#ive never written proshipping before so i hope i do them justice

[spellcastersjudgement]

proshipping either 20 or 42

#42: a kiss out of pride 

Aster Phoenix had never been bothered by rumors. As a professional duelist he had to contend with the tabloids and paparazzi, with people digging their way into his life, making something out of nothing and dissecting the most mundane aspects of his life. First on the chopping block was the nature of his relationship with Sartorius, second his sexuality–being outed at the age of sixteen and having to stand in front of a crowd, announcing his bisexuality like it was some sort of crime–none of that bothered him more than an inconvenience, like a bug on the windshield. The third, and latest, attempt for some fresh-out-of-college journalism major to get their fifteen minutes concerned Zane Truesdale. 

It had been two and a half years since Zane had reinvented himself, started wearing all black and practicing winged eyeliner in the mirror until it made professional makeup artists jealous. Aster, though he had lost count of the times he’d teased Zane about how much time he spent with his nose a half inch from the mirror or filing down his glue-on nails, he was usually the one noticing when his boyfriend’s favorite eyeliner was running low or accompanying him and Alexis to Sephora to swatch eyeshadows. The headlines at the time were all wondering how Duel Academy’s golden boy had traded in his school uniform for smoky eyes and black lipstick, and since they were dating, Aster found himself having to tell fully grown adults to make their own lives more exciting so they wouldn’t get so excited over a wardrobe change. 

At first, Aster thought that was the end of it. He wore his suits and Zane wore his faux leather, dueling all over the world, the gossip limited to praising them as a power couple, often in magazine spreads next to Bastion and Jaden or Alexis and Chazz. 

Three months later, Aster found himself with a very worried Sartorius at his door, his manager brandishing a magazine in his face. A real magazine, not one of those sources of ill-repute read by people looking for a good laugh or shown to undergrads as an example of how not to be a journalist. It was an expose–on Zane and his ties to illegal gambling and organized crime, plus a nasty dig at his sexual proclivities, an unnamed “doctor” in the article confirming that the scars on Zane’s neck and wrists were electrical burns, self-inflicted. 

Now, Zane had a bit of a checkered past, dragged down by Mr. Shroud–if Aster found out his actual name he was going to have several words with him for getting Zane into that in the first place. It was true that Zane had dueled in unofficial leagues, but it wasn’t illegal to bet on duels. If it were, there would be a lot of people in trouble, Aster included–he’d lost enough money to Jaden Yuki in college to get a life sentence. 

“Fuck,” Zane had grumbled, placing his coffee cup heavily on the table, tapping his black fingernails against the ceramic. A sigh, a roll of his eyes. “If it was tied to crime, I didn’t know about it. Shroud was tight-lipped and I didn’t ask,” 

“They checked your background when you got back into the major leagues, correct?” Sartorius asked, calm, but Aster had known him too long not to see that he was about to start picking at his split ends. 

“I assume so,” Zane answered. “If the police come banging down the door and accusing me of being in the mob, then just let them in.” 

“Look at you Zaney, a real stand-up guy,” Aster snorted. 

“Shut it, kid,” Zane sipped his coffee, pushing away the magazine like it was contagious. “Let them talk–it’s cute to think they can get under my skin.” 

That was a week ago, and Aster had mostly forgotten about it. The story hadn’t gained any traction, and Aster wasn’t about to pry into his boyfriend’s past–Zane said everything was above board, even if only by a hair, and he believed him. 

It had bothered Zane much more than he’d let on. The older man had been hyperfixated on covering his wrists and neck, checking in every reflective surface to see if the scars were visible, driving five miles below the speed limit even though Aster knew him to absolutely hate people that did that, avoiding the appearance of illegality. Zane hadn’t put on his signature eyeliner for the past two days, and not even Aster’s teasing about how he needed the spider lashes and foundation to cover up his aging skin got no more than an exasperated huff. 

“Hey, kid–we have to leave soon,” 

Aster looked up from his book and slurped on his smoothie loudly. It was a Friday afternoon, and he was rather enjoying having a tournament-free weekend. “For what, old man?” 

“Gala. Tonight. Sartorius put in on the calendar–you probably didn’t even check it, you irresponsible little shit,” 

“Huh, it’s alright. I don’t have to fill in my wrinkles,” Aster’s nose was back in his book, and he smiled at Zane’s retreating back. 

Zane had finally put his makeup back on. Aster could breathe easy now. 

Arriving at the function an hour later, Zane berating him on how boring his suit was compared to his own outfit the entire ride over, Aster found out how wrong he was. 

“Dammit, Alexis was supposed to be here already,” Zane grumbled as they walked in. His leather and silver jewelry and purple lipstick (Zane didn’t normally wear that color but Aster liked it, not that he would tell his boyfriend of course). “We were going to play a drinking game the whole night.” 

“What am I not good enough for your drinking game, grandpa?” Aster teased. 

“Kid, you get sick from the carbonation in beer. I don’t want to drink with you,” Zane responded. He looked over Aster’s head, eyes fixating on something behind him. “You’ve got company, get ready.” 

“Mr. Phoenix, how lovely to see you,” 

Aster heard Zane’s platform boots clicking as he walked away. Aggravated at being accosted, he schooled his face into a pleasant, neutral expression and turned around. “Good evening.” He couldn’t remember this one’s name. They all blended together. 

The man smiled, offering a flute glass full of champagne to him. Aster accepted it gingerly. 

“I see you brought your partner with you,” he said. 

Aster took a sip of the alcohol, knowing he’d need it if he had any idea where this was going. “He was invited, I didn’t need to bring him. Might I remind you he’s one of the top-ranked duelists in the world?” 

The man chuckled, his eyes crinkling. Aster almost felt bad for comparing Zane to an old man given how this actual old man was giving him the heebie-jeebies. “I remember, of course–he’s quite an excellent duelist. Though I must ask, if you’ll allow me, how a man of your caliber would allow himself to associate with someone with organized crime ties,” 

Aster Phoenix had never been bothered by rumors. Until now. 

Draining the flute glass, Aster offered it back to the man, who looked confused, but took it anyway. Aster would’ve dropped it on the ground, let it break for the entire ballroom to hear. 

“Excuse me,” he hissed, turning on his heel, locating his boyfriend a few yards away. He recognized Jaden’s two-toned hair, an arm, Bastion’s, surely, around his shoulders. 

“And then–” Jaden was waving his arm, his drink dangerously close to sloshing out of his cup. 

Aster felt something wet on his elbow as he knocked Jaden out of the way to get to Zane–an expletive confirming that he’d indeed knocked Jaden’s drink out of his hand. Zane–giraffe legged fucker–looked down, surprised, as Aster yanked him down by the lapels of his trenchcoat, forcing their lips together in the middle of the ballroom. 

His hand left Zane’s coat to grab his hair, stiff with spray to keep it perfect–Zane would certainly be angry he’d dared to mess it up, but he’d deal with that in a moment. As he stood on the balls of his feet, he thought of how nothing, short of Zane outright murdering someone (and even then, depending on who it was, Aster might just help hide the body), could change the way Aster felt. He–oh god, this was mushy and gross and he knew Zane would laugh at him if he said it out loud–loved Zane, loved his image, his incessant teasing, the way he’d be up with Alexis at two in the morning painting each other’s faces, how he treated Jaden like a second little brother when Aster knew he was nothing but a nuisance. 

And he wasn’t ashamed. There was no way, no chance that some stupid, good-for-nothing actual old man was going to shame him into feeling like Zane was beneath him. Aster felt Zane’s hand on the small of his back as he pressed into the kiss, and he hoped that someone would take a goddamn picture and plaster it on every billboard and magazine cover and that every talk show host would analyze every pixel to live vicariously through the two of them. 

Pulling away, Aster landed back on his heels, looking up at his boyfriend. “You have lipstick on your chin.” 

“You have it on your nose. All over your face, actually,” Zane huffed, his skin a shade darker despite the artificial blush already on his face. “Go clean it off.” 

“Hmm, I don’t think I will,” Aster said. “I think purple suits me.” 

He heard Jaden teasing him, but Aster wasn’t hearing it. He locked eyes with the old man that had opened his mouth and spewed his unwarranted opinion all over the place. 

Aster found himself standing in front of the man, plucking the empty champagne glass out of his fingers, reveling in the shocked expression on his face. 

“Thanks for holding that, buddy. I think I’ll go get a refill.”