent of uploading it.)

so yeah. here’s the first bit of that. i though i’d upload it on here just bc i can and idk what else to do with it. hope you enjoy :) rating is teen bc of some cursing but thats it

(korkad means stupid in swedish)

Rain.

It wasn’t a loud sound - just the gentle pitter-patter of it against a window can paint a room in a quiet, soothing blanket of white noise. Viktor Nikiforov buries himself further in his comforter. Mid April drizzles really were something else. 

Begrudgingly, VIktor pulls himself from his bed. He looks out of his beside window to find a sunset that perfectly matched with the serene morning rain. 

He yawns and stretches, a soft grumble coming from his lips. He stands up and walks to his kitchen. Every morning is practically the same - wake up, debate going back to sleep, brush teeth/expensive and extensive skincare, eat, and go straight to the rink. Getting up at 7 am might sound overkill, but the lax speed of Viktor’s early morning routine needs extra breathing room.

He drags a hand full of some kind of sweet smelling lotion down his face, massaging it in with the melting pot of other creams and serums. The concoction is thick on his face, though not totally unpleasant. Viktor feels a bit more invigorated now, the cold water startling him up. Nevertheless, he starts the coffee machine. He swings his legs as he sits atop the counter and scrolls through his instagram. A sharp pinch on the cheek startled him from his trance.

“I told you to stop sitting on the counter, korkad. Nobody wants to cook on your ass juice.”

Ah, the overlooked step to the routine - cope with an insufferable roomate at ‘too early’ am.

“Good morning, Chris. I hope you slept well.”

Maybe insufferable wasn’t the right word for Chris normally, but his unrivalled snark and Viktor’s early morning sluggishness were not a fantastic mix. Chris grabs him by the sweatshirt and nearly yanks him off of the marble tabletop. He makes a show of wiping the area where Viktors butt once was. Finally, the sweet sound of gurgling and spluttering signifies the end of the coffee maker’s cycle. 

Viktor pours in a fairly reasonable amount of sweetened cream, the dark brown going caramel colored and scented. He takes a long gulp, downing half the mug in one go. He looks up at Chris, who is now leaning against counter one on arm and glaring. He offers a smile at the glowering man.

“Okay, now you can be a sassy bitch.”

Chris rolls up the towel and flicks it at Viktor’s butt, drawing an undignified squeak from the slightly shorter man. He snorts a laugh, but thankfully gives Viktor his space for the rest of the morning. 

He finishes the rest of his coffee quickly, the caffeine already buzzing through his brain. He checks his watch - nearly time to leave. He packs a few protein bars and water bottles along with his sweets and shirt. He calls out to Chris before grabbing his keys and locking the door. 

He pulls his sweatshirt hood a little tighter around his face, slipping into his freezing cold car. He clicked on the heat, despising how long it took for the damn thing to heat up. 

The drive to the rink was slow today. He wasn’t in any rush, and the slow rain hitting the metal roof of his car made for a nice serenade. He watched the outside pass by slowly, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel absentmindedly. 

When he pulled up to the rink, he noticed two things. One, it was bustling with activity. Usually, the place looked practically deserted at nine in the morning. The swarms of people and clicking cameras were an odd sight. 

Two, a man stands outside of the rink, wringing his wrists. He bites his lips and looks impossibly nervous. He blinks a couple of times before waving his hands frantically at one of the reporters. Viktor can’t help but laugh out loud in the solitude of his car. He pulls into the driveway, eyeing the dark haired man the whole time.

He’s vaguely familiar - Viktor’s sure he’s seen those blue framed glasses sitting on some side bench at some competition somewhere. He isn’t unattractive either. His black hair and brown eyes contrast with the pale skin of his babyish face. It gives him a look of purity. It’s a nice look. Admittedly, it’s aided by the ample blush on his cheeks and the way he rocks from foot to foot nervously. It’s a very cute habit, Viktor’s always thought.

Victor steps out of his car. Maybe he slams his car door a little louder than normal to make some of the reporters turn their heads, maybe he doesn’t. Regardless, they’re hounding on him in seconds, asking about this jump and that score. He answers all of their questions with a blinding smile, hoping that his glance towards the man goes unnoticed. Well, rather, where the man was. The glass door swings violently and Viktor catches his bag disappearing around a corner.

It takes longer than Viktor would've liked to get rid of the reporters and slip into the rink. His tight routine is now skewed fifteen minutes late. He stretches quickly and laces up his skates as quickly as possible to increase his time on the ice. 

He approaches the entrance gate, one foot already on the ice when something whirrs by him. His gaze is captured by none other than the man who was stood outside. 

Immediately, Viktor becomes enraptured with him. All he's doing is skating around the perimeter of the rink. Somehow, though, the swinging strides of his legs and the way his arms lift ever so slightly from the elbows when he glides paint him in the picture of grace. Viktor can’t help but stare as he completes another circle. Finally, when the man passes him a third time, he turns to look at Viktor. The grey haired man’s cheeks heat up under his unsettled gaze.

“Do you need some-”

Red creeps up the neck of the other man, his eyes widening when he realized who he’s talking to. He spins back around and pushes off even faster than before. 

Viktor steps onto the ice, heart pounding. Fuck. Fuuuck. He internally moans at the increasing awkwardness in the air. Damn his annoying fame and prestige! Here he was, embarrassing himself in front of someone he vaguely remembered who could potentially be important and was definitely attractive. Embarrassing himself just by existing. 

Whatever. He flicks his ankle out, starting a slow circle around the rink. If an onlooker glaneed over, it might look like the other man was chasing him. Though it was practically the other way around, Viktor considered. 

Eventually, Viktor felt warm enough to do some actual exercises. A few combination spins, a few brackets. Nothing obscene. He starts his program once he feels his joints ease into the jumps. 

The feeling isn't the same as the first time he did the program. Victory - it was the theme of his piece. Clearly, it’d gotten him where he wanted the first few times. The thrill of first place was incredible. It inspired him so much, the feeling of winning pushing forth his every movement. It had felt so overwhelmingly good. Now, after his fifth medal, the program didn’t mean much. His publicist had pushed him to do the same program every year, if not with a few major improvements each time.

Regardless of how many new spins or complicated jumps he added, the piece was tired. He was bored of this. There was simply no other way to put it. Even as he landed the perfectly executed triple axle that had been worked into his program, Viktor felt his heart sag.

He ran through the program a few more times, each with decreasing vigor. He didn’t even notice the man skate by him (albeit with a wide berth) and exit the rink. Drenched in sweat and disappointment, Viktor literally laid down on the ice. Maybe it wasn’t the most professional move in the book, but the freezing cold felt good on his hot skin. He hummed and got back to his feet, skating one last cool down lap before exiting and sliding on his blade covers.

He took a cold shower. Unusual, but the weight of the day didn't seem like it could just be melted away. He closed his eyes, letting the freezing water run down his body. It soothes is aching muscles and bones. Technically, the hot alternative would be better at melting away the lactic acid in his muscles. He could have a long soak in the tub when he got home, though - the temporary relief of cold water was more than satisfactory for now. 

He stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his hips. The cool air inside of the building almost felt warm in contrast to Viktor’s cold skin. He pulled on a new shirt and pants.

Viktor was surprised to see the other man slinging his bag over his shoulder. He didn’t appear to see the higher ranking skater, ad he sidled to the door without a second glance. Before he stepped out, though, he turned and froze. 

“I… uh…” he paused and looked up, searching for the right words. “I wanted to thank you for earlier. You know. With the reporters. So, uh. Thanks.”

Before Viktor could pipe back with a cheery ‘no problem’ or ‘the pleasure's all mine, tell me your name and let me take you for a drink in my very expensive sports car,’ the man was gone. Viktor followed suit as fast as he could, but there was no catching the man now. Gone, forever.

[samanthasroberts]

The Importance Of Being Orgy

After a trip to visit my brother (named Mardi Gras) in New Orleans I found it best to go visit the free STD testing center run by the AHF here in Los Angeles. Every time I go there I run the full gamut of tests, partially because it just feels good to get a digital report card where everything negative is actually a good thing – chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis, HIV, oral, anal, everything – and its completely free, no co-pays, no-nothing.

When one is recently covered in a rainbow of beads, shirtless, with countless tongues and spicy shrimp in ones mouth and youre shoving your dick in more hiding places than even crawfish know, sometimes its best to take a moment and pause. It also didnt help my state of mind that I had a pimple on my dick shaft immediately following that blurry weekend in NOLA, which was almost healed, but still. I cant say I often get dick acne, Dacne? Dickne? Dimples?

I should also mention that lately I havent quite found my way forward – or perhaps some other direction, not yet discovered, on some other plane of existence. Sometimes I like to think of myself as a river or an ocean or some kind of body of slutty water, and I just need sunshine to turn into some kind of ethereal vapor again, to roam and grow again. Its just been one massive damn dam after another in seemingly every direction, and to every one of those dams, I say thank you. God bless you. Because youre just a sneeze.

Freelance life aint all its cracked up to be. In other words, freelancing aint free. I just got a notification for negative three hundred dollars in my bank account, which is sandwiched between two emails from the human resources representatives for jobs I didnt get – honestly, out of hundreds, over many months and many a moon, which makes one feel a bit like a loon and possibly soon like a raccoon, rummaging through trash bins, hissing…

Back to the day of the STD testing. My meditation that day on the beach, ravenously drenched in sunlight and coconut oil, was let go and let flow, which is sort-of a mix between Taoist/Buddhist/Jesus-ish philosophy, which is tough for me, because to let go always sounds like to give up, which I was taught to never do. But I thought, okay, fuck it, lets try this. Lets try trying.

STD clinics are always so somber, as if one is waiting to go get burned alive for past sins, or for simply existing. Perhaps this is the new church – discovering your STD status – and we were all waiting for confessional. Everyone is looking at their phone or sitting with their eyes closed, nervous, contemplative, ready to sing a hymn of praise or despair. Many fidget there with an aura of tamed shame. There was even one girl who just couldnt stand being inside the waiting area with all the other sinners. It was too much for her.

She kept popping her head in the door, Did they call my number? No? Okay Uhgghhgh BYE Shed slam the door again and again, disgusted, as if by the sight of everyone else reminded her that there were witnesses to her recent sluttiness. Oh yes, my dear, we know. Were all the same. Youre one of us, we the slut-saints.

I walked in and recognized a cute blue-eyed fella with the same green shorts of a cute blue-eyed fella I just saw at the gym earlier in the day, post-beach-meditation. I had previously tried to get his attention at the gym, sweatily sex-eyeing him there on the leg press, but it was clear he was making love to Candy Crush instead – the great sin of our time, sacrificing the present moment on the cross of being cross-eyed, in front of a rainbow screen of addiction.

He knew it, too, because when I walked into the waiting area of we lady-whores and we man-whores and we trans-whores we nodded and started laughing, as if to say, YUUUUP, which began what would become a three-hour long obnoxious and giggly conversation between the two of us and two other homos that we roped in too. Who said you cant giggle in church? Everyone knows those are the best kind of giggles anyway, the ones that make you feel a little guilty.

He was a Special Ed teacher, and very sensitive to the word retard. Another was a Filipino chef with a special kinship to soul food, which I could relate to, since deep down Im a morbidly obese giggly southern black lady in white face, with ample amounts of chest hair. And the other was a Latino restaurant manager who had just broken up with his long time boyfriend that week. His ex stole his TVs, but left the dog, and left him with having to pay all the rent.

What ensued was the kind of man-to-man camaraderie that most people crave on a daily basis. Brutally honest connection. Schoolboy giggles-in-church laughter. Shooting the shit and fucking with each other the way brothers and lovers do. Im normally the kind of person who hates layers of formality and secrecy; everyone walks around acting all serious all the damn time, thinking being serious will somehow keep death – or sexually transmitted infections – away. This place just amplified that feeling for me, for all of us.

We couldnt help but see the situation for what it was: were all basically here because we love to fuck and now were dealing with the consequences.

You can be all somber and earnest and ashamed about it all, or you can just let the fuck go and laugh at it all. Youre a slut and Im a slut, lets break the bread of conversation together and then get pricked with needles that suck our blood, shall we?

Thankfully all of us were negative after the HIV rapid test; it helps that all of us are on PrEP too, that once-a-day revolutionary pill that has helped a great many homosexual not get impregnated with an HIV-baby. We would find out the results of Chlamydia (Anal), Chlamydia (Oral), Chlamydia (Urine), Gonorrhea (Anal), Gonorrhea (Oral), Gonorrhea (Urine), and Syphilis in a day or so.

The next day we decided to all meet up at one the guys places, on his rooftop (named hot tub). We drank shitty champagne and awesome micro-brewed beer in the LA sunset light, shirtless and drenched in coconut oil and chlorine, as bubbles massaged our balls. Bees swarmed around us for some reason, perhaps the countrys last remaining bees, and maybe its because they noticed we were all sweet with the sweaty nectar of giggling with strangers connecting over bad music blasting from a boombox.

Later that night, we had dinner at blue-eyed-green-shorts place; he and his husband have a cute candlelit suburban bungalow with multiple cats. The Filipino cooked us a lovely meal. I brought the cheapest wine I could find. Some of their other friends joined – a perky-chested trainer and a muscled hairy Japanese fella (yes, hairy Asians exist, and theyre lovely), and we sat at a long found-wood rustic table and discussed the importance of taking care of blind people as they get old and close to dying.

The Filipino was also a nurse. One of his blind patients paints these grand floral paintings and we all oogled-and-ahhed over how amazing they were, passing around the colorful screen of a phone, how he obviously remembered the details of flowers from his brighter days, even the right colors, the nuance of sunlight hitting the leaves and petals, shimmering petals for the dying bees that care more about hot tubs full of buttfuckers these days than pollen.

And as all good dinner parties go, eventually we played strip Cards Against Humanity. Perhaps it was cards like Bukkake or Making love to a dolphin blow hole or Cutting off your best friends balls with garden shears – or maybe it was the importance of how many White Russians we lost count of slurping and burping, but all that simmered into one of us declaring, My dick is cold; you should probably warm it up.

Which vaporized into a six man all-out sex-orgy on the couch, cards left behind, glasses completely empty. They became glassy Russian spies to how our giggles and sexually-frustrated wiggles replaced the air with groans and moans and the metronome of a dance. With my new friends dick in my mouth, and my new friends mouth on my dick, I couldnt help but wonder in that moment, in a trance of engorged and merging blood and flesh and light and words:

Eventually I let go of trying to figure it out, flowing or not flowing, who the fuck knows, and simply enjoyed what we were all there to enjoy, what were always here to enjoy, the ecstasy of connection with whats right in front of us. And there we were, new waves of men crashing upon one another, a tide of something, a ride on something, and none of us thought about money or honey or whats not supposed to be funny. We werent even thinking at all.

The next day we all got texts at the same time from the AHF. One by one, all clear. One by one, a fury of negatives that actually felt positive. And it stung me, sometimes pimples are just pimples and have nothing to do with the fact that youre trying really hard to fuck your way to the top of all your problems in the dark, meditating on the secret spaces between your soul that you have yet to discover, with the claws of one more breath, one by one, transcendent, light, clean, floating somewhere between care-free and probably a little bit careless.

For more of Micah’s writing pick up his book, , available here.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/the-importance-of-being-orgy/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/09/29/the-importance-of-being-orgy/

[adambstingus]

The Importance Of Being Orgy

After a trip to visit my brother (named Mardi Gras) in New Orleans I found it best to go visit the free STD testing center run by the AHF here in Los Angeles. Every time I go there I run the full gamut of tests, partially because it just feels good to get a digital report card where everything negative is actually a good thing – chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis, HIV, oral, anal, everything – and its completely free, no co-pays, no-nothing.

When one is recently covered in a rainbow of beads, shirtless, with countless tongues and spicy shrimp in ones mouth and youre shoving your dick in more hiding places than even crawfish know, sometimes its best to take a moment and pause. It also didnt help my state of mind that I had a pimple on my dick shaft immediately following that blurry weekend in NOLA, which was almost healed, but still. I cant say I often get dick acne, Dacne? Dickne? Dimples?

I should also mention that lately I havent quite found my way forward – or perhaps some other direction, not yet discovered, on some other plane of existence. Sometimes I like to think of myself as a river or an ocean or some kind of body of slutty water, and I just need sunshine to turn into some kind of ethereal vapor again, to roam and grow again. Its just been one massive damn dam after another in seemingly every direction, and to every one of those dams, I say thank you. God bless you. Because youre just a sneeze.

Freelance life aint all its cracked up to be. In other words, freelancing aint free. I just got a notification for negative three hundred dollars in my bank account, which is sandwiched between two emails from the human resources representatives for jobs I didnt get – honestly, out of hundreds, over many months and many a moon, which makes one feel a bit like a loon and possibly soon like a raccoon, rummaging through trash bins, hissing…

Back to the day of the STD testing. My meditation that day on the beach, ravenously drenched in sunlight and coconut oil, was let go and let flow, which is sort-of a mix between Taoist/Buddhist/Jesus-ish philosophy, which is tough for me, because to let go always sounds like to give up, which I was taught to never do. But I thought, okay, fuck it, lets try this. Lets try trying.

STD clinics are always so somber, as if one is waiting to go get burned alive for past sins, or for simply existing. Perhaps this is the new church – discovering your STD status – and we were all waiting for confessional. Everyone is looking at their phone or sitting with their eyes closed, nervous, contemplative, ready to sing a hymn of praise or despair. Many fidget there with an aura of tamed shame. There was even one girl who just couldnt stand being inside the waiting area with all the other sinners. It was too much for her.

She kept popping her head in the door, Did they call my number? No? Okay Uhgghhgh BYE Shed slam the door again and again, disgusted, as if by the sight of everyone else reminded her that there were witnesses to her recent sluttiness. Oh yes, my dear, we know. Were all the same. Youre one of us, we the slut-saints.

I walked in and recognized a cute blue-eyed fella with the same green shorts of a cute blue-eyed fella I just saw at the gym earlier in the day, post-beach-meditation. I had previously tried to get his attention at the gym, sweatily sex-eyeing him there on the leg press, but it was clear he was making love to Candy Crush instead – the great sin of our time, sacrificing the present moment on the cross of being cross-eyed, in front of a rainbow screen of addiction.

He knew it, too, because when I walked into the waiting area of we lady-whores and we man-whores and we trans-whores we nodded and started laughing, as if to say, YUUUUP, which began what would become a three-hour long obnoxious and giggly conversation between the two of us and two other homos that we roped in too. Who said you cant giggle in church? Everyone knows those are the best kind of giggles anyway, the ones that make you feel a little guilty.

He was a Special Ed teacher, and very sensitive to the word retard. Another was a Filipino chef with a special kinship to soul food, which I could relate to, since deep down Im a morbidly obese giggly southern black lady in white face, with ample amounts of chest hair. And the other was a Latino restaurant manager who had just broken up with his long time boyfriend that week. His ex stole his TVs, but left the dog, and left him with having to pay all the rent.

What ensued was the kind of man-to-man camaraderie that most people crave on a daily basis. Brutally honest connection. Schoolboy giggles-in-church laughter. Shooting the shit and fucking with each other the way brothers and lovers do. Im normally the kind of person who hates layers of formality and secrecy; everyone walks around acting all serious all the damn time, thinking being serious will somehow keep death – or sexually transmitted infections – away. This place just amplified that feeling for me, for all of us.

We couldnt help but see the situation for what it was: were all basically here because we love to fuck and now were dealing with the consequences.

You can be all somber and earnest and ashamed about it all, or you can just let the fuck go and laugh at it all. Youre a slut and Im a slut, lets break the bread of conversation together and then get pricked with needles that suck our blood, shall we?

Thankfully all of us were negative after the HIV rapid test; it helps that all of us are on PrEP too, that once-a-day revolutionary pill that has helped a great many homosexual not get impregnated with an HIV-baby. We would find out the results of Chlamydia (Anal), Chlamydia (Oral), Chlamydia (Urine), Gonorrhea (Anal), Gonorrhea (Oral), Gonorrhea (Urine), and Syphilis in a day or so.

The next day we decided to all meet up at one the guys places, on his rooftop (named hot tub). We drank shitty champagne and awesome micro-brewed beer in the LA sunset light, shirtless and drenched in coconut oil and chlorine, as bubbles massaged our balls. Bees swarmed around us for some reason, perhaps the countrys last remaining bees, and maybe its because they noticed we were all sweet with the sweaty nectar of giggling with strangers connecting over bad music blasting from a boombox.

Later that night, we had dinner at blue-eyed-green-shorts place; he and his husband have a cute candlelit suburban bungalow with multiple cats. The Filipino cooked us a lovely meal. I brought the cheapest wine I could find. Some of their other friends joined – a perky-chested trainer and a muscled hairy Japanese fella (yes, hairy Asians exist, and theyre lovely), and we sat at a long found-wood rustic table and discussed the importance of taking care of blind people as they get old and close to dying.

The Filipino was also a nurse. One of his blind patients paints these grand floral paintings and we all oogled-and-ahhed over how amazing they were, passing around the colorful screen of a phone, how he obviously remembered the details of flowers from his brighter days, even the right colors, the nuance of sunlight hitting the leaves and petals, shimmering petals for the dying bees that care more about hot tubs full of buttfuckers these days than pollen.

And as all good dinner parties go, eventually we played strip Cards Against Humanity. Perhaps it was cards like Bukkake or Making love to a dolphin blow hole or Cutting off your best friends balls with garden shears – or maybe it was the importance of how many White Russians we lost count of slurping and burping, but all that simmered into one of us declaring, My dick is cold; you should probably warm it up.

Which vaporized into a six man all-out sex-orgy on the couch, cards left behind, glasses completely empty. They became glassy Russian spies to how our giggles and sexually-frustrated wiggles replaced the air with groans and moans and the metronome of a dance. With my new friends dick in my mouth, and my new friends mouth on my dick, I couldnt help but wonder in that moment, in a trance of engorged and merging blood and flesh and light and words:

Eventually I let go of trying to figure it out, flowing or not flowing, who the fuck knows, and simply enjoyed what we were all there to enjoy, what were always here to enjoy, the ecstasy of connection with whats right in front of us. And there we were, new waves of men crashing upon one another, a tide of something, a ride on something, and none of us thought about money or honey or whats not supposed to be funny. We werent even thinking at all.

The next day we all got texts at the same time from the AHF. One by one, all clear. One by one, a fury of negatives that actually felt positive. And it stung me, sometimes pimples are just pimples and have nothing to do with the fact that youre trying really hard to fuck your way to the top of all your problems in the dark, meditating on the secret spaces between your soul that you have yet to discover, with the claws of one more breath, one by one, transcendent, light, clean, floating somewhere between care-free and probably a little bit careless.

For more of Micah’s writing pick up his book, , available here.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/the-importance-of-being-orgy/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/178563445162